I was never a traditional vacationer. I had no interest in all-inclusive resorts or curated itineraries. I never wanted to just “get away and relax.” I felt the humdrum of corporate office life to be perfectly predictable and routine, thank you very much. In my time off, I craved spontaneity and exploration. Luckily, my husband Troy is the same. He travelled a ton by nature of his work, and we turned each of those assignments into mini explorations of American culture, drawn to discovering local folklore and pockets of neighborhood quirks.
We wandered tiny towns outside of Bloomington, Indiana while he was on filming breaks for a show. We stayed in Paradise, CA for a few days after a speaking engagement at his alma mater to explore how the town rebounded after a devastating wildfire. We extended our stay in Miami after an emceeing event and had a friend of a friend of a friend we never met take us on a food-truck tour through parts of the city I’d have never seen otherwise. Even our honeymoon was a road trip through California.
Then, we had a baby and became business owners. Three years passed without a road trip or flight to the middle of “we’ll find out when we get there.” The only thing all-inclusive I was researching was preschools. I am not complaining—merely offering context for those who can relate to doom-scrolling to-do lists. So last month, when the chores, color-coordinated calendars, and general exhaustion that comes with being a working parent in America had caught up, I felt myself longing for the weekends when we explored nowhere together.
However, time is scarce, and demands are demanding. So, we decided to just ghost our lives for 36 hours. We called in support, put our phones on Do Not Disturb, and headed to the exotic land of downtown San Diego. Here’s the itinerary we followed.
Saturday, 3 p.m. – Check-In
The Pendry is a pheromone. Leather-wrapped elevators. Lobby air that smells what I imagine Tom Ford’s private sauna to smell like. Windows that frame the city like a movie still.
From our room, we had a full view of downtown, which was abuzz with some sort of line-dancing flash mob happening three blocks away. In the lobby, we spotted a group of local news reporters dressed like off-duty cowgirls, there to celebrate Heather Lake’s 40th. We got gifted Moët coins, which felt a little gimmicky… until we were in our room with two tiny bottles, and then it felt chic. It was quiet enough to hear our own thoughts.
I sat on the bed with my sunglasses on and enjoyed one of the few moments of responsibility-free zen we’d had since taking over San Diego Magazine and giving birth to our son in the same seven-day span. I looked at Troy and said, “We could leave now and this would still be worth it.”
Local Tip: If you’re coming from North County or East County, leave extra time to dodge the I-5’s 3 p.m. personality disorder.
Saturday, 5:30 p.m. – Dinner at Provisional Kitchen
Provisional is marble-on-marble, oversized olive trees, a mood somewhere between Roman banquet and Soho farmhouse. Big windows letting that San Diego sun in. If it weren’t a restaurant, it would make a perfectly elaborate European butterfly exhibit.
I asked Troy for his food picks, or as he says, “things I’d recommend to friends I like.” Here’s what he suggests ordering:
Hamachi Crudo
Perfect-temp slices of yellowtail (not too cold, which’ll kill a good sushi-grade fish) with Sungold tomatoes, pickled fennel, citrus vinaigrette, chile oil, and green onion. The fennel makes it.
Squid Ink Linguini
Squid ink pasta can be hit or miss, usually missing when the ink tastes a tad too oceanic. But this is well-done, with a Sungold tomato sauce that’s light, bright, and a tad creamy (Sungolds are the superior tomato); pan-seared squid; and two lumps of fresh uni.
Saturday, 7:30 p.m. – Trombone Shorty at The Rady Shell
We walked to The Rady Shell at Jacobs Park, which is one of San Diego’s best ideas in the last decade—a waterfront amphitheater that makes live music feel like a religious experience. Half picnic, half al fresco opera house. If you haven’t made it to a Trombone Shorty show, run, don’t walk. I first saw the New Orleans jazz hero at BAM in New York years ago and it was transformational. He is magnetic, a firehose of funk and soul and charisma. The show will shake the dust off your soul.
Local Tip: Walk there. Seriously. Parking is expensive and soul-sucking. If you can’t, take a scooter. And always bring a blanket or a jacket. The magic of Shell shows is being surrounded by water with a sun that’s clocking out for the day. But that means it gets nippy.
Saturday, 10 p.m. – Asleep; no notes.
Sunday, 9:30 a.m. – The Entire Breakfast Menu & an IV
Woke up at 5:30 a.m. Blinked and must have dozed off. I came to at 10 to the sound of Troy announcing, “The IV therapy guys are here.” Mom guilt was starting to kick in, so I sent a video to our son and tried to remember the meme I saw about fastening your own seatbelt first.
Troy had ordered the entire breakfast menu. This is not hyperbole. The whole. Damn. Thing.
I got the “Hangover IV,” which felt strange to do while eating a pizza for breakfast, but it promised hydration and vitamins. I fully anticipated feeling pumped-up enough to run for office after, but honestly it mostly just made me cold. The real star of the show is the menu of in-room spa treatments you can add on. The spa director came with a suitcase that I can only describe as “Mary Poppins borrowing Gwyneth Paltrow’s carry-on luggage.” The standouts for me:
KNESKO Face Masks
Wild, jelly-like masks infused with crushed gemstones and Reiki energy. They go on cool and heavy. My face felt like it had gone through a bankruptcy and came out richer.
Therabody TheraFace
Basically the Tesla of skincare gadgets. This TikTok-viral Zorro mask retails for $650 and has more heads than Medusa—microcurrent, LED light, percussive therapy. It’s what would happen if a facial roller went to space and returned enlightened.
Local Tip: Aging is okay, but it’s fun to pretend like we’re in control.
And our room service picks:
Claire’s Pick: Breakfast Pizza
Bacon, Berkshire cream, Parmesan, spinach, over-easy eggs. You deserve it.
Troy’s Pick: Eggs Benedict
The smoked ham and that hollandaise will cure things, undo knots in your happiness.
Sunday, 11 a.m. – Spa & Meditate
The moment I’d been waiting for. What a perfectly cooked birria taco is to Troy, a Swedish massage is to me. And, damn, they have done a nice job with the spa. It’s a meditative bunker that manages to be both moody and immaculate. You can book outdoor massages in what looks like a micro wellness jungle, but we opted for a couple’s massage indoors.
Local Tip: Request that the providers dim the lights. The standard setting lets in more sun than I’m used to at a spa.
After the massage, we did a session in “The Mind-Sync Harmonic Wellness Lounger.” You sit in zero-gravity chairs and choose from a selection of tracks with names like “Soul Soak” and “Stress Release.” I opted for one called “Emotional Release.” I don’t practice meditation regularly, so I anticipated feeling uncomfortable, but I was ready to ascend the ladder of consciousness. I added red light therapy goggles because that felt like the right thing to do at the time—until the goggles began vibrating in sync with the sound therapy headset, rattling my skull. If you ever wanted to know what it’s like to have Daft Punk play a set in your sinuses, I’d recommend this. After two minutes, I took off the goggles and started over, leaning into the ambient pulsing of the sounds. I blinked and 20 minutes had passed.
I didn’t reach enlightenment, but I did feel like a human who had been debugged.
Sunday, 12 p.m. – Pool Vibes & Tom Schwartz Sighting
The elevator doors opened, and Tom Schwartz (yes, that one) walked by looking like he had just hit the gym. It was officially peak San Diego: perfect sun, perfect playlist, not a single person trying too hard. There’s something beautifully democratic about the Pendry pool. It’s got just enough scene to feel alive, but not so much that you feel like you need to be verified to get a chair. Rent a daybed. Do it. Order the rosé.
Sunday, 1:30 p.m. – Nason’s Beer Hall for a Mic-Drop Brunch
On the way out, we hit Nason’s Beer Hall. It’s a sports bar in form, sleeper food hit in spirit. We expected more from the cocktails than the food. But it was shockingly good beer hall grub. I would have lost a lot of hours of my life in my 20s there. Apparently, they just reinvested into the kitchen and menu and overhauled the program.
According to Troy, the standouts were the Wagyu corn dog with miso mustard and chives; the birria grilled cheese (with crispy cheese melted on the outside of the bread and dipping jus); the buffalo fried chicken sliders on brioche with blue cheese and butter pickles (there are many fancy fried chicken sandwich joints, but this one would beat most of them in a blind tasting); and the “Money Buzz-ness,” a riff on an espresso martini with Ketel One, banana liqueur, Skrewball peanut butter whiskey, and espresso. Like a peanut-butter banana whiskey sandwich.
In conclusion, sometimes the best escape is to just stay
We didn’t fly to a foreign country or rent a Jeep in the desert. But we did find our rhythm again. We laughed. We danced. We slept. We remembered who we were before the bottomless inbox and 24/7 chores.
Sometimes you don’t need a passport or a week off. You just need 36 hours and the guts to ghost your life for a minute.
We did. It was glorious.
