Slumming it in San Diego

I’ve spent a fair bit of my communicative dialogue gushing about the superiority of American foodstuffs, clothing consumables, politicised artistic counterculture, and even cable television and free media.

And yes, most of the time The New World feels like a better world.

But today I’m in San Diego and I haven’t really been enjoying it. This may or may not have something to do with the fact that we’re staying in a grimy, unfriendly surfer hostel in Ocean Beach (that I find to resemble the Family Values tour of the late 1990s). And the hostel patrons are mostly 19-year old Australians who speak with a 2:1 ratio of swear words to non-swear words. (Which essentially means that needless conjunctions make them three times less efficient at talking.)

Surfers at Ocean Beach, San Diego.

I’ve had plane ticket fiascos that involve changing flights for fees that dwarf the original price, whilst still needing a short connecting flight that I can’t seem to easily purchase with a New Zealand credit card.

And to compound matters further, my once-beloved iBook computer has started to suck it, big time. Since arriving in the U.S., the battery life has dwindled from 100 minutes down to two. And it has chewed through three of my unwatched Baywatch DVDs (including part two of the episode where Eddie gets wrongfully accused of statutory rape and suspended from lifeguard duties!). It also occasionally turns off and resets to December of 1969, has slowed significantly (despite a recent RAM upgrade), and heats up to a temperature capable of burning my wrists and lowering my sperm count.

So, for the heck of it, I thought I’d get a little negative on travelling.

Copping a perv. Pacific Beach, San Diego.

Knots Tied In Strings presents:

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Jonathan debunks the myths of the Overseas Experience!

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Myth 1: As foreigners, locals find you exotic and mysterious.
In small town U.S.A., yes—and hicks are much more friendlier than you’d expect (one of the few remaining advantages of being white in this world). But in the major cities I’m just another cog in The Melting Pot machine and rarely recieve a second glance. (Which does have the advantage of fewer inquisitive questions regarding your accent and country of birth, but also negates the feeling of displacement rather integral to the stereotypical construction of the Overseas Experience.)

Myth 2: You’ll meet heaps of people and make lifelong friends.
Not if you’re me. My Facebook friend consortium contains a paltry five individuals in American networks. Don’t get me wrong; people here are very friendly. And I’ve had my fair share of strangers complement my T-shirt and/or chat to me for thirty minutes before inviting me to religious social gatherings. But none of these folks have been keepers. Maybe if I was travelling alone and stayed in a hostel for a lengthy period this would be different. But from what I can tell, in fleeting situations it’s very difficult to progress small talk beyond a transitory situational friendship. (And to be fair, beneath my polite front probably lies a judgemental and disdainful loner.)

Myth 3: There is nothing New Zealand has that the U.S.A. does not.
Actually, this is pretty much true. The only thing I have missed a little is the mysterious absence of the electric kettle. Americans—or at least the kind that we’ve stayed with—have separate coffee machines and aren’t huge tea drinkers. Call me a Generation Y yuppie, but having to boil water in a saucepan on the element in order to make green tea seems a little prehistoric.

Myth 4: Not working is better than working.
Nah, this is totally true. But being a wayfarer can be a bit of a drag on occasion, both financially and emotionally. We’ve almost always found something to entertain ourselves with over here, and I’ve found travelling much easier than I thought it be, but every now and then one longs for some sort of stability. Or at least a wardrobe with clean underwear.

Myth 5: Driving long distances in the U.S.A. is culturally romantic.
Not on the lacklustre Californian interstate my friend. And the vintage diners and saloons that I envisioned have mostly turned out to be glossy strip mall exits that house conglomerate eateries like Panda Express, In-N-Out and Taco Bell. For this misconception I’ll blame road trip movies like Rain Man and all of The Clash books I read that detailed their ’70s/’80s U.S. tours.

Myth 6: The OE is one endless string of parties and late sleep-ins.
Not even. Although we’ve certainly boozed on ocassion, James and I have both found our alcohol tolerances to be at pussy willow levels. We’re more inclined to stay up late nerding it up on the internet than hitting the beer bong. Oh, and checkout times and twelve-bed hostel rooms aren’t too condusive to sleeping-in.

Myth 7: When in Middle America, always buy a cowboy hat.
Did I actually think I’d ever wear this outside of Middle America? Would cowboy hats ever look appropriate in snowy Toronto or overcast New Zealand? Maybe if you’re a stripper. A reprehensible purchase. Shame on me.  (UPDATE: Now back in New Zealand, I left my cowboy hat at Lauren’s house and actually miss it a lot.  James is bringing it back. He’s a good man.)

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Hidden corridor of graffiti. UCSD.

So we’re in San Diego. S-Diddy is James’s one-time stomping ground, so I’ll let him fill you in on its intricacies. From what I can grapple with, it’s a pretty sprawling suburban maritime surf city with a conservative periphery.

Pretty much a big Tauranga.

Yesterday we hit a strip mall for Cost Co’s bulk shopping (the three of us managed to have lunch by raiding all of the sample stands) and kitset furniture Mecca, IKEA.

There we shared in the interior decorative dreams of many Californians and James refused a $5 dare from Lauren that would have involved him slyly entering the shower in one of the fake bathroom display set-ups, taking his clothes off behind the curtain and exiting with a towel wrapped around him as an unsuspecting family walked in to admire the cabinetry.

(His counter-offer of sitting pants-down on the toilet for $50 was unanimously rejected.)

Today we explored the University of San Diego campus (where both Lauren and James once attended) and caught a quixotic sunset off the nearby cliffs.

New sunglasses; new lease on life. James at UCSD.

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James has also come up huge in the clutch, finding a much nicer hostel in a nearby neighbourhood. It’s cheaper, quieter, cleaner, friendlier, and comfortable with wireless internet. (I knew non-bogan budget-holidaymakers had to go somewhere to sleep in this city!) We have bookings starting tomorrow night. This makes me happy.

There’s even a table tennis table, so expect a story concerning James drunkenly playing ping-pong in only his underwear (and winning), while a group of backpacking Macedonians cheer on.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

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(NB: In recent developments James and I have bought a pro Flickr account so we can have as many photos and sets as we like. I’ve organised the photos into destinations to make things a little more sequential.)

Take me to your illustrious photos, travel gods!

Posted by Jonathan

Tags: Ocean Beach