I don’t know how to put this but I’m kind of a big deal.

I was looking forward to my time in San Diego because I’d heard such great things about it both from people I’d met on the road and from people who I’d asked in England before I’d set off, so I made my way from the Greyhound station to my hostel with an air of anticipation about me. Or maybe I just needed a shower. When I arrived my room wasn’t quite ready, so I had a look online to prepare for the trip to LA I’d be taking in a few days to start the trek. I was interrupted by the girl on the desk who told me my bed was now ready so I finished checking in and went upstairs.

There were a few beds taken up there but only one other person in the room at the time. Unfortunately he was one of the people who may as well have paid for a hotel because getting a conversation from him was like getting Kristen Stewart to stop biting her lip. Not going to happen. As he was an Aussie I was fairly surprised because you usually can’t shut them up.

I returned to the desk to ask for a recommendation for lunch, and found my way to Hodad’s, which sells what is considered one of the finest burgers in the city. As I was quite hungry I went for the double. I was soon to learn that the double should come with a warning. It’s not often I worry I won’t be able to clear my plate, but this was very much one of those occasions. In my defense, look at the thing.

It’s so tall it looks narrow, but those patties are each 1/3lb of beef.

After I’d let it settle for a while, I looked round some of the downtown area before returning to the hostel to see if anyone was around for the evening. I assume that arriving the day after Comic-con meant that I was in the middle of a big changeover, but whatever the reason, there wasn’t really anyone about at all. I went out on my own to do some photography and returned to the hostel unsure what to make of the city and feeling somewhat underwhelmed. I attribute this to the combination of sleep deprivation, being stuffed full of burger and therefore sluggish, the lack of people in the hostel and a feeling that the city had perhaps been over-hyped.

The next morning I went for the free breakfast to find a sign allowing only one bagel per person please. One bagel doesn’t even constitute a pre-breakfast snack, so I found that a bit ridiculous and supplemented it with some oatmeal. While I was eating I was ambushed by a hostel volunteer who suggested I join the Balboa park walking tour later in the morning. As I had only a vague idea of what I wanted to do while in San Diego I decided to go for it and turned up at the relevant time. There I met a few people, including one chap who reminded some of us very much of Prince William. He read law at Durham and wore deck shoes and I’m sure you can very well imagine the kind of person I mean.

Balboa park is very large, and a couple of us were separated from the main group when we stopped to take some photos, but we were soon reunited. The highlight of the park for me? ‘They see me rollin’…’

San Diego’s finest, for sure.

Once the tour was over we were left to our own devices and after a brief look at the botanical garden we headed for the Japanese friendship garden and a free meditation lesson. Although the mood was somewhat affected by the planes flying overhead every two minutes or so, and the diggers landscaping in the valley below us, we had an interesting time humming in harmony and moving vibrations from our eyeballs to our spines. Or at least pretending to. My exhaustion got to me and I fell asleep at one point, but I’m told I thankfully wasn’t snoring. Besides, I wasn’t as rude as the guy who’d obviously been dragged there with his girlfriend and sat slouched in the chair with his head on his shoulder the whole time. He was also the first to get up and leave.

We all agreed we felt relaxed post-meditation, but more important were the caverns it had created in our stomachs. As I’d mentioned Hodad’s, we headed there again, and I am pleased to report that the double went down a lot easier the second time, so I chalk the first one up to too much inactivity on the bus. I’d ordered a beer and the waiter returned to ask if it was off as someone had said it tasted funny. Responding along the lines that as I drink real ale in England all American beer tastes a bit like shit to me, I was pleasantly surprised to receive another beer, on the house, after the keg had been changed rather than the fist in the face I’d been expecting.

Post-food the lads broke off to go and get a car to venture into more of California, and Vicky, Emma and I made for a bus stop. After a mini exploration and overcoming a variety of obstacles, such as being at the stop heading in the other direction, we were finally on our way out to Coronado Island (which is actually a peninsular). I was expecting a fairly small town and was surprised to see what was effectively its own city. It’s perhaps most famous for the Hotel del Coronado, the setting for ‘Some like it hot’, and we ventured over there to find an almost perfect beach, with wonderful, and very comfortable white sands. If you don’t believe me, just ask wedding number three:

I don’t know what the hell they’re paying that guy for.

When we’d had our fill of the beach we shared a litre of sangria, caught the bus back to the main city, and soon discovered that Emma is a very good singer. Vicky and I, though, abstained from the embarrassment of karaoke, and it was soon time for bed. My impressions of San Diego were beginning to improve. Just before I went to bed I realised I’d lost my English phone and I e-mailed Jade who kindly dealt with it for me. Sadly I now have none of your numbers.

The next morning I was struck by the number of people who were asleep when I got in and still in bed when I left for the day. I’m sure some of them must just sleep all day and all night. There are also a LOT of homeless people and street crazies kicking about. I spent the majority of the morning and afternoon in Old Town, which is a somewhat preserved area where the first European settlement was built. The small museum is interesting but I felt that a large part of the area is a little too contrived, and the scores of tourists scurrying from shop to shop and generally getting in the way without actually reading anything did nothing to lessen that feeling.

I was intrigued by the bizarre mixture of an old tobacconist museum which was combined with a modern-day tobacco shop because they made very little effort to distinguish between what was on sale and what was just for show.

I’d really fancied a pizza for lunch because I hadn’t had one for a while but to my dismay I learned that the only places which sold pizza in Old Town were closed until the evening, so I settled for a burger claiming to be the best in town. It wasn’t even close, and the lack of fries in spite of my ordering didn’t help. Having said that, try sprinkling them with parmesan cheese for a seriously tasty treat. On my way back through to the tram stop I spent a little while talking to a homeless man because everyone else was completely ignoring him. I may well be the first person in history to be given a ten pence piece by a Californian hobo. After that, I watched a short demonstration by a blacksmith and went back to buy some jeans before returning to the hostel in time for a walking tour of the waterfront at sunset.

With jeans, I was finally able to don my cowboy boots (+25 awesome) and, prepared for the walk, joined everyone else in the lobby. The guide was very passionate about being there and seemed to genuinely love teaching people about the city, which was made even better by the fact he was a volunteer.

‘Hey look, it’s that end of World War Two people kissing newspaper thing’. Not my finest hour.

After the tour, I finally got some pizza, which was good enough that Vicky ordered another slice. Following that, we made our way to Vin de Syrah, a wine bar which had been recommended to us by our host. In order to get there, you have to go down a narrow staircase you would otherwise most likely miss, and find yourself in something which appears to be a boiler room. Trying the doors, you find they can’t open and are very confused, until finally you realise there is a door hidden in one of the walls. Feeling quite the fool you enter, and are shown a CCTV screen where you are able to witness visitor after visitor do exactly the same thing you did. Wonderful. Incidentally, that’s the perfect word to describe this bar. Not only did we get a $42 bottle of wine half price for ‘Wine Wednesday’, but the atmosphere and decor is superb. The only problem? Unbeknownst to us there was a charity event, and we were left feeling rather sheepish sitting near the front when the crowd was asked ‘hands up who gave the suggested donation tonight’. As we left, we bumped into Emma quite by chance. The next morning I arose early to eat, pack, and catch the bus out to LA having sort-of-but-not-really establishing how to find my hotel when I got there. The cab estimates online were over $60.

I’d noticed when I arrived in San Diego that outgoing passengers were being searched, and I was subject to this before I was allowed into the waiting area. While he was looking at my belongings I’m fairly sure a few other people just walked straight in without him noticing, and I managed to get two knives through, so he wasn’t really doing a very good job. I met a very interesting chap at the station with a very positive view on interactions with strangers and that was a good way to pass the time until the bus turned up late. I admired some of the coastal views before we pulled away from the coast for the stops and finally entered the city a little later than planned. I’ll be honest, first impressions of LA were not good at all, although I will concede that the Greyhound station is in a fairly shit part of town. I’d been looking forward to getting to the hotel for a dip in the pool and use of the fitness room, and I eventually made it there after quite a lot of luck with the LA public transport. I checked in and found my room where I met another trek-member whose name escapes me right now. I’d ask him but he’s asleep at the moment because he flew from Luxembourg today. Although the gym equipment was fairly limited I managed a good workout and I imagine I will be suffering for it tomorrow.

The hotel, by the way, is this one: http://www.haciendahotel.com/

So here I am, a little over half way through my trip. It’ll be interesting to see how I find having someone else make the choices and decide what happens next, although it will also be nice to have a short break from planning everything myself. My only real concerns for the trek are that I have two bags (albeit small ones) and the literature says I’m only allowed one, three weeks might be a long time if I don’t get on with the people (although thankfully the only one I’ve met so far seems fine), and I might not have enough batteries/memory cards for all the photography I imagine I’ll want to do.

I have to be up, showered, dressed, checked out and have broken my fast by 7.30 tomorrow morning, so I’m going to go to bed now. There probably there won’t be a great deal of updates from the wilderness as I likely won’t have access to power supplies or wifi for a while, and I’ll be conserving my battery for storing and backing up photos. It may well be that there will just be an ‘overview of the trek’ post at the end, as writing about three weeks of events in this much detail would be to the detriment of the rest of my trip. Wish me luck.