My Body Lies Over the Ocean

PACIFIC BEACH, Calif. — My first impression of Pacific Beach is frozen in a mental snapshot on a winter morning in 1986. I was sitting on the deck of La Haina Beach House, munching toast and watching the Pacific’s waves roll in from the bottom of a bright blue sky while pondering the move I had just made to San Diego from Texas. In most other places, I would have been amid a Sunday-brunch church crowd, dressed in nice clothes and coats, exchanging polite pleasantries over honey-glazed ham.

That morning at La Haina I was feeling overdressed in my sweatshirt and jeans. The sounds of the ocean and crunching toast were obliterated by Bad Company’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” blaring from the speaker behind my head. My foot was thumping to the bass line when the goose-bumped bikini-clad waitress leaned into view and mouthed the words, “Everything OK?” I decided everything was just fine.

I lived in P.B. (locals use initials), south of La Jolla and about 12 miles north of downtown San Diego, for four years. Even though I had a job, I felt like I was on vacation every day, especially on weekends.

Popular clubs, cafes, java houses, dive bars, funky shops and vacation rentals make Pacific Beach a mecca for singles, college kids, vacationers and, at times, a Venice Beach-like random factor. During the summer, P.B. is a hot skillet of activity. Crystal Pier, a San Diego landmark sticking 750 feet into the sea from the heart of Pacific Beach, is the handle on the skillet.

I have passed by the Crystal Pier Hotel hundreds of times, always intrigued by the words painted in blue on the white archway entrance, “Sleep over the ocean.” Six years later, I accepted the invitation.

My wife, Lori, grew up about a mile from here, and many of our dating days were spent bouncing around the beach on bicycles. The pier and P.B. seemed like a perfect destination for our maiden mini-vacation with the product of our marriage, our infant daughter, Bronwen Olivia.

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In May, I phoned the hotel to get a late spring reservation. Oops. The hotel stays booked two months in advance during the off-season, and about five months in advance for the summer (June 15 to Sept. 15), when the rates go up and a three-night minimum stay is in force. I called again in August to reserve a stay after Labor Day. One cottage was available on a weekend in November for $125 a night, and I snatched it.

We arrived on a 55-degree Friday night in November, drove down Garnet Avenue through the middle of Pacific Beach and stopped at the gateway to the pier, beyond which was the hotel, its cottages strung along the wooden beams over the sand and water. (Anyone can walk on the pier, but the only way you can drive onto it is with a hotel reservation.) We took our key from the night watchman and parked in front of our cabin. At last, the ocean’s roar was beneath us.

Our little white cottage, trimmed in blue hand-carved shutters, was surrounded by a white picket fence enclosing a deck with patio furniture. The open-beam, mini-A-frame living room had sliding glass doors opening to the deck overlooking the beach. The cabin included a kitchenette with stove and refrigerator, separate bedroom and a shower.

There are many good beach-fare eateries to choose from, but the long day and baby in the stroller suggested someplace nearby for a late dinner--such as T.D. Hays, a veteran steak and seafood establishment around the corner. We ate a light dinner of salad, roasted chicken and vegetables, swapped a few baby-buggy stories over a couple of drinks with the family next to us, then pushed our stroller back to the pier.

We put the wee one to bed and sat out on the deck to enjoy the night. The ocean’s curvature disappeared into the horizon, fuzzily illuminated by the boardwalk lights. White waves marched in from the black-velvet abyss, dissolving into the shore. A car rolled past our cabin on the pier, sounding like thunder in the distance.

Sunshine flooded our cottage at dawn. Surfers were already on the waves (or perhaps they never left), and the beach begged for joggers. I took a quick jaunt along the shore to kick-start the heart, then returned to watch the baby while Lori took her turn. She came back glowing. The sun was heating up our deck loungers, so we climbed in and baked peacefully. The temperature was in the mid-70s by 10 and we were feeling warm with fortune.

We remained horizontal until noon, when Lori’s parents came to visit. They live nearby and were happy to relieve us of our baby-sitting chores for a few hours.

The going rate in P.B. for renting a bicycle is about $5 an hour or $10 for the day. We got a couple of beach cruisers and headed south on the boardwalk, where there’s always a mix of bicycles, skateboards and roller-blades weaving in and out between pedestrians. Traffic is lighter in the off-season, but the sunny day had lured a spontaneous crowd to the beach. Couples with blankets darted in front of us and jumped over the retaining wall to join sunbathers napping on the dirty-blond sand.

We headed south of the pier to Belmont Park, a development built around a big, friendly indoor swimming pool called the Plunge. Built in 1925, the Plunge has taught many generations of San Diegans to swim, including Lori, who came here as a little girl with her father. Today, the park has all the sights and sounds of a carnival, bustling with kids of all ages anxious to board the carousel, Tilt-a-Whirl and, the biggest ride, the Big Dipper roller coaster.

Like the pier and the Plunge, the Big Dipper is a San Diego tradition, having withstood time and renovations. For $2 this wooden geezer offers a lot of bang for the buck. It shook everything but the smile off my face.

La Haina Beach House is on our way back to the pier, so we stopped for lunch and a celebration of this beautiful day. We parked our bikes with the others and worked our way through the afternoon crowd on the deck. After a big, juicy burger and hot wings, we joined the sun-soaked party outside to finish our margaritas.

Back at the hotel, surfers were in view on both sides of the pier as fishermen cast long lines and late afternoon shadows. You need a license to fish from the pier, but you don’t need one to watch. We walked to the end for a closer view of the evening’s sunset performance and were treated to a fiery magenta and lavender-splashed masterpiece.

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Later, we met a friend for dinner at San Diego’s Cafe y Cantina, located in the Promenade a few blocks south of the pier, where we enjoyed carnitas and enchiladas, rice, black beans, chips and salsa. Back at the pier, it didn’t take long for the waves beneath our bed to lull us to sleep.

Sunday morning came too soon. We were awake early enough to walk across the street to Kono’s, the most popular breakfast spot at the beach. Portions are huge, the food delicious, prices low, and, if you get there after 9, the line is long. We took our bulging plates of eggs, bacon, potatoes, pancakes, toast and cups of juice and coffee back to our patio table at the pier.

After breakfast, we lingered in our loungers listening to the waves and willing our 11 a.m. checkout time to go away. It didn’t. So we loaded the car and slowly pulled away from the pier, promising more frequent visits in the future. Maybe we’ll make it a family tradition.

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Budget for Three

Crystal Pier Hotel, 2 nights: $276.25

Dinner, T.D. Hays: 43.00

Bike rental: 20.00

Lunch, La Haina Beach House: 10.25

Dinner, Cafe y Cantina: 34.05

Breakfast, Kono’s: 10.00

FINAL TAB: $393.55

The Crystal Pier Hotel, 4500 Ocean Blvd., San Diego, CA 92109; tel. (800) 748-5894.