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San Diegan Robert DeLaurentis is attempting what no other pilot has before: flying from Antarctica to the North Pole using only biofuels
It’s December 16, 2019. While friends and family back home in San Diego are surrounding themselves with loved ones and dreaming of a White Christmas, Robert DeLaurentis is alone. He’s 10,000 feet above the most frigid destination on Earth, where even now, at the beginning of its summer, the average daily temperature is minus 22 degrees. He’s in the pilot’s seat of the Citizen of the World, a highly modified twin-engine 1983 Gulfstream Turbine Commander 900. Today he’s been in his cockpit for 18 hours straight, and it feels appropriate that his first human interaction since takeoff comes in the form of a joke.
As he peers through his fogged-up windshield at Amundsen-Scott Station, DeLaurentis hails its communications operators, “I’m approaching.”
“Negative, Ghost Rider,” an operator replies.
“I quickly realized he was joking and had made a Top Gun reference,” DeLaurentis says. “I laughed and said he won’t get to see the new Top Gun when it comes out, because he lives in the South Pole. It ended up being a nice human connection.”
Over the South Pole, December 2019
It’s just the lightheartedness he needs after reaching the halfway point of the most grueling leg of his 26,000-mile journey—and the greatest challenge of his flying career. Coincidentally—going by the New Zealand time zone used at the South Pole station—today is also the 116th anniversary of the Wright Brothers’ first flight.
The 53-year-old San Diegan and retired naval lieutenant commander calls himself the “Zen Pilot,” and says he’s flying to the only two places on Earth where there is true peace—the South and North poles. Because of the extreme cold, only a few pilots, or people for that matter, have dared venture to either. And to top it off, his aircraft is running on biofuels.
He’s the first known person to attempt an aerial circumnavigation using only renewable fuel, which can operate at slightly lower temperatures than traditional jet fuel. Along for the ride is a four-inch “wafer-scale spacecraft” that’s collecting test data as part of DEEP-IN (Directed Energy Propulsion for Interstellar Exploration), a joint program between NASA and UC Santa Barbara’s Experimental Cosmology Group. But most importantly, to DeLaurentis the flight is about unifying people around the world.
“World peace is a difficult thing to do. But doing something that may seem impossible—like this trip—is showing people that anything is possible,” DeLaurentis says. “Each of us has a unique opportunity to be a positive force in the world.”
Robert DeLaurentis in Argentina, December 2019
In the month since his loved ones gathered at Gillespie Field to send him off, he has headed south, touching down in Texas, Panama, Colombia, Bolivia, and Argentina. After soaring over the South Pole, he will make a few more stops in Argentina and Brazil before heading across the Atlantic to Senegal, the first leg of the journey east and north through Africa and Europe.
Today’s round-trip to 90 degrees south clocks in at 4,200 nautical miles, and it began in Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost commercial airport in the world. He’s arrived right on the heels of tragedy: a Chilean Air Force C-130 had just gone missing flying a very similar route to the one he was about to undertake, with all 38 people onboard presumed dead.
Still, DeLaurentis forged on toward the floor of the world. At one point the winds grew so fierce that to regain his course he had to make a 180-degree turn—putting a dangerous amount of stress on a plane loaded far beyond its factory fuel capacity. Disorientation was also a constant threat: GPS signals become more unreliable at such high latitudes, and compasses are no help, since the Magnetic South Pole is nearly 1,800 miles away from the geographic pole. When all else failed, he fell back on the celestial navigation of the ancient mariner.
Robert DeLaurentis
Nate Hoffman
Anticipating this leg of the trip kept DeLaurentis up at night. “I’ve learned that at some point you have to either accept the risks you can’t control or simply walk away,” he says. “I choose to keep flying. The opportunity to expand the boundaries of general aviation, to inspire present and future generations to live their impossibly big dreams, and to be able to fly in the name of world peace, make all the risks worthwhile.”
For some perspective on the risks involved, DeLaurentis mentions another pilot who made the trip to the South Pole and didn’t bring any survival gear, because it would’ve added 25 extra pounds to his airplane: “He thought that survival would only prolong his misery. I’m more optimistic.”
It’s a curious kind of optimism, born of having come to the brink of disaster before. Once during his first trip around the world in 2015, the single-engine plane he was flying abruptly lost oil pressure over the jungles of Malaysia, forcing him to fly without power for 19.6 nautical miles to the nearest airport.
DeLaurentis, a native New Yorker who moved to San Diego in 1989 for naval officer training, says that years ago his life hit an all-time low. He owned a downtown apartment building that caught fire, dispossessing 24 tenants and leaving him with vacancies for months. He also had a house that he couldn’t sell for three years, resulting in a mortgage that was difficult to pay.
Overwhelmed with financial miseries, DeLaurentis says he asked the universe to make a deal with him. If he overcame his “impending financial ruin,” he promised to devote his life to philanthropy through aviation.
“Two weeks later my insurance company paid for all the repairs on the apartment building and a year’s worth of rent, my vacancies went to zero, and my house sold in an all-cash sale,” DeLaurentis says.
Pole to Pole Pilot – Robert in Plane
Nate Hoffman
Now he’s the author of two books, his 2015 debut, Flying Thru Life: How to Grow Your Business and Relationships with Applied Spirituality and, a year later, Zen Pilot: Flight of Passion and the Journey Within, which chronicles his first, east-west circumnavigation of the globe. He has flown to more than 50 countries in his travels, always in the spirit of unifying disparate parts of the world by interviewing the people he meets and telling their stories online.
He says his primary goal, shared among his donors and crew, is “to show a divided world that we are all connected.” He adds, “Our vision and intention are to connect all people through a shared adventure that includes deeper peace and oneness. One of our commitments is to be a living example of all these connections as citizens of the world and explore new ways to expand and deepen these relationships.” He hopes young people will be the most inspired by his travels. “They are the future of aviation, humanity, and the planet. They have enthusiasm to keep trying to make this world better.”
In 2015, after completing his equatorial flight, DeLaurentis was ready to dream bigger. Then he came across a quote on the British Antarctic Survey website:
The concept that true peace existed at the ends of the Earth inspired DeLaurentis and dozens of friends and supporters, who raised more than $2.5 million to fund his pole-to-pole flight. The money covered upgrades to his 1983 aircraft (new high-altitude engines, long-range fuel cells, cold-weather batteries, state-of-the-art navigation systems), plus fuel, lodging, food, and insurance. And despite having thousands of hours of flight time, he still had some lifestyle changes to make before he was cleared for takeoff.
In the years leading up to the trip, he started training like an athlete. Most people may not consider pilots to be athletic, DeLaurentis says, but when you have to spend long hours in a tiny cockpit with just a few inches of wiggle room, it’s important to have a strong, healthy body. So he cleaned up his diet and worked out 1.5 hours every day, to the point where his resting heart rate dropped to 50 beats per minute. (Professional athletes tend to clock in at 40, the average person 60 to 100.) He also underwent cataract surgery to improve his eyesight, and even had ingrown toenails removed so he’d have no distractions in the air, no matter how small.
Pole to Pole Pilot – Control Panel
Nate Hoffman
On top of the physical changes, DeLaurentis had to mentally prepare for the trip, including overcoming recurring nightmares of disaster over the Antarctic. His closest loved ones, including his father, expressed their greatest fear—that this trip may cost him his life. A well-known quote among aviators, usually attributed to Captain A. G. Lamplugh, cautions that “aviation in itself is not inherently dangerous. But to an even greater extent than the sea, it is terribly unforgiving of any carelessness, incapacity, or neglect.” Remaining fully in the present moment is of the utmost importance—but he doesn’t call himself “the Zen Pilot” for nothing.
Though DeLaurentis will spend most of his historic trip in a cramped space, he never feels confined. He can watch as ice builds, weather systems change (sometimes to his dismay), and the sun sets “in the most dramatic fashion.” Most importantly, he sees and feels peace.
As of press time, DeLaurentis was departing Menorca, Spain. Follow the completion of his journey at share.garmin.com/citizenoftheworld or facebook.com/flyingthrulife.
Editor at large, Aaryn Belfer, introduces the September 2026 Arts issue featuring 190 artists, makers, builders, and doers.
What makes San Diego, San Diego? That’s the question at the heart of this issue.
Over the course of eight weeks, San Diego Magazine staff and I spoke to dozens of people, from long-time leaders at some of our biggest institutions to emerging artists working alone at night in studio apartments after eight hours (or 10 or 12) at their day jobs.
Tasked with bringing this issue to life as editor at large, I’m just one member of a stellar team of artists in their own right. I repeatedly told owners Claire and Troy Johnson: This is your baby, I’m just the babysitter. Which is wink-and-smile cute, until you spend two months with the kid and realize you’d take a bullet for it.
San Diego’s beaches are gorge and the weather the envy of those who spend winter scraping ice from their windshields. But sand and sun are the least interesting things about this place. Traditional territory of the Kumeyaay people, San Diego is a majority-minority region with cultural and artistic depth that’s unmissable unless you’re looking directly at the sun (don’t do that, please).
For me, the creatives make San Diego. The composers, the painters, the sculptors, the writers. From Oceanside to the border, and Tijuana too, this is arguably the most culturally layered region in the country. That shows up in murals, music, textiles, food, dance, street art, and beyond.
Almost nobody I talked with does just one thing. The visual artist is also a musician. The culture keeper is also a painter. Their personal stories shape their work and compel them to create in San Diego, even when staying costs them more than San Diego gives back.
That world is what San Diego’s artistic and cultural community gives to us. It’s the mural on the side of the building at Ace Parking on the corner of India and A streets. It’s the buskers overlooking the pier in OB. It’s cultural drumming classes at WorldBeat Center. It shows up invited (or not: we see you, street artists), and we’re all better for it.
I believe we’re all artists, by the way. That natural state gets trained out of us early, in favor of deadlines and the idea that anything made with your hands needs to justify itself with a return on investment. A lifetime doodler, I picked up a sketchbook three years ago; watercolor followed. Talent’s debatable, but that was never the point. When I’m creating, my brain quiets; I can’t be anywhere else in my head except exactly where I am. My work won’t be on gallery walls, but it’s not a hobby either. It’s a portal to the world I want to live in.
For this issue, we reached out to dozens of people across the arts community and asked them to give us names—artists and culture makers they felt were especially crucial, compelling, moving the city forward. The result was a list of 190 artists, makers, builders, doers.
We also wanted this issue to be its own art project, not just a write-up of one. To give artists proper acreage, we enlisted one of the city’s top photographers, Matt Furman, to capture their image.
Then we began the Sophie’s Choice process of narrowing the list of talented humans—each deserving of their own 2,200-word profile—down to 31. Our criteria was broad with bumper rails: Names that kept coming up again and again had to be included; so did people doing work that reflects our diverse region; and people building something bigger than themselves, gathering others, and galvanizing pockets of scene. Individually and collectively, these creatives are reaching toward a future in which art and culture is what brings people to San Diego; a main attraction before getting a sunburn, not a side quest after.
Strip all of it away—the murals, the music, the makers, the stories—and what’s left of a city? Concrete and buildings with the Pacific Ocean and a mythological green flash. That’s it. That’s the whole inheritance.
Turns out the babysitter fell hard for this one: Seeing these artists through Furman’s lens made me feel all the things, and I hope it will do the same for you. I hope this issue compels you to get out your calendar and make a plan to buy the ticket, step into the gallery, sit in the audience. Showing up is how you tell San Diego’s creatives that art and culture matter—and that they matter, too.
This issue is my love letter—San Diego Magazine’s love letter—to them. To the people working and fighting to ensure that the stereotype is never all we are.
Aaryn Belfer is a writer and editor specializing in nonfiction across art, architecture, and culture. Once upon a time, she wrote a provocative column for San Diego CityBeat (RIP). She was a runner up in the 2025 Matchbook Stories contest at the San Diego Central Library and is irrationally happy about it. Currently in her Soft Girl Era, Aaryn has expensive taste in (mostly flat) shoes and will choose a great art exhibit or live jazz concert over almost anything else. Except, possibly, Javier Bardem.
Whether you're a lover of the arts, music, or a leisurely stroll through the park, these are Balboa's best attractions
On February 28, 1926, the Fine Arts Gallery of San Diego (now called the San Diego Museum of Art) opened its Plateresque doors to 3,000 guests for opening day. Over the next century, the museum changed with the times—even once functioning as a naval hospital after Pearl Harbor. This year, the museum is celebrating its 100th birthday with an exhibit (open through January 24, 2027) featuring photographs, ephemera, and film footage spanning the museum’s history.

Every Sunday from 2 to 3 p.m., stop by the historic Spreckels Organ Pavilion for a free concert presented by the City of San Diego on the largest outdoor organ in the world (more than 5,000 pipes). The pavilion seats 2,400 for performances by the civic organist or guest artists.
Some think natural history museums are just cemeteries for dioramas that haven’t received an update since the Reagan administration. When it comes to The Nat, which just finished a $7.5 million rejuvenation, they’re totally wrong. The museum debuted a new rooftop that replaces its 25-year-old atrium. The old roof created a greenhouse effect that steamed up some exhibits, so the new one—which includes 200 solar panels and better temperature control—will help preserve the artifacts inside. Each Friday in the summer, The Nat also becomes one of the season’s vibiest hotspots during Nat at Night, with food from places like Wolf in the Woods and The Craft Taco, bars and signature cocktails on several floors, and a rooftop DJ.
The Fleet Science Center just received its most significant update since the 1990s. It expanded its exhibit space by 20 percent and introduced a newly designed entrance gallery (formerly the IMAX theater lobby) that includes free exhibits for visitors who want a taste of the science without paying an admission fee. The former ticketing area now houses the Mindbender Mansion exhibit, and there’s a new café, Element 8, that will, of course, sell the center’s famous soft serve.
Boredom's not an option. These are a few of the top events in the city each year, including a rodeo, free summertime music festival, and a chili cook-off
Meet some rodeo queens (or be crowned as one yourself) in R-Town’s annual celebration of the Wild West. Three days of mutton bustin’, tie-down roping, and barrel racing are all doing the community some good: Proceeds from the event funnel into local organizations like Ramona Town Hall and the Guy B. Woodward Museum. This month marks the 45th annual Ramona Rodeo, which takes place in the Fred Grand Arena and draws more than 12,000 attendees each year.
For nearly half a century, OB has hosted a chili cooking competition that has drawn thousands of hungry locals. (Buzz Cannabis presented this year’s event, so taste testers could have been under the influence of munchies-enhancing drugs.) Non-chili-related street fair festivities include beachfront live music, Fun Zone family-friendly play areas, and a Dirty Birds wing-eating contest.

In 1970, Chicano Park was set to become a California Highway Patrol station. The problem: The city had promised a community park in that area. After decades of development fractured Barrio Logan and displaced thousands of families, Chicano locals were tapped out. So, for 12 days, locals occupied the area under the Coronado Bridge, blocking bulldozers and planting cacti. It worked. Construction stopped, and that area is now Chicano Park. Each year, locals celebrate the successful preservation of Chicano Park and the resilience of the Chicano Movement.
Solana Beach gathers at Fletcher Cove Park at the start of each summer for two days of live music ranging from country to pop to Chicano rock, plus an arts and crafts fair, an international food court, a beer and wine garden, and the Solana Beach Firefighters Association’s pancake breakfast. The event is free, but if you want an elevated experience, grab Seaside Pavilion ($75) or VIP Deck ($160) tickets for reserved seating, private cash bars, exclusive restrooms, and discounted swag.

The entire North Park neighborhood hosts an annual music festival, meaning a dozen venues—from Queen Bee’s to Bacari to North Park Community Park—become live music spaces each June. Some locations are open to the public, but if you’d prefer lounge access at Granada House and line-skipping privileges, check out the $65 VIP passes. General admission otherwise starts at $25.
It’s weird if you don’t wear a lemon-themed outfit at Chula Vista’s annual Lemon Festival. For one day each August, Third Avenue pays tribute to the city’s former “Lemon Capital of the World” status with live music, citrus-themed photo ops, arts and crafts vendors, a lemon cook-off competition, and plenty of other food that doesn’t include the famed hesperidium. But who would want that at Lemon Fest?
Inspired by the effortless charm of French cafés, this taste of France on Orange Avenue invites guests to embrace the simple pleasure of taking their time.
Strolling down Orange Avenue on a sunny afternoon, you’ll hear the hum of beach cruisers rolling by and visitors making their way toward the Hotel del Coronado. Dogs pause to greet one another on the sidewalk, palm trees sway overhead, and for a moment, you’re convinced you’re living inside the postcard from the gift shop you just passed.
Then the scene shifts. Towering white columns, black café awnings and gold-trimmed windows frame Little Frenchie, where woven bistro chairs spill onto the sidewalk and servers deliver bubbling crocks of French onion soup. The scent of caramelized onions and melted Gruyère is practically an invitation to ask, “How long for a table for two?”
That feeling of pulling up a chair and staying awhile is exactly what inspired Little Frenchie. French cuisine has a reputation for feeling a little intimidating, but the restaurant is rewriting that narrative with food and wine that feels approachable.
“Sometimes when you read a French menu, you come across words you can’t even pronounce,” David Spatafore, the owner of Little Frenchie, says. “We wanted to create a restaurant where people felt comfortable.”
Little Frenchie was designed to capture the spirit of the French sidewalk cafés that inspired it. Dating back to 1917, the space already carried the charm of a Parisian bistro, with architectural details that felt more at home on a European street corner than in Coronado. The team saw an opportunity to create a restaurant that matched the character of the space while filling a gap in the neighborhood.
The result is a French restaurant that honors tradition without taking itself too seriously.
At Little Frenchie, classic French techniques are at the heart of the menu, but there is always room for creativity. A cassoulet featuring Toulouse sausage and duck confit pays homage to the recipes and regions that inspired it, while a rich hot chocolate made with ingredients imported from France brings a taste of French café culture to Coronado.
The team loves finding unexpected ways to make familiar dishes feel new. A burger becomes a showstopper when it is finished tableside with melted raclette, while a French Dip gets elevated with prime beef and Wagyu makes its way into the burgers. Even Eggs Benedict gets a French twist, swapping the traditional English muffin for a buttery croissant. The GB&J, Little Frenchie’s take on a grilled cheese, brings that same playful approach with seasonal jam and French Brie layered into a comforting classic.
Nearly everything at Little Frenchie is made from scratch, with ingredients carefully chosen to match the restaurant’s standards. Even the bread receives special attention. Each morning, the team sends a car to Prager Brothers Artisan Bread to pick up freshly baked loaves, ensuring every element of the meal reflects the restaurant’s commitment to quality.
Wine is woven into the experience just as naturally as the food. Inspired by the effortless pairings found in French cafés and bistros, Little Frenchie’s by-the-glass selection invites guests to sip their way through different regions and discover new favorites without the pressure of knowing all the rules.
No gatekeepers, no creative rules, no perfect definition—the city’s DIY publishing scene makes room for anyone with something to say.
If magazines are like the adultier eldest daughters who know exactly how much anarchy they can get away with, zines are the far less predictable younger siblings going on whim and instinct. Those who draw on the walls around the house, DIY their own piercings, and experiment with different emo/straight-edge/back to emo phases (or not-phases). Boundaries and routines are what zines were created to rail against.
Walk into Verbatim Books’ zine corner, and this rebellion is immediately clear. Zines have no singular form, no clean category or definition. Vintage magazine scraps are collaged into new meaning alongside mini fandom zines. Single sheets of plain white printer paper are covered in nothing but black ballpoint pen. Repurposed hardback book covers are folded into something entirely new. Some are duct-taped together, others stapled. Some glossy, others matte. There are guides to anything and everything, comic panels, photography, hand-drawn cartoons, poetry, recipes, diaries, and ramblings that only make sense to the person who made them—and that’s on purpose.
Zines are creative magic. And with no rules, they’re incredibly accessible. Anyone can zine and have a voice, regardless of artistic training or work life experience.
You are your own Anna Wintour, Graydon Carter, Ruth Whitney.
San Diego–based zine creator Lyssette Williams specializes in mini zines—often limited to eight pages, they’re meditations in abbreviation. Outlining, thumbnailing, and revision all move quickly from idea to page. Larger projects, including Williams’ long-form graphic novel thesis, move at a slower pace. For those, she often returns to pen and ink, a choice that resists the over-editability of digital work.
Raised by a single mother and navigating mixed-race identity in a predominantly white town, she finds a home for processing it all in zines. Her work deals in identity, belonging, self-definition, and punk-rock childhood. But it isn’t always heavy; Williams creates a mini duck-themed zine called Backyard Duck Propaganda that’s hard not to love. “When I create, I think about what would have helped me find the words back then, what my younger self would’ve needed,” Williams says. “[Zines] put the tools in your hands and democratize art. They’re translations of memories and identities.”

For Williams, a big reason she keeps creating is being surrounded by other creatives—a scene that extends across the border. She points to Verbatim and Comicbook Artists of San Diego, plus events like Zine Fest (October 17–18 this year at Woo in Barrio Logan) and Black Comix Day at the WorldBeat Cultural Center.
Zines have always been a road for subcultures. During the Harlem Renaissance, Black creatives like Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston self-published one issue of Fire!!, which inspired other Black authors. In the 1930s, zines (then called fanzines) were hubs for sci-fi nerds to write fanfiction, address the fandom, and create new characters. Superman actually made his public debut in a fanzine called Science Fiction (he was originally cast as a villain with a fully receded hairline). A couple decades later, zines about feminism and riot grrrl became subculture de rigueur.
The internet nearly killed zines, of course. But now, people tired of the algorithm’s firehose are finding comfort and renewed inspiration in analog. Zines, a salve for digital fatigue.

A giant figure in San Diego zine culture is Burn All Books. Founded by Amanda and Nick Bernal, BAB started as a risograph (digital screen printing) studio and turned into one of those places that keeps expanding the whole scene around it, even forming its own archive group, SCANNNERS. Since opening in January 2023, it has published over 35 works and collaborated with more than 100 artists, writers, and zinesters.
For Duophobia, the pseudonym for local twin sisters Alora and Kiani Dotson (affectionately known as the “possum twins”), zines make room for experimentation and play that doesn’t fit anywhere else. Room for eclectic cartoons and dirty jokes. For sticker-covered sketchbooks.
It’s that same brand of nostalgia you might feel when, say, you walk past the carcass of an abandoned mall and see a faded cartoon mural. Their work lives somewhere between childhood and adulthood, where being unserious is taken very, very seriously.
“We’re born and raised in San Diego, and the community of artists here is a main reason we started publishing,” Kiani Dotson says. “There are people here like Trixxie Land who run open art gatherings. Show up, and you’re part of it.”
Land, a zinester herself (she made 250 single-page zines during 2020’s lockdown), is all about storytelling over hierarchy. Art shouldn’t be about gatekeeping or intimidation, she says. So she holds open-invite arts shows at Subterranean Coffee.

Duophobia regularly share their work at local galleries like Subterranean, filling that lowbrow space with pieces that answer: “What would’ve made us laugh as kids?” Children are often the first to pick up their zines, unfolding them in every direction while parents briefly panic at the impulsive destruction. The twins always step in. “No, no, it’s okay,” they say, before showing how one sheet of paper folds into an entire little book. “It’s like magic.” More often than not, the kids leave with a tiny zine tucked under a tiny arm, future San Diego zinesters in the making.
When asked what a zine really is, Alora Dotson’s response was simple: “It’s anything. Literally anything. The more genuine you are, the more people are going to hear what you have to say. Your voice matters, even if it’s just a silly joke or story. People want to hear about it.”
Not a perfect definition? Exactly. Zines inherently resist categories. Want to turn a single playing card into a storybook? Do it. What about your favorite graffiti artist’s signature tag at Prince Memorial Skatepark? Turn it into a zine.
Everything’s a zine.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
From tacos to tailors and trainers to travel, these are the businesses, people, and places that earned San Diego readers' votes
San Diego Aesthetics and Med Spa
Elicia Soltesz, Elicia Marie Beauty
Ashley Fierro, Ashley Fierro Makeup
Michelle Langston, MSN, APRN, FNP-BC, HNB-BC, Starlite Aesthetics
Alysa Espiritu, Afterglo Beauty Lounge
Ronnie Page, Gold Comb Barbershop North Park

Ryleigh Hunter, Headbang Salon
Ann Teresa Degischer, Maen the Salon
Lindsay Axelrod, Pixiedot Salon
Lauren Skinker, Lucky Cat Tattoo

Father Joe’s Villages Turkey Trot
The Camp Transformation Center, West Chula Vista
Singing Hills Golf Club at Sycuan

Camila Casanueva, The Yard Gym

Austin Harrington, Captain’s Quarters
Bivouac Ciderworks, Savoy Dry Apple Cider

Missi Burns, Et Voila

Prospera Internal Medicine and Aesthetics
Laika Nur, MD, takes her love of volleyball from the court to the clinic as team physician for the San Diego Mojo
Growing up, Laika Nur, MD, Scripps Clinic sports medicine specialist, loved watching beach volleyball when the Association of Volleyball Professionals tour came to her hometown of Chicago. A talented volleyball player herself, she remembers sitting in the stands all day, and once, even got a couple autographs. Years later, Dr. Nur was attending a professional event focused on women’s sports, and the discussion turned to a new professional women’s volleyball league. The general manager and coaching staff for San Diego’s team, the Mojo, happened to be in attendance, and Dr. Nur took the opportunity to ask them if they needed a team doctor. Flash forward to the Mojo’s inaugural 2024 season, when Dr. Nur officially became the team physician. Click here to read more about Dr. Nur and how she incorporates lessons she learned on the court into her practice.
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