America PlazaCaliforniaCarlsbadCharlie MansonConvention CenterEmerald PlazaGrand HyattLegolandOld TownPetco ParkSan DiegoSan Diego PadresSan Fernando ValleySpahn RanchUniversal City
Back To Southern California:
Instead of getting a vacation rental, we stay at the Grand Hyatt on North Harbor Drive in downtown San Diego. The Hyatt is one of the tallest buildings in San Diego at almost 500 feet (where the FAA caps the height) and did not even exist when I lived here as a kid. People credit its construction with the downtown boom that would follow, the construction of further prominent skyscrapers like Emerald or America Plaza the direct result.
Our room is on the 29th floor facing east, and I gaze admiringly at the trolley quietly creeping by below, the Convention Center and Petco Park, home to my beloved Padres. At night, this view will be no less significant, as the grey smoggy background in the distance morphs into a large blanket of lights reaching into East County, its collective brilliance rivaling the stars above in the California sky.
Some of the sites we see are predictable (Old Town, the Zoo), while others are visited merely for convenience like the Children's Museum and later Legoland in nearby Carlsbad. At my dad's house, the treehouse was torn down years ago, the old 'fort' as the neighborhood kids would call it. The Brazilian Pepper tree is still there, however, and now holds a swing and a rope over its sturdy branches.
For the weekend, we take the kids to Beverly's (my Dad's cousin) house in the San Fernando Valley (Chatsworth) for the Longworth family reunion. Although it's good to see everybody again, it's a little sad Wayne, Beverly's husband, is no longer there. Add to the fact that ours are the only kids there, and that I am attending this event for the first time as a dad, and my options are limited as to what I can do or whom I can talk to. Nearby on Topanga Canyon Road is where the Spahn Ranch used to be, home to Charlie Manson and his Family in the late 60's. This is where they would hang out and where Manson would preach about heaven and hell before he decided to become Charlie the Knife. Today, the Valley looks more like hell, as the thermometer hits 100 degrees. Thank God for swimming pools.
I meet Jeff, Beverly's son, a flight attendant and a worldchump in his own right. He has, no doubt, seen a hundred countries of his own. It's easy to talk travel with him, although these days he prefers to accept domestic assignments. Understandable.
The next day, I visit Wayne's grave, am actually able to locate it, and actually cry a little bit under my shades. He's buried a few feet from where three brothers are lying, all deceased at a very young age, in their 20's (Plane crash? Car accident? Gang war?). I finally bid farewell to Bev, thank her for taking me to the cemetery, and head to Universal City at the other end of the valley, home of the Hilton, the 101 Freeway, and Universal Studios, which we decide to skip at the last minute.
That same afternoon, I meet Gibran, my former Peace Corps colleague and an LA native. He and I would hang out a lot together in Morocco, would chat, converse, and gossip, although not necessarily in that order. Since it is Ramadan and he's a (moderate) Muslim, he is fasting, so I resist the temptation to drink or eat anything around him. It isn't needed. We chat away the time as if we were still at my pad in Beni Mellal. Meanwhile, Ginger is hamming it up with a Peace Corps buddy of her own, Heidi from Rhode Island, who now lives in LA and is actually, as chance would have it, Gibran's ex back in Morocco. I think it's a wise decision to avoid any meeting between the two, as Gibran is happily married by now.
Unfortunately, the boys don't sleep much that night and we leave LA earlier than we would have liked, – it would have been nice meeting Gibran at his house, for instance – yet we get out of LA relatively unscathed. Awesome. On our way to our next stay, the Best Western on Shelter Island, we pay a visit along the I-5 to Legoland, much to the kids' delight. Admission costs seventy-five bucks per person. We grudgingly pay it anyway, and, judging from the boys' reaction, it is money well spent. As a kid, I had never been to an amusement or theme park until I was in my teens. Luckily, the boys won't say the same thing when they get older.
Most of the time remaining is spent at my dad's house, and I realize with regret that I have two more days left of leave before I need to fly back to Bolivia.
Oh, well. It was time well spent.
Most of the time remaining is spent at my dad's house, and I realize with regret that I have two more days left of leave before I need to fly back to Bolivia.
Oh, well. It was time well spent.
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