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My Life Aquatic
View of downtown skyline from bay
Author: Jason Gentile
Neighborhood: San Diego
Age: 28
Occupation: Musician/Graphic Designer
Okay, here’s the deal: I don’t really have a neighborhood. A description of my general place of residence would look something like this: Pacific Ocean, San Diego, CA. Yes, really. I would tell you the exact part of the bay — and which one — I live in, if it weren’t for the fact that residing in a boat (renting it like an apartment) is now illegal in San Diego.
Six months ago, when I found myself hard up for cash and losing a financially crucial (yet annoyingly snobbish) roommate in North Park, I asked some friends to ask some friends about a cheap and decent place to live in this gilded town. Turned out that a friend of a friend of a cousin had a brother-in-law that had a boat docked here in SD and was thinking about renting options. I threw in my hat, and here I am, bobbing in the bay.
My sea legs have become semi-permanent, yet the 150 dollars a month it costs me is quite worth the adjustment. I make sure my presence is low-key around the docks, so as to prevent any boat owners from being tempted to alert the authorities. I also have to keep the favor of local security personnel. Typically a six-pack or a bottle of tequila does the trick. The biggest downfall is the showering and bathroom situation: public. It may be a bit disgusting at times — and it is — but I’ve got my system down now.
You see, this is no yacht I’m renting. It’s a 20-foot sailboat. Aside from a minuscule monthly payment, my responsibility is to keep it clean. That’s it. My dining room is Robertos (or any prefix “-ertos”) taco shop. My living room is the nearest coffee shop — where my bathroom usually is, too. At times I feel half-civilized, half-pirate, and half-secret agent, which I guess makes me one and a half persons? That’s kinda how I feel, even as I write this. One foot in the modern So-Cal world, and one in an aquatic, semi-homeless “other.”
This space can be both freeing and imprisoning at times. It can be downright alienating and lonely some days. Yet with a good book and a trooper of a girlfriend, this place is paradise — minus the exorbitant San Diego price tag. Each day I step off land and look back at the lights. Here’s the simple truth I see from my saltwater shelter: In this world — in this town — it seems to be the prices that are far more entrapping than a small boat could ever be. So my little slice of freedom has been to choose to live on a little boat. And although I am certainly not innocent in the biblical sense, I am no criminal either. Even though I am apparently breaking a law by sleeping here, my only crime is that I’m one step from homelessness and two from complete conformity...I think.
Here's something you might be interested in.
My Life Aquatic
My Life Aquatic
View of downtown skyline from bay
Author: Jason Gentile
Neighborhood: San Diego
Age: 28
Occupation: Musician/Graphic Designer
Okay, here’s the deal: I don’t really have a neighborhood. A description of my general place of residence would look something like this: Pacific Ocean, San Diego, CA. Yes, really. I would tell you the exact part of the bay — and which one — I live in, if it weren’t for the fact that residing in a boat (renting it like an apartment) is now illegal in San Diego.
Six months ago, when I found myself hard up for cash and losing a financially crucial (yet annoyingly snobbish) roommate in North Park, I asked some friends to ask some friends about a cheap and decent place to live in this gilded town. Turned out that a friend of a friend of a cousin had a brother-in-law that had a boat docked here in SD and was thinking about renting options. I threw in my hat, and here I am, bobbing in the bay.
My sea legs have become semi-permanent, yet the 150 dollars a month it costs me is quite worth the adjustment. I make sure my presence is low-key around the docks, so as to prevent any boat owners from being tempted to alert the authorities. I also have to keep the favor of local security personnel. Typically a six-pack or a bottle of tequila does the trick. The biggest downfall is the showering and bathroom situation: public. It may be a bit disgusting at times — and it is — but I’ve got my system down now.
You see, this is no yacht I’m renting. It’s a 20-foot sailboat. Aside from a minuscule monthly payment, my responsibility is to keep it clean. That’s it. My dining room is Robertos (or any prefix “-ertos”) taco shop. My living room is the nearest coffee shop — where my bathroom usually is, too. At times I feel half-civilized, half-pirate, and half-secret agent, which I guess makes me one and a half persons? That’s kinda how I feel, even as I write this. One foot in the modern So-Cal world, and one in an aquatic, semi-homeless “other.”
This space can be both freeing and imprisoning at times. It can be downright alienating and lonely some days. Yet with a good book and a trooper of a girlfriend, this place is paradise — minus the exorbitant San Diego price tag. Each day I step off land and look back at the lights. Here’s the simple truth I see from my saltwater shelter: In this world — in this town — it seems to be the prices that are far more entrapping than a small boat could ever be. So my little slice of freedom has been to choose to live on a little boat. And although I am certainly not innocent in the biblical sense, I am no criminal either. Even though I am apparently breaking a law by sleeping here, my only crime is that I’m one step from homelessness and two from complete conformity...I think.
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