An Excellent Day with Excellent Friends
San Juan Capistrano Revisited
Anyone who knew me in my California life knows that I was all about taking the train, the MetroLink specifically. It was my way of pretending that my place of birth had a subway and the public transit that I adore and find in DC.
BUT, back then, it was an adventure. I loved taking this thing with my friends. On the weekends, you could buy an all-day ride pass for cheap and jump around on and off the stops.
This, coupled with a Groupon, brought me and my friends down to San Juan Capistrano.
Brian, Thierry, Chris, and I jammed down to the mission to revisit our 4th grade fieldtrip destination of choice, the Mission at San Juan Capistrano.
The ride down from Fullerton to San Juan is a little over an hour, and I love it. It is perfect example of the nameless, bright moments that friendship brings. I cannot name a single thing we talked about then. I just know I loved it all.
With this stop, though, the trick is to know that when you get off the train, you need to wait for the train to leave before you carry on. Just on the other side of the tracks is an excellent coffee shop under a massive tree, Hidden House Cafe. Since finding it, I would visit too often given the distance between here and there for me. There would be days when I would take this train down to San Juan for coffee and reading, and then doubleback to visit downtown LA for a museum or show.
After coffee and vibes, we visited the random petting zoo around the corner, saw an emu, and then went to the mission.
It is important to mention this mission is on Acjachemen land and my sense of tangible history is only a reference to the society that I comprehend, not of the fuller history this area has known.
We walked around the mission, and I started to fall into character. I let my friends leave the rooms first, and I would call out to them, “hey, who am I?” before slowly emerging with my hands placed over another on my chest. I gave the most pious expression with my face looking side to side, and I would sometimes gently place a hand on the door, moving it as if it were a drape in the doorway as I exited the rooms. I was “priest.”
The joke didn’t land. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
“Ah, come on!” And I’d try it again the next room over.
Brian got it, “Yeah, that’s him. That’s exactly what he would do.”
I freaking howled.
More soon,
Trevor