In Oceanside

I feel compelled to write, so I’m gonna write, goddammit.

I went to Oceanside yesterday on the train. Grey skies, cool air, slow breeze, and red flags. Beaches of stone and the sounds of rock eroding to sand amid the ebbing waves.


That was pretty cool. I took a Lyft to the Red Line, then the Red Line to the Metrolink. I really just wanted to go on a long train ride and spend five hours trapped somewhere completely different. Sometimes it’s only way for me to truly feel free enough to relax. That, until that train comes, there’s no way in hell I can get back to the Valley or my move or my cat or anything.


I decided at 1145 the night before to catch the 8am train to Oceanside. This meant getting up at 545 so I could be to LA Union Station on time. Luckily, some of that sleep dep got taken care of on the train ride down. I crashed in the weirdest position across from a very pretty woman in a blue patterned shirt.


But so, the train arrived in Oceanside at 10am and the only train back left at 330p so I had a good 5 and a half hours to kill getting to know Downtown Oceanside which, luckily, exists because I booked the train ticket down not knowing if there was actually anything around the station to do.

There’s something different about these beaches and the ones in LA–and not that they’re cleaner, that’s mostly a myth. It’s just that beach real estate is so stupid-expensive it tends to attract the silly-rich and, with that, their strange airs and entitlements.

Oceanside, though, is one of the last remaining places in SoCal with mild-to-moderately not-laughably over-priced real estate. So the crowd is a little less weird and uptight about how everything comes out–which is something I can understand: when you’re spending a lot for something that typically costs a little, you want it to be perfect as fuck. Like Starbucks.

But so Downtown Oceanside turns out to be really cool. I meandered through downtown and found a place where surf and military culture are harmoniously enmeshed. There’s an equitable amount of military surplus and surf shops. Such a marriage of differing cultures creates a neat atmosphere in the town–one that’s both lax and obdurate.

I didn’t take a single picture because I was determined to paint the pictures with words. Don’t think so much, just keep typing and thinking and trying…. What else of Oceanside.

I went to the Surf Museum. It’s about 3000 square feet of historic surfboards andwith replicas, artifacts, and skate history intermingled to create a solid $5 investment and a way to spend 30 minutes to an hour, depending on how many little board-annotations you wanna read.

I spent most of my time sipping tasters at the Stone Brewing Beer Garden. It’s this neat this spot to sit around, drink tasty beer, and read a book. That’s at least what I did for a couple hours. Plus another hour at Pier Point Coffee sending emails. The other three hours I basically just spent walking on the beach clearing my mind and enjoying the sun and the peace and the sand in my toes. Rocks eroding to sand.


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