While I travel a fair amount, I don’t always feel a kinship with the places I go. But sometimes, there’s just this jolt, this realization that this place is somewhere magical. Somewhere I could be. San Luis Obispo (let’s just call it SLO, shall we?) is one of those rare places for me.
I’ve been staying close to home lately, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t traveled. I recently went down the rabbit hole to a unique experience in Wonderland. I attended The Mad Hatter’s Ball, a zany event where everyone dressed up (Red Queen approved) and we enjoyed a circus performance with the March Hare balancing on chairs, the caterpillar swinging from silks, and the Cheshire Cat doing some flexible acrobatics.
I am embarrassed to admit this: I could drive to Mexico in 20 minutes from my house…and yet I have only been a handful of times in the nine years I’ve lived in San Diego. My excuses have been many, as you will soon see, but a trip taken with San Diego’s branch of the organization Travel Massive to Valle de Guadalupe in Baja changed my tune completely. Here’s why I put off my trip to Mexico for far too long (and am now kicking myself for waiting):
Just a few miles from the Mid-Century Modern dream that is Palm Springs is Desert Hot Springs, a sleepy little town that struggles with its identity. It still feels mired in the 1950s when celebrities (think: Rat Pack) lounged by the pool and soaked in the hot springs. I can still feel the ghost of Frank Sinatra walking by…