#7: The Sprinkles Cupcake ATM

After living in Los Angeles for five years, I'm sure I've used the phrase "only in LA" more than once, as the only way to possibly justify all of the ridiculous things this city has to offer.

"Only in LA can you take a 70s themed fitness class from Richard Simmons."

"Only in LA will you see Leonardo Dicaprio in an Anthropologie." (this made my life)

And truly, only in LA is there an after-hours ATM for cupcakes.

Yes, CUPCAKES.  Because Angeleos have such tough lives that sometimes the only cure is a cupcake fix at any and all hours of the night.

And the cupcake ATM doesn't dispense just any old cupcake... it dispenses LA's boutique cupcake  du'jour, Sprinkles Cupcakes.  One could argue that Sprinkles is single-handedly responsible for the country-wide cupcake craze, and for good reason.  They are really amazingly delicious cupcakes.

Now don't get me wrong, I love me a good cupcake, but I have never quite found myself NEEDING a cupcake after 8pm (especially when there is ample fro-yo available, hello!)  But I am apparently in the minority with that thinking, as there is a line for the Cupcake ATM every single night.  I quickly learned this when my friend Kaio and I popped by the ATM at around 9pm on a Thursday in December to buy myself a novelty cupcake and check this final LA oddity off my bucket list.

I could hardly believe that there was a line, but as we waited ever so patiently while two guys five people ahead of us bought literally a dozen cupcakes (made 12 times worse by the fact that you can only purchase one cupcake at a time), we started conversations with the people in line with us.  Two young girls behind us, the must have been high-school aged, were particularly enlightening.  They both said that they were "like totally addicted" to Sprinkles cupcakes, and they come to the ATM - and wait in line - almost every single night.  They also told us that this long line we were complaining about was actually "like totally short in comparison to most nights."  A dad in front of us with his tween-age daughter told us that they waited in line, in the rain, on the ATM's opening night... FOR THREE HOURS.  I have never felt so out of place in my beloved Los Angeles, except for maybe the time I accidentally stumbled upon Skid Row during dinner time.

So anyway, after about 30 minutes of waiting, Kaio and I finally made it to the front of the line and it was time for me to order my cupcake.  Of course they didn't have the flavor I wanted (lemon, the best cake flavor ever to exist... though it is worth noting that they DO sell doggy cupcakes for your furry friends) so I settled on vanilla, knowing I would be giving it to my mom as an early "thanks for feeding me for a week over the Christmas holiday" gift.  Of course when I swiped my credit card it didn't work, and after four attempts, as I'm breaking out in a sweat knowing there is a huge line of people behind me waiting on the bozo who can't get her credit card to swipe, the in-the-know girls behind me told me to swipe down to up, and it worked.  They obviously had this down.  I selected my vanilla cupcake, and waited with anticipation as I saw the robot ATM arm reach up and grab the box, then ever so gently place it in the recepticle, which then spun around and TA-DA my cupcake was in front of me.  Not to mention that it was (naturally) about half the size of an in-store Sprinkles cupcake, but whatever, here I had a $4 cupcake in a cute little box delivered to me via an Automated Teller.

When I gave it to my mom the next day, I insisted that after ALL the work I put into it, she had to share it with me (I'm a great daughter, I know).  She said it was the best cupcake she'd ever had, and I thought it was pretty delicious too. 

You can see all the boxes of cupcakes behind the cute pink mesh

Who waits in line for a cupcake machine?! I do.

My excitement is barely contained after waiting in line for 30 minutes!

My cupcake is on its way!!

#16: Santa Anita Park Horse Races

The first year I lived in LA, I technically lived on the Westside.  I say "technically" because, though Westchester is considered the Westside, it is much closer to the ghetto than the beach, and is most famous for being the "Home of LAX."  But anyway, for a weird 6 months of my life, I lived in an apartment right under the flight path of planes flying into LAX.  It was only after I moved in that I realized this apartment wasn't actually in Westchester, but Inglewood.  And as I mentioned in my Watts post, if you know a city's name from a mid-90's gangsta rap song, it's probably not the ideal place to live.  I like to think I built up tons of street cred (I didn't) but the one thing I did learn about Inglewood is that it was home to a huge ghetto horse track and casino called Hollywood Park.

I always wanted to go to Hollywood Park, if simply to revel in how misleading the name was.  Hollywood Park sounds pretty legit, a classy place where stars go to classily bet on horse races, but no, it's definitely in the ghetto whose most famous former resident is Ice Cube.  And the naturally shady aspect of horse racing could only have been intensified in such a setting.  I was fascinated.  But as soon as I moved out of the ghetto and into the 'Hills, I realized that maybe I should just try to be fabulous, not ghetto fabulous, and go to a legitimately classy horse race park instead.  I think it goes without saying that my move to Beverly Hills was a life upgrade in more ways than one.

So, a few years later, I finally made it out to Santa Anita Park in Pasadena, host of the Breeders Cup and other actually meaningful Southern California horse races.  My good friend Marsha - a veritable horse expert - agreed to go with me, and I can't stress how much better the experience was going with someone who knew what a "thoroughbred" was.  I certainly had no clue.  We even wore pretty dresses and fancy hats, just to add a little extra something fun.

General admission cost I think $7, but we paid $20 each for the fancy eat-lunch-while-you-watch-with-a-TV-at-your-table seats, which was definitely worth the extra money.  We were able to sit under an awning, which would have been essential on a hot day, but was EVEN more essential as it was a bit drizzly that day and we didn't want to ruin our fab horseracing dresses.

After we walked around the stadium and checked out the parade of horses about to race, we made it to our table to order lunch and a bottle of wine, which we leisurely consumed over the next four hours. Marsha spent a good part of our afternoon teaching me the different types of horses, and how to read the stats pages.  She also taught me to correct terminology associated with horse racing, such as "trifecta," "superfecta," and the differences between "winning," "placing" and "showing" (basically fancy ways of saying first, second, and third).  She was so patient with me and taught me about the science and speculation behind what people "think" makes a good racehorse.  It was truly fascinating, and she saved me lots of googling.

There were 8 races that afternoon, and we sat through the first five trying to guess the trifectas - basically which horses would come in first, second AND third in the race.  Trifectas have a big payout, something like 50-to-1, and needless to say I didn't correctly guess a single one.  As the sixth race approached we finally finished our delicious lunch and decided to place some real bets.

I bet on a superfecta, which guesses the top 4 finishers, in any order.  Marsha placed three separate bets, for a specific horse to win, a different horse to place, and yet another to show.  I got 3 out of my 4 for the superfecta, which was "close but no cigar" but Marsha actually did correctly predict which horse would place.  Of our total $12 we bet (high rollers, I know) I think we got $5 back.  I was hesitant to bet much more, simply because after 6 races having not even guessed correctly once, I just knew I would just be throwing my money away. 

We sat through the next two races before deciding to head home.  We had spent about 4 hours at the track, and had a blast.  I learned more than I ever thought I would about horse racing, horse breeding, and horses in general.  Marsha was totally in her element and I had a truly fabulous (non-ghetto) time, that I'm sure I would NOT have had at Hollywood Park!

Me, Marsha and our hats checking out the Winners Circle, where the jockeys walk around the horses before their races.

Horses racing towards the finish line, right in front of our seats

Enjoying a late afternoon lunch at the races :)

#41: Bike the South Bay Trail

When I first moved to LA, I worked in Venice Beach.  Every Monday, a friend and I would meet up on the Venice Beach boardwalk, get sandwiches, and eat on the beach.  Even in the middle of winter, the boardwalk would be crowded with bicyclists, rollerbladers, skateboarders, all mixed in with a very eclectic mix of people walking around.  And I could never figure out... who are all these people crowding the boardwalk at noon on a Monday in the middle of December?  As I was on my all-too-brief lunch break, I was very envious of these people and their apparently laid back life-style that could afford them a boardwalk bike ride on a Monday.    

Four years later, I have learned that everywhere in this city is crowded in the middle of every day, because millions upon millions of people don't actually have traditional jobs, or any job at all.  Plus, the Venice Beach Boardwalk (and the bike path, locally known as "the Strand") in particular are very popular tourist destinations.  Well ok, I was still super envious of all those seemingly laid-back people biking along the beach, and vowed to eventually set aside a day to take a beach cruiser ride along the boardwalk for myself.

With a little research, I learned that the Strand is actually called the South Bay Trail, and runs all the way from Will Rogers State Beach in Malibu down to Torrance County Beach.  The entire trail is 22 miles long, which is entirely too long for a leisurely day ride. Plus, like I really want to ride my bike to Torrance, come on.  So I decided to focus on the best beach areas - Dockweiler State Beach to the Santa Monica Pier, which clocked in at just under 10 miles each way. 

My friend Marsha, who is always up for relaxing adventures (not an oxy-moron as one may think) and I headed out to rent some beach cruisers on a perfect Sunday afternoon.  We rented our bikes from Fisherman's Village in Marina del Rey, and once we got fitted with our sweet bikes (Marsha with a seafoam green beauty, me with baby blue) we set off on the Strand north towards Santa Monica.  

The first 20 minutes of the ride consisted of going around the Marina, through all the boat docks and then down Washington Blvd towards the ocean. Along the ride, I learned that Marsha had never been to the Venice Beach Boardwalk, so when we arrived at the beach, we decided to walk our bikes along the main thoroughfare so she could soak in all the unique, quirky, and frankly amazing people-watching Venice has to offer.  We walked past the Venice Art Walls, which are a group of walls that graffiti artists are allowed to paint over any way they'd like. We passed dozens of booths selling locally-made wares, the Venice Beach Freak Show (home to several 2-headed turtles, amongst much more!), groups of rollerbladers performing choreographed dances, and even talked to the World's Greatest Wino.  After getting lost for a few (20) minutes, we parked our bikes outside Zelda's Deli, one of the best sandwich shops I have ever eaten at.  We feasted on amazing panninis, bottled Coca-Cola, and fresh-made mini donuts.  This is one of my most favorite meals in all of Los Angeles.

After the Venice Boardwalk, we continued north, with the beach on our left and awesome people-watching on our right.  We passed the Venice Farmers Market, the Santa Monica Traveling Rings, several amazing kite fliers, and eventually made it up to the Santa Monica Pier.  It was literally a perfect Sunday weather-wise, so the pier was full of people.  We decided we didn't want to carry our bikes up 2 flights of stairs just to walk them along the pier (Marsha and I both have already experienced the pier several times) so we instead opted to take the tunnel under the pier and kept on riding.  

After a few more minutes, we decided to turn around because we realized our butts were getting sore from the bike seats, and we still had 10 more miles to ride.  We cruised back through Santa Monica and Venice, and stopped at one of my favorite Mexican restaurants on Washington Blvd for a margarita break.  Two delicious peach and mango margaritas later, we hopped back on our bikes and continued down to Marina del Rey.  We kept heading south past Fisherman's Village, down to the Ballona Creek trail (where the LMU rowers practice) and all the way down to Dockweiler State Beach in Playa del Rey.  Many people may not know Dockweiler by name, but if you've ever taken off in a plane from LAX, you have flown over Dockwieler.  

After we had gotten our fill of the late afternoon breeze and the loud jets taking off overhead, we turned around and headed back to Fisherman's Village to return our bikes.  Our all-day rental came with a free scoop of ice cream (a business after my own heart) which we enjoyed while watching the seals and pelicans play around in the water.  

Overall, we had a blast.  It was the perfect, laid-back, slow-paced touristy day I had always wanted.  Though I am so, so happy that I eventually moved away from the Westside and now only visit occasionally, it was great to experience everything again, but this time from a beach cruiser. 

The map of our journey.

Photo op in Venice!

The bike path with the front-row ocean view

Preferred method of transportation from now on: Baby Blue Beach Cruiser

Yachts in the marina, Marina del Rey

The Santa Monica Pier

Ballona Creek tributary leading to the ocean in Playa del Rey

# 29: Catalina Island

In a recent issue of LA Magazine, they listed 50 "great" weekend getaways.  In classic LA Mag fashion, about 45 of them were completely infeasible without an unlimited budget and a private jet.  But one of their suggestions caught my eye:  a ferry trip to Catalina Island, conveniently located just 20 miles off the coast of Long Beach.  I mentioned the idea to a friend, who was appalled that I had never been to the island.  She had, in fact, been there so many times that she had lost count of how many times she had thrown up on the Catalina Express ferry.  (I made a mental note to suggest the trip to some other friends instead).

Then, not a few days later, my dad called me out of the blue, to suggest a family trip to Catalina! I was so surprised and excited.  Moments later, of course, I realized that the only reason he suggested doing something fun was because my brother was coming into town.  Of course.  But either way, this was even better.  Because instead of driving to Long Beach and then taking the ferry, we could take my brother's SUPER convenient plane and fly there ourselves!!

I am not a huge fan of flying, and though I've flown in my brother's plane several times, I'm always a bit nervous.  However, this flight was awesome. We flew right over LA, and I was able to pick out all the landmarks that I knew from 10,000 feet above.  After we flew over Long Beach, we banked west and circled over the island.  When I spotted the runway - literally a small strip of pavement on top of a mountain - I died a little inside.  But, I fully trust my brother's piloting abilities, and he landed us at the "Airport in the Sky" with no issue.

Once we landed, we took a shuttle from the airport down into the island's only town, called Avalon.  The drive through the interior of the island was beautiful, but slow due to the tiny narrow road and numerous hairpin turns.  But we were able to see a majority of the island, which visitors that come via the ferry wouldn't even have access to.  We even saw a few of the notorious wild buffalo that roam the island, but our shuttle driver told us to be sure to stay faaaar away from any buffalo ("They aren't cows" he admonished).

Once we made it down into Avalon, we rented a golf cart and got exploring.  Most people on the island don't have cars (not much room) so golf carts are treated like normal cars, complete with having to obey the stop signs.  I don't think I've ever seen any golf cart on the Paramount lot actually stop at a stop sign.  But anyway.  Our first stop on the island was the botanical gardens.  After meandering through the brief paths of indigenous and endemic plant species, we headed to the top of the hill towards a large cement structure.  Upon reading the signs, I learned that it was a memorial to William Wrigley Jr, of Wrigley gum and Chicago Cubs fame.  Apparently, he bought the island from a struggling development company in the 1920's and turned it into what it is now.  He is responsible for paving the first roads, building the first hotels and attractions, and providing basic power and infrastructure to the island.  For the trivia-curious: Wrigley used the island for the Cubs spring training location for over thirty years, and the Wrigley family deeded the entire island to the Catalina Island Conservancy in 1975, who now controls 88% of the island.

The memorial was, for the lack of a better word, incredibly ostentatious considering the location and the laid-back lifestyle of the island.  But, he funded it himself, so it would make sense that the memorial would seem incredibly over-the-top and out of place.  After we walked up and down the memorial, we drove around to the back side of the island, to see the Wrigley Mansion, which is now a very beautiful (and I would assume, very expensive) hotel overlooking the entire bay.

We wound our way back into town (after several photo-op stops, thanks Dad!) and drove past the famous Catalina Casino.  There were lots of signs informing us that the casino is not a "real" casino, and that the word in Italian means "large meeting space" and was initially built as a dance hall.  Now it's the island's only movie theater (playing Hope Springs, a little bit behind the times!) and on the 2nd floor is the world's largest circular ballroom.  The building was built - as well as much of the town - to mimic Monaco.  My dad, who has been pretty much everywhere in the world, could attest to its similarity... though I think no one would be surprised that Monaco was a bit grander.

After all the driving, we were starving and settled in for water-side dining at Armstrong's seafood, followed by ice cream and fresh-baked waffle cones from Olaf's.  As anyone who knows me knows, it was the perfect lunch.  We finished the day off by some gift shop shopping, and a final stroll around the main dock.  By the time we were getting ready to leave, the Catalina Express ferry had come in and the town had quickly become incredibly crowded.  We were happy to take the next shuttle back to the Airport in the Sky and take a leisurely flight back to my parent's house in Camarillo.

Overall, it was a great day, made especially memorable by being able to spend time with my family.  The weather was absolutely perfect, the flight was smooth, and the adventures were awesome!! 

My brother, Captain Dave. 

The heart-stopping view of the airport.

Island view off the wing.

Family portrait (the plane is my brother's baby, therefore part of the family as well) 

My first view of Avalon. 

The main path in the Botanical Gardens, with the Wrigley Memorial in the background. 

Full grown (about 7 feet tall) aloe plant.

Me and my brother inside the Wrigley Memorial. 

Avalon and a partial view of the harbor.  

A fuller view of the harbor and the casino.

The Catalina Casino/movie theater/ballroom

Harbor/town view from the other side of town. 

Overlooking the harbor and some really lovely houses.  

#12: The Watts Towers

I would like you all to think that I learned about the Watts Towers because I am really plugged into the cultural folklore of Los Angeles, but I most likely learned about them from this amazing 2001 R&B masterpiece music video by Watts native, Tyrese Gibson.  Seriously, do yourself a favor and skip to the 2:20 mark for an epic dance breakdown in front of the towers.

So, 11 years ago when I first saw the Watts Towers all lit up in da club in that video, I didn't really have a clue what they were.  Seeing as they are in a city called "Watts," I kind of just assumed that they were unnecessarily fancy power lines or something of the sort (Watts, wattage, get it?).  It wasn't until many years later when I first moved to LA and was reading up on LA's ghetto's histories (it's really fascinating stuff) that I learned the Watts Towers are actually an art installation.  Huh.  Who knew.

The more I read about them, the more intrigued I was to see them in person.  They are, however, in Watts, which as any self-respecting hip hop fan could tell you, is in the heart of the South Central ghetto.  And I'm not talking ghetto like "omg this place is soooo ghetto, it only serves Coors Light."  I'm talking ghetto like "that building over there is a home-base for the Crips, which might explain the bullet holes all over its walls." Certainly not a place I would want to find myself after sundown, if you know what I mean.

My friend Kaio and I have been wanting to go to Watts for years (for the towers and also to try the legendarily amazing soul food at the Watts Coffee House) but every time we were about to go, we chickened out.  It really takes a lot to ignore the South Central reputation.  Many older LA locals refuse to go anywhere near Watts or South Central in general, because they still remember the Watts Riots of 1965, not to mention the "Rodney King Riots" of 1992 and all the crimes in-between glorified by hip hop artists since the '80s.  But after reading probably about 100 yelp reviews, many of which say "get your white ass down here, you'll be fine" we finally built up the cajones to just go.  And I must say, I am SO glad we did.

As we got off the freeway at Wilmington, it was very obvious that we weren't in "Kansas" anymore... or really anywhere slightly resembling our usual LA haunts.  There were lots of people walking around and all of the buildings looked very, very shabby, but no one bothered us or even paid attention.  We had a little bit of trouble finding the Coffee House, since it is literally in a building inside another building, and the exterior building is some sort of youth outreach organization.  Luckily we saw the little sign in the window and made our way through.  The place was tiny, with probably only about 10 tables, and only 2 were filled.  One table had a well-dressed black guy and his mom ("When you say well-dressed, do you mean he was wearing a sweet FUBU track suit?" - my racist boyfriend) and the other table had a bunch of white college kids.  I'm not gonna lie, I was a little upset that it had taken me so long to work the nerve up to go here, since it was completely harmless.

Our waitress, though, was the real deal.  Low-cut shirt with cleavage up to her chin, a permanent scowl on her face and popping gum, she took our order even though I'm sure she had better things to do.  We ordered chicken, waffles, biscuits, eggs, and I ordered a Diet Coke.  Was told there was only regular coke, which I said was fine, but then the waitress brought me a Sprite, with a look on her face like "I dare you to complain about this Sprite"... so I drank the Sprite.  The fried chicken wings were AMAZING.  Like, a thousand times better than Roscoes.  They were obviously freshly cooked, and to perfection.  I was sad when the meal was over.

Mmm... fried chicken.

After we worked up the energy to move, we quickly drove over to the Towers, which are less than a mile from the coffee house.  Anywhere else in LA, we would have walked.  But I didn't want to push our luck, since things were going well so far.  I also had to talk Kaio out of taking the "scenic" route, which would have taken us right through one of the most (in)famous projects in Watts, Jordan Downs. 

The thing about the Watts Towers, is that even though they are technically a state park, they are in the middle of a very unassuming neighborhood.  Describing the Watts Towers, or looking at pictures, doesn't really do them much justice.  They really are a sight to see in person.  Anyone can drive around the neighborhood where the towers are, and you can get pretty close to them if you get out of your car.  However, there is a (see-through) fence around the perimeter, and you can only go inside by paying $7 to take a tour (you can purchase your tour tickets from the visitor/art center which is right next to the towers).  The tour was extremely informative, and it was obvious that our guide had personal pride in these symbols of his hometown.

View from the street

The story of the towers is truly fascinating.  As I learned from our guide, as well as the 12-minute video they showed us in the visitors center, Simon Rodia was an Italian immigrant, who found himself in Southern California in the 1920s working construction.  He was a very small man (4'10"), and like many small men, he was determined to do something "big" with his life.  He began building the structures in his backyard, using only simple tools like hammers, pliers, mallets and nails.  He used scrap steel from the railroad for the rebar base of the structures, then wrapped chicken wire around the metal, and covered the wire in a cement sand mixture.  He then covered the cement with "garbage," mostly pieces of broken pottery or ceramics, soda bottles, and more scrap metal.  Over 32 years, he spent every moment of his free time building a total of nine towers, with the tallest standing at 99 feet. In order to get to the tops, he would just climb up, and use a basic window-washers belt to keep himself from falling.

As the story goes, Rodia was working on the towers one day in 1954 when he fell, and he says the fall was so bad that he knew that was his cue to stop.  He was in his 70s at the time, and was content with just stopping where he was.  It wasn't long though, that neighbors started hassling him, and defacing his masterpiece.  Throughout his time building, everyone had accused him of being crazy, of building the towers to communicate with the Japanese, or aliens, or that he was building a weapon.  One day, he had had enough, and just left.  He sold his property to a neighbor for $1, and moved to Northern California to never come back again.

Over the years, the city wanted to tear the towers down, convinced that they were unsafe and a hazard to people around them, especially during an earthquake.  A few local advocates, who wanted to preserve the towers (as they had very quickly become a local landmark) asked the city to do a stress-test before tearing them down.  The city sent out a crane to exert 10,000 lbs of force and the crane broke before any of the towers moved an inch!  The engineer hired to do the test said that it could cost the city more money to take them down than they would ever get out of the worth of the land, so the towers were allowed to stay.  Soon after, a trust was set up and the towers and the lot they stand on became a state park, and is currently curated by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Every single surface of these 9 towers, as well as archways and other fountains he built, are covered in colorful mosaics.  The intricate criss-crossing of the lines shows that he had a vision from the very beginning, and that at the end everything would come together.  I was truly amazed at the scope and vision of this artist.  He really did turn trash into treasure - a treasure that is really valued by locals as a sign of perseverance, hope, and success.

(Trivia Bonus! Simon Rodia is included in the big group picture on the cover of the Beatles album "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!)

Entry archway mosaic made from Sprite and Ginger Ale bottles.

Fountain with tallest tower behind it

Fountain mosaic detail

What looks like a bunch of random pieces from far away, are all symmetric and make sense up close

Rodia actually named his installation "Nuestra Pueblo" which means "Our Town."

These connected towers are supposed to represent the sail of a ship, based on a parade float Rodia saw in his childhood in Italy.

1930's Canada Dry ginger ale bottles - Canada Dry was Rodia's favorite drink so he featured these bottles prominently throughout the towers.

Rodia signed his work with a simple "S.R." and imprints of the tools he used

Me and Kaio in front of one of many archways

We saw THIS GUY on our way out of town.  It may be prejudicial, but we both felt like our South Central experience was a bit more authentic since we saw a bad ass pimp in a bright-green lo-lo.

#42: The Flower Fields

The blog posts have been (sadly) slowing down, because my real life has been speeding up! I am working more than ever, my little side crafting business has started to take off, and I hardly have had free time to myself!

I am still determined to get as close as possible to finishing this list, but sometimes nature just won't let me.   For two years, I have wanted to drive up to the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve, with promises of views like this:

Cue the zoom-in shot of me twirling in circles ala Julie Andrews

But of course, California has had two of its driest winters on record, and for the last two years they've gotten hardly any wildflower blooms.  Even after checking the Wildflower Hotline weekly (yes, I did) they never reported anything more than brown grasses and small patches of poppies.

Womp, womp.

But luckily for me, California has quite the growing climate, and when not relying on natural water resources, pretty much anything will grow here.  While sitting at home on a weekend crafting to blisters, I was watching some old reruns of The Millionaire Matchmaker (don't judge) and on one of the "dates," a matched couple went to this glorious place called The Flower Fields.  I was on my phone looking this place up faster than Patti Stanger could say "no sex before monogamy!!"

Turns out The Flower Fields is a ranunculus farm in Carlsbad, just north of San Diego.  A bit of a drive for me, but one of my best friends Nicole lives down in SD, and we made a plan to meet up.  I would drive, and she would bring lunch.

We went on the last weekend the fields were open to the public for the 2012 season.  We got there right around noon, and the weather couldn't have been better.  Sunny and warm, not a cloud in the sky, with a nice ocean breeze.  We were, after all, in San Diego.  Nicole and I enjoyed lunch at the picnic tables right by the entrance, before slowly strolling through the Munchkinland-esque fields of ranunculus.   At the bottom of the hill the colors were all mixed together, but further up the hill they were separated by color, looking like a big floral rainbow.

Even my Nikon doesn't do the colors justice... but it gets close!

We skipped on the tractor ride, which was mostly filled with kids.

Right off the entrance was a wide path that was filled with people, so instead we went to the left and down a few fields to get away from the crowds.  We also realized that we were away from any park personnel, thus giving us the bravery to venture into the fields themselves for some great photo ops.  I made sure to take a picture in the orange section, as an homage to how I hope the poppy fields will be someday!

Today: Ranunculus, someday, POPPIES!

Nicole wanted to do a bunch of complex yoga poses, but sometimes you can't beat simplicity!

After we did a big loop around all the fields, we attempted the Sweet Pea maze (and failed), tried a lavender/strawberry sundae from the strawberry stand, and bought bunches of fresh cut ranunculus before heading back.  It was an incredible afternoon.  Flower fields on that scale are inspiring to say the least!

My fresh-cut flowers the next day!