Vintage San Diego: Bays, Bars, and Books

I don’t talk much about the part of Southern California where I live; other than my beach, lagoon, and the stupid local government. I’m about thirty or forty miles or so from the city, and while I don’t often get down there, I do love old pictures that chronicle the history of San Diego far more accurately than words.

Here’s a photo of San Diego Bay taken in 1892 from the vantage point of State Street and Broadway. It all looks calm and free of tourists, exactly how we locals like our life here in SoCal.

San Diego Bay / Photo from Reddit

I always thought the oldest bar in San Diego was the Waterfront, but it’s not, because the Waterfront opened in 1933 when prohibition was repealed, 

The oldest bar in San Diego is the Tivoli Bar, opened as a saloon in 1885. It’s located on a lot originally owned by Alonzo Horton who helped develop most of downtown San Diego.

Tivoli Bar/Curated from SFGate

Built in 1864, the building was first called the Walker House and functioned as a boarding house, feed store, and blacksmith shop. The Walker House was converted into a saloon and kitchen in 1885. The original bar (still there) was built in Boston and brought to San Diego by ship around Cape Horn at the southern tip of South America, a journey which took three to four months.

The original cash register from the turn of the 20th century and the old safe are still displayed in the bar.

The Tivoli Bar has hosted many famous characters including Wyatt Earp and his wife Josephine, whose photos are prominently displayed over the entrance to the bar, along with Frank Sinatra and Sophia Loren.

The bar flourished during a time when San Diego was a boomtown and the Gaslamp was the city’s red light district, an area then known as the Stingaree. A warning sign from the time reads: “This area is known to be populated by anarchists, confidence men, cut throats, shady ladies, hop heads, perverts and thieves.”

Here’s an 1882 crime report from a local newspaper: “About 8 o’clock on Friday evening, a fracas occurred in the Tivoli Saloon between Gus Young and one Ballantine, in which the former was struck over the head with a chair in such a forcible manner that the latter is of no further service, and will have to be sent to a furniture store for repairs.”

I bet there were some wild times inside the Tivoli–if only the walls could talk! It’s a certified dive bar and I can’t believe I’ve never been there. I think it’d be fun to take the train downtown and check it out.

Have you heard of reporter and author Max Miller?

Max Miller was a reporter for the San Diego Sun and author of twenty eight books. In 1932, he wrote I Cover the Waterfront, an interesting account of San Diego’s port community that inspired Hollywood movies and became the title of a jazz standard sung by Billie Holliday, Frank Sinatra, and Sarah Vaughan, but sadly, NOT Leon Russell.

The book’s characters include true-life sea captains, Portuguese fishermen, flying squid, sparkling Garibaldi fish, movie stars, Charles Lindbergh, Babe Ruth, and a beautiful young woman who got away.

Miller also drew from his experiences living in Everett, Washington and when he attended the University of Washington. He also wrote Harbor of the Sun: The Story of the Port of San Diego, which is a fairly difficult book to locate. He died in La Jolla.

Here’s Sarah Vaughan with her 1946 version of I Cover The Waterfront (I couldn’t find a Leon Russell connection this time at all…LOL).


FYI: This is not a post written with the intention to extol any vacation virtues of San Diego. We REALLY have far too many visitors here but I’m sure there are other lovely places to choose for a holiday…

Death Valley is HOT

Photo by Athena on Pexels.com

Right now, visitors are flocking to Death Valley National Park to experience the forecasted EXTREME heat.

Death Valley is projected to set a verified world record for the hottest temperature ever reliably recorded, with Furnace Creek expected to reach 131 degrees with a low temperature at night of 101 degrees.

I’ve been to Death Valley a few times. It’s an otherworldly and mysterious experience. It’s a whole mind/body connection, the kind of heat that permeates down to a soulful, cellular level. Along with the magnificent silence, there’s really nothing to compare to desert heat.

Ten thousand years ago, Badwater Basin, the lowest point in North America, was once a hundred-mile long lake. It’s now a vast expanse of salty ground.

When you visit Death Vally, make sure you stop at Artists Palette, a technicolor, kaleidoscopic display of multicolored rock in that makes you feel you’re at an art exhibit.

Of course, as with the rest of our country, there were Indigenous People here before us.

The Timbisha Shoshone Indians lived there for centuries before the first white man entered the valley. They hunted and followed seasonal migrations to harvest pinyon pine nuts and mesquite beans. To them, the land provided everything they needed and many areas were, and are, considered to be sacred places.

I always thank the first people when I camp or hike, no matter where I am.

The shamanic ground markings of Death Valley tend to be found in the more remote parts of this already remote region – probably the reason why any trace of them survives at all. They are ritual and magical features left by long-ago shamans, probably of the ancestral Pima and Shoshone peoples, and they are fragile, so much so that their precise locations are not advertised.

They take various forms – ritual pathways, shrines, vision quest beds, scraped ground markings, strange sinuous lines, and weird patterns of rocks.

Vision quest beds are remote, subtly-marked locations where an Indian brave or shaman would go to spend a solitary vigil seeking a vision – a personal spiritual gift. He would go without food or sleep for perhaps three or four days and nights until the vision came. If it came at all, it would most commonly be in the form of what we would call an auditory hallucination: he would hear a chant or song.

Ritual pathways are probably the rarest of the shamanic features. a loose group of boulders.

The most enigmatic of all the shamanic relics in the valley are markings etched into the hard, sunbaked ground (‘intaglios’) or laid out with small rocks on the surface of the ground (‘petroforms’). Such features are collectively known as ‘geoglyphs’. Both types in Death Valley mainly show meandering, abstract patterns, but a few seem to depict mythical creatures. (Curated from https://www.ancient-origins.net)

If you make it to Death Valley, no matter what season, take more water than you think you’ll need to stay well hydrated!

Moonstone Beach | Sea Glass Treasures

Since it’s just about time to honor June’s Full Moon, it seems like the perfect opportunity to chat about Moonstone Beach, another sea glass location I need to visit. It’s in Cambria on California’s Central Coast.

It’s said that at Moonstone Beach beach you can find moonstone agates plus jade, jaspers, and other semi-precious stones.

Here’s a photo of some of my beach glass collection. Red is the third most rare type of sea glass, and I only have a couple pieces of that color.

Did you know? Orange is the most rare sea glass color. Turquoise is the second most rare color and the rarest type of blue sea glass. Red is the third most rare sea glass color and yellow is the fourth. I guess white and green and brown are more common to find because I have a lot of those colors, probably because most bottles were crafted in those colors.

None of the beaches around me have sea glass OR many seashells, although we have an abundant and endless supply of ROCKS.

| sanctuary |

“Remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.”- Rumi

Vermillion Cliffs Secret Cathedral: Photo by Enchanted Seashells

Searching for Doors of Perception

NOT the psychedelic kind that Huxley wrote about…but opening the door to self reflection with love and compassion.

This photo looks like it could be one of my favorite places, a slot canyon in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument or here at Vermillion Cliffs, where I snapped this photo.

Trust Your Gut

I really thought I had posted this before, but found it in my drafts folder.

This was a brief moment in time but chock-full of unanswered questions and potential menace where my gut intelligence sussed out something so weird and so random. It was like a scene on a TV show.

A while back before the pandemic stopped most travel, I was taking a short flight. I had an aisle seat. As this was a smaller aircraft, there were only two seats on either side; window or aisle.

A man walked by and said his was the window seat. I got up so he could squeeze in. He was a big man, not really obese, but close to it. His bulk took up the entire seat. Thank you, he said several times, although I’m not sure why he kept repeating himself. He was looking at me as if he wanted to strike up a conversation and I wasn’t really feeling particularly chatty so I began to read a book. I could feel his eyes on me, though, and I felt a creepy vibe.

Here’s where the first strange stirrings of anticipatory dread occurred.

In the periphery of my mind, or maybe it was my gut, I had an odd feeling. That’s the only way I can describe it. Odd. Nothing tangible to point my finger at, nothing out of place, nothing I could see with my eyes, but a real feeling that something was wrong with this person flitted through my mind and my gut. In fact, I was on high alert for any gesture or words or behavior that might be inappropriate.

It’s unusual to have a first impression like that, don’t you agree?

I’ve been learning to trust my gut even when there might be nothing definite to satisfy my need for facts that I can see or hear or touch.

Luckily for me, as I was planning to dread the next few hours, a flight attendant stopped by and asked me if I’d like to move to another row by myself as the plane wasn’t full. I jumped at her suggestion and enjoyed the peace and quiet, all the while wondering what made me feel like there was something wrong with that man.

When we arrived at our destination, I grabbed my suitcase from the overhead bin and impatiently waited my turn to disembark. I didn’t give that man another thought as I was focused on a stop at the nearest restroom.

The next few moments were like a scene out of a TV crime show and it happened SO FAST, almost too much to process.

I noticed a man standing near the place where we all exit from the jetway to the flight waiting area. He had an intense gaze as he watched all the arriving passengers. That means that he obviously had to go through security.

Apparently I was right behind the man I had originally sat with. He was walking as fast as his size would allow. He spotted the waiting man too, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape.

The man stopped him, said in a VERY STERN VOICE, “You know that you violated your parole, don’t you?”

The big man stuttered, “Yes.”

“Well, then there’s nothing left to say. You knew what would happen. I’m here to take you back to prison.”

I was gobsmacked (another one of those great descriptive Brit words).

I thought it prudent to extricate myself in case I became an unwilling participant in some sort of dangerous situation. Although I wanted to watch the rest of the show, I continued to the restroom, shaking my head and praising my gut instincts once again.

I KNEW something was off about that man, but I had no idea that he was a criminal.

I want to know the rest of the story. What was he on parole for? What crimes had he committed? Why didn’t TSA do a better job of screening?

And most of all, I’m thankful that for whatever reason, the flight attendant (and the Universe) moved me to safety from any potential harm. Maybe I’m being melodramatic and maybe I’m not. Maybe I really do live an enchanted life. Maybe there ARE angels protecting me.

How crazy is that????

Great Basin National Park

For #throwbackthursday, this is one of my most favorite places to camp and hike.

Great Basin National Park is in Nevada. At 10,000 ft., Wheeler Peak is one of the tallest peaks in the country. It’s full of bristlecone pines and turkeys and solitude and serenity.

Here’s a beautiful alpine lake:

Memories of Joshua Tree

#ThrowbackThursday

One of my favorite places to camp and hike.

Love the rocks #JoshuaTree

Princess Rosebud’s Empowered Solo Vacation: Part Three

Hiking at Montana de Oro.

After a horrible night of not much sleep thanks to a bunch of obnoxious college students who must have been too drunk to understand that, to most people, camping means peace and quiet, not a beer binged free-for-all, we embarked on a day hike.

Our goal was Valencia Peak, but we first made a loop up Oats Peak Trail.

Valencia Peak is a coastal mountain located within Montana De Oro State Park. This trail offers gorgeous views of the Central Coast, great views of Morro Bay, Cayucos, and on clear days, you can see Cambria and beyond — with amazing views of Spooner’s Cove to the south.

It’s an easy trail with gentle elevation gain; I didn’t even need the alpine walking sticks I packed.

The spectacular views begin right away as you ascend up onto a saddle, and the rest of the hike is before your eyes.

The trail gets a little harder the closer you get to the top.

DIL and I stopped shy of the peak; my son wanted to run to the top and back, so we took a break, ate lunch, and admired the view of the ocean.

There was cell service, so I called tugboat man to say hi and to let him know we are DEFINITELY going to spend a few days here when he returns.

The views are beyond breathtaking. It feels like you’re on top of the world.

The hike down is much easier, but watch out for rattlesnakes. We saw a baby, whose venom is more potent than the adult rattlesnake.

Not too difficult, right?
montanadeorohike1

Ah-may-ZINGmontanadeorohike2 Kind of a hazy day, but perfect hiking weather.montanadeorohike3My little goat boy.
montanadeorohike4A narrow passage.montanadeorohike5View from the Visitor’s Center.
montanadeorohike6Part Four: Jade Cove, Julia Pfeiffer, Cambria, and Costanoa.

Princess Rosebud’s Empowered Solo Vacation: Part Two

After the mostly tranquil train ride (except for one poorly parented relentlessly screamingfordonuts toddler who seemed not to be bothered by her screeching while staring at their smartphones), I was met at the train station in sunny Santa Barbara by Professor Angel Boy and we stopped for lunch at an organic foods cafe.

We made an unscheduled detour because he wanted to check out the surf at Morro Bay, and because it’s always really all about him, that’s what we did.

Driving up the coast to Morro Bay.
campingmaysantabarbara2

I’m not much of a seagull lover, but this guy was too photogenic to ignore.campingmay22seagullmorrobayAfter a brief surf session, we continued to Montana de Oro State Park, six miles southwest of Morro Bay and seven miles south of Los Osos on Pecho Road.

It’s fairly rural and rustic, but SO beautiful. We set up camp and were able to manage a late afternoon hike.

With the sun low in the sky; clouds and fog actively moving over the tops of the mountains, it was serene and enervating at the same time.

campingmaymontana3

Crossing a small creek.campingmaymontanawater

Lichen.

campingmaymontanalichen2Pretty yellow flowers.
campingmaymontanaflowersAh-MAY-zing view.campingMay23oroA mole peeking out of his hole.
campingmaymontanamole

Quail are everywhere and for a while, their melodic conversations were the only sounds we heard. These guys were walking around directly outside my tent.

https://youtu.be/bEsFRIbT2C0

Later that evening, after a relaxing fire and glass of wine, we heard the unmistakable scream/growl of a bobcat across the canyon.

At that moment, life was perfection. The only way it could have been better was if tugboat man wasn’t oceans away and not able to enjoy our holiday.

Little did we know that in a few short hours, in sharp contrast to this beauty and tranquility, we would endure the WORST EVER camping experience of our lives.

As we settled down to a good night’s sleep under a star-filled sky, a group of approximately twenty college students set up their camp nearby and proceeded to drink and yell and party LOUDLY until 4:30 a.m. in spite of the 10pm-7am quiet time rules.

Apparently, nobody, including us, got up to inform the camp host or the rangers of this HELL we had to endure, but we all complained to him the next day.

Just awful.

However, at approximately 3:30 a.m. just as we were dozing, or trying to, during the bacchanal, three fat raccoons furiously attempted to tear apart the locked food cabinet next to our picnic table. My son had to get up and shoo them away, and as he put the food in the car, one of them tried to sneak in.

Amazing.

It was an eventful night.

Right after THAT little adventure, a bobcat screamed so close we thought it was within feet of where we were sleeping, and figured that he had an altercation with those raccoons.

No one slept much after that, because we wanted to stay awake in case we could see him walk by.

No luck with the bobcat sighting, but as I unzipped my tent in the morning, see who was looking at me? An beautiful gray fox. These aren’t the best pics because I was in such a hurry to snap them before he ran off.

campingMay23fox1 campingmay25fox2

What an astonishing gift to sort of make up for the rude frat boys.

So far, quite an adventure, don’t you agree?

Part Three: A Ten-Mile Hike