I grew up in San Diego. Not “went to college there” or “lived there for a few years.” Grew up. Played in the surf at Mission Beach, bodysurfed at La Jolla Shores, ate fish tacos before they were a trend. So when Leigh and I worked out our arrangement — once a year, I get to go back, see some friends, eat some Mexican food, and watch some baseball — it wasn’t a vacation. It was a homecoming.
You can find the normal tourist stuff on a million websites. Sea World, the San Diego Zoo, Hotel Del Coronado, Del Mar — the things you feel you must see and do when you’re visiting San Diego for the first time. And the amazing beaches I grew up on, which have spoiled me forever against east coast “beaches.” Sorry, Nags Head. Sorry, Ocean City.
This isn’t that guide. This is what a local does when he gets to come home.
First Stop: El Indio
I almost always schedule my flight to arrive around lunchtime, and my first stop after hopping into a rental car or Uber from SAN is almost always El Indio — for either a two beef taco combo plate or a carne asada burrito. And a bag of their take-home chips to graze on all weekend in the hotel room. Maybe some horchata to drink.
Aside from maybe a sit-down place or two on any given trip, El Indio is maybe the “nicest” place I’ll go. I always tell people that the best Mexican food in Southern California can be found in the places where you seriously question your personal safety. Bars on the windows, holes in the walls, an ATM chained in the lobby and a sign that says cash only. Knowing what you want in Spanish is useful, and don’t try to customize your order like you do at Starbucks. I’m looking at you, Miss Grande half-caf, two pumps of sugar-free, two-percent milk but whole milk foam and whip, stirred counter-clockwise, 170-degree latte.
I eat a lot of Mexican food when I return to San Diego. Juanita’s in Leucadia. Albertos, Robertos, Filibertos — pretty much any-bertos. Several good spots in the Gaslamp. The real ones know.
The Gaslamp Quarter
The Gaslamp District is a great place to stay, and I have a habit of booking the Marriott Gaslamp Quarter (across the street from Petco Park) or the Marriott Marquis at the Marina and Convention Center. Walking distance to everything — restaurants, bars, the ballpark, the waterfront.
The trolley — San Diego’s light rail — is adequate for just about everything and runs frequently. Uber is plentiful. At my last visit in August 2025, right before the new terminal opened, the terminal for Southwest Airlines was awful. Crowded, nowhere to sit, and was a week away from moving to the new terminal. With a single runway, SAN is often fraught with delays, so plan ahead. But when you step off the plane and out of the terminal, the fresh salt air is something to behold.
Petco Park
And then there’s baseball. San Diego Padres baseball at beautiful Petco Park. There’s something about sitting in those seats with the downtown skyline behind the outfield wall, the sun going down over the Pacific, and a ballpark full of brown and gold. It feels like home because it is.
Coming Home
San Diego isn’t a place I visit. It’s a place I return to. The taco shops haven’t changed. The salt air hasn’t changed. Petco Park still feels like a cathedral. And every year, when the wheels touch down at SAN and I step outside, I’m ten years old again — barefoot, sunburned, and home.