Two scooters, one day: a November stroll through Downtown San Diego
It was a Saturday in November, one of those San Diego weekend mornings where the air feels crisp but the sunshine promises to warm everything up by noon. We stepped outside into the familiar hum of downtown, my neighborhood for a few years, where the scent of espresso from the café located in the lobby of my building always seemed to find me before I’d even reached the door of my apartment. The city felt slow at this hour; no honking, no rush, just a couple of early risers walking their dogs and the low, comforting whir of a street cleaner somewhere in the distance.
That’s when I saw them. Two electric scooters, tipped slightly toward each other, abandoned on the curb of a quiet corner. Their color, bright lime, was enhanced by the cool morning light. They looked like they’d been left mid-adventure, their riders vanishing into the city without a backward glance. I smiled at the thought; maybe two friends had hopped off to grab breakfast and never came back, or maybe the night before had been too much fun and the scooters were simply forgotten.
We wandered past them, heading toward our favorite breakfast spot, where the cinnamon-dusted café de olla warms your hands and the smell of fresh tortillas drifts from the kitchen. November in San Diego is a season of its own—warm afternoons, crisp evenings, and skies that shift from pale blue to deep gold like they’re in on some secret sunset ritual. While the rest of the country is bundled in coats, here you can sip iced coffee outdoors in the sunshine, listening to the ocean breeze hum through the palm fronds.
After breakfast, we strolled along Harbor Drive, the water glittering like a spilled box of diamonds. Tourists in wide-brim hats paused to take photos of the USS Midway, and joggers in tank tops passed by, their footsteps light on the pavement. Vendors were setting up for the weekly Seaport Village artisan market, their tables covered with handmade jewelry, painted seashells, and photographs of sunsets so perfect they almost looked unreal. I lingered there, thinking about my own wall art; the way a single image, captured at the right moment, can hold an entire day’s worth of memories. That’s what I want my art to give people: not just a picture, but the warmth of sunshine on your skin, the smell of saltwater in the air, the hum of a city you once loved or dream of visiting.
By midday, downtown had woken up. The sidewalks filled with people: families with strollers, couples holding iced matcha lattes, street musicians strumming guitars under shady trees.
We spent the afternoon wandering through the Marina District, grabbing fish tacos from The Fish Market and eating them on a bench overlooking the bay. The breeze carried the faint sound of laughter from a nearby harbor tour boat, and the occasional squawk from a seagull hoping for a dropped tortilla chip. November light in San Diego has this golden quality: warmer than summer, softer than spring. That makes even the shadows feel inviting. I noticed it painting the buildings, turning glass towers into glowing pillars and casting long, gentle streaks across the streets.
As the day wound down, we walked up to the Balboa Theatre to check out a local jazz show. The crowd outside was buzzing, people in dresses and jackets laughing under the theater’s glowing marquee. We didn’t go in right away; instead, we found a small gelato shop nearby and sat on the curb, watching the city move around us. The scooters, of all things, came back into my mind. I wondered if their riders had returned yet.
When we passed that corner again after sunset, the scooters were still there. The light had changed everything. Downtown was alive with neon now: purple, pink, and blue spilling onto the sidewalks from the bars and restaurants. The scooters’ colors had deepened, shadows giving them a strange, mysterious presence. They were no longer just forgotten objects; they were part of the night’s story.
That night air was warm from the day’s leftover heat, carrying the faint scent of street food: fresh tortillas, grilled onions, and churros dusted with cinnamon sugar. Music from the Gaslamp’s open-air patios drifted toward us, blending into the sound of footsteps and laughter. I thought about how a single image could hold all of this: the quiet morning, the golden afternoon, the neon night.
I want you to hear the laughter, smell the ocean, and imagine your own stories for the little details, like two abandoned scooters waiting patiently for their riders. Because travel memories aren’t just about faraway places; they’re about the way the light hits a street corner you’ve walked a hundred times, the taste of your favorite breakfast, and the little mysteries you pass without ever knowing the full story.
That’s what San Diego gave me, and that’s what I hope my art gives you: a way to hold onto the sunshine, the relaxation, and the beauty of a place long after you’ve left. The scooters may have been forgotten, but they stayed with me, just like the city itself. And maybe, in some quiet corner of your own travel memories, they’ll stay with you too.
