People ask me why I love San Diego
I love San Diego for the weather. Don’t you?
But this city is so much more…
I love San Diego because of the people who live here: The women who work at La Jolla Dry Cleaners, my favorite English teacher at Mesa College, my mailman, the Firefighters, your mom, the regulars at the restaurant I worked at for too many years, Sarah, Will, Bobby, Stacey, Tony…so many of you.
I love San Diego for the local artists. The bands that play any night of the week. At the Ould Sod, Beauty Bar, Twiggs. CityFest, Street Scene, Pride, The Little Italy Art Walk. The Hillcrest Book Fair. The artists who inspire and are inspired by our city. Art. Books. San Diegans.
I love San Diego for our restaurants and bars: Turf Club, Mamma Mia, Ono Sushi, The Linkery, Pizza Port, Neighborhood, The Casbah, Belly Up, House of Blues, Canes, Whistlestop, Hamiltons.
I love San Diego for the neighborhoods:
The darkness in Golden Hill in the evening is loud. Noises talking screaming a car door slams sirens music “frank over here” and occasional helicopters. The buildings tell stories from the outside in, of families lost and ideas born and ghosts. Always ghosts.
The toilet runs. The landlord needs to fix it. The fan is set on medium as the sounds of the street grumble and spew outside the windows and walls. In Golden Hill there are no diamonds or Bloomingdales or mansions with loud expensive parties. Instead, dive bars with eclectic folks who exchange ideas and consume one another for entertainment. Instead, men pee behind the 7-11 and the firemen close the garage door at night to avoid visitors.
Women do not walk the street alone at night. Those El Cajon Boulevard street walkers stick to their part of town. Mostly.
In the apartments that were once nice houses now split in threes or fours or seventeens, wood paneling, wood floors, fireplaces that work or don’t, a mess, a love, a desire to build.
At sunset, the glance towards The Gaslamp, described, as layered in thick buildings, tinker toys, legos built up, smashed and rebuilt again. Old men and layers. The needy and abused. The debt. The credit. The park. Frisbee. Volleyball. The lovers of central San Diego. Art fairs. Notions of offering what one can give to help. “Screw yous,” “Ok thens,” tourists and you. In my bed. Again. I sleep in. The darkness of Golden Hill.
Abbie
Abbie Berry is inspired by our city every day. She wants to know what you think and feel about San Diego. Email her at creativecusp@gmail.com.