Winter Escape: Reflecting and Recharging in San Diego
The unexpected joys and small details of San Diego's cozy corners and cafés
CALIFORNIA. The name itself evokes associations with holiday ideas: synonymous with words like beach, summer, and happiness. Standing in front of my boarding gate to San Diego, I reminisce about warm memories of a sunny La Jolla Cove, iced chai lattes by the ocean, walking past restaurants with outdoor seating, and the Pacific. San Diego is a small, intimate city; it doesn’t feel massive like Los Angeles or Santiago.
The apartment is on Lebon Drive — Nobel Drive written backwards — and is across from the Hyatt Regency La Jolla at Aventine. Located in a residential compound, it’s only twenty minutes away walking distance to two malls, places I where I spend most of my afternoons. The places I frequent include McDonald’s, Starbucks, Ralph’s, Trader Joe’s, Nordstrom, Macy’s, and a churro/empanada Argentinian shop.
It’s been years since we moved out and visited this area. Now, the tram that extends all the way down to the US-Mexico border reaches UTC. Though neighbors don’t know each other, the presence of the latest generation electric cars in the basement signals the affluence of the area. The apartment itself is cozy; despite being near the ocean with its cold mornings and sunny afternoons, the carpeted floors and AC make it feel inviting.
One of my outings from this comfort takes me to Starbucks, where I indulge in a Trenta-sized chai latte. This size, larger than the Venti, is unique to California and available only for certain cold drinks, like the strawberry açaí. I sit with my notebook and write my impressions on the different lifestyle of California from the cold city I just flew in from, Boston. The change of environment influences my thoughts and writing.
My experience every time I come follows strict rituals and routines, making San Diego a place hard to describe. It means so much to me. I’m spending winter break here with T., who had recently found a job at the UCC La Jolla Church and loves it. Each morning, he takes me to the cove, where I explore different cafes for breakfast and writing. On other days, I stay in the apartment.
I shower, grab my tote bag with a book and laptop, and walk past the palm trees on the way to UTC. The blocks here are so long that it takes several minutes to reach the streetlight to cross. Most malls are outdoor, making for a unique shopping experience in the sun, but challenging when it rains, as it often does during the winter. When we stay up late, we head to McDonald’s to enjoy the peace of an empty restaurant, filling our large Diet Coke cups before driving home.
My tote bag, moleskin, and laptop accompany me everywhere I go. You never know when you’ll come across an opportunity for inspiration and writing. One of these instances happens when I walk along Coast Boulevard, passing through Ellen Browning Scripps Park. I can enjoy the view of the ocean and have a session of brainstorm of ideas in my mind. Down by the rocks, I see sea lions basking in the sun and tourists snapping pictures.
It’s hot, so I wrap my Harvard sweatshirt around my hips until I reach South Casa Beach. I descend the stairs, sit on my sweatshirt, take off my shoes, and feel the sand beneath my feet. After a moment, I get up to dip my toes in the water. It’s cold, just like in Chile; after all, it’s the same ocean. I return to my spot and read The Movies of My Life by Chilean queer author Alberto Fuguet. I reflect on the book’s exploration of California and Chile — their customs, language, and perspectives — and notice the cover featuring the giant donut from L.A. near the airport. I plan to visit there soon.
When the need to go to the bathroom strikes, it’s time to head back to La Jolla boulevard. I stop at Starbucks and use my phone app to get a venti iced chai latte. The afternoon is cooling down, with the weather becoming windy and chilly by the beach. Inside the café, I enjoy the warmth as I browse flights on Google Flights and track planes with my Flightradar24 app. I daydream about flying to Hawai’i and Japan — a dream I later fulfilled with trips to Kona, Oahu, and Tokyo. I also look into courses for the upcoming spring semester and think about snow-covered Harvard on the other side of the country. It feels so far away, and I wish I could stay here longer.
Back at the apartment, I spend my evening studying Japanese. I sit at the kitchen bar, watching a couple of episodes of anime while working on my hiragana calligraphy. I get up, open the top drawer, retrieve the coffee maker, prepare a filter, and boil water. As I brew the coffee, I wait for it to cool down — caffeine doesn’t have a strong effect on me, even at night.
While waiting, I observe the artifacts, books, and antiques in the apartment. Holding my Starbucks Chile mug, I notice a particular painting of a man kneeling in a church, labeled “Mexico, 2017.” This collection showcases art from Tijuana to Punta Arenas. I am astonished by the meticulous preservation of documents displayed in frames across the living room. T. is a professional art museum curator. I then return to the kitchen bar to continue with my independent study.
We head towards the US-Mexico border, making a final stop at the Mall of the Americas, the last stop before the wall. It has everything we need for a few hours of work — lunch at Carl’s Jr., coffee from The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, and later, cinnamon buns from Cinnabon. At the café, I grab a glass bottle of apple juice from the fridge, feeling thirsty in the hot, dry climate of this part of California, far from the ocean. I also order an iced chai latte. I love the iced drinks here — the ice is ball-shaped and cut into tiny bits. This time, I brought along Los Niños del Tren by Dirk Reinhardt, a book about Central American children traveling through Mexico towards the US border.
We arrive at the Chaparral crossing, right next to the mall. As it’s getting dark, we decide to spend the night in Tijuana. Not long after, as we walk towards the crossing, I spot a large sign that reads “Hacia México.” We proceed through a long hall with enhanced security and reach a small checkpoint. I present my Chilean passport and answer questions about the purpose of my visit, the duration of my stay, and whether I plan to travel further into Mexico. I indicate that I am here only for the night.
Thanks to a tax agreement between the US and Mexico, there’s no fee for staying within the borderlands, but there is a charge if traveling further into Mexico. Outside the exit in Tijuana, I see several people living in tents. They are asylum seekers from Central American countries who have journeyed all the way up here for a chance at a better life. They face several months of waiting before their applications are decided, so they must remain at the border, as they cannot continue anywhere further for now.
Across the small artisan town, we make our way to the famous Arch of Tijuana. Walking along Avenida Revolución, we pass numerous pharmacies, restaurants, and tourist shops. We continue down the avenue until we reach Hotel Ticuán, a local three-star hotel, where we order McDonald’s through UberEats. Years later, we no longer need to stay in hotels. T. eventually managed to afford renting an apartment on Niños Héroes Street, just around the corner from the first hotel we stayed at in Tijuana.
Waiting in line at the San Ysidro point of entry, I watch with deep sorrow as small Mexican children sell souvenirs. I choose a ladybug from the decorative figures and pay in cash. I ask the kids their names. Samantha is ten, and her brother Ernesto is six. They don’t attend school; instead, they spend all day with their mom selling souvenirs just feet away from the United States. Their faces look tired. I offer to buy them something from the store. Samantha chooses a bottled Pepsi, and Ernesto picks a cheese soufflé from the snack rack. Several other kids join in, asking if I can buy them snacks too. They pick out what they want, and I pay the cashier with my last Mexican pesos.
It’s hard to grasp and accept that these children live such a different life from those who have managed to cross. A world of opportunities, where dreams can come true, is only a few feet away. They can only glimpse what could be through the gates of the border wall. Growing up working with my mom selling chocolates on the streets, I understand firsthand the struggles of working late into the night to make a living. Yet, the juxtaposition here feels even more striking, as vendors and asylum seekers are literally positioned next to the border line, just across from the wealthiest country on earth.
After crossing the San Ysidro point of entry, we are back in the US. We are on our way back to San Diego, so we stop at a station to load gas and buy some snacks in convenience store. I pick up a couple of coconut-flavored popsicles. They are really good. We then spend the afternoon at Elixir, a boutique coffee shop in La Jolla famous for having been visited by the Kardashians. We settle into their comfy outdoor chairs, each absorbed in our books. The sun is warm yet a slight breeze makes me put on my sweatshirt to stay cozy. Later, we walk to the beach to watch the sunset over the Pacific. We linger until the sun has completely disappeared before heading back to the apartment. After a warm shower, slipping into soft, clean bedsheets feels like the perfect end to a day well spent — a gentle reminder of the simple pleasures that make these moments memorable.
