Going Back in Time at Landmark Hotel

Friday, August 21, 2009

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Going Back in Time at Landmark Hotel

By J’AMY PACHECO

There are a few places I’ve been in my life that, as soon as I arrive, I know I’m not in the proverbial Kansas anymore.

Hawaii is one. Each time I’ve stepped off a plane there, I’ve been immediately overcome by a sense of well-being and relaxation. It doesn’t matter what island I’m visiting; the feeling is always the same, and always immediate.

Maybe it’s because somebody’s usually on hand to hang flowers around my neck. More likely it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in the desert, and when you live in the desert, a tropical island is a pretty significant change.

The Grand Canyon was another. It’s been more than 30 years since I saw it, but I still remember the feeling of awe that washed over me when I first glimpsed it. It was so massive, so…well, grand that it seemed to me that it had to be some sort of special effects painting. It was majestic.

I experienced the same feeling last weekend, when I returned to a Southern California resort I hadn’t visited in more than 20 years. My daughter and I were spending the weekend in San Diego with my father and stepmother when the subject of the Hotel del Coronado came up.

A few months ago, my daughter won a young author contest with a book she wrote. Her climactic scene took place in a ballroom at The Del, and I mentioned that she’d written the scene without ever having set foot in the landmark 121-year-old hotel. Plans were quickly made to have Sunday brunch there so our young author could scope out her setting.

I’d only been to The Del twice before. The first time was in 1977, when my father planned a trip to celebrate my high school graduation — and let me bring my best friend. We were desert dwellers then, too, and I vividly recall the excitement I felt when we caught our first glimpse of the hotel’s famed red roof. We rolled the windows down, breathed in the ocean air, and gasped at the beauty of the white wood Victorian hotel when Dad pulled in to park.

Our rooms overlooked the hotel’s courtyard, but my “bff” and I spent hours on the beach looking for – and finding – sand dollars. Late one night, we were out walking when we met two boys who were visiting from New York.

We were as impressed with the fact that they were from New York as they were with us being California girls. My friend and I were newly graduated, vacationing in an oceanfront hotel, and talking to cute boys with accents like Fonzie’s. It was heady stuff. I still have the poem I wrote about that trip.

We stayed in touch by letter and telephone, and almost a year later, I flew back to Rocky Point, New York to stay with the family of one of the boys for two weeks. It turned out we didn’t have nearly as much in common as we’d thought, but it was an exciting time for an 18-year-old girl from the dry, dusty sticks.

In my mind, everything that came later is tied up with my memories of that trip to The Del. Although I longed to go back to the hotel, my low hourly pay as a Kelly Girl made it impossible.

Years later, however, I did go back for a weekend trip with my husband. We had an oceanfront room, and again, spent hours picking up sand dollars on the beach. This time, I bought a paperback copy of a novel called “Bid Time Return” that is set at The Del.

It’s a wonderful book for someone who loves the old hotel. It was the basis for a movie called “Somewhere in Time.” Unfortunately, that movie was shot elsewhere, which made it lose its appeal for me.

The moment I set foot in the lobby, the wonder I’d felt as a 17-year-old came back. Surrounded by Victorian opulence, I felt like I’d traveled backward in time.

After brunch, we explored the hotel and its shops. I bought a book about a ghost said to haunt the hotel, and in a shop called 1888, managed to scrounge up a hardcover copy of “Bid Time Return.” It was a bit pricey, but I wanted my daughter to have her own copy to memorialize the visit.

To her great disappointment, we never did make it down to the shoreline to look for sand dollars. Since we’d dressed up for brunch, none of us was prepared for beachcombing. But even I was sad to miss reliving that experience.

It’s been said that you can’t go home again. Maybe that’s true, but you sure can go back to places and times that represent magical moments in a person’s lifetime.

And every now and then, if you’re lucky, you find things are just as you left them.