On a recent trip to California, I realized two things: I could live in San Francisco, and I can laugh through travel mishaps. I planned a week-long girlfriend getaway – three days in San Francisco, followed by three days in San Diego. When I boarded my flight to San Francisco from Boston I had preconceived notions of both cities: San Fran was supposedly a West Coast replica of Boston, and that San Diego would be paradise. Seven days later upon my return, I had my own, newly developed ideas.
First stop: San Francisco. Our San Francisco hotel of choice was the Hotel Diva in Union Square on Geary Street. The area felt trendy and gritty, scattered with cafes, wine shops and clothing stores. We spent the next three days observing San Francisco’s even more informal dress code, quietly artistic boutiques, relaxed (but gourmet) dining establishments, and multi-faceted nightlife. Shopping in Hayes Valley felt like discovering a hidden gem – all was quiet and peaceful, completely lacking pretension, but selling some of the most unique jewelry and clothing I’ve ever seen. We walked the Golden Gate Bridge (it takes longer than you think!) and visited Fisherman’s Wharf, where we played with the sea lions and we had lunch at Neptune’s Palace, overlooking the Pacific, and Alcatraz prison in the distance.
On our last day in San Francisco, we put on our best “peace, man” attitudes and walked around Haight-Ashbury. Affordable vintage stores, record shops, and an earthy vibe laden in tie-dye and Birkenstocks made this neighborhood a perfect segue to Castro, another one of the city’s bold neighborhoods. Known as San Francisco’s openly gay community, Castro dons itself in rainbow flags and has an air of acceptance and fun. We sat down at an awesome organic coffee shop and headed back. That night, we had dinner at Gitane, which had a plush, modern décor and a small menu, but an extensive wine list.
San Diego was an entirely different experience. We arrived at Hotel Occidental prepared to be in the middle of the Gaslamp Quarter (the city’s upscale nightlife area) as the hotel’s Web site advertised. The reality is that we were more than a half-mile’s walk to any nightlife, a 15-minute stretch to Little Italy, and a $30 cab ride to any beach. The next morning, we switched hotels. Before we packed things up, however, we made the best of the night by taking a long, traffic-filled cab ride to Pacific Beach to explore Garnet Street. The next morning, we were on our way to the new hotel in La Jolla.
Arriving in what some call the “Beverly Hills of San Diego,” we were in heaven at Hotel La Jolla. A small beach city adjacent to San Diego, La Jolla is lush with beautiful flowers and palm trees on every road, equipped with long stretches of white sand, adorable (and strikingly expensive) stucco homes, and plenty of distinctive shops and restaurants. We spent lazy afternoons on the beach (not without sunburns) and some quality time perusing the magnificent shops at Prospect Place. Dinner at Clay’s, a penthouse restaurant overlooking all of the city and the beautiful horizon, left us with the perfect impression of San Diego.
Paradise found.
