By Matthew Garcia Monges
The air carries the scent of salt and a trace of cigarettes. Above, white cotton-ball clouds drift lazily across the crisp blue sky. At the corner of Newport and Abbott in Ocean Beach, the scene is alive with movement and character.
A man dances atop the concrete wall facing the sea, stretching into a full split before fluidly waving his arms, as if conducting an orchestra only he can hear. There is no audible music, only the crashing of waves. Intrigued, I ask him what draws him to this place.
“Well, I’m a siren, darling,” he tells me theatrically, without skipping a beat on his movements. “A siren lures people in with its song. There’s an artistic beauty, but a chaos underneath. That’s me. And this place, it’s the people, the energy, the wacky art on the walls. It’s liberating.” With that, he returns to his rhythms, as I return to my role as a spectator.
Nearby, skateboarders, runners, dog walkers, and cyclists pass, each sneaking glances at the turbulent surf. A mother and son stand by quietly, seemingly mesmerized by the sea. A few feet further down, a man in an oversized black coat puffs on a cigarette while attempting to film the waves battering the pier using his phone. Another bicyclist, long-haired and wearing a tattered beanie, glides past mid-conversation on a classic cruiser, exclaiming into his phone, “Yeah, they were just squabbling about themselves, and then I said, ‘Woahhhh hzahhhh!’” He maneuvers through the potholes with ease, disappearing down Newport Avenue.
A group of three friends strolls by, deep in conversation. One, sporting a rain jacket despite the unlikely chance of rain, Ugg slippers, and a baseball cap waves a joint in his hand and tells his friends, “Yeah, I’m like really knowledgeable when it comes to constellations, and when I tell people, ‘That’s Cassiopeia,’ they’re like, ‘DUDE, how do you know this?!’” It’s quintessential California talk. They pause to take in the ocean, still chatting, still smiling, right at home on this little block of paradise.
Minutes later, the bicyclist on the phone from before returns, this time with a companion, on his own cruiser bicycle. His phone is gone, replaced by a beer in a brown bag. His new friend, another long-haired man in a backward cap, rides alongside him. Could it be this new friend was the person our original bicyclist was talking to on the phone? I hope so as the thought amuses me.
Through it all, the dancing siren remains, his movements unbroken, his energy in tune with the sea and the neighborhood. With each sway, he embodies Ocean Beach and this street corner: wild, free, and unapologetically itself.
Matthew is an educator with experience in nonprofits and higher education. Since 2022, he has worked at the International Rescue Committee and previously at USC and SDSU. Originally from Santa Cruz, he now lives in Ocean Beach, San Diego, with his wife and two dogs. An OB lover, he spends his time surfing the nearby beaches and cliffs or walking his dogs around the neighborhood.
