I take the winding, country road from my hometown of Seville, in Andalusia—the southernmost region of Spain—to the mountain range known as Sierra Morena. I’m here to find out more about Saint Diego, the namesake of the city where I’ve lived for almost a decade, some 5,000 miles away.
This road is as familiar to me as the 79 to Julian, the narrow curves peppered with childhood memories of driving up here on the weekends. Hundreds of cork and holm oaks, not unlike the ones in southern California, line the road. It rained recently, so the soil is covered in grass and wildflowers, but I know that underneath, there is clay-like red earth that’s soft to the touch. Bulls graze lazily, swinging their tails to scare flies away.
Photo Credit: María José Durán
Eventually, I arrive in San Nicolás del Puerto, a small village of white houses beside a river with a Roman bridge. Around 600 people live here regularly, with the population increasing in the summertime. It’s not the prettiest or the most romantic of little Sevillian mountain towns, to be honest with you. But one thing brings me to these rocky hills of my ancestors: Saint Didacus, also known as San Diego, was born here in 1400.
When one enters the small town, the imprint of San Diego—the man—on the lives of its inhabitants quickly becomes obvious. The local school, one of the streets, and an hermitage (a small place of worship) are named after him. There are pictures of his likeness on the street. Businesses bear his moniker in big, bold lettering.
I ask passers-by how to get to the hermitage, and they refer me to a small supermarket called La Alacena, owned by the Eldest Brother of the First Brotherhood of San Diego. He’s busy working behind the counter, but he directs me to the person who helps maintain the brotherhood’s assets, 70-year-old Ángela Gómez Macías.
Courtesy of Turismo de la Provincia de Sevilla
There aren’t many historic accounts of what San Diego’s life was like in his youth. Most internet articles say his origins were humble and pious. One can imagine, while walking down the orange tree–lined streets of this mountain town, that life here in the 15th century couldn’t have been very luxurious. According to the San Diego History Center, “as a young man, [San Diego] lived as a hermit and practiced asceticism prior to joining the Order of St. Francis of Assisi.”
But first, he was baptized at San Nicolás del Puerto’s 15th-century-era San Sebastián Church, a small but pretty Mudéjar-style chapel with a clock tower where a stork has made its spring nest. Gómez Macías shows me the ancient-looking baptismal font. She was baptized here, too, along with almost every child in the village.
Photo Credit: María José Durán
A tile painting behind the font depicts San Diego in his Franciscan robes. Between the folds, he hides flowers. It’s a reference to one of his alleged miracles, the reason for his elevation to sainthood. Legend says that, one day, San Diego was sneaking away some bread to feed the poor, which was frowned upon in his order. The custodian friar of his monastery asked what he was hiding. The bread turned into roses. Showing the blooms to the surprised monk, San Diego walked away. The flowers transformed back into loaves again, and he passed them out to the beggars.
“San Diego means a lot to me—look,” Gómez Macias says, pointing at her arm, where her hair stands on end as though she has goosebumps. Some see raised hairs as a signal of devotion.
Photo Credit: María José Durán
We walk two streets down and visit the house where San Diego was born, according to the plaque on its façade. There’s nobody to open the door for us, but we peek through the window and spot a donkey hanging out in the backyard.
We drive a mile outside of town to the hermitage, where a likeness of San Diego—a life-size wooden statue—presides over the space. “He’s very pretty,” Gómez Macías points out. “He’s beautiful.” She tells me he’s always represented carrying the wooden cross he’s said to have died clutching. On his shoulder perches a bird.
Photo Credit: María José Durán
An hour or so later, Beli Gómez, a fellow patron at one of San Nicolás del Puerto’s three restaurants, offers an explanation for the avian companion. It’s a story she heard many times from her mother: “[San Diego] loved animals, and his father had a lot of birds in captivity, and he used to open all their cages and free them,” she says.
Beli confesses she’s an atheist. I am, too, but in Andalusia we don’t need to believe in miracles or God to love our saints, sacred statues, and rituals. Do you need to surf to love southern California’s beach culture?
Photo Credit: Mateo Hoke
According to the San Diego History Center, it was cartographer Sebastián Vizcaíno who named the San Diego Bay in 1602, even though Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo had already visited the spot in 1542 and dubbed it San Miguel. It was the second European name that stuck. San Diego himself never set foot in the Americas—he died in 1463, nearly 30 years before the first of Columbus’s expeditions left from Huelva, 125 miles away from San Nicolás del Puerto. I arrived in the saint’s namesake city more than five centuries later, in 2015.
As I drive down the mountain, I think about all I had to change, all I had to become, to fit into my Southern California life. All the pieces of my Southern Spanish soul that I had somehow misplaced, forgotten in a dusty corner of my single-story, mid-century-modern, single-family home.
I feel like finding Saint Diego has helped reintegrate some of those pieces I had lost. The Andalusian and the Californian. My roots and my present, all put together in a saint who turned bread into flowers.
Photo Credit: María José Durán
When I tell Gómez Macías I live in San Diego, California, her face doesn’t register surprise, but she admits it’s her first time meeting someone from the town named after the saint. It’s apparent that even though the lives of many residents of San Nicolás del Puerto are touched by the namesake of our city, they don’t much care that a town on another continent is named after him.
To me this seems like such a crucial moment, connecting the dots of this strange coincidence that I have ended up in a town so far away from my ancestral land, and that yet it carries the name and the faith of these people, who are more like me than perhaps anyone I’ve met in San Diego.
In the nine years I’ve lived in San Diego, it’s been hard to feel like it’s my home, in a way—even though I birthed two children and bought a house in the city. I’ve always felt a much stronger sense of belonging in southern Spain, where my heart pulses in time with the beats of flamenco, people understand my accent, and it doesn’t take a five-minute conversation to explain my name.
It’s also difficult to reconcile the fact that people who came from the same place as me not only gave San Diego county its name, but played a big role in the despicable acts committed against the region’s first inhabitants, the Kumeyaay.
Courtesy of the San Diego History Center
I feel torn between pride in my culture, my roots, and where I come from and embarrassment and rage for what people from my country did to others. We need to do way better at communicating our colonial history so it doesn’t repeat.
Because just like not knowing where the name of San Diego comes from can keep us from an interesting piece of our past, not facing the history of those who came before does our city, our country, and the world a disservice.
“How can a town named San Nicolás del Puerto,” Beli muses, “not have a puerto (port) or a saint named Nicolás?”
“How can a town named San Diego,” I think to myself, “be named after a cult that originated 5,000 miles away, and of which its citizens know nothing about?”
María José Durán is a bilingual, Emmy and Golden Mike award-winning journalist with two decades of experience across two continents and three countries. She’s interested in all things motherhood, border life, intersectional feminism, and lifestyle.
As summertime inches closer to the shores of San Diego, there are plenty of reasons to be ecstatic. For one thing, there’s the impending arrival of the summer solstice (Sunday), and three days before that, Del Mar’s own Summer Solstice will return for its yearly golden hour. There are also plenty of local Juneteenth events, such as Kinfolk Fest, the Cooper Family Foundation’s Juneteenth Celebration, and The Freedom Table, a new, food-centered event from the originators of Juneteenth San Marcos. We’re also less than three weeks away from America’s 250th anniversary, and the celebrations range from the San Diego History Center’s America 250: San Diego 1776-2026 to NASCAR’s weekend of racing at Naval Base Coronado.
Cbar has planned a week’s worth of festivities to mark its first birthday, and everyone can get in on the fun. The 1-Year Anniversary Week celebrations continue with a special edition of the Sips & Shells craft series ($50) on Tuesday from 6-8:30 p.m., half-off pastries with any purchase of a barista drink (plus an anniversary summer wine flight) on Wednesday and a five-course winemaker dinner on Thursday from 6-9 p.m. ($130). Finally, the birthday bash will conclude with live music on Friday (Will Fedak) and Saturday (Cappo Kelley) from 6-9 p.m.
2917 State Street, Carlsbad
Taste of Little Italy
June 16 & 17
Little Italy’s annual food crawl has so many options that it warrants splitting into two evenings, each boasting a diverse lineup of 20 neighborhood vendors. During the Taste of Little Italy, taking place Tuesday and Wednesday from 4-8 p.m., attendees can make their way from the Piazza della Famiglia to nearby dining destinations for bites like esquites, sausage rolls, hot chicken tenders, and forkfuls of handmade pasta. Each night will also include live music and stops for drinks, desserts, and vegetarian items. Tickets are $71 per day.
As spring makes its golden transition into summer, welcome the new season with open arms and a big appetite during Del Mar Village’s marquee tasting event this Thursday from 5-8 p.m. With the Summer Solstice celebrating its 20th anniversary, this year’s iteration will include dozens of food and drink offerings from Del Mar Village vendors, soulful tunes from Christian Jules Taylor, live art by Sarah O’Connor, and wave-crashing views at Powerhouse Park. General admission (21+) is $157 and comes with unlimited tastings as well as a commemorative tasting glass, while VIP tickets are sold out; proceeds support the Del Mar Village Association.
1658 Coast Boulevard, Del Mar
The Freedom Table at TERI Campus of Life
June 19
After hosting the first-ever Juneteenth San Marcos festival in 2025, Lionel and Natalie Saulsberry have upped the ante with The Freedom Table, an elevated observance of community, culture, and the culinary arts. This Friday from 4-9 p.m. at TERI Campus of Life, guests can enjoy storytelling, art installations, live music, curated cocktails, and a chef-led dining experience, all in recognition of Juneteenth’s lasting importance. Ticket options include general admission ($261), plus two charitable ticket options: supporter ($313) and impact ($417), with a portion of sales going towards the youth nonprofit Achievement in Motion.
555 Deer Springs Road, San Marcos
Talladega Nights Father’s Day Brunch at ARLO
June 21
In honor of NASCAR’s Coronado debut and Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, ARLO is throwing a Father’s Day brunch for the dads who want to go fast. This Sunday from 8 a.m. to 2 p.m., patrons can order from ARLO’s regular brunch menu, as well as a trio of holiday specials: the Dad’s Day Steak and Fries ($64), the Fit For a King Muffuletta Sandwich ($29), and the Big Daddy Brookie ($14). This shake and bake-approved meal will also include a DJ, cigar rollings, whiskey tastings and a Ricky Bobby costume contest. Reservations can be made online.
Ryan Hardison is a freelance arts and entertainment writer and recent graduate of San Diego State. When he's not staring at his laptop, he's likely eating an adobada burrito or getting sunburnt at the beach.
My 15-year-old daughter tried to steal our car this week, so I’m ready to become a NASCAR dad. It would be appropriate discipline. We just relocated to a very nice suburb within walking distance of her high school. The suburbs are like living in a Tesla commercial. I am pretty far from the wealthiest dad in this neighborhood (I am, in fact, the least wealthy dad in this ’hood), more than a few engineering degrees short of being in the running.
I’m fairly certain watching NASCAR is a violation of our HOA and a violation of my daughter’s emotional HOA. But NASCAR hits San Diego this weekend and I have a fever I’ve never felt before. I want to watch 111 drivers do dangerous things in cars and trucks on an active military base in the ocean. Since my lifelong exposure to NASCAR is limited to Talladega Nights and every single iteration of the movie Cars, I can only base my plan of attack on oafish stereotypes.
So while other neighbor dads are sizing bubble jackets for their golf simulators, I’m gonna grow a Ricky Bobby, run the extension cord for the TV out into the carport we share with six other condos, fill a cooler with a proper 80-20 split of Hamm’s and Mountain Dew, treat a lawn chair like an ADU, and spend a few hours yelling ohsheeeit as if it’s a single, nine-syllable word.
The quality parents in our neighborhood seem to be able to sense anytime a vehicle breaches the 6 MPH threshold, so I should gather a crowd pretty fast. They may come over with strongly worded emails in their hearts, but one glimpse of Shane van Gisbergen and hometown hero Jimmy Johnson guzzling the last remaining drops of gasoline on the planet in a dazzling display of carmanship—they’ll join my NASCAR pop-up party.
By the time my daughter brings her friends over, we’ll have a real welcoming committee. I’ll set a special lawn chair out for the nice young boy who bought her flowers on her birthday. Have a Dew and talk to me about yourself and please list out your morals alphabetically, kid, I’ll say.
Because, like I said, my daughter tried to steal my car.
She wasn’t going to Mexico. But while Claire and I were off doing businessy stuff to afford the teen’s skincare rituals, she and a friend decided to teach themselves stick shift. She’s never driven a stick before. I’m not saying she has, but if she has driven a vehicle at all—it would have been done in a remote, abandoned parking lot where the only possible thing she could destroy was the concept of driving itself.
But a couple TikTok videos later, she and her friends felt a certain level of mastery had been achieved, and they gave it a go. They backed our VW Bug out of the garage with a series of stalls and transmission seizures, and managed to get it into the carport, attempting to do “donuts.” That’s when I got a call from a resident, who had taken an active interest in this experiment.
Which got me wondering about the power and might of vehicles. Turns out, even at carport speeds there exists a bit of potential fireworks. A garage door could become not a garage door anymore. At 145 MPH on Naval Base Coronado this weekend (don’t worry, they slow down to 100 MPH for turns), NASCAR drivers are essentially doorbell ditching gods. I didn’t register the temperature after my daughter’s trial run, but the track at NASCAR races usually hits a cool 130-150 degrees, enough to lightly sear some Nikes (the tires themselves hover in the 200 degree range).
And that is at least part of our fascination with NASCAR (the other fascination is the legendary pit parties, which either set humanity back a few evolutionary links, or advance it by the same amount of links). These drivers take something us adults do every day in a very efficient, boring way and take it to its extreme impulse. Grace and precision at the thunderous edge of shit going terribly wrong. Most of us have, upon seeing the price of California gas, wanted to pile our worldly possessions into a Honda Pilot and see how fast we could make it to our new home in Vegas. So NASCAR drivers are acting on our own wildest impulse.
Troy Johnson is the magazine’s award-winning food writer and humorist, and a long-standing expert on Food Network. His work has been featured on NatGeo, Travel Channel, NPR, and in Food Matters, a textbook of the best American food writing.
Music drifts across the fairway. Someone’s in flip flops. The Pacific flashes in the distance. Sun peeks onto shoulders through the palm trees. It’s spring, technically, but the air reads suspiciously like summer. At the par-3 course at Liberty Station, the longest hole barely stretches past 120 yards, and no one looks particularly interested in becoming the next PGA legend.
“I got dragged to a par-3 course in 2019 —The Loma Club—and it was way more my jam,” says Ronan Galvin, CEO and co-founder of Sunday Golf, a company that makes lightweight golf bags for players who’d rather carry less and laugh more. “It was a lot different than the stereotypical ideas you have about golf where it’s kind of long, uptight, and exclusive.”
Galvin spent over a decade in the golf industry working in product development, sourcing and manufacturing. But he didn’t grow up swinging clubs. Basketball and football were more his speed. What clicked for him was a simpler, more relaxed kind of play: shorter rounds and weekend games built for fun rather than formality. The kind of golf that resonated for him felt accessible, effortless, and surprisingly his lifestyle.
Courtesy of Sunday Golf
He noticed something else, too.
On a course where five clubs do the job, players were still lugging 14. So Galvin built something smaller. Lighter. A bag designed specifically for par-3 rounds, the Loma Bag is sleek, functional, and refreshingly unfussy. It’s practical minimalism in a sport known for excess.
Sunday Golf was slated to launch in January 2020. Then, COVID hit. Shipments stalled; lost at sea. The future felt shaky. But the series of catastrophes for the young company turned out to be anything but: By the time inventory arrived that August, golf had become one of the few activities people could safely do.
“It introduced and brought so many people back to the game,” Galvin says. “It created a habit for a lot of people, which is a big reason golf is on its growth trajectory.”
It turns out Americans can’t get enough of golf. Forty-eight million of them swung clubs last year, a 41 percent jump since 2019, and the National Golf Foundation says the total could top 50 million by the end of 2026.
The brand rode this unlikely momentum. Since 2021, Sunday Golf has expanded into larger lightweight bags and continues evolving from there. A major reason for the company’s success is its approachability, a value so central that it’s literally written on the office walls in the form of the company’s guiding mission: “Get 500,000 golfers having more fun by 2027.” This goal is measured, fittingly, by golf bags sold.
Sunday Golf has already passed 300,000 bags sold.
But the numbers aren’t the point.
Courtesy of Sunday Golf
“To remind the world that life is meant to be enjoyed,” Galvin says of the brand’s why. In an era dominated by screens, golf offers something analog. “People are outside, touching grass with their friends. A golf bag is a golf bag, but our products are vehicles to help support that.”
Unlike legacy golf giants promising proximity to Rory McIlroy-level greatness, Sunday Golf leans into what Galvin jokingly calls “diet golf” or “golf light”—weekend rounds, driving range sessions, company scrambles. The bags are built for the casual golfer, and the fit feels obvious.
That philosophy resonates across Southern California, where year-round sunshine means golf courses never really hibernate for winter. As Galvin puts it, “the laid-back lifestyle of San Diego kind of seeps into everyone’s veins.”
Sometimes the validation arrives via email: a 76-year-old customer is able to walk the course again because their golf bag is lighter. Parents are able to take their children out with Sunday Golf’s kids line.
For Galvin, that’s the real win. Not perfection. Not prestige. Just more people outside, enjoying themselves. In San Diego, that might be the most natural mission of all.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
Kelly H. Harfouche, founder of KQ Aesthetic Society, knows firsthand that cosmetic treatments like fillers, neurotoxins, and microneedling, can not only enhance a person’s appearance and restore confidence, they have the power to truly change a person’s life. An expert injector has the ability to tailor treatments to each individual patient’s anatomy and goals for personalized results. Harfouche, a board-certified nurse practitioner, has spent nearly a decade perfecting her craft as an aesthetic injector and integrating her multifaceted artistic skills with precision patient care. Her commitment to continual education and training, plus a passion for helping people look—and feel—their best, set KQ Aesthetic Society apart in a sea of local medspas.
For many people considering nonsurgical treatments, the intent is to look refreshed and refined. KQ Aesthetic Society’s philosophy eschews a cookie cutter approach that bases treatments around units, instead working to understand each person’s unique goals, then curating a treatment plan to fit that vision. Harfouche focuses on “inclusive luxury,” the belief that everyone deserves access to aesthetic treatments, respective of budget restrictions. She develops long-standing trusted relationships with her patients, and works with each one to achieve their aesthetic objectives and address the underlying causes of their concerns.
“For me, forming an honest and open relationship with every patient who walks through the door is essential. This means understanding them on a deeper level and meeting them where they are to define and achieve their individual goals,” she says.
Drawing on her artistic background, which inspired her transition into medical aesthetics, Harfouche sees each client as a “unique canvas.” Rather than relying on standardized procedures, the practitioner’s distinctive approach combines her profound understanding of the physiological and anatomical changes associated with aging with an unwavering commitment to ongoing education about the newest products and their mechanisms of action. Her goal is to make each patient feel beautiful in their own skin and to embrace their individuality.
She has also pioneered a way to combine her talent for aesthetic artistry with her philanthropic nature. Harfouche is one of only a handful of providers using dermal fillers to treat patients with lip asymmetry and scarring resulting from cleft lip surgery. Patients travel from around the country for this transformative treatment, noting increased confidence and a restored identity. She hopes to eventually launch a training program to help fill the void in this space.
“My passion has always been connecting with people and giving back in any capacity that I can,” she says. In the rapidly advancing landscape of aesthetic medicine, you can place your confidence in Harfouche and KQ Aesthetic Society to deliver exceptional care. To learn more or book a consultation, please visit kqaestheticsociety.com.
The initial project will be a landmark September edition of San Diego Magazine—fully dedicated to the people, ideas, and identities of the city’s creative community. After its release, those stories and more will extend across six months of integrated digital, social, and multi-platform coverage. Art & Design District and SDFC Playmakers will serve as co-publishers of the expanded editorial vision.
The Art & Design District is evolving into San Diego’s first home for the performing arts at iconic downtown venues like the Civic Theatre and Jacobs Music Center alongside research and development programs focused on artist live/work spaces, galleries, studios, and New School of Architecture & Design.
“[The Art & Design District initiative] is a long-term investment in San Diego’s creative life and the creative workforce that powers our cultural experiences and creative industries here at home and across the world,” says Jonathan Glus, Prebys Senior Fellow for Art & Design in Residence at Downtown San Diego Partnership. “But infrastructure alone is not enough. The public needs to see, understand, and participate in what’s being built and why. Joining as co-publisher of this issue means helping ensure that the story of San Diego’s creative community—its artists, its institutions, its future—gets told at the level of ambition the moment requires.”
San Diego has entered a defining chapter in how the region invests in its creative community, with civic and philanthropic leaders working alongside artists, brands, institutions, and people to chart a new model of public-private support for arts and culture.
As digital co-publishers of San Diego Magazine‘s arts and culture coverage, SDFC’s Playmakers partnership will include a six-month integrated collaboration designed to sustain the visibility of San Diego’s creative community well beyond a single issue.
“The Playmakers program was built on the belief that the creative community is essential to what makes San Diego, San Diego,” says Sebastian, San Diego FC’s SVP of Brand and Innovation. “Investing in local media that tells those stories—and reaches the audiences who need to hear them—is one of the most direct ways we can support the artists, organizations, and cultural leaders shaping this city’s future. We’re proud to step in as digital co-publishers of San Diego Magazine‘s arts and culture coverage and the founding partner of this new editorial program.”
Under the partnerships:
The Art & Design District joins as Co-Publisher of the September 2026 Arts & Culture Issue, undwriting San Diego Magazine‘s most ambitious editorial event of the year.
SDFC Playmakers joins as Digital Co-Publisher of San Diego Magazine‘s arts and culture coverage, founding a six-month integrated partnership that includes co-publisher presence in the September issue.
The partnership represents a new model for regional media: civic and cultural institutions providing the resources required for sustained, ambitious, local editorial media focused on the neighborhoods it serves.
“For 78 years, the magazine has told the story of arts and culture here,” says Claire Johnson, CEO of San Diego Magazine. “But the fragmentation of traditional media has made it harder than ever to cover this community at the depth and scale it deserves. SDFC Playmakers and the Art & Design District have recognized something critical: Media is not separate from the civic conversation, it’s the stage for the conversation.”
San Diego Magazine retains full editorial control over all reporting, features, and original content produced under both partnerships.
“Our role in this ecosystem is to tell the story of San Diego’s culture and provide context for our readers.” says Johnson. “These partnerships give us the resources to do justice to that responsibility—and to extend that commitment well beyond a single issue. Our readers also deserve to know exactly how this work was funded. I’m grateful to our partners, and to the arts and culture community in San Diego for letting us tell this story.”
The September Arts & Culture Issue will be released early September 2026, with digital, social, video, and podcast coverage rolling out through early 2027.
ABOUT SAN DIEGO MAGAZINE For 78 years, San Diego Magazine has been the region’s leading lifestyle and culture publication, reaching approximately 6 million readers monthly across print, digital, newsletter, and social platforms. Owned and operated locally, the magazine has been the connective tissue of San Diego’s cultural conversation since 1948.
ABOUT SDFC PLAYMAKERS The Playmakers program is an ongoing initiative that seeks to identify and showcase the talent of San Diego creatives who are contributing to the culture, substance, and flow of our community. We want to bring the San Diego community together by marrying football and creativity to provide a platform for these Playmakers who are positively impacting our culture by pushing the boundaries through innovative ideas. The goal is to create a program that consistently provides growth and exposure opportunities for San Diego creatives, while shaping an authentic direction for San Diego FC’s brand and community-building process. Through this program we hope to contribute to the creative fabric of our city by providing paid jobs, projects, collaborations, as well as networking opportunities for Playmakers.
ABOUT THE ART & DESIGN DISTRICT The Art & Design District is a Downtown San Diego Partnership initiative, supported by the Prebys Foundation, working to shape a connected, vibrant arts and design district in downtown San Diego. Led by Art and Culture Expert Fellow Jonathan Glus, the initiative convenes artists, cultural leaders, civic stakeholders, and residents in service of a downtown that reflects the creativity, identity, and diversity of the region. Learn more at downtownsandiego.org.
Golf doesn’t have to mean stiff collars, pleated khakis, whisper-talking on the green, or pretending your sand trap fails aren’t actually hilarious. Around San Diego, a handful of rebel courses are quietly rewriting the rules of an afternoon round, making them more relaxed, more social, and yes, more dog-friendly. These are the fairways where leashed pups pad alongside their people; where a suspenseful search for a golf ball in the bushes or—no!no!no!no!no!—in the water hazards are part of the fun; where every polite golf clap comes with a smiling, panting audience. If your ideal golf day includes a walk, a drink, and your dog riding shotgun, this is your teeing ground.
For proof that a golf course can be approachable without being boring, look no further than Emerald Isle Golf Course in Oceanside. The executive course delivers consistently beautiful greens, rolling elevations, and just enough challenge to keep you engaged, not stressed—unless your pup breaks free and runs for the rolling elevations, in which case you’ll be very engaged and maybe a little stressed. Locals love holes like the canal carry on No. 3 and the wildlife-dotted pond on No. 16, while golden-hour sunsets steal the show most evenings. Dogs are genuinely welcome here, not an afterthought. Grab them a slice of watermelon from the clubhouse, pose in the cart for Instagram cameos with an Emerald Isle scarf (it doubles as an adorable bandana for your four-legged friend), or introduce them to the course’s resident pups like Bogey, the assistant director of instruction, and shop dogs Karl and Frank. Affordable, friendly, and no-frills, Emerald Isle feels like golf you and doggo can’t wait to play.
660 S El Camino Real, Oceanside
Courtesy of The Loma Club
The Loma Club, Point Loma
The Loma Club is where golf goes social. Set in Liberty Station, this historic 9-hole par-3 course trades country club stiffness for an easy, neighborhood energy that feels distinctly San Diego. The course is walkable and unintimidating, with skyline and harbor views doing most of the heavy lifting. The Loma Club is just dipping its paws into the dog-friendly trend, and welcomes them on the mini course and off the fairways. Though your pup is the epicenter of your world, the patio at Loma Club is the real star, hosting live music, trivia (even the smartest dogs are stumped), and cocktails that rival golf itself. You don’t even need clubs to enjoy it. Show up with your dog, wander the course, grab something from the clubhouse, and stay for hours. You’ll feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
Calling Goat Hill Park a golf course almost undersells it. Known as the “People’s Park,” this historic Oceanside staple operates more like a community space where golf happens. Expect dogs strolling alongside the players, music streaming from magnetic speakers attached to golf carts, beginners smacking balls alongside serious talent, and locals and tourists sharing the same teeing grounds with a few four-legged besties trotting alongside. Saved from redevelopment in 2014, Goat Hill embraces a raw, unpolished look that’s both intentional and refreshing. With ocean views, a “19th-hole” fire-pit, and zero pretense, it’s golf at its most human…because: dogs.
2323 Goat Hill Dr, Oceanside
Courtesy of Omni La Costa Resort
The Club at Omni La Costa
Ready to add your pup’s name to the illustrious list of golf greats? Same. At the iconic The Club at Omni La Costa, the vibe is equal parts championship-caliber and casually fabulous. Emerald fairways so perfect you’ll hesitate to step on them, palm-lined paths practically begging for a golden-hour strut, and rolling greens that ripple in the sun. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, your four-legged plus-one enters the chat: For members and overnight guests, the La Costa lifestyle rolls out the (very chic) welcome mat for your (leashed) pup, turning tee times into a social affair of breezy, citrus-kissed luxury and leisurely strolls. Really—what are you waiting for? Even your dog’s got a standing invite.
Isabella Dallas is a freelance writer for San Diego Magazine and the Arts and Culture Editor at The Daily Aztec in her final year at San Diego State University. She previously worked as an editorial intern for SDM, but when she’s not writing, you can find her trying the best coffee spots in SD, devouring the latest rom-coms, and indulging in anything and everything pop culture.
AVRP Studios’ tradition for Design Excellence and Innovation began in 1976 with Doug Austin, FAIA, in Solana Beach, California. The firm has since grown to complete major projects throughout the United States and Canada. We think of ourselves as a family and we care deeply about people. We want to inspire, help make their lives richer and more complete through our efforts. We believe that architecture is one of the most important art forms because of the impact it can have on the lives of those it touches. We’re delighted to have been recognized with over 150 awards for design excellence.
703 16th Street, Suite 200, San Diego, California 92101 | 619-704-2700 | avrpstudios.com
