Phoenix

My original plan for Phoenix was to spend 2, or maximum 3 days there, primarily to catch up with Bryan and Christine. After my first morning there I was contemplating possible just the one day and a night, then moving on, catching another bus north to my next stop at Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon...there just didn’t seem to be a whole lot to do, and everything was soooo spread out, and I didn’t have wheels.

I ended up staying 3nights and getting driven up to Flagstaff. And this was all because of one tiny little detail. While I was wandering about the City, I picked up a local street-press magazine, and noticed an ad for one of my favourite Irish bands, The Frames, playing this coming Tuesday night. I saw these guys live in Vancouver back in March, and they rock, big style. And if I missed these guys, it would be the third band in a week that I wanted to see that I’d miss.

Back in San Francisco, L.A. and San Diego, I missed by just a couple of days each time, Icelandic band Sigur Ros, and part-Aussie act Dead Can Dance (at The Hollywood Bowl, no less). I was so so so close to reconfiguring my entire trip to fit in DCD at The Bowl. For me, seeing my fave bands live is an integral part of who I am ...I couldn’t let this happen three times on this trip.

So mentioned this to Bryan, who basically said “Here’s a proposition for you. Stay here til Wednesday, you’re more than welcome, I’ll go this gig with you on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I’ll drive you up to Flagstaff, coz I’ve never been...and hey we’ll throw in ½ a day at Sedona en route”. Now that is a proposition you can hardly say No to.

Bryan and Christine are two of the most generous people I have met. It still amazes me to this day actually the generosity of people I have met over the years of my traveling, welcoming me into the homes and lives. Bryan and Christine are a perfect example of this. Inviting me into their home, particularly as Christine was heavily pregnant at the time, and acting as taxi and guide, I couldn't have been more thankful.





Arriving at their edge-of-the-desert suburban home, I was truly spun out by the size of the house. having gotten used to the smaller blocks of Ireland, living in a small house in Vancouver, and living out of my rucksack for the majority of recent times, the sheer spacious sprawl of their house befuddled me. I s'pose out here, on the outskirts of Phoenix and with nuthin' but space to play i guess they said 'why not'. The exact same thing i said when the offer a nice cool shower on the chance to wash my clothes came up!!

after a bit of a snooze and freshen up, the subject of 'what to do' came up. Squaw Peak Recreation Area, not a million miles away from Anthem has a number of hiking trails to attack, not least one to the summit of Squaw Peak, some 2608feet high and providing an awesome view over desert mountains and the sprawl of Phoenix city and 'burbs. A hike timed to finish at the peak just before sunset was the order of the day - yet another ideal photo op for me, and a chance to dust of the cobwebs in my muscles, give 'em a bit of a workout.

The view was something I could not have imagined, the sheer amount of space had me jaw-agape and making (quite reasonable) comparisons to home.







A stop off at a Thai restaurant en route home for a totally delicious meal just topped off the night.

With Bryan off to work at the crazy time of 5am, and the heat of the day reaching beyond 100 Fahrenheit, the next day was written off as a chill out that involved little more than a DVD-watching marathon(Team America - World Police being the highlight), with no plans til late afternoon - a desert highway drive to the Desert Botanical Gardens. Another gorgeous desert sunset beckoned. The Gardens are 145 acres, with thousands of arid-land plants and is a beatiful insight to the desert ecosystem, particularly the 20-foot-plus-tall Saguaro Cactus - the stereotypical type you see in Roadrunner cartoons. Stunning.







The sunset from the Gardens, of a 'nature' nature was almost surpassed on the drive home by a sunser of an 'urban' nature, so muc so that I had to stand up thru the sunroof to photograph it for posterity!!





Not wanting to waste another full day lazing about the house (as nice as it, its not why i'm here), I resolved to get up with Bryan at 4am for a drive to his work, where I would then sleep in his car to 7-ish when Public Transport kicked into gear. There is absolutely none in Anthem, so this was the only way i'd be able to get anywhere and utilise my day properly.

There was some touristy stuff that could be done in historic Scottsdale, which was en route to the university 'burb of Tempe.





Scottsdale's Old Town is known for it's early 20th Century buildings (and others built to look old, and is kinda quaint, but is basically home to a lot of upscale galleries and gift stores. There is definitely an artists colony kind of feel to the town, which is only accentuated by the random street art scupltures dotted about the place, like these.





Sitting at the bus stop again, waiting for a ride to Tempe, I was a little disturbed to see this shop sign.



I guess it kinda, unfortunately, backs up the stereotype of American's as gun-lovin' simpleton hicks when the sign advertising a gun store has a picture of a teddy bear holding a gun......shudder to think.

I was quite looking forward to seeing Tempe. It was originally a city in its own right, but over the years Phoenix's suburban sprawl eventually eclipsed Tempe, and it's now considered a large outlying 'burb of Pheonix. The city is home to the 46000-student-strong Arizona State University, and as such is typical of University towns - full of cool bars, restaurants and with a slight hippy/alternative edge. Several excellent record stores too. My Lonely Planet guide had a 'Recommended Music To Drive Thru The Desert To' section, and so it was my objective here to seek some of this music out, with some success I might add - Calexico's 'The Black Light' being prime desert listening, especially as they're from southern Arizonan city Tucson.

Eastside records was my muse here, and the guy behind the counter being the usual knows-everything-under-the-sun-about-music kinda guy that i love talking to.





Lunch was at Desert Greens Cafe, a fantastic natural foods grocery/co-op along the lines of Friends Of The Earth in Collingwood, Melbourne. deee-lish.

Having shopped and lunched, it was time to drink. 'Head on down to Mill Avenue' was the word on the street from a cuppla friendly enquiries, it's Tempe's main drag. I got in touch with Bryan too, who was finishing work at agreed to meet at The Library, a bar themed on, funnily enough, a library, with cute as hell waitresses in way-too-short tartan mini-skirts. A perfect spot for a university. You can tell your folks/mates/lecturers that you're going to the Library to 'study', and technically, you wouldn't be lying!!

Several beers later with Bryan, it was time to head towards the evenings entertainment at the Rhythm Room - my boys from Ireland, The Frames.

As told before, this band are almost bigger than Ben Hur in Ireland, and I had seen them at a comparatively small club in Vancouver. Now, here in Phoenix, I'd see them again in front of an audience of barely 50 people!! Awesome!!!







It was somewhat strange seeing them play with an entirely deserted dance floor in front of them, but credit to the boys, they still gave it their all, held nothing back, and Bryan was an instant convert. The final last few songs of the set finally saw some of the crowd venture forward, which then emboldened a few more, so by the final song, the venue seemed a little more filled. All in all, a great gig, with a good mixture of old songs with the new from Burn The Maps, their latest album.

San Diego - Phoenix

The overnight bus trip is a necessary evil for budget backpackers. It gets you from A to B and saves you a night’s accommodation fee at the same time.

And so it was with my trip from San Diego to Phoenix, Arizona. I had ruled out hitchhiking out along the I-8 after some advice from locals who know the score. To do that would be to head out into serious desert country, with daytime temperatures in September still hitting 110 Fahrenheit (over 40 celcius). There are loooooong distances between towns and not a whole lotta traffic either. Chances of getting picked up? Slim to marginal.

Okay then. A 9-hour overnighter on Greyhound should be easy enough. God knows I’ve done this plenty of times before, and for much longer time frames. Well, truth be told, I had a very, very restless sleep on this trip. I had a window seat, and therefore no legroom, and the bus was 99% full so couldn’t move to an aisle seat and stretch out. The air-con seemed to only work intermittently. I drifted in and out of travel sleep – the kind of sleep you get which is more of a semi-conscious doze, and I always seem to have very weird half-dreams, almost psychedelic sometimes.

When I did wake properly, it was the heat of the sun rising that did it. And glancing out of the window, I was almost glad I had a window seat, coz watching the sun show its first peek over the horizon, a deep orange glowing ball, and slowly rise up over the barren red earth desert that we were driving thru was just spectacular. This was the same sun that barely 12 hours ago I watched dip into the Pacific Ocean, and now I’m watching it rise out of the desert sands.

Arriving in Phoenix, somewhat behind schedule, I was incredibly strung out, tired, sweaty, and smelly, badly in need of a shower, coffee, and food. It was barely 7am and it was already roasting hot – I’m sure it was already close to 30 degrees (80-ish F). I needed some time to gather my thoughts. I was due to meet and stay with Bryan and Christine, a couple who I met in Dingle, Ireland while they were on honeymoon and I was on my last Irish hurrah. This was December 2004. We had hung out for a coupla days, and then I invited them to my leaving do, at which they duly showed up. We’ve been in semi-regular email touch ever since. But today, Bryan was working until around 2pm, and couldn’t meet or pick me up 'til then. And they lived in Anthem, a suburb a good 35miles north of the City. I needed to figure out what to do for the next 7 hours.

I spent about an hour of that wandering aimlessly around the bus station. There were no shower-hire facilities, the luggage storage compartments were out of order, and the information centre wasn’t yet opened. At least I could get coffee. And while changing into shorts and Tee, fumbling absent-mindedly thru my rucksack, I found a ½ empty pack of cigarettes – must have been from the Aussie Rules night…I vaguely remember getting hammered-drunk and buying a pack, which I do from time to time. I only smoke when I’m very drunk, or, as was the case now, when I’m really strung-out.

So, with coffee and two cigarettes in my system, I feel almost human again, and am finally able to string two thoughts together. A quick read thru the Lonely Planet reveals the not-so-startling fact, that there ain’t a whole lot to do in the downtown Phoenix area. There are a couple of decent museums, but that’s about it. Anything else worth seeing needs a car to drive there, this being one of America’s most sprawling metropolises.

After negotiating to leave my rucksack in the freight office of the bus station (no way was I gonna lug it around the city on foot in 30+ degree heat for 7 hours), I found a local bus that would take me into town.

It’s 9am by this stage. Amazingly to me, for a city almost 3million people, the Downtown core was dead, absolutely dead. I’m talking zero traffic. Maybe its coz it’s Sunday? I don’t know. But I honestly felt like I was walking around a ghost town, or a post-apocalyptic city that had just suffered a nuclear strike. The only signs of life I saw were the homeless bums in the park on Washington Street. It felt very weird. To be wandering amongst modern, steel and glass skyscraper corporate buildings, and to be able to cross 4-lane roads without a single car in sight??? Very strange.



I also now realised I needed to check my email – I didn’t have Bryan’s number written in my book. I only had it on email. Without being able to contact him, there was no way for me to confirm I’d arrived, or a meeting point. And there was nothing open, and even if there was, there wasn’t even anything that looked like it might have an Internet terminal.

Looking at my LP guidebook again, I noticed a HI hostel way out on the edge of Downtown. Only 10 blocks away. I may as well check it out, i've got nothing better to do right now, and it may have a connection, or at least be able to point me in the right direction. Now, as you prolly, know, I’m a fairly adventurous person, willing to take a few risks here and there, but as I’m getting into the neighbourhood where the hostel, I’m feeling a little sketchy. It feels like I’m wandering into 'the Hood'. Bryan was to tell me later that I wasn’t exactly in the safest part of town. What the hell a HI hostel was located there for, I don’t know. Anyways, I get there – and it has a bit of a shanty-shack feel to it, and no, there’s no Internet connection, and no, there ain’t any around here.

I need another coffee. The city seems to be waking up slightly now, a few more people on the road, but still no one on foot…No one walks here, they all drive. I find a café that’s open. Miracle. The chick, very friendly actually, at the café says, “yeah, we’ve got Internet connection, you got a laptop??” “Um...no”. That’s another thing I’ve noticed a lot in the States recently. There is a dearth of Internet café’s, but every Starbucks, Blenz and two-bit independent coffee shops have WiFi. That does me no good tho, or any other budget backpacker around. What backpacker do you know that carries a laptop in their rucksack???

The café chick did mention that if I jumped on a bus for 20minutes I could find a FedEx-Kinko’s, which had an expensive per-minute Net café. And it was right by one of the Museums I was contemplating checking out. Man, all this freakin’ effort for a phone number!!!! I was having a very difficult morning.

Phone number duly found, and contact made with Bryan, I spent about ¾ of an hour in the, apparently, world famous Heard museum, before I realised I now had to get back to the bus station, way out on the other side of Downtown, to meet him. Waiting for a bus on a Sunday morning in Phoenix certainly is a true test of one’s patience. This is one of the most car-centric cities in the most car-centric country in the world. ½ a day here, and I’ve learnt that Public Transport is woeful. I found PT excellent in San Francisco, and serviceable even in Los Angeles, San Diego’s good, but here in Phoenix?...Man, pitiful. I took to walking between stops, just so as I felt like I was actually getting somewhere, and after 40minutes or so I was finally able to get one. But that only took me part of the way, when I had to change and wait for another. The morning trip into town was just as bad, too.





It’s now 1pm. Once again, I walked between stops, keeping a keen eye out so I didn’t miss one flying past me between stops. Back on the right side of Downtown now for the bus station, I wander past an enormous Baseball stadium. Phoenix Vs San Diego. This part of the city is now buzzing, and the traffic has come to life, cops directing people every which way, and drinks and ice-cream vendors out in force. Thank God for icy-cold water!! I had walked about ¾ of the way back out to the bus station, when I finally saw my bus number come up. Sheesh!




I seem to be whingeing a bit here, I know. Not sure if that’s just how the city affected me, or if it was my state-of-mind after a pretty ordinary bus trip. Nevertheless, when Bryan met me, it was a sigh of relief. Good to see the boy again, and there was a lot to catch up on in almost a year’s absence. With a 35mile drive ahead, we had a bit of time.

Ahhhhh Tijuana

Ahhhhh Tijuana. It's Mexico but its not Mexico. Situated in Mexican territory, right on the border of the USA, and just 5 miles from San Diego, it has a reputation of being a sleazy, dirty and corrupt party town that regularly gets invaded by barely 18-year-old Californian college jocks and frat boys out have a rollicking drunken good time, partying on $1 Corona's and checking out the plentiful gin-joints and bordello's. A place of debauchery and hedonism, a place full of opportunists and con-men, ready to fleece day-tripper tourists of their hard-earned greenback U.S currency.



You get the stamp in the Passport which says you have been to Mexico, but in terms of the cultural experience, this place is pretty far removed from the Mexico you would expect to see further south.



This is the place where I decided to spend my birthday. But, being a little older, wiser and calmer these days, I aimed to enjoy myself - get rollicking drunk sure - but not fall prey or get sucked in by the debased hedonism that most people go there for.



Having met up with Tomas and Hana along for the ride also kept me in check (Czech). These were two very sensible young folks, and traveling on a budget tighter than even mine was. They also had that air of cultured sophistication that I’ve noticed a lot of Eastern Europeans have. I met them in town after my coupla sneaky-pints, and we hopped aboard the Trolley (tram) for the quick trip down to the border.



The U.S./Mexico border is a sight to behold. Thousands of people on foot and in cars happily breezing thru border controls heading south, but queues and delays galore for those wanting to cross over to the USA. Before we knew it, we were in Mexican territory, and realized we hadn’t even had out passports stamped – its not necessary here, but we all wanted it for keepsake and reminders. Now, none of us spoke Spanish, and here literally 20 metres over the border all anyone in authority seemed to speak was Spanish, and not a jot of English. So, trying to find out where we could find an Immigration official who could stamp our passport wasn’t such an easy task. After 20minutes of sign-language and fumbled Spanish we were directed to a man all alone at a tiny little desk in a tiny little office under the footbridge that we crossed to get into Mexico. Passports duly stamped, we then set off for downtown TJ as its fondly known. It was pretty funny really, just how relaxed this whole Mexican border control was. I guess they want Americans in the country to spend their money.



A short little bus ride dropped us off at Avenida de Revolucion (La Revo), and within 30seconds we were accosted by bar touts offering us cheap drinks and cheaper girls. It was everything I had expected.



It was a hot mid-thirty degree day (about 90 Fahrenheit), there were bars by the million, all blaring out music of one description or another, some good, but mostly bad…dirty, grubby streets packed full of food-hawker stalls and trinket sellers, the smell of the street food mixing with the litter-strewn gutters, a heady concoction of chili-sweet-and-sour…and constant attention from little beggar boys and girls – either genuinely homeless, or sent out to accost tourists for money by opportunistic parents – but you could never tell which was which. Basically, the telltale signs that we were now in a 3rd World country.



I had seen much of this before, and was simply soaking it all in. Tomas, and Hana in particular were a little shocked by it all, especially the begging. And then there were the bar touts I had mentioned…“One dollar Corona for you Senor’s…and free Margarita for her!!! (If you can imagine this being said in cheesy, sleazy Mexican accent, it helps set the scene a little).



Hana was getting offered free drinks all along La Revo as an enticement to get all three of us in their bar, but the day was young, and the other thing that TJ is famous for is incredible cheap markets. We wanted to sample a bit of everything, not just get shit-faced from the off. A few hours window-shopping with the occasional purchase, a bit to eat at a cheap taco bar, and then we’d hit the booze.







I’ve gotta say, Tomas and Hana were fantastic at bargaining for price in the markets. Hana was a natural. As always in 3rd World countries, marketeers are opportunists, hoping to make a quick profit from naïve tourists, and often preying on your sympathies.



Czech Republic not exactly being a rich country either, my two companions were not swayed by this…”We are not American, we are Czech, we are poor too” At one stall, they managed to talk down the price of a traditional-style hooded top from US$30 (the opportunist price) down to US$7!!!…The stall owner would still have made maybe a dollar or two profit from this, but was not terribly happy. I wanted one too, but they didn’t have one in my size and colour…with their help, at another stall I found one I wanted and ended up paying US$9 – he would not go any lower. Without Hana at my side, I prolly would’ve got hit for minimum US$15 – still very cheap, mind, but as I say, these folks often do sell these at close to the US$30 mark.



Having decided to avoid the over-priced La Revo food joints, we then found a quaint little side-street café, and ate stupendously delicious chicken burritos for about a dollar each, washed down with a 50 cent Coke. Right, now suitably fed, and stomach lined, it was time to find a bar. Once again, we opted to avoid the main drag, simply by this stage coz we were sick-and-tired of the heckling and touting, and decided we didn’t want to give these guys our money anyway. By this stage it was well after 4pm – we had set this time earlier in the day as our shopping curfew, and besides I was really getting thirsty by now, with my morning pints well and truly worn off. A small market square to the side of La Revo had a number of little café’s to choose from, and we picked one at random. Sitting in the patio with a perfect view of the market action – awesome people watching opportunity, we had hit upon a winner.



We did have plans to perhaps do a bit of a crawl, but in the end stayed here…for about 5 hours. How could you argue with Large Corona bottles at a buck apiece??? Our waiter, Jose, was fantastic, attending to our every need, even when it got busy.



Super-friendly, funny and full of jokes and tales, and when I told him it was my birthday (and actually showed him my Passport to prove it! – they get that claim all the time – “Hey, its my birthday, how about a free drink!!!), it was Royal treatment the whole night.



When it came time to eat again, and we couldn’t choose, he even organized a mini-banquet selection of several menu options at a price that couldn’t be argued with, not even by Hana!





Long into the night we stayed there, well until it came time to leave to make sure we could get the Trolley back to San Diego at least. We watched as the sun disappeared, and the market packed up, we watched as several parties of people came into the café, ate and drank and left, and even as Jose and the other waiters began packing up for the night at our cafe. Several hours drinking, included a number of tequila shots, a meal that filled us up twice over…and the bill????? US$14 each!! I’ll never forget that coz I was quite shocked at how cheap that was. Of course we left a decent tip for our friend Jose, coz, Man that was some birthday drinking session.



It was quite an effort to get back to the bus stop, staggering up La Revo, the 3 of us holding each other up. The Czech’s have quite some reputation for drinking, but Tomas was quite under the weather...his excuse being that he was out of practice, having not drunk in about 3-4 months because he was not old enough to drink in the United States. Fair enough, I guess.

After a long wait for the bus, we finally got back to the border, and had to deal with the queues I mentioned earlier…which were even worse coz it was late at night, and folks wanted to get that same last Trolley back to SD as we were.



Wisely, we decided to pass the time in the queue by taking turns at shopping in the Duty Free stores as we slowly inched pass them. My purchase, for a tidy sum of about US$13 was 500ml Tequila, a 350ml Mescal (with the worm), and a free shot “Tijuana” shot glass. Not bad, I reckon.



Back in the USA, I was feeling rather satisfied with my little expedition south of the border. It was a Birthday adventure well celebrated.

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!