So yesterday we were travelling South, from Huntington Beach to San Diego. Just north of San Diego is the less known enclave called La Jolla. It’s pronounced La Hoya. I’d heard of it because one of my oldest and best friends had spent a 2 year, yes 2 year, ‘sabbatical’ there, 5 years ago. It was only going to be a year, but he loved it so much he extended it by a year.
But about. 4 weeks ago, I got his special request, that when he dies, he wants his ashes to be distributed (if that’s the right word) on the shores of La Jolla beach. Of all the places in the whole world, this was the place he’d chosen. And more than that, his brother and I had been specially selected to distribute them, and it has to be ‘in person’. We both agreed. What choice did we have? His will now provides for it. By way of consolation, it further provides that his Estate will pay for us to travel Business Class, to ‘deliver’ the ashes to this spot. As if that will in any way console us.
Anyway, we found the place. Or what we thought was the place. It looked nice. But I have to say, not ‘amazing’. I sent him a photo, asking if we’d got the right place. And the answer that came back was: ‘no’, where he wanted to be ‘distributed’ was 10 minutes away, further round the coast, although he did say that he ‘loved’ the cove that I had photographed. Here’s a photo of the cove/the ‘wrong’ place. Good job I asked, or we’d have messed this all up.
We never got round to finding the right place. Do I hope I never have to find it? An interesting conundrum that I don’t intend to linger on or try and answer.