The Arena Of The Unwell: You Stay Classy San Diego

I’d heard a lot of good things about San Diego so it seemed a shame to miss out on the opportunity to go see it myself. The car hire seemed a bit steep so Bob and I settled on taking a Greyhound bus from West Hollywood. We arrive late afternoon and the weather was total gashbags compared to LA. Cloud and rain were going to become a theme for the next few days.

A trolley (A.K.A tram) and bus ride away and we arrive at Pacific Beach by Mission Bay. San Diego has its own Banana Bungalow which looks right out onto the beach. The staff and guests here are really friendly. It seems as if many of the travellers here have come to San Diego, fallen in love with it and “postponed” their travelling plans in favour of the beach. The weather was failing to convince me I’d do likewise but I could see its charms nonetheless. Kev, the British guy who works here, knocks up a mean Spag Bol for $1 so we’re all over this like a rash. It’s bar crawl night at the hostel so we make like a baby and … head out.

First stop for us is the PB Shore Club by the beach. All the bars are pretty hot on ID. In London it’s rather flattering to be ID’d but here it’s just a pain in the arse. The bar won’t even take my driving licence and insist that I go fetch my passport. We stick around for a couple before Kev rounds us up and whisks us off to Miller’s Field. It’s more of the same. American sports bar meets western ranch, much like the Saddle Ranch back in LA although the beer’s noticeably cheaper and it’s got few more local jock types hanging out with back-to-front baseball caps and vest tops. I start to wonder why the British concept of The Chav hasn’t crossed the Atlantic yet coz right here is the US equivalent. Johnny V is an open-fronted bar with a dancefloor and cheap beer so we end our night here before witnessing our first US street fight. No guns or knives. Not even any new-wave chavs involved. Oh no, in fact it’s a pair of lovely Irish guys from our hostel smacking the shit out of each other on the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious of the cop car parked right next to them. Miraculously, we all got to sleep off our hangovers back at the hostel that night and in the morning the sparring partners patch up their differences over a game of pre-breakfast beer pong.

It rains all night so the open-plan hostel and the beach are looking a bit sorry for themselves in the morning. We try and fail to extend our stay here for our remaining night so we retreat to The Mission Bay Motel round the corner with an invite to return to the beach-front for the evening if we want to hang out again. Lunch is the most vile Burger King ever. I think it may have been digested once already. I certainly should have cut out the middle man and stuffed it straight down the toilet.

Whenever you ask for directions over here, you’ll get “oh it’s only 10 minutes, that way”. No one ever stops to ask if you actually have a car. “oh, you definitely don’t wanna walk it”. The point is, we still need to get around. Five dollars gets you a day ticket for the buses and the trolley in San Diego which is pretty damn reasonable. I sometimes think the reason public transport is shunned by the car driving masses is due to the huge proportion of freaks and meth-heads for whom public transport provides a captive audience for their asinine monologue of scratched records. Our choice is made.

20 mins later and the bus drops us off at San Diego Old Town. I’m not going to pretend to know any of the history but there’s obviously a big Central American influence here. It’s nice, really well kept and definitely worth a peek.

The trolley takes us on to City College where we switch to a bus and head to Balboa Park. I think they may have been feeding the cacti here LSD coz they’re crazy twisted green monsters. I’m not a fan of plant abuse but it does make for some sweet photo ops. The rose garden is also worth a look. Over the road there are lots of seriously beautiful museums and galleries. We elect to admire the buildings from the outside. Further on, the huge Cabrillo Bridge takes us over a freeway for some spectacular views of the city. Before we head back to Pacific Beach we check out the quirky Gaslamp Quarter. Lots of bars, restaurants and live music venues. A pair of homeless guys scrapping with each other just about kills it for me in so we blow the lamp out.

Back in PB we share a beer with our American motel neighbours Christian and Cyrus who try in vain to get us to head out with them. They’re fascinated with our accents and think they’ll get more female attention with a couple of Brits in tow. This conversation got me thinking again about how lucky I am to even be here. I’m over the Burger King debacle by now so I resolve to cheer up a bit.

Gatecrashing the Banana Bungalow for the evening we stick around for the main event - The Flaming Phoenix. Equipment needed: One toilet roll, one lighter, one arse and balls of steel. Hostel guest Preston runs out naked onto the beach and stuffs a large quantity of super-soft between his butt-cheeks so it’s all hanging down and flailing around his ankles. He sets fire to this and skips around in the darkness until he can’t take it any more, realises he’s nowhere near the water and rolls about frantically in the sand just before the Phoenix’s jewels return to ashes. I shall not be attempting this myself any time soon.

We take the Greyhound back to LA for one night. We’ve noticed a huge variation in the quality of the buses. From WiFi and leather seat luxury to cold and dirty mobile squats, they’ve got them all. This time round we’re staying at BB’s affiliate hostel The Orbit just round the corner on Melrose Avenue. They have a party bus going up to The Purple Lounge at The Standard on Sunset Strip. We figure it’s a cheap ride into town and if we don’t like it we can sack it off. It’s the classiest place we’ve been to so far and the sound system is pretty special but this place is too cool for my current incarnation so we just stay for one before scooting off to our now customary haunts.

Next stop Las Vegas

Choon for the day: 2Pac – California Love