In droves they flock southwest for warmth and waters in airliners buzzing the palms of Balboa Park, where fountains spout and clustered venues draw crowds seeking culture and nature alike as strains of Canuck crooners suffuse the atmosphere with fashionable ditties and Hallelujahs. Locals, mostly friendly and deferential, roll by on e-scooters randomly abandoned en route to tourism sector roles tending to dolphins and killer whales, operating roller coasters or miniature trains, serving up pollo asado burritos with cilantro and chipotle mayo to elate palates. Here is a seaside playground seasoned in welcoming comers, replete with resort trappings typifying vacation-as-lifestyle, its slopes and districts a backdrop for the beautiful wining and dining in the Gaslamp Quarter and annually parading pets past Fifth and Market. You needn’t clamber amid the jets and choppers atop Midway’s flight deck to note the heavy navy presence; vets abound, and many serve latter-day duty tours as docents guiding the wide-eyed through halls and history. Along with memories of tropical plant and tree species, scenic zoo gondolas suspended above the canopy, thrills and giggles at Belmont Park, you cannot help recalling rampant homelessness, a ubiquitous epidemic overspilling the barrios, souring the sightseeing, irking even the most insouciant slobbering ice cream; for no different are the derelict, refugees from colder locales, who at great pains likewise made coastward pilgrimage, yearning for a sunny haven and fresher horizons. |