San Diego

San Diego. Probably the two things this city is famous for are its world-class Zoo, and Sea World…didn’t see either of them - just not enough time. It’s also pretty well-renowned for its lazy, surfer-beach bum culture, of hours and hours sitting in the ocean on a board waiting for that perfect wave, or lazin’ on the beach, the long, wide, silky-smooth picture perfect white sandy beaches, just simply watching the surfers watch out for and catch the waves.



While I never caught any waves myself, I was definitely soaking up the late summer beach culture for the four days while I was there. It was hard not to when my couch-surf hosts Lauren and Isaac lived a mere 30-seconds walk to Dog Beach, tucked in right between funky Ocean Beach and its edgy, boho community and the classier Mission and Pacific beaches.







In short, for a traveler like me, it was a dream location.





Lauren and Isaac were both super-chilled in the typical San Diegan way, altho both were out-of-towners themselves, originally from inland Northern Cali…it seems very easy to slip into the relaxed, laid-back lifestyle of this city. They, their super-friendly, hyperactive dog Coco, and their close neighbours had me feeling at home in no time. When I arrived it was pushing evening time, and so it was beers and $1 fish tacos down at the local. Damn those fish tacos are good.



The little community of Ocean Beach was about as chilled as you could get, its palm tree-lined main drag was full of sweet little independent clothing stores, surf shops, cafes and restaurants (along with the usual Starbucks and Subway type multi’s). This lead down to and abutted a small parkland area, the beach and a long pier – perfect to watch the surfers do their thang, and with a café at the end to chill and have a (expensive) bite to eat.



I was able to borrow a bike from Isaac for the time I was there, and hence did a lot of exploring during the day while he and Lauren were at work. As mentioned Mission and Pacific beaches were just a little up the way, and defo had a slightly more classier (read: expensive) vibe to them, but it was super fun to cruise along the promenade and simply people watch all along the way.



Roller-bladers, bikini babes and beefcake blokes, all bronzed and beautiful, beach volleyball games by the dozen – and this was at 2pm on a Tuesday…don’t these people have jobs to go to???? Apparently not, this is San Diego after all, home of the beach bum culture, altho it beats me how they can afford to live here.



I made it my mission to cycle all the way up to La Jolla (pronounced La Hoy-ah), some twenty kilometres north, a true enclave of the Southern Cali super-rich. The beach breaks in the cover here are meant to be stupendous, and with the hills rising steeply up out of the ocean, it provides for awesome views, and with that a property price tag that is prohibitive to all but the lucky few. I took a little ride thru the neighbourhood, jaw agape at the size and ornate style of the houses and gardens. La Jolla was originally a Spanish Mission town in the early years of California’s development, and the style has very much been in keeping with that Iberian flavour.



I only spent a couple of hours in La Jolla, but in that time manage to find a relatively cheap Mexican bar in the throws of its Happy Hour. Its view from the street-fronting window-seat looking out over the Pacific Ocean was something to behold. A delicious chicken tortilla and 2 or 3 Corona’s as reward for my afternoon’s efforts had me in high spirits, feeling as free and relaxed as I’d ever been. And the good news was that it was mostly downhill all the way back to OB.

Back on Dog Beach, I had a little while to kill before my hosts returned home, and so decided to lay back in the sun on the beach with a good book and watch the surfers surf and the sun set. And, as a very pleasant addition the already mellow vibe, as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and kissed the day goodbye, everybody on the beach clapped and cheered. Ohhhh, so sweet.

Having soaked up the beach culture for a couple of days, I thought I ought to balance that out with a bit of local history and culture. San Diego is by many measures a very young city, and so its Gaslight Quarter, a district about 3 blocks by 6, for the amount of fanfare and hype they give it, didn’t really give off an ‘Old Town’ vibe for me.



I suppose it didn’t help that there was a fair amount of construction and cranes and noise about which somewhat tempered that vibe. Like many cities, it was an area of town that had fallen into disrepair, originally being a rather seedy and notorious strip full of bordellos and gambling dens, and has only recent been given a facelift by The City. I guess its still on-going, but the “Old” still looks very “new”, a kind of Disneyland-ish re-creation of what it must have looked like 150 years ago. The ‘old’ cobblestone footpaths and streetlamps very much look brand new.



Same with the Old Town State Historic Park which is another reconstruction of what “Pueblo De San Diego” looked like under the original Mexican rule back in the 1820-30’s, with huts and large adobe houses laid out around a square, and filled with tourist oriented shops and restaurants. Charming and quaint though, were the free guided tours, led by women and men in period costume, telling the story of the history of the city. As much as you can in 90-minutes, they did serve to give somewhat of a visualization of life in the town back then.



Thursday of that week was my 31st birthday, and I met up with the Czech couple for a day trip down to Tijuana (another entry will cover that adventure), but snuck in a couple of early pints in a Ye Olde English pub beforehand.



While there I met another coupla Aussie blokes who pointed me in the right direction for the other big, momentous event happening that week, the Australian Rules Football Grand Final. I had been searching desperately to find a bar that would be showing the game live, but had come up with nothing. Seems all the publicans either knew nothing of it, or instead were showing the American version of football live at the same time. Turns out there is one Aussie theme pub down on Pacific Beach, which was guaranteed to be showing the game live, 9pm Friday night. Happy Days.

This was a game I didn’t want to miss. The Sydney Swans (formerly South Melbourne), one of the older clubs in the league – and who hadn’t won a Premiership since 1933, were playing one of the new upstarts in the comp, the West Coast Eagles, who had one it twice in only 18 years of being in the league. I wanted to see the Swannies win it, with one of my mates, PB, a die-hard supporter, making it a sentimental vote.





I was also keen to introduce the game I love to my new American friends Lauren and Isaac, and their mates. This wasn’t a total success tho. I got them to the pub, but with it being absolutely packed to the rafters with Aussies and Kiwis and noisy as hell, trying to explain the game play-by-play to 3 or 4 folks who’ve never seen the game before was nigh on impossible. They ended up leaving at ½ time to go to another bar, and then home. I wasn’t missing this for love nor money, and so, with my free ride home gone, I ended up getting a cab.

The Swans won, by 4 points in a thriller, and I got my wish. Gotta say I was pretty disappointed in my Yankee mates ditching out on the game – they hardly gave it a chance, the least they could have done was stay and see the game thru to the end, get a few more drinks at least. I mean, I knew nothing about American Football or Baseball when I got here, but I took it upon myself to get involved and attempt to learn about the game. Several weeks in a row of Monday Night Football with barbeques and beers, in the company of rabid fans certainly helped that along. I now have a passable knowledge of the games, and somewhat enjoy them, altho I will concede that I don’t think they’re essential viewing.

My final evening in San Diego was spent sitting on the roof of Lauren and Isaac’s duplex apartment with their friends, drinking beers and staring out thru the palm trees over the horizon to the second glorious sunset I’d seen in two days.





A pretty satisfactory way to kill a few hours til my 9pm overnight Greyhound bus ride to Phoenix. It was also my final night in California, and my final night on the West Coast until I reached San Francisco again.



Nice note to leave I must say!