Trip Diary: On the Road

When three nations and 16 cities come together to host the FIFA World Cup 2026, the scale stops feeling like a tournament and starts feeling like geography. A continent becomes the stage as borders soften into corridors. And Southern California—shaped by migration, sport, entertainment, and constant movement—sits inside that landscape with all eyes on it.

San Diego and Los Angeles have always felt connected. Hop on the Pacific Surfliner, and the trip unfolds in one continuous stretch of coastline, passing beach towns, neighborhoods, and city centers.

Traveling from San Diego, everything still feels slightly suspended as the Pacific Surfliner follows the coast north with ocean on one side and a slow suburban blur on the other. San Diego stays in exhale. Los Angeles is already building toward something louder.

This summer, Los Angeles will host eight matches of the FIFA World Cup at Los Angeles Stadium, including the US Men’s National Team opener on June 11, while the region stretches into 39 days of programming across stadiums, parks, transit hubs, beaches, and neighborhoods. Instead of one massive fan hub, Los Angeles is embracing a citywide celebration, with fan zones spread across its entirety.

But this pattern has been rehearsed here for decades. In 1994, Southern California became one of the defining stages of the World Cup, when matches at the Rose Bowl placed global attention on the region and turned local stadiums into international landmarks, confirming its ability to hold the world at scale.

What distinguishes Southern California is not just infrastructure, but cultural permeability. Fashion, music, film, art, and sport constantly overlap here, creating an environment where identity is flexible and always in motion. From the Venice boardwalk, where skate culture shaped modern street style, to global soccer stars rubbing shoulders with Hollywood celebs, to authentic Spanish cuisine moving up and down the I-5 corridor, everything circulates.

The World Cup is not introducing anything new here, it’s showing up for the summer and showing out, revealing what this city has always known about itself. What follows is a look at the fan zones and how Los Angeles turns itself into a city-wide stage for the tournament, one neighborhood at a time.

Los Angeles Union Station

As the heart of Los Angeles, Union Station is an official Fan Zone June 25-28 during the World Cup, but in practice it never really stops being one.

It is the city’s circulation point, its meeting ground, its pressure valve. Commuters, travelers, match-day crowds, and everyday Angelenos all move through the same space, and everything mixes, overlaps, and scales in real time. In a way, this is where the World Cup stops arriving in Los Angeles and starts moving through it.

The Pacific Surfliner from San Diego to Los Angeles makes that shift feel almost too easy. No stress or  gridlock anxiety, just a straight line up the coastline with ocean on one side and everything slowly becoming more built on the other. It’s one of the rare ways into LA that doesn’t feel like arrival as friction. You can sit with a laptop, watch the Pacific drift past, grab coffee from the café car, and let the city come to you in pieces.

That’s the beauty of arriving at Union Station. Instead of feeling like you’re on the edge of the city, you’re immediately surrounded by it. And, inside, the station already reads like a World Cup nerve center: banners, movement, multilingual energy, the sense that something global is about to funnel through this exact point. The Heart of the City Fan Zone only sharpens that feeling, with simultaneous match screens, DJ sets, meet and greets, and immersive activations built around marquee games like USA vs. Türkiye.

From there, the city splits outward.

ROW DTLA feels like the first exhale after arrival. A converted industrial campus turned creative district where restaurants, retail, and open-air courtyards form a self-contained ecosystem. If you’re looking for the perfect first meal in LA, make it lunch at Pizzeria Bianco. The thin-crust pizza is reason enough to go, but the space leaves just as much of an impression.

What I liked most about ROW DTLA is how quickly it resets you after the train. One minute you are stepping off at Union Station, and the next you are in a space that feels like its own version of LA, a city inside a city with some of the most curated shopping I’ve ever seen.

Bodega hides itself behind a convenience-store front, a sneaker and streetwear space disguised as something ordinary, like LA refusing to make anything feel too obvious. The whole campus moves like that, part retail, part gallery, part neighborhood you are only temporarily inside.

Ray’s Tennis doesn’t look like much from the outside. Never has. It’s just a green box with cloudy windows in Hillcrest, just steps away from a McDonald’s on University Avenue. But for nearly 60 years, this place has been the genesis for three generations of San Diego tennis dreams. Head inside, and you enter one of the tennis world’s great cornucopias.

For years, there was a tennis court behind the store, where owner Bob Ray gave countless lessons. It was like a racket-sport speakeasy; most customers didn’t realize the court existed unless Bob or his wife, Hiroko, guided them through the back door of the shop. Eventually they converted it into a half-court indoors—where a patron might take a racket for a few trial thwacks, trying to avoid rounders of tennis clothes that shared the space.

The shop is an abridged living history. Relics hang from the ceiling: a model of an old metal racket used by fiery lefthander Jimmy Connors in his heyday, and a version of the wooden Donnay that Björn Borg wielded on his way to five consecutive Wimbledon championships from 1976 to 1980.

And just inside the front door is Hiroko eternally stringing new rackets, carefully threading and adjusting the tension of the polyester strings, back and forth, until she has the entire racket head strung.

“I worked seven days a week—five days off in the year,” she says. “My hearing is still good. Physically, I’m as good as I was. Working seven days a week, standing all day. I’m mentally healthier than most people.”

The racket stringing is an operation she does up to 20 times a day—and one that, in some ways, resembles the thread work done by her father decades ago, when he ran a tailor’s shop in Japan.

Hiroko, now 81, was born in the city of Yokosuka at the tail end of the WWII. Her family evacuated to the countryside to escape the bombing raids, and she remembers growing up surrounded by rice fields and mountains. It was in Japan that Hiroko met Bob, a third-generation San Diegan, in the late 1960s, when he was stationed there with the Navy.

Among his possessions at the time was a tennis racket. Inherited from his father, who died when Bob was 11, this racket changed the trajectory of his life: He played constantly, filling up his school days, afternoons, and evenings on the tennis court. He was one of the highest-ranked teen players in the state, and he dreamed of joining the international tournament circuit after his stint in the Navy. But—speaking plainly—he acknowledges that he wasn’t quite good enough to compete with the best of the best. So, instead, he modified his dreams. He and Hiroko returned to San Diego in 1968, and he took a job as the club pro at Morley Field. By their mid-20s, in lieu of touring the world on the tennis circuit, the couple was running the club’s tennis store.

They spent 11 years at Morley Field, which at the time was one of the city’s tennis epicenters, hosting major tournaments for juniors. When the city handed over the store lease to a wealthier applicant, the Rays took over the property on University Avenue and moved in their tennis gear. They have been there ever since—through the McEnroe and Navratilova and Evert eras; the rise of Agassi and Sampras and Graf; the reign of the Williams sisters; the Federer-Nadal-Djokovic rivalry; and into the Alcaraz era. In the near-half century they have sold tennis gear in Hillcrest, the Rays became beloved anchors of the neighborhood’s business community, symbols of stability in an ever-changing environment.

At 84, Bob is still lean and, in his Lacoste tracksuit and Adidas cap, remains every bit the club pro. Like Hiroko, he comes to the store every day—though sometimes, if he is playing tennis in the morning, he might arrive a little later.

But time has started to take its toll. His hearing isn’t what it used to be, and the aging process is revealing itself to be true. And much to the disappointment of their loyal clientele, San Diego’s “First Couple of Tennis” is retiring, a milestone that marks the end of an extraordinarily long chapter in the city’s tennis history.

But Ray and Hiroko didn’t sell the building to a developer for condos or to a big-box retailer looking to open a boutique outpost. Determined that Ray’s should remain a tennis temple, they have negotiated a sale to a former employee who wants to continue the Rays’ legacy.

As of this writing, Hiroko and Bob remain in charge, Hiroko stringing rackets, Bob sharing his expertise about new gear. As much as they love what they’ve built, their hope is to move on soon.

For Hiroko, the prospect of retirement is bittersweet. “What am I going to do?” she asks. “Am I going to be ok? I never had a boring life. Always busy. Business first. I’m so involved in the business—because I didn’t want to fail.”

She looks around her store as she continues stringing. For her, the gladiatorial nature of tennis has always been a metaphor for how to succeed in life. “People have to have a drive,” she says. “You can’t just quit because you lose to so-and-so. Tennis players have that mindset.”

She pauses to talk about all the people who have come through the store’s door over the decades, and the relationships she has built with them. “It’s wonderful to have a great customer. That’s probably the reason I lasted this long.”

Mad Libs. License plate bingo. The “quiet game,” a universal parent savior. Long live Slug Bug, where kids with zero self-control punched each other in the arm every time they saw a VW Bug in the wild—an activity no doubt invented by some Volkswagen marketing intern who now quietly runs the world. A family that cruises together bruises together.

So many threats to pull the car over and leave unruly progeny on the side road for good. GenXers are such baddies because our parents actually followed through. But we tracked those boomers down—or just walked into the wilderness and formed angsty flannel bands. We survived.

There were no downloaded movies back then. No seatback entertainment. Just a mythical road, a few bug-gutty windows, and the fast-moving summer world beyond. Seatbelts ignored, hot air whipping a frenzy of hair and beef-stick child scent.

Very few chaoses match being trapped in a moving car with your entire bloodline. It’s unimaginable, but we kinda liked it.

The road trip was always about endurance, discovery, adventure, creativity, and memory. Somewhere between gas station hot dogs, the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and musty motels with coin-operated vibrating beds—the bored between moments of mutual expedition sealed our love of the long distance car ride.

To respark road lust, we’ve put together a coastal California run up the 101 and Highway 1. The state’s famed road trip siblings, with ocean on one side and possibility in every direction. We analyzed what’s incoming, just-arrived, compelling, or a classic in need of a reminder in almost every county along the way—the kind of places we’d drag our family (or dog or best friend) to.

We start our trip just outside San Diego County lines and work our way through San Francisco. Because, by then, it’s time to turn the car around and do it all again.

The road is still the main character.

Laguna Beach

A 90-minute drive from downtown San Diego, Laguna Beach is home to serene coves, big-deal art events, miles of hiking trails, and the greatest number of beachfront hotels in California. Among the latter is the newly revamped icon, Surf & Sand Laguna Beach. Along with tweaks to the guestrooms, pool, and onsite Splashes restaurant, the remodel includes a new spa, Aquaterra. Wake up to ocean views, then get outside: Go tide pooling at Shaw’s Cove, or descend to Thousand Steps Beach and spend the day stretched out with a salacious summer read. For dinner, get fancy at the upscale (no swimwear allowed!) Studio Mediterranean at the Montage Laguna Beach hotel. Led by Greek chef Dennis Efthymiou, it serves feta-, phyllo-, and fish-forward cuisine inspired by his heritage.

Newport Beach

Head another 15 minutes up the road to Newport, an unlikely destination for adrenaline junkies both relatively tame (family-friendly thrill rides at the Balboa Fun Zone amusement park) and willing to risk life and limb (30-foot waves at the Wedge surf break). It’s also increasingly a killer place to eat, with Luke’s, of international Maine-lobster-roll fame, having recently opened locations in town. James Beard Award winner Tyson Cole just opened his sleek omakase and sushi restaurant Uchi this year. Once you’re stuffed, lay your head at Bay Shores Peninsula Hotel, a midcentury-inspired, 25-room boutique resort overlooking the sea. Watch the waves from beside the hotel’s rooftop fire pits, or paddle out on surfboards provided free for guests.

Huntington Beach

Huntington Beach has been an icon of California surf culture since the 1910s thanks to Hawaiian Olympic swimmer Duke Kahanamoku. Surfers still chase waves near his old haunts, including the Huntington Beach Pier, where the aptly named Huntington’s on the Pier is scheduled to arrive this fall in the location of the old Ruby’s Diner (RIP, Ruby). It’ll serve seafood, obviously, plus livestreamed videos of groms wiping out just a few feet away. Sports here don’t always require wetsuits: Mini-golf bar Playground is equipped with the obvious, as well as arcade and pinball games. Or bypass physical exertion en masse at the new Holistic Lounge at Hyatt Regency. It’s packed with newfandangled healing tech that uses light, heat, and electromagnetic fields to allegedly repair stressed skin and muscles tired from lifting mojitos.

Long Beach

From artsy, boutique hotels in New Mexico to a revolutionary restaurant in Baja, explore what’s new in these desert cities around San Diego.

Coachella Valley

Terra Palm Springs, Palm Springs

Serenity-seeking guests (and, presumably, the free-spirited ghosts of naked people) roam this 13-room wellness escape that was once a clothing-optional resort. Opened a year ago, it offers exclusive, 24-hour access to a Himalayan salt sauna, cold plunge pool, and rain room. For food and drink, it’s tonics and juice cleanses, plus poolside bites from Michael Beckman, exec chef of the nearby Workshop Kitchen + Bar.

Casa Palma Hotel & Bungalows, Palm Springs

Opened last year on the historic, two-acre Movie Colony neighborhood property originally built by actor Errol Flynn (it was called the Normandy then), this is a micro-hotel for people who love Taschen books. Casa Palma reimagined the place as a minimalist, veneers-white 33-room escape with pickleball; tennis; and a mountain view bistro serving breakfast, salads, and sandwiches.

DSRT Surf, Palm Desert

“Surfing in the desert” sounds like an absurd ayahuasca notion, but the Coachella Valley already has one wave pool (Palm Springs Surf Club), and, soon, a 5.5-acre surf lagoon will anchor DSRT Surf, an incoming resort at the Desert Willow Golf Courses. Planned for completion in mid-2026, it’ll include a 139-room hotel, 57 luxury villas, and restaurants.

New Mexico

Hotel Willa, Taos

Last spring, the Casetta Group (the same folks who own SD’s Pearl Hotel) resuscitated an old motor lodge in Taos, a longtime beacon for creatives, and named it after Willa Cather (who finished her novel Death Comes to the Archbishop in town). The 51-room Hotel Willa has adobe architecture, an artist residency, a pool with a giant weeping willow nearby, and a seasonal restaurant from husband-and-wife duo chef Johnny Ortiz Concha and artist Maida Branch.

Arrive Albuquerque, Albuquerque

Originally built in 1965 as the Downtowner, a classic, six-story inn on the motel-culture strip of Route 66 in downtown Albuquerque cycled through several identities before last year, when Palisociety reimagined it with the Secret Gallery (featuring modern work from Southwest artists), a cocktail bar, a restaurant, and 137 dog-friendly rooms. Like any good desert road trip hotel, Arrive Albuquerque hotel is a cheeky, midcentury affair centered around an umbrella-shaded pool scene and those strappy ’80s patio loungers.

Leo’s, Santa Fe

After forming Vital Spaces, an org that leased abandoned warehouses and rented them at a low cost to artists, furniture designer Jonathan Boyd launched Leo’s, a no-signage, no-reservations restaurant last August with James Beard Award–winning chef Zakary Pelaccio. It focuses on Thai and Malaysian dishes—catfish sum tum, pork belly with garlic prik phao, fried chicken with tofu-mustard sauce and jiao chili sauce—plus natural wines and inventive cocktails. It promptly landed on Esquire’s Best New Restaurants of 2025.

Arizona

Trailborn Grand Canyon, Williams

Trailborn is the base camp of hotel groups. It’s focused on America’s grand outdoorsy arenas, with spots in the Rockies; the Blue Ridge Mountains; and now, Williams, a mile from the Grand Canyon Railroad Depot. This kitchy, 96-room roadside hotel offers a moody, wood-paneled steakhouse; adventure excursions; free breakfast inside a bustling “camp hall;” and front-row access to the fanfare of Route 66’s centennial celebration this year.

Kimpton Miralina Resort & Villas, Paradise Valley

Early this year, Paradise Valley (the mountain-wrapped town neighboring Scottsdale) will welcome the 40-acre Kimpton Miralina, with six pools; more than 400 rooms and villas; and three restaurants, including Hecho Libre, a new Baja-inspired concept from fellow Beard semifinalist Wes Avila (known for Angry Egret Dinette and MXO in Los Angeles).

International Dark Sky Discovery Center, Fountain Hills

As cities grow and stargazing becomes an endangered pastime, an org called International Dark Sky Places works to protect the best areas in the world to behold night skies. One of them is Fountain Hills on the outskirts of Phoenix. This summer, it’ll get even better with a $28 million discovery center featuring a massive telescope, a planetarium, science exhibits, and a stargazing terrace.

Nevada

Cote Korean Steakhouse, Las Vegas

Cote is the only Michelin-starred Korean steakhouse in the US, an idea from Seoul-born and James Beard nominated chef and restaurateur Simon Kim. Part of The Venetian’s $1.5 billion renovation, it’s a show—18,000 square feet, with stadium seating, VIP skyboxes, a crow’s nest DJ booth, a glowing central bar, 1,200 wine bottles, and the inimitable buzz of energetic impulse spending.

F1 Arcade, Las Vegas

2025 was a big year for Formula 1 racing—the sport celebrated 75 years with a Brad Pitt film (for which Rancho Bernardo–based Sony Electronics created a one-of-a-kind camera that took viewers inside the cockpit), and Caesars Palace welcomed a 21,000-square-foot F1 Arcade where fans can flex their inner Lando Norris with 87 racing simulators.

GSR Arena, Reno

When built in the 1970s as the MGM Grand, the Grand Sierra Resort was one of the biggest hotels in the world with over 1,000 rooms. Almost 50 years later, it’s nearly doubled its occupancy and is undergoing a billion dollar upgrade. The star will be the $435 million, 10,000-seat GSR Arena, which broke ground in September. Once completed (hopefully in fall 2027), it’ll be home to the University of Nevada men’s basketball team.

Utah

Dendric Estate, Kamas

Utah’s High West Distillery was a groundbreaker, the first legal distillery in Utah when it opened in 2006. Now High West’s master distiller Brendan Coyle has left to open his dream project with his wife, Carly. They purchased 20 acres in Kamas Valley at the foothills of the Uinta mountain range, where they’re growing high elevation apples and flipping them into bone-dry boozy cider with Dendric Estate. You can tour the estate or wait for the onsite tasting room, planned for 2027.

The Inn at Sundance Mountain Resort, Sundance

In 2020, Robert Redford sold his famed, conservationist-minded mountain ski resort to Broadreach Capital Partners and Cedar Capital Partners, who promised to keep his “build some, preserve more” vision going. Since, it’s earned a Michelin Key. This month, The Inn at Sundance Mountain Resort—a 63-room, ski-in/ski-out inn—opens with views of the 12,000-foot Mount Timpanagos. Perched right out front, the Outlaw Express chair lift takes you to the Mandan summit in seven minutes (getting there used to take 20). There’s a wrap-around porch, relaxation pools, a sauna, outdoor showers, and a cold plunge at The Springs.

Canopy by Hilton Deer Valley East Village, Park City

Four years after hosting the Winter Olympics, famed ski-only resort Deer Valley is undergoing a massive expansion of its East Village, including eight new hotels (the Grand Hyatt is already there, and the Four Seasons and others are incoming). Scheduled to open this summer, Canopy will be Hilton’s 180-room, ski-in/ ski-out property with après-ski and rooftop lounges. Deer Valley has also added 2,000 additional acres of skiable slopes, 100 new runs, and 10 new chairlifts.

Baja

Diego, Valle de Guadalupe

In the 2010s, Ensenada-born chef Diego Hernández was a headliner in the food-culture revolution in Valle de Guadalupe with Corazón de Tierra—named number 30 in the 2018 “World’s 50 Best Restaurants” list. It closed in 2020 (damn pandemic!). Last January, he returned with an eponymous 40-seat restaurant, Diego, inside Valle’s Museo de La Vid y El Vino, relying on onsite gardens and in-house butchery to prepare seasonal, multi-course tasting menus and à la carte dishes nodding to his Corazón roots.

Kadún, Cabo San Lucas

Over the years, the trend in Cabo resorts has been to get away from the action with secluded beachfront hideouts. Well, not all who travel to Cabo want to be tucked away. Last October, Mexico Grand Hotels (known for elaborate luxury resorts like Marina Fiesta and El Encanto) opened a smaller but still opulent thing: Kadún, a 110-room hotel with a rooftop pool and sundeck. It’s within walking distance to the Cabo Marina (the Vegas of Baja’s southern tip) and Medano Beach (one of the only swimmable beaches in Cabo).

Ensenada Bay Village, Ensenada

Carnival Cruise Line has a vested interest in building up the ports it parks in. It’s established spots in Grand Turk, Roatan, and Cozumel, and its next elaborate disembarkment project is a $26 million beachside playground in Ensenada, planned for completion in 2027. Expect a sort of Pinocchio’s Island isthmus packed with zip lines, dune buggy rides, river rides, an adult pool, thermal springs, a spa, and wine and cheese pairings from Valle de Guadalupe (the wine region is 15 minutes inland).

What the hell am I doing in Arizona looking for water?

It’s the kind of question that creeps in the moment you step off the plane at Sky Harbor and the dry heat hits like an open oven door. Arizona is famous precisely because it’s unforgiving, a place where the presence of life amid the extreme lack of water is its own marvel. The compelling thing about attractions on this hot moon is the ingenuity behind the fact that they exist at all.

Long before the golf courses and cul-de-sacs, the Indigenous Hohokam people engineered one of the most sophisticated canal systems in the ancient world, diverting water from the Salt River to irrigate crops and sustain entire communities. Built by hand more than 1,000 years ago, portions of those canals still guide water through the Mesa valley today. 

Phoenix’s main pockets tell different stories: Scottsdale has its polished, resort-town sheen; Tempe is full of young brains on vices; and Mesa is expansive and quietly strange. The kind of Arizona you think of when someone says Arizona. It’s the state’s third-largest city by population, but it feels like a series of outposts stitched together: historic downtown blocks, desert trailheads, leftovers of the Old West, and now—the improbable thing that brought me here—a surf park.

As I pull into Revel Surf Park, a watery lagoon glows blue against a backdrop of red dirt and distant peaks. The waves come and go like someone endlessly draining and refilling a mirage.

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Revel—the centerpiece of Mesa’s Cannon Beach development—opened in late 2024, turning a patch of desert into Arizona’s first full-scale surf park. Roughly 2.2 million gallons of water circulate through the lagoon in an area that averages just over eight inches of rain a year. 

It looks excessive, wildly irresponsible. It isn’t.

“We built this very strategically,” general manager Ryan Armstrong explains. “The well is located right here on the property. It’s processed and piped right into the lagoon.”

The pool runs on a closed-loop filtration system, recycling every drop and losing water only to evaporation. Developers say the park uses less water than a single golf hole—and a mere two percent of what the alfalfa field that once occupied the site consumed. Because Revel draws directly from the ground rather than city taps, Armstrong notes, “our water bill is essentially zero.”

Like many of the staff members at Revel, Armstrong is a surfer transplanted from the coast. The wave technology he oversees didn’t come out of a research lab, but a backyard. Matt Gunn, the creator of Swell Manufacturing, built a functional model of the wave in his own yard before partnering with developer Cole Cannon and pro surfer Shane Beschen to bring it to scale. The result is a private ocean—a lagoon where surfers can choose between the sloping lines of Trestles, the hollow barrels of Oahu’s V-Land, or Malibu’s mellow shoulders.

As a surfer spoiled by San Diego’s coastline, I’m equal parts curious and skeptical. Wave pools can feel sterile, stripped of the wild consequence that makes the ocean seem alive. But the sea can’t come close to the constant supply of waves a surf park offers. “We’re running eight hours a day, eight sessions a day, 10 surfers in each session, with waves every minute,” Armstrong tells me. “We have stadium lights, so sometimes we’re out here surfing until midnight.”

I opt for the Trestles setting, expecting smooth sailing. I’m wrong. The drop is quick, the margin for error thin. I get pitched. I recover. I link together a few snaps, then lose it again. Even manufactured waves have a way of humbling you. A few solid rides save the session.

As I dry off, Armstrong walks me through the broader vision. The 44-acre Cannon Beach district surrounding Revel will include roughly 500,000 square feet of retail. 

“There are about seven or eight restaurants going in and a super high-end med spa,” he says, pointing toward the construction. Beyond food and surfing, the site is designed as a multi-sport hub. A massive KTR (Kids That Rip) indoor action sports park is in the works, featuring trampolines, parkour obstacles, and a world-class skate park.

This corner of the desert won’t stay quiet for long.

In hindsight, the advantages to Revel Surf Park are obvious: no suffocating crowds, no jockeying for position. Waves arrive every minute, precisely on schedule (if you miss one, that’s on you). There are no flat days at Revel. You don’t have to monitor weather reports and tide charts to know when it might be a good day for a surf. The swell is never not quite right for the break. It’s surfing’s version of shooting fish in a barrel—a strange, athletic fever dream and a convincing way to scratch the surfing itch when the nearest ocean is more than 300 miles away.