La Jolla

December 7, in La Jolla for a wedding on the beach

Of all the places I vacationed as a child, La Jolla was the most magical.

Never mind that they rolled up the streets before 8 pm back then. Better to wake up in the early morning mist and rush down to the cove before the sun peaked through the fog and the day officially began. To have an hour or so to savor the beauty, to feel the solitude and oneness with nature.  

All these years later, I can close my eyes and smell the salty air, hear the rhythmic pounding of the surf and remember the quickening of my heart as I headed alone toward the ocean, feeling much like John Masefield in Sea Fever:

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

So much has changed in La Jolla, and then not so much.

The main streets are lined with upscale boutiques and restaurants, but the hotel where we stayed is perched at the top of the street leading down to the cove. The balconies and awnings are "new" as I'm sure much of the inside is, but from a distance the rooftop patio looks like the same place we spent chilly evenings with the owners and our friends from Phoenix who knew them.