San Diego River

Small towns are done. I'm over them. They're sooooo last week they're still offering a fair and balanced sterling-to-dollar rate before all you people back home allowed a recent poll to suggest we might actually leave the EU. Donald Trump is pro-Brexit ; let that sink in. That racist, hypocritical, politically incorrect but somehow politically front-and-centre guy who sounds like an arse and whose name literally sounds like gas excaping from an arse wants the same thing an increasing number of Brits want and is seriously impacting the cost of my holiday. Vote Remain.

On Day 9 we entered California and reached the first of the final three 'big-city' destinations on our trip; San Diego. Which, as Ron Burgendy taught us, is Spanish for a 'Whale's Vagina'...though obviously isn't and is in actuality the name of a Catholic saint or something. I did look it up but then got distracted by Anchorman clips on the YouTube.

As referred to in my last post: a re-writing of hip-hop-artist/one-hit-wonder/presumably-unemployed Afroman's seminal/silly/catchy song/single/admission-of-criminal-guilt, Phoenix/the-hottest-place-on-earth was deemed by group consensus to in uninhabitable and thusly we all sat down on the morning of Day 9 to plan our escape.

I was to be the 'Wheel Man', it being by rotation my turn to drive. Luke 'The Phone Guy' Crowley used his honed Google-fu skills and operational mobile data-signal to seek out new appropriate lodgings in our intended destinations, whilst I, in my alternate guise as 'The Booker', telephoned the existing bookings secured under my name to re-arrange where possible. Woody and Mark (the 'Watchmen') kept a lookout; them having no bookings in their name or data signal but needing some sort of role in this awkwardly mixed prison-break/heist metaphor that if I'm honest didn't really work as well as I thought it might.

But the re-booking was successful; basically enabling us to have an extra day in Los Angeles and a bonus night in San Diego, giving us longer in each place and giving me an excuse to take a full day off writing and fuse two blog posts into one. The new plan relegated Day 9 to become basically a driving day; our final 'big drive' of thr trip. Myself, Mark and Woody each took a turn setting the cruise control to 5mph over the speed limit and occasionally turning the wheel when the mostly-straight roads of America defy expectations and indulge in a slight bend.

We checked-in at the Good Nite Inn Near SeaWorld; a place that we haven't seen, won't go near, don't talk about and feel violently I'll at even the thought of (we've seen Blackfish). If you've been to SeaWorld, have happy memories of the experience and don't want these memories irrevocably tainted, I implore you not to watch Blackfish. Poor Shamu...

Later that evening we went to the San Diego 'old town', conveniently located just around the corner from the motel to the extent I would suggest the motel re-name themselves the 'Good Nite Inn Near Old Town' so as to rid themselves of any and all loose association they have with that place I won't mention again. Or just 'The Good Nite Inn'; that'd do.

The San Diego Old Town is probably the most 'tourist-y' place we've been to yet ; a term I don't use derogatorily since we are, inarguably, tourists. Of the six-or-seven Mexican restaurants on one of the streets we selected one at random and were seated for dinner. The food was excellent, the waitress taught us some Spanish that I've completely forgotten and then we shared a big Margarita cocktail that we attempted to butch-up with a bottle of Corona but the attached picture of us consuming said cocktail still looks unnervingly like a promo shot from Sex & the City. I'm a total Charlotte btw.

On Day 10 Luke, Woody and Mark decided to go and visit an aircraft carrier. I'm told it was very big, impressive and interesting but I didn't go so this is just informed speculation. I've never been on an aircraft carrier but I have been on boats and visited airports and felt I could sufficiently conceptualise a merger of the two to not need to see it myself. I instead spent the day wandering the length and breadth of San Diego city, ultimately taking a bus back the length and breadth to avoid repetition. I walked the coast, had a hot-dog-on-a-stick from a place called 'Hot-dog-on-a-stick', read Private Eye with a Starbucks coffee in the humungous Balboa park and got sunburn from the deceptively strong sun that had been rendered unnoticeable by the pleasant coastal breeze.

We all burnt; Luke probably looks the most red with myself and Mark vying for second place and Woody, who I think sensibly applied the most suncream, trailing/winning in fourth. Aftersun has been applied and I am dreading my next shower; scheduled for immediately after completing this post.

In the evening we travelled back into central San Diego to the 'Gaslamp Quarter', a massive district home to a huge collection of bars, restaurants and bar/restaurants. After a brief walk we opted to eat at a brazilian steak-house called Fogo de Chao; which is Portuguese for 'place where too much food is provided to and eaten by gready patrons'. It was one of those places where the servers walk round with different cuts of meat and you say yes to all of them because you've paid dammit and want to get your money's worth but then proceed to eat excessively and feel uncomfortably full for the rest of the evening. This is what happened; the standard pre-dinner picture this time replaced with a post-dinner one to illustrate our collective fullness and also I forgot to take one at the start.

We waddled home and absorbed our final views of San Diego as we passed them by on the brilliant tram ('trolley') network. We could easily have spent longer here but have a schedule to keep to and thoroughly expect our next and final two stops to be as equally places-we-could-have-spent-longer-in upon our departures, so to take any time from them to elongate our stay here would only ultimately compound our time insufficiency issue. But if LA for some reason sucks, we'll head back.Read more