Guest Blogger/ Photographer James Duren does not live in the Bay Area (thank God, cause we like him here).

James Duren

Photographer

My San Diego is not the Bay area. It is not LA. It is not Sacramento, nor is it San Jose. It isn’t Napa Valley. It isn’t the Central Valley. It isn’t Imperial Valley.

My San Diego is the Golden State’s great anomaly.

Our city is spread across open land like change spread out and counted by kids ready to cash in on their allowance. L.A. is thick . San Francisco is crammed. San Diego stretches its arms as though it were waking from a nap.

There is a Little Mogadishu, but you won’t find it in Lonely Planet or Fodor’s. There are the intersections in City Heights where burkas and bunta are the standard fair. Apartments are cheap. Traditions are not. Diversity is king. Men stand in front of temples.

My San Diego is the peeling plastic on the corner of the place mat that sits underneath my sponge bread and seasoned chicken at the Red Sea in City Heights. It is the framed reprint of Haile Selassie. It is the sweet recognition of difference as we walk in the back door of this treasure, met by the unassuming glances of regulars.

There is a Little Italy that you’ll find in both Lonely Plant and Fodor’s. The burkas and bunta are replaced by Calvin Klein and cappuccinos. The apartments are expensive. Traditions are not. Diversity is fashion. Men stand in front of cafes.

My San Diego is the bitter crema drying on the inside of my tiny LeVazza mug, the remnants of a fine espresso. It is the framed photographs of a whimsical European cafés. It is the disarming recognition of friendship as we walk past the yellow house of the Pecoraros. Nic sits on the front porch and we are met by his unassuming glances.

There is the rustic swank of Coronado, separated from the bittersweet pallor of Imperial Beach by a lonely stretch of road; separated from the fierce and proud communities of South San Diego by an the elegant curve of the Coronado Bridge.

San Diego is also hurting. It’s Mogadishus and Darfurs are secrets. They are hidden in canyons. They are away from freeways. Its Vietnamese are not the Little Saigon's of other cities. If you don’t look carefully, all you will see is white.

My city is the Golden State’s great anomaly. It is a hidden city and a famous city. Its people are decidedly private and proudly public. Its colors are on pallets hidden from the tourist’s eye.

I love my people, my city.

James Duren tell us about himself:
Despite moving around a lot when I was younger, I have been a San Diego resident for over 16 years. I have had the opportunity to attend high school, college, and graduate school in San Diego. My favorite parts of town are Little Italy, La Jolla, and the Adams Ave. district. Aside from writing, I also run my own photography business called Beauty Truth Photography. As for literature, I love biographies and anything by Ernest Hemingway.

To get in touch with James you can email him: jamesduren@yahoo.com




If you would like to tell us about your San Diego email cutchawrites@gmail.com