36 Hours in San Diego

How do you picture the perfect 36-hour trip to San Diego? A peaceful train ride along the coast? Dinner and breakfast at an oceanside restaurant? Driving around in a convertible in 75 degree, sunny weather? I was lucky to spend a day and a half during my ten-day California trip doing just this.

I started out my brief excursion with a painless 4-hour train ride from my home in Santa Clarita to Solana Beach, just outside of San Diego, with a transfer at LA Union Station. I have to admit that I've never been completely comfortable taking public transportation in California. I take trains everywhere in NYC, but not being in a car in California is just plain odd to me. The train to San Diego was full, so it I'm clearly not an oddball. As I was waiting for the Metrolink train in Santa Clarita, a sign indicating the station atop caught my eye:


Santa Clarita was a sort of cowboy outpost in the 1800s, a junction point for the Southern Pacific railroad. Even though the sign is fairly new, it has rusted over, and when against a desolate and dry backdrop, it's like a snapshot out of the wild west.

After switching to my Amtrak train at LA Union Station, I settled into my aisle seat on the left side of the train. Score! This side faces the ocean on the ride down the shoreline. At the Irvine stop, the gentleman sitting in the window seat to my left got off the train and I slid into his spot. There were beautiful mountain views of San Juan Capistrano and Laguna Niguel, and even the stations, modeled in a Spanish style, were a welcome sight from the generic, unwelcoming (and often dirty) stations of the east coast. I also got a wonderful sunset view from just north of Oceanside all the way to Carlsbad. It was peaceful to watch surfers bobbing up and down in the water waiting to catch the last waves of the day, and people laying out on the beach enjoying the warm weather and spectacular sunset (overcast days aside, are there ever any unspectacular sunsets?).

The train coasted into the Solana Beach station around 6:30pm and Justin was on time to pick me up. To give you a background, Justin, a native San Diegoan, and I met on a Supershuttle to Dulles airport just before Thanksgiving 2002. He is part-bad ass, part-GQ metrosexual. In typical Carol style, we struck up a conversation in the van, which included most of the other riders, and it turned out Justin was on my flight to LA. We somehow convinced the American Airlines rep to find two seats next to one another (on a Thanksgiving flight no less!) and we spent the whole flight chatting. Afterward we exchanged information and hung out whenever I could during my trips to California. Unfortunately, we lost touch for about three years and reconnected when he called me about two weeks ago. The funny thing was that I had tried emailing him in July 2008 to see how he was doing, but the two email addresses that I had weren't active anymore. I would have called him, but I had lost all my phone numbers when I lost my old cell phone and I know of no other way to get in touch with him.

After picking me up at the station, we sped off to Del Mar, a beautiful coastal town just south of the station, and stopped at a small shopping center to pick up some shoes for Justin. We ran into one of his friends and chatted with her for about 10 minutes before making our way to the L’Auberge del Mar, a restaurant-hotel for dinner. As we were climbing down the stairs of the shopping center, I couldn’t help but stop and take a picture of the scene. I miss these sorts of California sunsets when everything is bathed in a warm light and the temperature is balmy enough for either jeans or a dress.

We were greeted by a cheery hostess at L’Auberge and were promptly seated at a table in a large, elegant courtyard that overlooked the ocean. Because of the occasion, I decided to indulge in my first alcoholic beverage in two months and I choose a drink called the Leahtini, a martini-take on a Mudslide cocktail. Justin, ever the secure man, choose a pink lemonade-flavored martini and we toasted to old friendships. We ordered a cured meat platter as an appetizer and it came with prosciutto, house-made chorizo, bresaola and a tangy raspberry sauce that we used to mix with the meats. For dinner, I ordered a grass-fed hamburger (sans bun) with bacon, pickles, onions and tomatoes and a salad, while Justin opted for the “best” Cuban sandwich, which he kept insisting I try with the bread even though I told him about my gluten allergy. I stood my ground even though I was tempted to try it.

The food was great, but I have to say the company was better. It’s funny how one can go so long without seeing a friend and when you reunite, it’s as if no time had passed at all. Justin is one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met in my life. He’s incredibly intelligent, funny, genuine, giving, open, but what I admire most about him is his humility. I’ve met very few people in my life with whom I feel truly comfortable and who appreciate my idiosyncrasies because we both have very similar personalities---we are incredibly passionate and we do everything to the extreme, tending to go a little overboard in the pursuit of our interests. Some may laugh at our quirks, but I think that most people are a bit envious of our intensity and commitment.
After dinner at L’Auberge, we took a drive along the coast and despite the darkness and mildly cold temperature, it was pleasant and relaxing. We stopped off for a nightcap, then headed back to Justin’s condo in Northern San Diego around 11pm. We stayed up till past 2am talking, then retired to our respective rooms for the night.

We got up around 10am and left for brunch around 12. What was on tap for the day? Prior to the trip I called Justin to ask what sort of activities we would be doing so I knew what clothes to bring. He said, “I was thinking we could go kayaking, bike riding or to the shooting range so you can try out some of my guns.” My kind of man. (Did I mention that when I met him, Justin was training to become a Navy Seal?)

It was sunny and beautiful as we drove to La Jolla and had lunch at a small restaurant with an incredible ocean view. We both ordered eggs benedict in a tomato sauce with small salads, and after devouring these, we headed to Mission Bay to view an auto show. Justin, being the generous guy that he is, had donated some money to a car club called the Over the Hill Gang, who in turn donates money to the Wounded Warriors Project, which gives financial assistance soldiers wounded in combat. This car club puts together a 3-day auto show where all the members bring their restored historic cars and the public can view them.

After we were given a VIP tour, it was time to eat again and we made our way to Coronado, an island off the coast of central San Diego. It was starting to become overcast and a little chilly, so I borrowed a light jacket from Justin and we walked to our late lunch destination at the Coronado Hotel. Although it was a bit overrun by tourists, we enjoyed a lunch of cobb salad (for me) and clam chowder (for Justin) before taking off for the Solana Beach station. We hit some unexpected traffic on the way to the station and I arrived just as the train was pulling into the station. After a delay on the elevator with about 10 other people and much signaling to the conductor to hold the train, I boarded and found a single seat.

At Union Station while waiting for my transfer to the Metrolink, I sat outside in a courtyard and enjoyed the warm air and light of early evening. I always forget how much I love California. It's not until I make my way north to Santa Barbara or south to San Diego that I realize how comfortable and peaceful the scenery is, how much I miss it and yearn to be a part of it. It feels like home because it is home. California is not only a part of me, but a metaphor for me: varied, multifaceted, the state is a contradiction of people and places, liberal vs. conservative, white vs. black/brown, snowy mountains vs. desert landscape. But it is in these contradictions that the state (and I) derives a sort of constancy and a welcoming feel. I feel at ease in New York because I fit in, but despite how long I live there and how much love I have for it, it will never truly be home. It took 25 years for me to get to this point in my life, but only 36 blissful hours in San Diego for this epiphany to dawn.

As the Metrolink train pulled out of the Santa Clarita station, I waited in the pick-up area for my ride. A sleek, black car pulled up and a door was opened. I hoisted my luggage into the trunk and slid into the backseat. Inside were my cousin and her boyfriend, the newest addition to our family. “Do you need to stop anywhere?” “No,” I responded. “Let’s go home.” And that’s exactly where we went.