North Maple Rag

The weekend was great. We rolled out of Berkeley on Friday and had suprisingly smooth sailing all the way to San Diego. Even those of us who'd never been to L.A. before were cringing as we approached it, but then, to our surprise, the cars were sparse and all moving swiftly. We arrived at my great-aunt and uncle's house to find thoughtful notes, maps and beach supplies had been scattered throughout the rooms for us. My great-aunt also left out a big photo album that contained photos spanning almost a century. There were pictures of her and my grandfather and their siblings as children on pages not too far from gradeschool pictures of me and my brother. It was a surprise to feel so at home in a place I'd never been before (no, Augie people, I'm not trying to paraphrase Bill Janklow).

We explored La Jolla, Coronado Island (site of a fabled wedding in my family), and Pacific Beach on Saturday. Our Pacific Beach excursion was improved by the generosity of a bar owning second-cousin (who endeared himself to me forever by starting our conversation by telling me how much he'd loved my grandpa). We also discovered carne asada fries that night. Best. Drunk. Food. Ever.

On Sunday, we hit up Mission Beach and spent the better part of the day enjoying the sand and sun. That evening, we befriended the owners of an awesome Vietnamese sandwich shop and explored the Gaslamp district of downtown San Diego.

After cleaning up and assembling a thank you gift for our hosts, we hit the road and once again had pretty fantastic traffic luck. Things got a little sticky around L.A. and we saw a horrendous car fire somewhere in the Central Valley (which, except for the awful heat, the mountains on the side, and the corporate farms, is a lot like South Dakota). We got back to Berkeley in time to meet up with some friends, pack up some bags with cheese, bread, beer and wine, and hike up in the Berkeley hills to watch the firework displays around the Bay. I'm used to watching fireworks close up, so it was a novel experience to have a panoramic view of several firework displays. The night ended as any good Independence Day should: around the kitchen table, joking about cocaine.

UPDATE: I hate, hate, hate it when people don't credit their sources and I'm guilty of that now. My friends and I were directed to nearly all of the good food we had in San Diego by Neo Tokyo Times. He has provided helpful links in the comments section for anyone who might want to know more about the carne asada fries or the Vietnamese sandwiches.