Goin' home . . .

. . . and crossing the miles of desert between our home in the mountains and that beautiful surf.  This low country may be the driest I’ve ever seen it - absolute sere, gray/brown withered vegetation, but I have seen the magical transformation that occurs when again rain blesses the land, so I have hope.

Unlike the outward leg of our journey, homeward bound is more like the old nag (in this case: me) heading back to the barn: it’s a mad dash, and nothing is of sufficient interest to stop.

Yet it's fun to recall more of the adventures we packed into a relatively short time (thinking that might have something to do with my state of exhaustion, but it's a good exhaustion, if there is such a thing).

What would a trip to San Diego . . .

. . . be without a day at Balboa Park.  If you haven't been, you really should go, and if you have been, you'll surely want to return, like us.  It's a place that's hard to describe - a wonderful spot for locals to meet up for lunch and a walk, a great destination for Zonies (that's us) to have leisure admiring the beauty, hiking the trails, and learning at the various museums.

A place to be experienced - written descriptions and even photographs really do not convey what it's like to be there.  The most widely known attraction in the 1,200-acre site is the zoo, a day-long tour that we skipped this time around.  During our short stay, we walked some trails that felt like wilderness in their canyon depths . . .

 

. . . and thoroughly enjoyed the Botanical Building.

These seem so oversized as to be unreal.

 This man was sitting directly across the walk from . . .

. . . this sign.

 

Balboa's 1,200 acres were reserved for public recreational use way back in 1835, and have evolved many times in the interim.  There are multiple museums, theaters & restaurants, with casual performers and artists at various junctures.

 This nice lady danced for my video.

Many of the beautiful buildings are in the Spanish Colonial Revival style, and were constructed for use for major exhibitions, such as the Panama-California Exposition in 1915, and the California Pacific International Exposition in 1935.  

 

It's a grand place indeed!  We visited the Museum of Us (formerly the Museum of Man), the railroad museum and the arboretum.  My intention was to go to the art museum; however, we ran out of time and energy before we ran out of things to see.

Always a fascination: The Spreckels Organ Pavillion is mind boggling, the instrument has more than 5,000 pipes, making it the largest pipe organ in the world in a fully outdoor venue. 

Free concerts are performed every Sunday.  We missed that, but listened to part of a practice session.

The miles (pretty sure that's not an overstatement) of layouts in the railroad museum are so intricate, detailed and true to life that those who have lived long in the area can recognize individual places.  Numerous hobbyists work to add to the layouts and to keep the trains running - fascinating!

 

In the category of "I have no idea what is going on", I guessed that there were numerous modeling photo shoots, as in this photo.

 

I thought this was the most clever way ever to do a "walking" tour.

Turtles seem quite content in their fountain homes, although I confess I have no idea what a discontented turtle looks like.

A marina . . .

. . . is always wonderful for a walk-around.  This one was the location of the lifeguard station, which probably explained the men swimming long distances back & forth in a no-nonsense manner.  

Sea lions had taken up residence on various perches, while ospreys utilized high masts as lookouts.  

Other boats were popular perches for birds lined up on available riggings.

 

 

Although the only serious birding we did was along the estuary, we can't help ourselves from noting others we see casually.  We also identified American crow, mourning dove, rock dove, common myna, chipping sparrow, house sparrow, starling and California towhee.

 Despite constant coming & going in marinas, there are sometimes scenes of stillness as if in a painting.

 

One last day at the beach . . .

. . . and playing in the surf.  It was a Sunday, busy as expected, and wonderful.

Kids aren't the only ones who like to play in the sand.  These parents spent ages designing sand octopus tentacles for their daughter, who they said, " . . . loves the sand".

 

The vendors were out in force - everything from jewelry to ice cream to elote, which I now know is street corn, seemingly a very popular treat drizzled with various toppings, although I have to say the sight of it didn't blow any air up my skirts, so we passed.

This is the quick-change artist from the other day.  Evidently, she was not dodging today whoever she was dodging before, and she's making a sale, although the wheel on her wagon remains unfixed.

I have never seen this anywhere else; it was fun to watch several planes carrying advertisements along the shore line.

As much as I loved this adventure, I was very happy to be back home, out of the frenetic city with its crazed traffic, and enjoying the tranquility of my gardens.

 

 Never again . . .

 . . . will I pursue my not-so-bright idea to leave my good camera safe on the closet shelf at home.  Thinking ahead to what we might be doing while in San Diego, a bit of paranoia crept in.  I wouldn't want to take it onto the beach where the insidious sand gets into everything, and I wouldn't want to leave it in the truck parked at a beach lot; therefore, I left it at home, and brought my old one.

Turns out that one is next to unusable: the view screen is unviewable in the sun, and the zoom only kinda works and I have to hold it outward while trying to see the unviewable view screen, so the tremor is worse.  Basically, I end up with wild shots of sky and little of what I had hoped for.  That leads me to use the phone camera, which works fine; however, see previous sentence . . . and sans cable, I have to send every photo individually to my email, where I have to load each one into a photo program . . . well, anyway - never again.  The process was frustrating and limiting where I could have been getting wonderful pics.

We began one of our days without a plan (oh right, that's all of them), and had a nice long walk along the Mission Bay estuary, then over low dunes and onto a tide flat.

Doggie beach was nearby, so we were joined by lots of canines who brought their people.  This one was particularly notable in that he arrived without his fire engine.  His person showed off his tricks, which I attempted to photograph; however (see intro).

Dogs and their humans were outnumbered by terns (one good tern deserves another - couldn't help myself) - hundreds of them - Forster's, least & Caspian - making quite a showing for themselves.  Although they were the main show, we spotted others both there and at other places along the water. 

Some of the ones we identified included snowy & great egrets, California & herring gulls, double-crested cormorants, marbled godwits, great blue herons, little blue herons, killdeers, brown pelicans, spotted sandpipers, willetts, even a life bird for us: a whimbrel.

When we perused that waterway the next day, the tide was coming in to cover where we had walked.

The highlight . . .

. . . of our jaunt to the coast was to have time (but not enough) with our great niece & nephew - Bri & Chris.  If he wasn't such a stellar guy, we'd have to oust him from the family or else change his name.  We've gone from having so many Pats that each one had to have an identifier in front of his/her name (as in Dad's Pat, so now we're faced with "my" Chris, "Bri's" Chris, Christie, etc.

Bri's Chris is just dandy, though, so he passes muster.  We had fun with them, eating out at Old Town San Diego, followed up by a ghost tour.  That feller to my right in the photo is not a subject of the tour, nor is he identified.

The historic Cosmopolitan Hotel was the culmination of the tour.  Now restored nearer to its 1870s existence, it began nearly 200 years ago as an adobe home.  Other iterations included a restaurant/stagecoach office and an olive cannery.  Now functioning as a hotel and restaurant, it has its stories of hauntings.

 

We stopped at El Campo Santo, the original burying ground.  There I was shocked to learn that, although some graves were relocated in the past, many others were simply paved over when a railway was constructed through there.  The current sidewalk and roadway cover gravesites, as noted by markers in the pavement.

During another visit to Old Town, we just missed a street performance by several flamboyant dancers.  One of them, originally from Jalisco, told us a good bit about the group.  They design their own costumes, and enjoy performing publicly, while emphasizing good family and community standards.

 As seaports tend to predate inland communities . . .

. . . so does San Diego's history go way back.  One place we enjoyed seeing was the Casa de Estudillo, an interesting home for multiple generations of Estudillos dating to 1825, and as typical in early days, it served as a sort of community/commercial center.

With expansions over time, the large one-story edifice is horseshoe-shaped around a central plaza . . .

. . . with rooms elegantly furnished.

One very unusual feature is an impressively widespread vine said to be toxic even to the touch, despite its beauty.  I took the warning seriously.

 Fiesta in Old Town . . .

 

California's first mission . . .

. . . established by Franciscans Junipero Serra, Juan Viscaino & Fernando Perron in 1769 stands restored on the site to which it was moved in 1774.

Despite a long-ago uprising of native people that culminated in the death of a Spanish missionary, Mission San Diego de Alcala is now a place of peaceful tranquility and beauty.  We spent a good deal of time there on a self-guided tour that told many aspects of the outpost's history and especially about the life of Junipero Serra.

The friars' quarters . . .

We lit a candle for Darren, as we do whenever there is an opportunity.  It makes for a teary interlude.  Chris says he thinks Darren enjoys having us bring him along on our adventures, and I don't disagree.  He did love to adventure!

It was said that this handmade flag was found during excavations at the mission site, presumably following the tradition of a family member making one for a loved one leaving to serve in the military.

In the category . . .

. . . of "You never know what you might find", I happened to notice a bas relief plaque (It was one of those "Stop, back up!" situations) proclaiming the La Playa Trail.

One of us was excited to explore further; however, one of us (the señor, to be precise) declined my exhortations, and truthfully, I was likely too tired to insist.

Research indicates that the trail has been recognized as the oldest commercial trail in the western United States, having been utilized during the pre-Hispanic period, and that there are eight registered National Historic Districts and 70 identified historic sites along it.  It connects the settled inland area to the commercial anchorage at Old La Playa on Point Loma in San Diego Bay.

If I lived in the area, I would want to walk it; if I visit again, I will do at least part of it.

I am enthralled . . .

. . . by all the botanicals in the region, most of them native to there, but nearly all exotic in my eyes, and huge by any standards.  I guess that is what happens when the temperatures remain above freezing.  I was told this tree is a ficus, but I can tell you, I've never had a ficus like that!

If I said it once, I said it a hundred times while in San Diego: "Look at that tree!"