From the Editor JACQUELINE BULL
Lessons in San Diego Geography A Sunday not too long ago, I was making my trek from downtown to Hillcrest. I take the 6th Avenue hill all the way up to University, hugging the west edge of Balboa Park. I like this route; I know it very well. I walk by outdoor yoga, runners, dog walkers, even an earnest flute player on occasion. My errands in Hillcrest took me further east and instead of retracing my steps, I decided to do something that I understood in theory from my devoted practice of pouring over San Diego maps, but had never tried. I decided to head back downtown by intercepting the park. This route brought me through a neighborhood I hadn’t seen before and showed me trails that run through the park like veins. For me, one of the most iconic images of San Diego is how the 163 weaves through Balboa Park like a canyon river under the Cabrillo bridge before it empties out into 10th Avenue and you are immediately in the city. Perhaps I’m biased because this was an image I saw everyday coming back from work, but this image feels more specific than say the airport along the marina (vistas of airports in coastal cities look the same to me), or the concrete high-rises (dead ringer for Vancouver), or so many truly beautiful views that could be anywhere in SoCal. (What do you think is the most iconic vista in San Diego?) Sitting in traffic, I’ve searched to find all the colors of the ice plant blossoms or endeavored to be able to identify all the apartment buildings and hotels in the skyline by shape and position. Anyway, this image of the highway nestled at the bottom of the slope of the park is etched into my mind. When I see it, I know that I’m close to home. On this Sunday, when I was walking these park trails for the first time, I was suddenly on a trail that ran parallel to the highway and I was able to stand underneath and stare up
10 | SDJEWISHJOURNAL.COM March 2021
at the bridge that I have driven under hundreds of times. The trail led all the way up the hill and connected with the bridge. This was exhilarating and jarring at the same time. Discovering a different vantage point from a hugely familiar image was like finding a secret passageway in your childhood home. I have a slight obsession with geography now, but I used to be hopeless. When I was living and driving in Michigan, I was notorious for getting lost outside of the about three routes that I knew. My freshman year of college, I relied on my paper campus map for weeks into classes. (The campus was only about a mile long). Something changed for me when I moved to San Diego. I think the grid system downtown with alphabetical streets running west to east and the numericals running north to south helped. Maybe moving out West made me into an explorer. COVID has meant that I’ve been held to whatever distance I can manage on foot, so I’ve mostly been in one 4-mile radius for a year now. The upside to this is that I know just about every nook and cranny in my purview — “just about” being the key phrase. Pre-COVID even if I was making my routes downtown every week, I couldn’t keep up with what restaurant was opening or closing, or what had finished or started construction. And now, even if I’m not deliberately seeking out a new trail, I see something new. This state of exploration lends me a sense of vibrancy — the two‑fold of knowing and discovering. A