Food For Thought

You may have noticed that I didn't really talk about food in my LA post. Unless you count my cake conquest. The reason for this is that I didn't really have any decent meals there. Not to say that there isn't any great food in LA, I'm sure there is somewhere, I just didn't have any of it.

Running with the Mexican theme that dominated my food choices in San Diego, I thought I'd give that a go in LA. I went to a nearby Mexican joint and was greeted by their front-of-house staff member. I decided to sit outside as it was a nice day and provided the perfect opportunity to people watch. The place was pretty packed but there were plenty of waitresses around. I asked the greeter if I needed to order at the bar and he assured me that a waitress would be over soon.

Perhaps the term soon in America means a while as I waited for about 20 minutes. The funny thing was, I sat about two feet away from the greeter. He could obviously see that I wasn't being served yet did nothing about it. None of the waiting staff came outside so there was nobody to flag. In the end I had to walk in and get someone's attention.

The food was mediocre just like the customer service. You would think that the highlight of my meal was getting the bill so I could leave but it wasn't. I had to decide how much money to give as a tip.

In England**, tipping isn't compulsory. Despite people's preconceptions, not that many people tip at home. It's said that you should tip if you've received a great service or if someone has gone the extra mile for you. I believe, however, that regardless of the service that's received, people either tip or they don't. I also think it's a tradition passed down through a person's family. This is what I learnt whilst I waitressed before leaving England.

America on the other hand have it completely backwards. Tipping is essential and is a reprehensible act if not followed through. I understand the argument that the waiting staff get paid well below minimum wage and managers expect staff to make up wages with tips. I think this is more deplorable than not leaving a tip in the first place. But it extends to taxi drivers, hairdressers and even bartenders. 

Every guide book I read before I set off on my travels explained that you need to tip a bartender at least a dollar per round or drink to ensure that you get served again. That's not a tip my friend, that's a bribe.

Gone were the days where I could lean forward and give a flirty smile to ensure I get served before anyone else. Damn.

The growing list of occupations and situations where tipping is fundamental far outweighs the timid argument that it's needed to boost a person's wage. The varying levels of service received - from a waitress running ragged around a busy restaurant to someone handing a ready-made burger on a plastic tray - must surely ring alarm bells. I guess it's been drilled into people's minds so much that they don't even think about it now.

Let me be clear though, I don't completely disagree with tipping. Like I said, I've waitressed and I know how hard-going it is. I think it's deserving and whenever I feel I've had a good service or I get on with the waiter/ess, I always leave a tip, more so when it's a small or independent restaurant.

What I don't agree with is tipping for the sake of it, or worse, tipping even though my experience has been unpleasant (to put it politely). At first, I thought that because people's livelihoods rested on these tips, that people would work damn hard to ensure that they get those tips. Unfortunately reality sucks and that isn't the case. I know how I feel as an underpaid and under-appreciated worker and working hard is the last thing I feel like doing. Leaving a tip becomes a sense of entitlement to workers who scorn at those who don't abide by the rules. It's something that is rightfully theirs. It shouldn't be like this. The gesture of goodwill has gone. There is no selfless good deed and I'm not ashamed to admit that normally I feel good when I leave a tip as I know how it feels to get one. I like to know that it has been appreciated. It's a token - you've given a great service and I want you to know that. This concept is sadly lost in America.

So, bitterly, I left 10% of the bill total. I didn't like it, it wasn't deserved and I doubt it was appreciated.

** I wrote about my experiences in Tip Of The Iceberg Mate

A Life Full Of Single Serving Friends

Glitz and glamour are the first words that spring to mind when I think of Los Angeles. You have the Hollywood sign and the walk of fame for starters. It is movie-star central I thought.

Staying in Hollywood wasn’t a conscious choice, it just happened to be where a hostel chain was situated. I felt like spending an extra few dollars and staying in somewhere a bit nicer.

Perhaps I was staying in the rough end of Hollywood as there was no glitz or glamour to be found. It was a bit grotty actually. I was right by the walk of fame but many of the stars were caked in chewing gum and grime as well as being situated outside tacky fancy dress stores and run down café joints.

It's Lassie! I couldn't help myself

It was funny watching tourists take photos of every single star that they recognised. I've never been the same since my friend Mel joked about people taking copious amounts of photos - "What are you going to do with those photos? You're not going to frame them and how many photos of signs can you put on Facebook? Nobody wants to see that." It went something a little like that. Mel has a point. I've taken photos of all sorts of random nonsense but I have my blog as an excuse. Without it, my photos probably would just be sat in a folder unseen.

Seeing the grotty side of LA wasn’t disappointing to me. LA was a stop-gap in my journey so I didn’t have any expectations. I thought whilst I was here I may as well do something touristy. They had many tours on offer. You could go to television/film sets and beach trips but they were quite pricey.

For a few dollars, I’d meet a group of new faces and see the Hollywood sign. It was a done deal. Before I came face-to-face with the iconic structure, I needed to get ready and eat. A simple task one would think but dorming with seven other girls in an en-suite room is like a battle. I felt like I was in the jungle. The bathroom was the target and you needed to have your wits about you. I could see one or two girls hovering under their duvet “playing dead” but as soon as the bathroom was free they’d pounce. Unfortunately I was at a disadvantage being on the top bunk. Stealth was out the window. Well I could pounce from the top bunk but I’d break my neck. It wasn’t a sacrifice I was willing to make no matter how desperate I was to go to the toilet.

Stupidly, the entire building is made up of en-suite rooms. I found out there is one toilet in the entertainment room and one other in reception. I was still in my pyjamas and my hair certainly blended with my jungle theme. I was no lion cub, I was flipping Mufasa on a rampage. I ran to the entertainment room but it was occupied. I went back to the room and I didn’t care what anyone else thought, I shot straight into the bathroom as soon as it became free. I didn’t want World War III to break out, so I made a quick toilet-break and waited my turn for the shower. What a faff-on.

At least breakfast was easy. Fresh fruit, toast and bagels were available. You could make your own pancakes too but I wasn’t even going to chance my non-existent kitchen skills. I can bake a cake without breaking a sweat but trying to make a pancake involves a lot of swearing and pan-clattering. There were too many people around so I stuck to bread and fruit. Toasting bread I can manage.

My inept skills made a good conversation starter as I saw someone making pancakes like a pro. Unfortunately this guy was a shit single serving friend as he left to join a group as I sat on my own. I’ve been travelling for almost a year now and I still find it difficult gauging people. I guess it depends on my frame of mind too. Sometimes I’m aching for companionship and great conversation and other days people annoy the hell out of me and I’d rather just be on my own! It can be a tiresome cycle and even today I wonder who, out of the friends I have made so far, I’ll end up seeing again.

With it being a scorching hot day, a long and winding walk up to the Hollywood sign seemed like a ridiculous thing to do, but I did it. Along the way I met James and Perry, two friendly and chatty Brits. I mainly spoke to James and, although it was a pleasant distraction, I struggled to talk and walk up a high incline. I was sweating profusely and felt my hair frizzing in the sizzling heat. I felt gross, this sign better be bloody worth it!

James was a welcome breath of fresh air as conversation crept into career-talk, a subject I strive to avoid. No judging, no patronisation or sarcasm. He was quite supportive and said a few nice things despite only knowing me for less than an hour. Of course he could just be talking bollocks or being polite, but most people don’t even go as far as to do that nowadays. If there’s something that people don’t understand, they tend to criticise it and shoot it down. Hard work and perseverance is the key to reaching your dreams. It was sound advice.

We finally made it...

I couldn't help but dabble in a bit of perspective photography

I was disappointed that we couldn't get closer to the sign. It's not that I believe everything that happens in movies, but you see people going up there all the time without consequences. I understand that they want to preserve the sign but still...it sucks.

We swapped numbers and made loose plans to meet later. The guys went to Universal Studios and I ran a few errands and spent the rest of the evening chilling in an attempt to save money. I needed to stay up late as I’d planned to do some internet banking with my mum. No I’m not getting a cash injection from my parents. I wish! I needed to gain access to my HSBC account as I couldn’t remember how much money I had in there. It’s one of those accounts that has the annoying little calculator key-pad thingy, something I refused to take with me as I knew I’d lose it. I needed to get a code from my mum so I could access my account. I’d like to say it was worth the hassle but I didn’t have a stash of money I’d forgotten about. Damn.

As the hours ticked by, a smell drifted up to my bunk. What the flip was that? It smelled like a festering turd. Absolutely gross and example number two (pun not intended) of why en-suite dorms are a big mistake. If one person in your dorm drops some serious heat, you WILL know about it. Sheesh.

James saved the day and texted me to meet him for a chat. I didn’t hesitate. I did need the toilet before I met him. A piece of information you’re thinking you really didn’t need to know but you’ll understand in a minute. I hasten to add, I didn’t contribute to the death bomb that had hit our room. When I flushed, the toilet bowl almost overflowed. Eurgh. Apparently girls do block toilets too guys. This needed to be addressed as I did not want a flooded bathroom in the morning.

By this point everyone else was asleep. I wasn’t going to wake everyone up with my revelation. I went to reception and told them the situation. Of course I looked like the guilty culprit. Lovely! The guy on reception came back to my room and assessed the situation. Most of the girls stirred but I didn’t feel bad. I don’t know how they can sleep with that stench lingering in the air.

Heroically, the receptionist unblocked the toilet with the plunger that I failed to clock beforehand. I apologised to the receptionist but the guy saw the funny side of it and said it was “the highlight of his night”. I left the girls to the stench and met James. I regaled James with the story and thanked him for saving me.

Neither of us was particularly tired and stayed up into the early hours talking about anything and everything. Perry joined us at one point as the dorm room weirdo had disturbed him. There’s always one. I had the stealth bomber and Perry had a smelly noisy weirdo.

Eventually we called it a night. As we parted ways, our goodbye was interrupted by a racist drunken Aussie. Wheeeey, I thought I’d seen the last of them! After his racist jokes fell flat he started laying into the English and how we know nothing about our cricketing team. I’d barely followed the news since being away, never mind sport so I couldn’t shoot this guy down with my amazing knowledge of our cricketing team but I dropped a few names to shut him up momentarily. I was fighting a losing battle as this guy could hardly stand never mind acknowledge what I was saying. He soon found another argument and riled me further. James lingered behind possibly to make sure I didn’t push this guy down the stairs. He soon grew bored and stumbled off.

A stench party awaited me as I bid James goodnight. Perhaps I could use my ear plugs for my nose instead…

*****

As I was checking out, I needed an early start. I am not a morning person at the best of times but sleep deprivation plus an annoying room situation did not help matters. I’m pretty sure I growled at someone. I made sure I got in the bathroom before most of the girls as my patience levels were next to none.

After seeing James and Perry at reception, we checked out and went to the subway together. I left my luggage in storage and decided to have a day of exploring before I checked in at my next place.

The guys must have thought I was heading somewhere else as they hugged me outside the subway station. Before I had chance to tell them I was coming down with them, we heard a woman shrieking, “No frolicking!!” Before we knew it, this crazy woman came up to us repeating the same statement. We assured her we were just hugging. According to the woman you can be arrested for that kind of behaviour as she was taken away by police for frolicking in the streets.

When crazy-lady clocked that we were British, she started telling us how she loved the Sex Pistols and asked us exactly what a Sex Pistol was. We steadily inched away from her and escaped to the subway.

James and Perry left for San Francisco and I had the rest of the day to wander the streets. I knew exactly what I wanted to see. I love the film 500 Days of Summer which was filmed in LA. Having picked out a few spots from the movie, I set out to find Joseph Gordon Levitt…ahem, I mean visit some of the places that were filmed.

First up was the iconic bench.

Perfect

I was happy that nobody was sat on it! The film is quite old now and the plaque has been there a while so I guess the novelty has worn off for some.

Street art: I wish I knew who painted this

Speaking of art, I visited the Fine Arts Building that Tom and Summer pass in the film. I just needed The Temper Trap’s Sweet Disposition to blast out and it’s like I’m inside the film.

The geek that I am, I found out where the karaoke bar is and where Tom and Summer (separately) lived but I didn’t have time to see everything. There was just one more spot that I wanted to visit – the sex fountain. Ok, it’s not called the sex fountain but it’s a shortened version of – the fountain that erupts when Tom passes which leads to a dance and parade as he’s just spent the night with Summer aptly accompanied by the classic Hall and Oates classic You Make My Dreams.

 I thought this was it…but it wasn’t

Google Maps had brought me to the right place but there was no fountain to be had. The fountain above was situated on the same road. It is commemorative in its own right with the words Peace On Earth inscribed on the side.

Half an hour of walking around did nothing to aid my search. I asked a security guard and a taxi driver for directions but neither had heard of the fountain. I didn’t ask to be taken to the sex fountain by the way, its official name is the Arthur J. Will Memorial Fountain. I asked a waiter and he was stumped too but figured that it might be a certain fountain close by…it wasn’t. It was the memorial fountain at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Los Angeles has a shit load of memorial fountains so it seems.

An hour had passed and I was hot, sweaty and frustrated. I’d circled the same street for what felt like a century in the hope that I’d find something I hadn’t the last time. I decided to rest on some steps. I looked across the street and a dusty light bulb had switched on. I walked across the street to inspect closely. A long stretch of metal fencing stood before me encased in a thick black plastic sheeting. I peered through an opening and couldn’t flipping believe it. I followed the fencing around until there was a better view…

Found it!

The fountain had been shut down for building works. I was in the right place at least! What a waste of time. It turns out the fountain had been re-worked as the centre piece for the newly opened Grand Park. I was a couple of weeks short of its opening. Typical.

At this point, I decided to head back to the hostel. I had a long journey ahead of me as the hotel I needed to check into was the opposite side of LA. The following day I would be embarking on a seven day tour taking in sights such as the Grand Canyon and Yosemite National Park.

Seen as I had so much fun searching for a fountain that wasn’t even open, I decided to carry on the trend and look for a hotel that was in the middle of nowhere. I lugged my stuff on and off two trains. All that was left was a bus journey that stopped near the hotel. This is where Google Maps failed me as I had no idea which direction I was going in and the busses were not clear at all.

It was a long wait until a bus came by and the area was pretty crowded. I stood up and made my way across the pavement to hail down the bus and it started to slow down…then speed up and it carried on driving past me. The driver clocked me and I gave the woman a look that summed up my feelings. According to everyone near me, the bus is supposed to stop at each bus stop. Well apparently not this time!

Another bus turned up and everyone crowded onto that one. I asked the woman if the bus stopped where I needed to be and she looked clueless. “The bus stops where it stops,” was her response. Is that supposed to be a joke or some kind of weird bus driver philosophy? The woman looked as confused as I was so I chose not to board the bus as it was a different number to the one before. I had a feeling it wasn’t the bus I needed.

As the bus pulled away I was alone and confused. A short while later a couple of people stood by the stop. One guy asked me where I was going and he said I’d be best getting a taxi. As if Big Brother was watching us, a taxi driver pulled up beside us. He’d obviously spotted my giant case and thought he’d grab a fare. It would be more convenient getting a taxi but it would cost around four times more than the bus. A girl at the bus stop said she knew where to get off so I decided to stick around and cling to her.

Unfortunately the girl got disorientated and we ended up getting off a couple of stops too far. I wasn’t annoyed as at least I was closer than I was before. The girl said her friend’s due to pick her up and offered to drop me off. What a lovely gesture. A few minutes later the girl started getting a bit flustered as she wasn’t sure when her friend was going to arrive and felt terrible that she’d not led me to the hotel. Instead, the girl offered to pay for a taxi. I didn’t know what to say. That was far too generous but the girl insisted. Hannah I think her name was, hailed down a taxi and smoothly placed a note in my hand. I looked down and a twenty dollar bill stared up at me. I couldn’t take that much, that’s crazy. Hannah insisted and walked away. Wow, what a lovely girl and a pretty damn good single serving friend.

The taxi came to around $12 for that short distance. In hindsight, the fare offered to me at the bus stop was a really good deal. I wasn’t to know that though and everything worked out well in the end.

Nothing could go wrong now right? “I’m sorry. Your name isn’t in our system.” Ah crap. A bowl full of lollipops sat by the computer. I grabbed one and tucked in whilst the receptionist continued to look for my booking. I added that it had been made around eight months ago. Eventually my name was found, I wasn’t sweating though as I had everything in email if it came down to technicalities. The receptionist apologised and I quipped that if he’s truly sorry he could bump me up to their finest suite as a goodwill gesture. The receptionist laughed and said that if they offered a fine suite, then it would be mine. Oh dear, that’s not a good sign.

After finding my room, I plonked my stuff down, got changed and headed to the gym. I wasn’t there long though. Firstly, I was so unfit (still am!) that I really couldn’t run for that long but mainly because all the gym equipment faced a wall of mirrors. I hate that in gyms. I understand having mirrors by the mat and weight areas as you want to make sure that your back is straight and you’re using the right technique. However, I don’t see how watching my fat jiggle up and down whilst running on a treadmill or seeing my face quickly transform from content to absolute displeasure would encourage me to work harder. Instead, I recoil in horror. I know I don’t look great when I work out and I’m well aware that I have a strange angry face when I run but I really don’t need to be constantly reminded of this.

Seen as I did sweat for a little bit, I thought I deserved a treat. I showered, got comfortable, turned on the television (a rare perk) and ordered room service. They had plenty of meals available but I’d already eaten a Chinese takeaway earlier. I ordered some chocolate cake with ice cream. It cost less than $5, bargain.

It didn’t take long at all for it to arrive. It was a breathtakingly large piece of yumminess. Just as I paid the waiter and took hold of the cake, my roommate arrived. What a wonderful first impression I must have made.

Like I care what anyone thinks of my cake addiction anyway! I enjoyed every mouthful. Gen, an Aussie student, accepted what was happening and we chatted until quite late. Excitement took hold as I looked forward to meeting everyone on the tour.

Good Mornin' America

Beep, beep, beep, beeeeep. The dreaded sound of one’s morning alarm is probably the most hated sound. I usually set mine to snooze or just lie in bed playing the coming day over in my head in an attempt to muster up some form of enthusiasm. Dragging my ass out of bed is a cumbersome process but today was different. Where I was staying snoozing was not an option. As soon as I realised where I was, I wanted to get up and out of my room. It wasn’t that hellish but it was by no means a tranquil duvet heaven.

Breakfast perked me up a bit. Yet more pancakes, my arteries will be pleased. The sugar rush certainly did the trick. My stuff was organised and ready to lug to my next destination but I still had most of the morning so I went out for a walk.

No surprise that it was a beautifully crisp, clear and sunny morning. I walked along the beach and pier and indulged myself with a session of people-watching. Sometimes I like to imagine what people’s stories are, why they are in that place at that particular time and what their lives are like. It’s a nice escape from my own inner monologue.

My thoughts were interrupted briefly as I breezed past a cheery surfer. I did a double-take as I thought I saw something strange. Maybe I should start drinking proper coffee. I took a few more photos and made my way back to the hostel. In doing so I passed the same surfer guy in the car park…yep, that guy has horns. A middle-aged surfer dude with horns protruding from his forehead is what stood before me. We exchanged smiles again, mine a slightly nervier effort. Inside I screamed – “Don’t flay me”. Then my mind started to wander. If he is meant to be a demon, what do they normally do with humans? They probably don’t flay people…or do they? I tried accessing my faint memories of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel but then the thought of David Boreanaz took me down a separate thought train…

…“My friend wants to marry you.” I paused and looked to my left. There beside me were three dishevelled fellows and a straggly girl. One was propping up a sign with a message of love and a plea for money. How random. A marriage proposal from a tramp wasn’t what I was expecting to get from my day. I didn’t have my purse so it was a wasted proposal.

That concluded my morning stroll and it was time to head to the train station. Thankfully that was a simple bus ride away. I knew where I was going and everything!

Before I boarded a patronising desk clerk answered a couple of questions I had. He spoke to me like I didn’t know what a train was.

Farewell San Diego, greetings Los Angeles. Three guesses what happened next…yes I got lost. I jotted down directions but they didn’t help. I walked across the road to a shop selling bus tour tickets in search of a street map. They had one but it was shite. It didn’t help me whatsoever and the staff were only concerned with people buying a bus ticket. I had a decision to take, left or right. It was the wrong way.

Ordinarily I’d just wander around aimlessly and take the “scenic route”. This is the point where I meet incredible people or discover something great that I would have missed otherwise. This time I had my whopping suitcase so I was in no mood to wander around without a clue.

In an act of desperation I went into a Domino’s pizza joint shop thinking they’d probably have a map as they deliver. This was my theory. They didn’t have a map. The manager took pity on me and offered to drive me across there as he’d just finished his shift. I accepted as I had no idea where I was or how I’d get to the hostel. This guy would be pretty dumb to kidnap me seen as half his staff witnessed me getting into a car with him. This guy would get some serious good-karma-points with this goodwill gesture. It was tainted slightly when he asked me out for dinner but I made my excuses and walked into the hostel. Marriage proposal and dinner request all in one day, now I do feel special.

That’s enough excitement for one day I think. I set my stuff down in the female only dorm that yet again confirmed that girls are just as messy as guys, if not more in some cases. This hostel was definitely a step up from San Diego. I had a plug socket and a light by my bed. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Down In Mexico

An outsider may crinkle their brow in confusion as to why I crammed everything I wanted to do into one day. Even more so when they realise that I still had one full day left in San Diego.

From past experience I have learnt to try and get all the city-musts out of the way as soon as possible. Stating the bleedin’ obvious is probably what comes to mind for most of you reading this, but you will be surprised how easy it is to become lazy when travelling. After a travel day, I usually want to do the easiest thing or visit the nearest place to the hostel. Without thinking I waste my first couple of days dithering about and then my plans change and I either don’t have time or have to rush my last days in an effort to fit everything in.

For instance, I had one week in Kyoto, Japan. I thought that was ample time to see everything. I met up with a friend and visited a couple of temples nearby. I stretched that out over my first two or three days. Before I knew it, I was making preparations to leave so I ended up rushing about trying to see everything. I still had a good time but all my procrastinating and “finding my feet” bollocks meant that I didn’t even touch the outskirts of Gion, the famous Geisha district. Abundant with tradition and historic value, I missed out on a tea ceremony or taking a rare snap of a full-time Geisha in her native surroundings. Lonely Planet would weep at my omission.

Regrets are bypassed for me as I know that it is impossible to experience and see everything there is on offer in each country. Perhaps if I had a year in each, I might be able to ensconce myself within the societies and truly learn the culture and history but that’s not my journey this time.

After making loose plans to meet back up with Laura and John, I didn’t want to risk having to choose between seeing them and eating an epic burrito. My efforts were not wasted and I managed to make last-minute plans to visit Tijuana with my new Liverpudlian acquaintances.

Today seemed like Comic-Con’s prime day as Old Town was crawling with creatures from various planets. The bustle of the Comic-Con-goers was interrupted at certain points with an exasperated intercom message – “This is NOT a Comic-Con trolley. Repeat, this is NOT a Comic-Con trolley.” I had visions of someone pushing a shopping trolley full of masked heroes around San Diego. Trolley is not a word I would ever associate with public transport (it's a tram for those not in the know).

Fighting through the noise and crowds, I managed to pick out Laura in the masses and waited whilst John bought day tickets. It was great that the $5 unlimited bus passes also work on selected trolley services. It would cover our trip to and from the Mexican border.

Now more than ever, it became increasingly apparent that cash machines are like gold-dust in some parts of America. We never thought that San Diego would be one of them. John and Laura needed cash so we took a trolley to downtown and from there we would take the necessary tram to reach the border. As Laura and I stared out the windows to figure out when our stop would come, John made conversation with an American veteran. John later told me that veterans have some of the best stories to tell. He wasn’t wrong, this guy was teeming with tales littered with interesting titbits about his country.

Perhaps I was exaggerating slightly by comparing ATMs to gold-dust, but instead of saying “I need to go to a hole in the wall” (a common expression when there is a need to visit an ATM in England), I would say “I need to find a random shop that might have a stand-alone cash machine stashed somewhere.” But most of these were situated in pawn shops or other establishments that look equally dodgy.

It was slightly frustrating as a relatively simple act of withdrawing money becomes a treasure hunt. It didn’t help that we were all pretty hungry. Our fuses were short but became happily distracted with the pretty leaflet and freebie droppers. One particular girl hypnotised many tourists and locals alike with her swaying fishnet-clad hips. I still can’t remember what she was promoting but I remember exactly what she was wearing. Is that worrying?

As if we were under a spell, the three of us inadvertently followed the siren. We were soon brought back down to earth when two gleeful Americans shoved packets of Slim Jim jerky in our hands. This could solve our hunger problems temporarily at least.

Rounding the corner, a cash machine stood out like a bright beacon. We scurried across as the sooner we get the money the sooner we can make it across the border and stuff our faces. Slim Jim was not enough to satiate us completely.

Whilst John withdrew his money, Laura and I clocked the Slim Jim mothership. As well as holding a hoard of Slim Jim packets, there were carnival games that anyone could take part in. My competitive nature coupled with my desire to gain more free stuff meant that I practically stormed through the small group of bystanders.

Not surprisingly, we had to sign a disclaimer stating that we wouldn’t sue Slim Jim if we injure ourselves. Good ol’ America.

Our choices were an arm wrestling game, the classic high striker (hammer and bell) or a punch bag. The punch bag looked like the easiest one so we went for that. I had a lot of weight behind me at that point so I hoped I could use that to my advantage for once.

John and I limbered up like we were entering the Olympics. Laura simply took off her bag and went straight into it. I stood back and watched to gauge what techniques were needed to accomplish the perfect punch. There was a specific spot to hit and a certain way to push your weight forward to get the most points. It did seem like the fattest people were gaining the most points over the seemingly stronger-looking opponents. It’s better to be fat than fit at this point. Perfect!

John faired very well and Laura sourced some hidden anger and punched respectably. I wanted to win. I didn’t care what it was that I actually won, I just wanted victory.

My first punch slipped off the bag and my score was pathetic. I only had two chances left. I made the second shot count and my score rocketed but it still wasn’t enough to win a prize, ergo it wasn’t good enough. I thought back to what had riled me over the years and used that as a stimulant. It ruddy worked and I got a top score and won a belt. Random, but I didn’t care. The guy running the stand said I was one of the top punching girls of the day. Perhaps he was just trying to make me feel better, but I smothered my skepticism and smiled. Yes, I am the champion!

It would have been so easy to spend the afternoon playing games and winning tat but Tijuana awaited us. We caught the next trolley and walked across the border unquestioned. Our hassle free entry into Mexico had us laughing nervously. Surely it can’t be this easy? Pedestrians aren’t deemed as dangerous so it seems but if you have a car you have to have the patience of a saint as you’ll be waiting a while.

Sheesh!

Me and Laura have time to pose with a packet of Slim Jim overlooking queueing traffic

Even though this sounds like the oldest cliché ever created, it did feel like walking into another world. We left cloudy-grey San Diego for sunny Mexico. Tall modern buildings were replaced with grungy one-storey structures. Macy’s and Abercrombie and Fitch morphed into rows of tourists shops all selling the same crap. Each establishment was owned by a middle-aged man trying every trick in the book to get us to come in. They had no luck with us but we did enjoy the efforts many went to. It felt like they were all reading from the same book as every guy commented on how lucky John was to have two “senoritas”. John happily played along. Tijuana is very lively and busy if a little surreal.

Photo opportunity with a zebra-donkey?

Imaginative

Our stomachs growled in protest so we decided to look for somewhere to eat. Along the way we met an American guy called Brad. He was visiting with family but exploring Tijuana alone that day. Brad was searching for a market nearby and asked if we too were looking for the same market as he was a little lost. We got to talking and decided to hang out for a while.

All the restaurants looked the same so we struggled to differentiate between the places that are kosher or ones that would have us clinging to the toilet bowl for the next few days. Most of the places looked busy so we settled upon a place that had seating outside.

Other than tacos and enchiladas, I did not understand anything that was written on the menu. To begin with I was going to stick to the usual tacos, especially as they were cheap, but everything sounded so tasty.

Two lovely waitresses served us homemade chips, dips and took our orders. We awkwardly asked questions about the menu as we were all equally clueless.  I ordered quesadilla even though I still didn’t really know what that was. The picture looked nice though!

Education, politics, travel experiences and social differences were subjects of talk whilst we waited for our food. Brad shared stories about his time living in Turkey and I got to hear more about Laura and John’s adventures.

Our food arrived promptly and nobody hesitated in digging in. It was a feast.

It's not all for me!

Me, Laura and Brad with our lovely waitresses

Me, Laura, Brad and John moments before we tucked into our grub

Time slipped away as we realised that a good couple of hours had passed by. We bid farewell to the ladies and took to the streets in search of this elusive market.

It didn’t take us long to find what we were looking for. The market sure had a lot of character.

Those aren't sultanas, they're wasps. Yuck!

I'm not sure what the idea behind this was!

It was definitely popular with the locals. We bounced around and ricocheted off people like a ball-bearing firing through a pinball machine. I believe this is where we lost Brad. With no mobile phone to call, we shrugged and carried on walking around. Brad left our lives as seamlessly as he entered it.

In no direct correlation to what had just happened we entered a church. I’m not religious at all in that I have no strong beliefs either way. It was still interesting to watch others worship and pray. Some sat in silence, others clenched prayer beads and many knelt down in the aisle briefly as a sign of respect. Church etiquette is well above and beyond my knowledge so I was soon ready to go.

Somehow the day was coming to a close already. We walked back to cross the border. There was no avoiding one bar owner we met when we first entered. We made the fateful mistake of telling him that we’d come back and maybe have a drink. Of course he remembered us. One drink wasn’t going to do any harm and we couldn’t exactly argue over the pricing.

Mister bar owner fussed over us as we were pretty much his only customers at that point. Perhaps their avoidance tactics were better than ours - we have a lot to learn.

Sipping our dirt-cheap Coronas, we played a couple of games of pool. I sucked as always. As we started to play another game, a guy came over and asked if we fancied playing a game of doubles – Laura and John versus me and this guy. Why not? The woman he came in with was stood at the bar watching and later walked into one of the back rooms.

I had my game face on

This stranger was very odd looking. He looked a lot older than he probably was. His prematurely-aged skin creased together like a bulldog. With zero dress sense and tacky jewellery, this guy seemed harmless. Perhaps this was all himself or done purposely as he tried so hard to hustle us out of money. Now I can be a little too trusting but even I saw through his act. At first he played worse than me and then every now and again he’d pull out a pretty good shot. The game would end and he’d ask us to play for money – “Just for fun”. He’s barking up the wrong tree in asking a backpacker to cough up money for nothing!

A couple of games later we called it a day finished our beers and left. Laura and John laughed as we left but I didn’t get the joke at first. It turns out the guy was a pimp and the woman he came in with was taking care of business whilst he tried making a bit of extra cash himself. I was completely oblivious to the goings on. Typical.

It was a strange way to finish our time in Tijuana but equally as funny. It was the only bar we went to as we didn’t really have time to hang about. Crossing back into America proved a lengthier process than our breezy entrance. We firstly had to queue and then answer random questions about our travels to American officials.

Having gotten the trolley back to Old Town it was time to say goodbye to Laura and John. There was a possibility that we’d be in San Fran at the same time but it felt like this was going to be our last meet. It’d be nice to see them again in their hometown of Liverpool and I could show them the sights of York if they were ever in the area.

My bus wasn’t due for a while so I waited with them and waved goodbye as their bus pulled away. I walked across to where I thought my bus was. The correctly numbered bus was sat in the terminal with its lights off and a bulky driver was sat reading the newspaper. People were stood around curiously as to why the guy wasn’t boarding passengers. It was around five minutes until departure so I guess the guy thought he had time for a break.

This did not go down well with those waiting. I could hear faint murmurings of irritation. Now although there wasn’t a strict queue in place, it was pretty clear who was to board the bus first. This one guy strutted to the front, right outside the door of the bus. If this was England there would be hell to pay. I wasn’t exactly ready to pummel this guy or anything but I wasn’t best pleased. I detest queue jumpers and I am usually one of those people who either pipes up or pushes back.

It was interesting to see how this rolled out. Up to now, I’ve heard many an angry American and love it. They get so wound up and shout all sorts of expletives – “Asshole” and “douche bag” – are my favourites. Neither was uttered in this instance though. Instead, I could see a tall black guy shifting from side to side and I could see he wasn’t happy. The guy who pushed in turned to him and asked if there was a problem for which the guy replied, “Naaa, I aint trippin’.”

What!? I’ve seen many depictions of the plethora of racial stereotypes in America but I never actually thought that there were people who spoke like that. I thought it was a caricature! I just wanted to carry on listening to this guy speak!

This revelation was disrupted by the bulky driver exiting the bus. A mammoth of a guy slowly waddled across the street and replaced him. It took him a good few minutes to heave himself onto his seat and set everything up. By the time he sorted himself out and everyone boarded, the bus was around ten minutes late. Pointless! In the meantime, the guy who wasn’t trippin’ made sure that the two young Asian girls with suitcases bigger than their petite frame boarded the bus first. He bellowed – “Ladies first!” He shamed the stupid queue-jumping idiot as well as all the males. What a gentlemen. Normally it’s every man and woman for themselves when it comes to public transport but not today.

Back at the hostel I dumped my stuff and went straight to my laptop. I needed to check if I’d had an responses to my couchsurf requests for San Francisco. As there wasn’t a lot that I fancied doing in LA, I decided to stay in a hostel before embarking on my seven day tour to San Fran. I’ll be there just over a week so it was ambitious to think that one person would host me for that long. The average stay for most surfers is two nights. Ideally, I needed three hosts which is going to be incredibly difficult to pull off.

Couchsurfing originated in San Fran which I thought would work in my favour in that there are a shit-load of hosts there. What I didn’t anticipate was that my requests were amongst a gazillion others as every other backpacker is thinking the exact same thing as me. I needed to stand out. I had already sent out a handful of requests but it looked like I need to send out a heck of a lot more. It is surprisingly time-consuming going through people’s profiles and finding a good host, or perhaps I’m just picky!

My efforts failed at the first hurdle as my battery died. Shit! The hostel I was staying in is so rundown that there are no plug sockets in the room itself. There were two outlets in the bathroom but the front plastic shield hangs off the wall slightly. For fear of electrocuting myself, I avoided using it entirely. I didn’t have that long left to make arrangements so I diced with death and plugged in my laptop. The cable didn’t stretch to my bed which was on the opposite side of the room. Instead I sat on the toilet typing away. It did make for an unusual sight. I just hoped it was worth it and everything would find a way of working out in San Fran.