July 4th, 1985

For the 4th of July weekend, 1985, I drove with Carmela, her boyfriend, Kathy Braidhill, and a couple of other folks from Arcadia down Interstate 5 through San Diego, across the border, past Rosarito Beach, and into Ensenada where our hotel was.  We parked, unloaded our bags, got refreshed, and went out for dinner.  We ate shrimp and lobster, Carmela's anticipated meal along a coastal dining hall.  After dinner, we walked out onto the beach.  Remember, the 4th of July is no Mexican holiday.  So it was only us a few other Americans southside lighting off fireworks on the beach.  A Mexican soldier was patrolling the beach, checking on just such incidents to keep the celebrations of Americans down to a minimum.  But the 

Papa's and Beer was famous back in the 1980s for a wild place to drink.  They have restaurants all over, but one in Rosarito Beach and one in Ensenada.  I visited the one in Ensenada.  I finally made it down there, not to drink per se, but to just see the place and wonder what all the buzz was about.  It was mainly about and for drinkers.  It didn't interest me, but I was glad that I made it there.  

Thirty years later, it still looks the same.  

That certainly was not the main attraction of that vacation, not by a damn sight.  For me, it was the return trip north out of party-central Ensenada to a gorgeous cliffside restaurant and bar.  It may have been in Azul Punto or Blue Point.  What was beautiful about that place is that we had dinner on a cliffside deck built out of the rock.  The six of us sat at a redwood party bench overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  It was late afternoon and we had a 180° view of the ocean from 4pm to 7pm.  They also had an indoor dance floor but its windows and doors were flung completely open, creating an outdoor atmosphere inside next to the bar.  For a young man, it was luxurious: immeasurable view of the ocean, great food, margaritas, and the tranquility of seeing whales head north along the coast.  It was so good.  And one song Kathy and I danced to was Julian Lennon's, "Too Late to Say Goodbye," (1985).  I didn't think much of the song when I heard it on the radio while driving to work or on the way home, but in that restaurant, it took on an enchantment all its own.