JIM’S “SWIM”
We started our day at the Starbucks in Chula Vista and drove over the amazing San Diego-Coronado Bridge for our visit to Coronado Island. The bridge is five lanes, 200 feet, and just over two miles long. My old next door neighbor and childhood best friend Michelle lives somewhere on Coronado. Though I was given her phone number, I opted against bothering her on a Wednesday morning for tourist tips and a reunion. It has, after all, been about 40 years since we made our last mud pie together. The beach was really chilly and Aubrey tried to tie a bandana to her brother’s head to keep his long hair from whipping into his eyes.
Jim is the heartiest of the beach walkers and while he and Aubrey continued up the freezing cold and windy beach, Isaac and I walked back to the street to find our way into town via a more civilized route.
Civilized was what we expected, but not what we found. On our pleasant walk through this spectacular seaside town, we were stunned to come upon an actual crime scene. A beautiful oceanfront mansion was completely sectioned off with police tape. The property was teeming with over 20 law enforcement officers, walking back and forth, coming out with plastic evidence bags, and making notes. Multiple police cars and SWAT vehicles were parked in front. Within the next hour or so, news vans and helicopters from all the major networks were swarming the area. People were snapping pictures and sitting on the rocks drawing charcoal scenes of the property. An Italian art dealer downtown told us he had never seen anything like this in his 12 years on the island. Apparently a woman had been found dead around 6:30 that morning and the scene was suspicious. A week later we saw an update on the incident in a national newspaper and it is still a bit of a mystery. Link for news story is here. You may have to cut and paste if it doesn't open.
From the beach there were clear views to the coast of Mexico and to another island used for training Navy Seals.
One of my favorite meals of the trip was our lunch on the patio of the historic Hotel Del Coronado (called the Hotel Del by locals.) This property is a Victorian beachfront masterpiece and has been visited by many famous people. Isaac caught a bit of the US women’s soccer finals from the beautiful hardwood bar area in the hotel.
A photo of Marilyn Monroe was taken in front of their gorgeous dragon tree, planted prior to the turn of the century. (Note, that is not Marilyn in the picture below...)
We had just a little bit of trouble trying to position the umbrella above our patio table so that nobody was in the sun. Isaac remarked, “The Gingers try to eat lunch on a sunny patio.” Pitiful.
Driving on to La Jolla cove, as we exited the car we were greeted by the sound of crashing surf and barking seals.
An entourage of pensive-looking pelicans and hopeful sea gulls surveyed the sand from their highly decorated rocky perch.
Sandstone made the perfect surface for walking and tide pool gazing. Above the crashing waves, tiny caves and wave-hewn rocks framed the picturesque sunny cove.
The occasional rogue wave tried to spoil our walk without success. This was a wonderful seaside town.
From the main cove in La Jolla, we drove to Windansea. Coming down into the intersection at Nautilus and Neptuna, it looked for the world like we were driving our rental car (a wonderful Equinox SUV) directly into the Pacific.
We got out and I perched myself upon a rock and received some coral and sea glass from my daughter. Isaac tested the waves because he and Jim thought they might “swim” in this treacherous area we had chosen for our little outing. Soon Aubrey, trying to keep her dress dry, read some poetry from her new book by Billy Collins, including the poem “Quiet.” Some of the lines he writes include, “out of a lifetime of running my mouth and leaning on the horn of ego, only a single afternoon of being truly quiet on a high cliff with the Pacific spread out below…”
Well, like the poem we were on a cliff by the Pacific. But not so much quiet was experienced. Because you know the kind of belly laugh that causes complete strangers to stare and tears to roll unreserved down one’s cheeks? I laughed like that this afternoon when Jim finally achieved his goal to “swim” in the Pacific. Nine years ago, driving only as far south as Santa Clara, the ocean temperatures were far too chilly for our wetsuit-less skin. So Jim determined he would not miss his chance THIS time. With tenacity and optimism he ventured forth into the waves at Windansea. But despite 6 months of vigorous P90x training, Jim was no match for the Pacific. Most of the waves were about Jim’s size, but many were two or even three times his height.
It was absolutely hilarious to watch him try to swim (or for that matter, remain vertical.) One of the first such waves dunked him squarely and caused him to swallow roughly a pint of sea water. The second took him under with the force of a ponytailed Sumo wrestler and tossed him toward the beach, complete with a fluorescent green shoulder garment of seaweed (which he was too disoriented to remove.)
As I tried to catch my breath between side-splitting guffaws, I watched my determined husband venture yet again toward the sea.
The fourth or fifth wave resulted in a blender effect which successfully depleted Jim of any remaining sense of balance. How this is considered fun for him, I have no idea…. Then, unbelievably opting to stagger yet again toward the surf, my crazy man too late felt the ocean suddenly sucking all of the water back to itself. An ominous sign, as the next wave towered above him and neither diving into it nor running away from it were reasonable escapes. The agony of defeat. He finally gave up and stumbled toward the rocks upon which I sat, still laughing and wiping tears from my eyes. ( I am nothing if not supportive.) Implausibly, he managed to climb to me despite ears plugged with sand, seaweed in his shorts, and a body fully pummeled by the swim he so desired.
My eye-witness account of the assault was the best fun I had all day (and I’ve had a LOT of fun.)
After de-sanding at the hotel and noting that the part in my hair is now the color of a ripe heirloom tomato, we were off to Old City San Diego for the evening. Never mind that my calf muscles have experienced more activity in the last 48 hours than they’ve seen in about the last year. We’re on vacation! There will be no relaxing.
In Old Town San Diego, a mariachi band and cactus plants in every conceivable shape and size provided a wonderful backdrop for our experience.
It felt like we were in Mexico, the delicious scents of more Mexican restaurants than I can count were wafting through the pleasant evening air.
The temperatures during our entire trip stayed somewhere between 75 and 80 degrees. There was no bothersome humidity to ruin the feel of the refreshing breezes. (Though as the sun went down it became obvious we were all sunburned regardless of our best efforts and SPF 30.) Gingers.
After enjoying Old Town, we headed to the Gaslight District of downtown San Diego for some dinner. I had arguably the best ice cream cone I’ve ever eaten at the San Diego Ghirardelli Ice Cream Shop on our way back to the parking garage.
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