Original Post November 2019, Mesa, AZ
Translated January 2024, Mesa, AZ
Table of Contents
As the Americans would put it, it was all about beach hopping! This meant cruising from one beach to another, from city to city, non-stop, for three whole days, just the way Irina loves it. We set off at the crack of dawn and rolled in at night, making every minute count.
Day One
Preliminaries
Irina knew better than to fall prey to the exorbitant costs of La Jolla, Carlsbad, and other fancy spots of the Pacific Coast. Armed with meticulous planning, she bypassed the luxury resorts near Los Angeles and San Diego and traded palm trees for Encinitas vibes, proving that a great escape doesn’t require breaking the bank!
I have no idea why we thought it would be a good idea to fly. Oh wait, I do remember: Irina’s leased car was running out of miles, and we didn’t want to pay extra. We did all sorts of math and figured out that taking a one-way flight, then renting a car in Los Angeles and driving it back to Phoenix, would be the best in terms of money and time. Long story short, we left home at seven in the morning and reached our destination at three in the afternoon, eight hours. Timewise, actually, it wasn’t really worth it. Money-wise, well, almost.
The long version is that we spent an hour and a quarter in flight and another hour and a quarter from the airport to Avis Rental. Avis was packed (it was already Friday afternoon), but since we’re Preferred Members, they had our car set aside and ready. When I say “car,” I mean it was practically a tank, a brand-new Nissan Pathfinder, as massive as a mobile home with a fuel consumption to match. They claimed they did us a favor giving us a 2-level upgrade, saying we deserved it! Yay, go Stefan! For two and a half days, I grumbled, not knowing where the car began and where it ended, amid my wife’s amusement (thankfully, it was loaded with sensors, so when I got too close to something, it screamed like we were on fire). On the last day, on the way home, I couldn’t resist and handed Irina the steering wheel: ‘Here, you drive if you’re so good at it!’ On the highway, it didn’t matter where the car began or ended. But then, what about the rearview mirrors? Why do they exist, and why do they reflect the pursuing headlights right into your eyes?
As Romanians, and part of the Popescu clan, we brought along a hefty checked bag filled with drinks and enough food to feed a platoon. We had, of course, heard rumors of actual food and drinks in California, but we weren’t buying any of it until we actually encountered them.
The hosts were around our age, both super passionate about surfing. They were really nice people, and they welcomed us with a basket full of goodies and a bottle of sparkling wine.
Full of energy (not!), we had three cups of coffee while they went out to catch some waves. This brings us to the first beach we visited…
Beacon’s Beach
At Beacon’s Beach, also known as Surfer’s Beach, there’s a lot to see: from the young to the not-so-young, everyone has a surfboard. Poor hosts, they kept tempting us with all kinds of surfboards – big ones, small ones, flexible ones – but only they knew what they were talking about. We dipped our toes in the water and almost froze: it was wet and oh-so-chilly!
Some of the houses had their own way to the beach, like stairs with metal gates, locks, or even fancy, lifting stairs, depending on how much money they had. As we strolled down Neptune Avenue, you could easily spot which house would have the colorful staircase leading to the beach and which one had a stone staircase with cool lights.
We strolled about two miles to Moonlight State Beach and Stonesteps – checking out the houses, gazing at the sea, and meeting some really cool people, each seeing life from their own point of view. Overall, they all seemed pretty happy, with a laid-back “I don’t really care” vibe. I’ve never seen a surfer who looked sad.
… in Encinitas
The somewhat unexpected thing was that a railroad cuts through the village. We didn’t know. The railway embankment is about six feet high, and the trains flash by so fast, if you’re on the tracks, you’re history. I’m lookin’ left, lookin’ right for an illegal crossing, a shortcut. Nothing. Not even the stray dogs take a chance. To get to the beach or the pub, you either walk for half an hour or haul out the car. Then again, if you’re driving, who’s the designated driver? If you’re walking, it’s a snoozefest. We ended up taking a brisk walk, keeping track of our steps.
We went to lunch at Fish 101, a restaurant with good reviews. They say, “decent;” we, as grumbling Romanians, don’t praise such things immediately (if at all!) What was immediate was that we annoyed them by arriving five minutes before Happy Hour, and by the time the servers moved in slow-mo (that kind of “let’s-move-so-slow-maybe-they’ll-leave” kind of motion), Happy Hour was in full swing. We took advantage and got some fish tacos, clam chowder, and something else that we forgot. And beer, of course.
We tried a small French joint for dessert, aptly named The French Corner, as it was both French and (what do you know!) on a corner. It was around half past three, and the posted hours were until four, yet they decided that it was a good time to close up shop. Pretty rudely, and, like true French, the lady asked us to leave. Her store, her castle, her rules, etc., etc.. We obeyed, uttering some colorful Romanian words under our breath.
For the evening, we ate from our cooler, but for drinks, a totally different story because, on our way, we stumbled upon a …
… Total Wine and More
Let me digress, take a story detour, and open a parenthesis because it’s funny. On the way from the airport to Encinitas (about an hour and a half, two hours of driving, plus that hour spent in the Avis bus), my old man’s bladder demanded to be emptied. Now! I had the co-pilot search for a gas station on the navigator, but before she could tell me that there wasn’t one nearby (since we’re in California, and they drive mostly electric cars), I pounced like a desperate man on the first exit off the highway, made a right and, despite the vigorous protests of the missus, entered a mall parking lot (the missus protested because tradition demands it, she had absolutely no other reason).
I stopped the car and looked around: what did I see? Where did instinct direct me? To the front of Total Wine and More. It’s obvious what followed: a pee break (one minute) and a shopping spree (30 minutes!). Send a Popescu into a liquor store! Puah! Beer, wine, and champagne, ’cause we had to enjoy this trip! Oh, I have another parenthesis within a parenthesis.
On the plane, two gentlemen from the entertainment industry (of course, we’re in Los Angeles) kept talking about Pappy. Pappy-Pappy, Pappy-Pappy … Being cultured, I knew immediately what they were talking about, so I started eavesdropping like a typical old, bored Romanian. At some point, one of them says, “man, if you can’t afford Pappy, get Weller.” (To make you equally cultured, Pappy van Winkle is bourbon a few thousand dollars a bottle). I’ll keep it in mind for that eventuality when I win the lottery. Close the parenthesis within the parenthesis.
Now back to Total Wine. We encounter a store professional guide, and Irina throws him a curve: “Do you have Weller?” He falls to the ground, full of respect, and says, “Lady, I don’t have any, they fly off the shelves, but there’s one, called Henry McKenna, just as good as Weller, but only connoisseurs know about it.”
“Fine, do you have it?” Irina says, short and to the point, without stroking his ego. Meanwhile, the dude strategically disappears (probably because, even though we didn’t look like it, we had an accent, so we didn’t deserve his attention anymore). Irina gets back to me, gives me the report, and goes to get about twenty-something assorted beers (Duvel on promotion with a glass, Radeberger, Estrella Damm, and Grolsch) and some good sparkling wine, really good, which we nicknamed champagne.
I accidentally came face to face with the assistant manager, and I found out that McKenna requires a reservation, only at Customer Service. There are no bottles on the shelf. To shorten the story, we left with a bottle of McKenna. I don’t know how it is (yet), I’ll drink it with friends. While browsing through the store, I’m suddenly curious and ask a guy with a cart full of wine: “Sir, don’t take it the wrong way, but where exactly are we here?” I wanted to know in what city I had peed. The man burst out laughing, after which he told me that he didn’t really know either, although he apparently lived in the area. Okay, if you’ve kept track, close all the parentheses.
A short morning trip to Sprouts, where we found exactly the same products as in Arizona, which disappointed me a little. I wanted something specific, but it seems that you don’t buy local products from supermarket chains.
San Diego Botanical Garden
We went to the San Diego Botanical Garden, which is actually in Encinitas, where we stumbled upon a plant sale. “Plant Sale,” meaning the botanical garden sells surplus plants, or whatever unnecessaries have been donated to them, to make extra money. They do the same in Phoenix, nothing new here. At first, we said we weren’t interested, as we weren’t planning on exporting plants from one state to another. Let’s take a look, though, we said, we can’t just pass by a sale and not stick our noses in a bit.
And Irina found LOVAGE. Just like that!
I was gracefully moving among the rows of flowers when I saw Irina with wide eyes, amazed, clutching two pots of Lovage to her chest. She had never looked at me with such affection as she did at those plants. She approached me and whispered conspiratorially, “Look behind me on that table, do they have more? We’ll take them all!” Regrettably, they didn’t have any more, but that didn’t stop us from spending another half-hour examining each and every pot. This time we were on a mission! Suddenly, we remembered: Red Orach (no, not the basketball coach). We started over. You can take the man out of Romania, but you can’t take Romania out of the man. We also bought a cute succulent – hoping it won’t die on the way to Phoenix.
Later, we entered the actual Botanical Garden, which turned out to be absolutely charming, of course, completely different from the one in Phoenix, with lush vegetation, jungle, bamboo, Australia, exotic fruits, leeks, and ORACH (I apprehended some seeds, but was punished by the Almighty: I forgot where I put them).
We strolled and strolled, saw banana trees with bananas, pineapple trees with pineapples, mango trees with mangos, and other fruits that we had only heard of but had never seen.
Walking through the Garden
The sculptures were interesting, and they were for sale. When I saw the first one, I read the label, which I thought was a barcode. Turned out, it was the price. Hell, in our tours of California stores, I spotted a guy dropping nearly $500 on a bottle of champagne without so much as a second thought (after all, he had a $5 coupon), so the price of the sculptures didn’t faze me all that much.
Day Two
A small miscalculation
Irina was like, “Your turn now, what’s the plan?” And I was like, “Let’s hit the Coast to Crest Trail.” I’d seen this brochure, but skimmed through it like a macho man, reading every other word and maybe every other line. Apparently, it’s epic. You start by car, then hike on foot. I figured we’d walk for a couple of hours and get some steps in. Irina was grumbling, saying she wanted to see the beach and that we had already done enough trails back in Arizona. But she made it clear that, if I insisted, we’d go (she must’ve told me “if you say so” like three times, making sure I knew that we’re all about democracy in our family, and if we ended up as vulture snacks in some isolated ravine in a remote, uninhabited region of California, it’s on me, not her).
In short (well, sort of), we hit the trail, didn’t make any pit stops, ended up totally lost (although Irina swears she knew exactly where we were), and about an hour and a half later, we sheepishly made our way back to La Jolla. The scenery was kind of like Arizona (with hills), but instead of rugged pick-up trucks, there were Ferraris, Rolls Royces, Caddys, Porches and other expensive cars everywhere. Off the main road (where you could easily hit, oh, 45-55 mph), there were side streets where these testimonies to extravagance would pop out of nowhere (or vanish into thin air).
Thank goodness for Google Maps! I had set up the app to remember our routes so the family could track us down and rescue if required. That big loop , that’s where we got lost. The thing on the right, like a pee jet, was just us getting even more lost. I was supposed to turn right, but I was stubborn and turned left because everyone else was turning left (as it happened, they were heading to a pumpkin patch to pick pumpkins). We didn’t pick any pumpkins, but we did pass by a Christmas tree nursery and ended up at this amazing vineyard where all we did was find the nearest restroom.
La Jolla
In La Jolla, it was stunning, seriously beautiful! And, being my usual self, I managed to take the wrong turns and get lost. Okay, not exactly lost, because the ocean is to the west, so, if you just keep heading that way, you’ll end up on the beach and in the water eventually. But Irina wanted to go to The Cave, and we ended up at the beach. Fortunately, La Jolla was both at the cave and on the beach – it was everywhere. It was the navigator’s fault, as we were using our phones for directions. I had an Android and Irina had an iPhone, with different maps (sorry Google Maps, but Apple was the clear winner here). We had to hold the device in our hands because the mount had broken, and my co-pilot had to guide me and read the map in real-time. She couldn’t always say, “turn left on Torrey Pines in 20 meters, keep left, keep goooiing left… well, never mind, just go straight…”.
I totally loved the beach: the sun, the water, and the beautiful girls…. But Irina wasn’t lovin’ it for some of the same reasons.
We finally found where we had to go (like, it was told to me slowly, and with a lot of insistence), and after a bunch of trouble driving the tank through the narrow streets of the city, we managed to snag a parking spot right where we needed to be. Lucky us! We left the parking lot late at night: I think we were the last car out. But hey, we had time to check out some famous restaurants and some really cool cars that I initially thought were part of a car show. Turns out they weren’t: McLarens, Ferraris, and even a few Lotuses. Yep, in the plural. Later that night, we caught sight of those Ferraris leaving, revving their engines – it was such a treat to see and hear.
Back to the Cave. It was Irina’s turn to pick (well, she always picked, except for that one time we got lost, obviously). She read ahead and knew she had to check out La Jolla Cove, a cool hole in the rock that you can see from the sea, from a kayak, or even from inside, walking down 147 super steep steps directly (yeah, you go down, not up, but what I mean is there’s no turn, nothing to hide or dodge, and they were narrow and people pushed).
With the backlight, taking pictures in the cave was quite a challenge! And when it came to getting shots at the cave’s entrance, it was a real hassle. There were so many experts blabbing away, talking nonsense at the top of their lungs. We managed to grab some cave-only photos, dodged a few show-offs, and bolted. Mission accomplished! Did we make it to La Jolla Cove? You bet we did!
Now, in La Jolla, there’s this wild cliff where you can walk down from the hill, by the ocean, and catch some amazing views, then you’re back from the beach, and bam, there’s another cliff, and then another, and…. Well, you had the opportunity to imitate a yo-yo for an entire day.
Some pics… from that one time we totally weren’t supposed to be above the cave, but who cares, right? I mean, like, 40 other people were doing the same thing, and those “No Entry” signs were interpreted more like suggestions anyway. Then Irina goes, “OMG, we were also above this hole, I just realized. There were all these warning signs about landslides and stuff, but we just went for it, like sheep…”
We were hungry and Irina did me a huge favor by agreeing to go to an Indian/Nepalese/Himalayan restaurant called Taste of the Himalayas, even though she doesn’t like Indian food. The food was just okay, nothing special, and the service was meh. At least we didn’t get sick, so that was considered a plus. We tried a Nepalese beer called Himalaya Beer, and, for dessert, we had some gelato with exotic flavors. Irina really enjoyed it, and surprisingly didn’t even get a sore throat after eating it without microwaving it first. I also have to give a shoutout to La Bobboi Natural Gelato, even though I’m Romanian and quite the critic.
The servers at the Indian restaurant took their sweet time and we missed the sunset. We took some pictures of the moon and some sunset leftovers just to test the phone cameras (my OnePlus beats Irina’s iPhone).
And because we were very tired (especially me), we headed home. It was already late at night, my smartwatch told me that I had taken 20,197 steps and climbed 12 floors; I had every reason to be exhausted. Irina was fresh like a flower in the morning; she had discovered another boardwalk, and, thus, a little more exploring was then in order. She was very sad when we left for the nest, and she called me a grumpy old badger, and not even that very good sparkling wine could cheer her up.
The third day (and the last)
Because we had such a long day ahead of us we got an early start. We whipped up a big breakfast using all the leftovers from the fridge, snapped a few final pictures in the backyard, and hit the road. I was already tired even before getting in the car, just thinking about that dreadfully boring 7-hour drive to Phoenix.
Leucadia Farmers Market
You can take a Popescu out of Romanian Farmers’ Markets, but you can’t take The Markets out of a Popescu. So, Sunday morning, we went at the market (normally, I would have wanted a Saturday, but, if there was no Saturday market, what should I have done? Had them change their schedule just for me?).
We found tons of veggies, way cheaper than in Phoenix. Also, we spotted a bunch more farmers selling food, bread, and there was even live music. The tomatoes tasted just like the ones back in Romania, and we couldn’t resist the yellow flat spotty beans and the sourdough bread. We also grabbed some super antioxidant juices, energizing drinks, honey, eggs, and a massive rope of garlic. After buying all this stuff, we crammed it into the trunk, alongside the lovage, in our own little treasure trove. To top it off, there was a band playing pop hits, with the lady drummer keeping the beat on a cardboard box. Pretty cool.
With all the stuff I crammed in this car, I started to really like it: three suitcases, two boxes of drinks (the beer was almost untouched, we were that tired; same with the sparkling wine), a big box of food, a box of flowers… and it didn’t even struggle.
Point Loma Lighthouse
Irina was dead set on squeezing every last drop out of her vacation. She declared that there was one more place to visit: the barracks (?) at a submarine base, a lighthouse, and the statue of the explorer who discovered the West Coast, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, in 1542.
The view of the entrance to San Diego Bay from the hill was amazing! The guys were heading out on the sailboats, the tourist boats were cruising, and the Navy guys were doing their thing, zipping around in a patrol boat that looked almost ghostly. Now you see it, now you don’t!
The old lighthouse, known as the Old Point Loma Lighthouse, started operating on November 15th, 1855. You could visit it, and the inside was pretty interesting, but, unfortunately, you couldn’t go up to see the mirrors. As a nitpicker from Romania, I was kind of bummed out for selfish reasons.
The shiny new lighthouse, wrapped in three layers of barbed wire and surrounded by a million antennas and sensors, was kinda’ tough to get to – we checked it out with some serious respect and then carried on. They probably heard every word we said and had a live, automatic, computerized translator or something.
We hung around for a bit, then, as I was gearing up for the long trek back, someone said we had to check out another beach. I lost my breath and my heart skipped a beat.
Ocean Beach
My luck was that it was still in Point Loma. The bad luck was that it was a very popular beach, and there were no parking spaces. The GPS took us as it knew best: every time we reached the boardwalk, Irina was stepping out of the car, looking around: “I don’t like it here.” In the end, we found the good beach (which is to say the one she liked), and also (happily!) a parking spot. I was already beat. It was around 2 in the afternoon. We were starving and still had about a 7-hour drive ahead of us. But Irina didn’t want to leave until she spent some time on the beach, to chill. Since there was no need to upset the girl, and because, in our family, the majority rules, we stayed.
We reached the dog beach, where those crazy dogs ran through the sand and water (I think that’s why we found a parking spot because it stank a bit like, well, dog poop).
Some clever dude had erected a small dike to separate the dog beach from the human beach. We hung out at the regular beach, strolled around, chilled for a bit (the famous five minutes of doing nothing), snapped some pics, and filmed a little to unwind and relive those moments later.
That’s all, folks – October 18-20, 2019
Super movie for a super weekend
January 2024, Mesa, AZ
Update to the Henry McKenna 10 Years Old, 100 Proof
I drank it with my friend, Ovi: we opened the bottle on a lazy Friday afternoon. We woke up by Saturday evening, wondering what the heck had happened to us.
It was still a third of the bottle left. Respect.
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Nea Fane - Un Biet Român Pripășit în America / A Hapless Romanian Stuck in The US 
bai Fane ce filiform erai ma…
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În mar., 23 ian. 2024 la 00:28, Nea Fane – Un Biet Român Pripășit în
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