Dichotomy

“This is more like it!” Nick exclaims as Highway 8 West ends at the Bay, spitting us off the expressway onto Sunset Cliffs Boulevard and into the sleepy little hippie town of Ocean Beach.  I’m feeling good about being home as well, but I’m a little surprised by his declaration.  So when I ask to hear more, I discover both boys have noticed that we are a little out of place at our majestic digs on Coronado Island.

Ever since I first laid eyes on the bright terra cotta rooftops of the turreted Hotel Del on the west side of the Coronado Bridge from San Diego, I’ve wanted to stay here. At the time I was a kid, all of twenty-three, and the sprawling, bejeweled property set back on a beach of sand that literally glitters with gold in the bright sunshine felt regal and a little above me. Poor and in love at the time, I felt like I was stealing a peek at luxury in life I wasn’t quite sure could ever be mine.

So here I am, forty-eight years old, a hotel guest outright, with my teenagers in tow, and I’m finding that much like the boys, the glamour and glitz don’t matter to me so much.  Let me level-set, we are in the most un-Del-like building on the property.  If we were on the Titanic, we would be the peasants bunking in the bowels of the vessel; upon discovering the ship is sinking, we cross ourselves before bed and go to sleep resigned and at peace with the unfortunate truth that we will not be waking in the morning.  There is no hope we’ll ever get a life boat.

 

This unexpected contradiction has me thinking about what I really want for this vacation, or any vacation for that matter.  I’m not here to pretend I’m anything I’m not. I’m here for the stunning Victorian architecture and interiors, still evident and opulent even in this property’s 125^th year.  I’m here for ready access to the beach, right outside my door with enough runway for more than a 5K in my bare feet along the shore line (it doesn’t hurt that the Navy Seals in training are running too).  I’m here for the few miles of shops and restaurants in walking distance that allow my boys some much-deserved freedom to wander and offer food and entertainment on our budget.

And I love that we can hop in the car and fly across the bridge to the highway guided by that glorious north star: “8 West Beaches”.  When I lived here for what now seems like the blink of an eye twenty-five years ago, seeing that sign on my drive home from work every day never failed to make me smile.

 

When I press my boys for reasons why they feel so at home in this town, they say it just feels real.  The beach hosts free spirits who make time every day to do what they love, as evidenced by the surfers changing into their wet suits in the parking lot.  Open air restaurant means sitting at a wood ledge covered in carvings, decorated with initials and symbols, by all who’ve been there before. Pieces of artwork are not placed on the walls of this town, they are the walls. In a state where nothing happens very quickly, you never need to question intent here; the friendliness is palpable.  It’s okay to be yourself in this place.

What I really love about this experience is that we all really are okay with being ourselves at The Del, in spite of the pressure to be someone else. When we set out on this trip a few days ago, I decided that we are simply living in Cali this week, living OUR lives in Cali.  It doesn't get any more real than this.