How the Westside has won -- my heart

When I was looking for an apartment in November (after a roommate

horror story that could fill this entire newspaper), I all but

ignored the Westside.

I had heard numerous complaints about the noise, the traffic, the

blight, the homeless, the loitering day workers, the crime, the

graffiti, etc., and I had driven up and down Placentia and Pomona

avenues and 19th Street. I wasn’t really interested and I couldn’t

even afford it.

The cheapest thing I found was a studio on 19th and Placentia

Avenue for about $800. So I found a place on the Eastside. The side I

grew up on. The side my family lives on. The side that would allow my

son to attend Newport Beach schools.

It was also the side with a very eclectic mix of homes: with

neatly manicured lawns in front of bright purple houses, next door to

a six-unit condo complex, built a block away from a group home next

to a church that stands next to an apartment complex, which is three

doors down from a shabby house with 6-foot weeds.

The hodge-podge side with a good blend of young families, retired

couples, forever bachelors (and bachelorettes) and single moms (and

dads). It is impossible to pass someone on the sidewalk without

receiving a smile and a nod, and equally as impossible to find a

consistent run of sidewalk on which to pass someone.

I love the Eastside and planned to stay forever.

My wandering eye recently tested my devotion. I spotted greener

grass on the other side.

On a Sunday outing, I found my new Costa Mesa amour. (I am so

fickle. This might explain why I am not married, but that’s a whole

‘nother column.) My friends and I were on our way to grab Sunday

brunch in Huntington Beach, and Jamie, the driver, took Victoria

Avenue west to Brookhurst Street.

I suddenly realized I had never traveled Victoria Avenue west of

Placentia and was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. Beautiful trees

lined the streets and a wonderful bike trail wove through the wide

sidewalk. As we came to the city’s border, I saw the sparkling ocean,

with only a few smokestacks spoiling the otherwise pristine view.

We were on the edge of the plateau, at the top of the table (or

mesa, in Spanish) that gives the city its name.

It was beautiful. I was infatuated. I had to learn more.

Certainly, this isn’t the Westside everyone was complaining about.

A quick drive through the neighborhoods would have had me locking my

doors in no time, I assumed. Nope.

An independent tour of the area found exactly the opposite. I

found the same eclectic homes that made me fall for the Eastside,

minus the random group homes, condo complexes and apartments. Most of

the streets in the area were lined with attractive houses and more

than a handful was undergoing some sort of renovation.

Houses. Sigh. I would live there. As my heart began to ache, I

turned left on Wilson Street, just west of Canyon Drive.

Apartments. Condos. Renters. Oh my!

Be still, my beating heart. I was even more determined to find a

Westside home. I scoured the neighborhood for “for rent” signs. I saw

only a few (these people are no dummies. I refuse to divulge the

exact location because I don’t want any competition.)

Oh yeah, and did I mention these places border Fairview Park and

offer an ocean breeze that makes the Eastside feel like Riverside?

I was already hooked, but the Westside won my undying attention

when I visited the park on the corner of Victoria and Pacific

avenues.

It is literally on the edge of the city, overlooking the Santa Ana

River and the Pacific.

It has a huge, great jungle gym, clean bathrooms, barbecues, a

huge grassy play area surrounded by a concrete track, which is just

perfect for little bikes with training wheels. (I’ve seen better

slides, but I could overlook that minor flaw.)

Little coves are carved out of the lip of the park for blankets

and benches ideally positioned to watch the sun sink into the ocean.

My son, Donovan, and I took advantage of this Tuesday night, much to

his amusement.

The bike trails below inspired me to buy a beach cruiser, complete

with attached toddler seat, and I am determined to head west. The

place I am crossing my finger for has a pool, designated parking,

on-site laundry and one more bedroom than my current place. (Donovan

and I live in a one-bedroom); and it still costs $75 less per month.

Please, someone pinch me.

I understand the “Westside” most people refer to pertains to the

areas around Harbor Boulevard and the eastern portions of Victoria

Avenue and West 19th and Wilson streets.

To me, this area constitutes more of a “downtown” or middle area

than a “Westside.”

Calling it the Westside makes it sound like half of Costa Mesa is

in shambles when, in reality, it is only a small portion. And that

troubled portion happens to surround the most heavily traveled

thoroughfares in the city, if not the county, which are also plagued

by poor planning, some unsightly businesses and little or no

landscaping.

Yes, the neighborhood commonly referred to as the Westside needs

some attention. But the most western portions of the city are

breathtaking.

Let’s not paint the most beautiful part of our city with an

unflattering shade. Take a drive around the true Westside -- far from

the dull roar of the two freeways that cut through other portions of

the city -- and see for yourself.

But stay away from the places with the “for rent” signs. They’re

mine!

* LOLITA HARPER writes columns Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays

and covers culture and the arts. She may be reached at (949) 574-4275

or by e-mail at lolita.harper@latimes.com.