Loving San Francisco Day-By-Day

I don't believe I have ever underestimated my fitness levels before. When I've been at my best I could run 10 miles comfortably through a mud trail and at my worst I'd feel out of breath after climbing two flights of stairs. I hide my embarrassment through humour as always. However, recently I have had a change of heart about my well-being during my travels.

Yes, I did struggle with the beast to begin with. In fact, it was always a struggle but I did start off with just 12kg which almost doubled before I caved in and bought a suitcase in Australia. I'd almost always opt to walk long distances if it'd save on bus fare - weather permitting of course. Most days actually included a lot of walking as I visited tourist sites and discovered places and views of my own. I never really thought about it until now.

At present I'm back to working a desk job. My movement is very minimal. The furthest I move is the two minute stroll to the water machine or ten steps to the printer. Rather than heaving the beast upon my back, I bicep curl a 30g chocolate bar into my mouth. I am back to my poor breathless worst where those two floors (four flights of stairs) seem to defeat me every day. This is not good.

Although I often joke about how unfit I was whilst travelling, I have a new-found respect for how much I actually did. I am now a sloth in comparison. I have signed myself up to do a half marathon in September. It's the kick up the arse I need. I like my food but I enjoy having an above average level of fitness. I actually turned down free chocolate today. I know, I nearly fainted too. I won't be doing that every day though, I don't have the willpower!

*****

To make up for our fumbling efforts at conversing the night before, Nathan and I headed out for breakfast. I learned very quickly that San Francisco has the best of everything and I am falling for this place day by day. In light of this, it wasn't difficult to find a decent place nearby to eat. Nathan took me to a bagel place and then to a local cafe. Although I served plenty of them in Australia, I'd never actually tried a Chai latte.

Bagel and latte in tow, we walked across the road and sat outside Starbucks. I didn't mean to be square but I asked Nathan if we'd be told to leave what with us having coffee and bagels from elsewhere. In England we'd be challenged on the spot. I wanted to tuck into my bagel undisturbed. Nathan shrugged and said he does it all the time. It's a better spot to catch the sun and a small way of sticking it to Starbucks. I'm on board with that!

Nathan and I people-watched whilst tucking into our tasty bagels. I found out a bit more about the stranger who let me kip on their couch. Nathan is laid back, confident but not cocky and incredibly world-wise. I listened to Nathan regale a series of exciting adventures from his travels in Europe. I was slightly envious as this guy had no apparent worries in his life. He's lead a fulfilling life, travelled, is constantly learning, has enough spends to do as he pleases and is in a seemingly healthy relationship. All this and he makes it look effortless. He could just be a very good actor masterfully hiding the details that would taint this picture but I would be pretty darn happy if I was in his shoes. One shining light in all this is that Nathan is around 10 years my senior so I have time to get to that point. I have something to aim for which is always good.

Finishing up I thought I'd make a quick toilet stop, may as well take full advantage! I went to open the entrance door and was accosted by a rather rotund lady. For some reason I offended her for which she then proceeded to shout at me and tell me that I should let her through the door first because she's older than me. Again something that would never happen in England unless the lady was 80-odd. Age is a fiercely guarded secret for a lot of women in England and perhaps Britain as a whole. I took no offence and chuckled to myself.

Pleasantly full (my Chai latte was wonderful if anyone wondered...), I said my goodbyes to Nathan and went exploring. I started off with Nob Hill. I have to confess, I was drawn to the name more than anything, Nob tee hee. But apparently it's a good neighbourhood with parks and nice views. Honestly it is. Ok, I can do this...

No I really can't!

In all seriousness, and a Google search later, Nob Hill was penned after the numerous magnates who built mansion after mansion in a bid to out-do one another. Nob, I have come to realise, has another meaning - a shortening of the word nobility. Perhaps I should feel ashamed for giggling at the name, but then I read that the area where the edges blur between Tenderloin and Nob Hill is nicknamed Tender Nob...I mean come on!!

Whether or not I passed through that area, I don't know. I did, however, visit the pristine green expanse that is Huntington Park. I was tempted to run like a lunatic and play in the pretty awesome looking park but no, I am a grown up now, pfft. Instead I sat on a bench and looked at a replica of Rome's Fountain of Tortoises.

The fountain lights up at night

Grace Cathedral was close by and a worthy sight. I took a quick snap and moved on.

As I looked out towards the horizon, I could see the faint outline of Chinatown. I descended down one of San Fran's synonymous dipping roads where I was almost shrouded by a cluster of towering hotels. It shows there is still a definite air of affluence in Nob Hill. I felt like an Oliver-Twist-like imposter so I didn't hang around.

Chinatown in San Fran has the usual attributes - hanging lanterns, curved rooftops, oriental (usually dragon- draped) lamp-posts and an abundance of cheap eats. Perhaps this might have been the first time I truly opened my eyes in a Chinatown distract, but I saw a tremendous amount of strange edging on eerie shops.

There was the samurai sword shop which I thought was impressive. I tried to imagine the reaction I would get trying to take one of those bad boys through airport customs. I didn't have enough money for a sword holster never mind an actual sword.

Moving on I found shop after shop selling odd antiques, displays and statues. There were people in the shops genuinely looking around and not laughing and pointing like me. Maybe this is what you would find in a typical American household and I'm just culturally naive.

I need something that ties the room together. I'm thinking...a fat man...grinning menacingly...with a cocked leg and a dangling ear lobe. Where the chuff am I going to find that? Don't worry, Chinatown has all the answers!

My day wouldn't necessarily be deemed as productive. I did a lot of walking and I saw quite a lot so I was happy.

Back at the apartment, Nathan invited me out for a drink with a couple of his friends. If I'm getting ready with others I tend to judge my outfit on what everyone else is wearing. I looked at Nathan who was pretty casual yet somehow quite slick and smart. I can never get away with that. You can definitely tell if I've put effort into my outfit. I'm either dressed up and 'prettified' or I look like a person who's struggling to piece an outfit together on laundry day. I don't do breezy smart-casual.

The situation certainly didn't call for my maxi-dress and my blue dress was incredibly creased. I opted for leggings, a denim skirt and a casual top. I looked like a backpacker. Nathan refrained from doing the 'once over'. You know the look. A frown and a quick flick of the eyes from bottom to top (or vice versa). I'm used to that! Then again, most people I have seen do that are women so perhaps it was inevitable that Nathan wouldn't give a crap what I wore.

Emptying my mind of flurried thoughts of what I could wear if I was at home, we departed for a nearby wine bar. I met Nathan's friend Lisa who had already ordered snacks and was sipping red wine from a large glass.

Looking around, I decided I should have made time and ironed my blue dress. I did feel like a hobo but that feeling was short-lived as Lisa embraced me and offered me helpings of the bread and cheese platter she had ordered. What an angel.

Nathan ordered a glass of red wine and was about to do the same but I objected. White only for me I'm afraid. All eyes were on me. This was an upmarket establishment where I imagine business meetings take place during the day and accomplished San Franciscans came to let their hair down by night. People who are well versed in wine ordering. I just tend to pick a bottle with a nice label, kind of like how a young child picks out a book to read. I know nothing about wine. I asked for something light and sweet. The waiter nodded, said something that I could not understand and disappeared. Nathan and I shrugged and went back to our conversation.

Soon, we were joined by another one of Nathan's friends who had clearly just dismounted a motorcycle. Woooooow. This guy looked like a movie star. Not because he came by motorcycle but because he was ridiculously good looking! I picked my jaw up from the ground and attempted to act breezy as I was introduced to Charlie.

The common guys vs. girls debate was fiercely discussed both in the context of relationships and the world in general. Obviously nobody agreed but it was all in good fun. I made fun of how Nathan pronounced cashew nut. I say c-ashoo nut and he says cash-oo nut. Ok, that sounds boring but it was funny at the time and I have it written in my notes so I felt like it was something that I wanted to remember.

Something that we joked about too was Charlie's uncanny resemblance to Clark Kent/Superman. Haha, this just gets better and better. Don't worry, my tongue was firmly enclosed in my mouth as Nathan was busy playing cupid. Lisa and Charlie was a setup, how sweet.

We talked into the night about my travels, Nathan's travels and life as we all know it. I had great fun and didn't notice the time pass at all. Charlie mentioned a good website to find out about free stuff to do in San Fran. He also mentioned a festival that was coming up but I couldn't quite hear what he said. I'm sure he said something like "Up My Alley" which sounded dodgy. I got Charlie's number as we hoped to all meet up again to witness the weird festivities.

The evening came to an end naturally. Lisa intended to get home on her bicycle despite it being incredibly late and being fuelled by quite a few wines. Lisa's braver than me! Charlie offered to give her a ride back on his bike. That was it, Nathan lunged in there before Lisa had chance to protest. Nathan insisted Lisa leave her bike at his apartment and head back with Charlie. All because he wanted to make sure she got home safely. Ha, you're fooling nobody but I like your style. Who could refuse Clark Kent's noble gesture?

It was sorted, Lisa and Clark...I mean Charlie, left together. Nathan and I didn't stay up long as we were both beat. I aired my concerns about my next hosts as I'd not heard anything back since I received an acceptance message a week before. Nathan kindly said that I could stay as long as I needed. It was very tempting and would save me a lot of hassle shifting my crap again.

Before I had chance to snap up Nathan's offer, I received a text message from my next hosts. My gut told me to stay at Nathan's but I was curious about my new hosts. It was a chance to meet new people and stay in a new part of San Fran. I thought it would only be fair to go through with my original plans and messaged the new hosts back confirming an arrival time the following day.

Perhaps it was the wine or seeing Charlie take off with Lisa, but I felt like I needed to ask or I'd end up regretting it. I turned to Nathan and asked if there would be any chance that he could take me out for a spin on his motorbike, even if it was just around the block. I've never been on the back of a motorcycle and I'm all for new experiences. Nathan gave a tentative answer and said he'd let me know. It wasn't a firm no so I was hopeful.

All I wanted to do was sleep but I made sure I had everything pretty much packed and ready for the morning so I could depart in good time. I was venturing west towards Golden Gate Park the next day. Fingers crossed my next hosts are just as welcoming as Andy and Nathan have been.

Rolling With The Tourists

There was a time when I used to get up early and head straight out to experience as much as I could. The only time I would rest was when I sat down on a bus or train. My surroundings fuelled me and I never seemed to tire. In America, I grew lazy and complacent. I'd already done so much, it felt like my body and mind was ready to give up. I floated along, pushed by passing friends and circumstance. Perhaps I didn't tick off all the boxes on a generic travel website's top 50 must-dos but I had a damn good time. The scales definitely tipped towards letting go and seeing what happened rather than a forced cultural experience. Anyone can get a bus to an ageing building and take a photo. It might look impressive on Facebook but is there really a story behind that?

Each country seems to have taught me something. Japan was definitely confidence and social awareness having pushed myself in the deep end. I entered a country where not too many people openly spoke English and the majority of backpackers there were couples or impenetrable packs. I really had to seek out the solo travellers. I made some great friends but it also helped me be comfortable in my own skin. That's something I've not felt in a very long time. The rest of SE Asia was more of the same as I was still at the early stages of my trip.

Australia was an eye-opening experience. Don't believe the bullshit that goes around. It's funny what people say and what actually happens. Australia was the Marmite of my RTW trip. It's a place you either love or hate. I've made peace with my time in Australia but I know to take people's travel opinions with a pinch of salt as one man's paradise is another man's hell. I did leave with two very strong friendships. Mel and Steff have made me a better person. It's rare to find people who tell it straight. I always know where to get my tough love from.

New Zealand reinforced my repulsion of forced socialisation but opened my eyes to true natural beauty. I learned how to break things down and process them with a laid back ease. It's hard to describe but I used to be the kind of person that stresses about truly insignificant details. These tiny 'problems' would build and build until my inevitable crumble. I'd put so much pressure on myself. Who knew all I had to do was hurl myself out of a plane, off a canyon or down a ski slope to overcome it all. Sometimes things aren't as bad as you think. All you need to do is step back, take a breath and leap. There are times when you succeed and times when you fail. If you're lucky, it's something you can control and understand but sometimes shit really does happen. Putting all your time and energy in focusing on all the seemingly bad stuff that's around you will generally make you feel crap. So flip it over and focus on the good. Sounds so simple when you say it like that but it's true.

A lot of positive things have happened to me and I truly believe it's because I've learnt to see the good things and forget about the bad. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer (good ol' SNL).

Fiji certainly amplified my relaxed approach to things. Everything runs on Fiji-time there so you have to have a heck of a lot of patience, or generally just to not be bothered what happens. "If I get there, I get there. If I don't, I don't. It's ok, don't worry. Beeee happpyyyy." I think that's their motto in life.

Now it's over to America...what do you have for me?

*****

Daylight quietly crept in through the blinds and gently stroked me awake. A peaceful night's sleep meant that I awoke with a relaxed sigh. No snorers, no smelly people, no angry dope-heads...just me and a collection of Andy's keepsakes neatly organised at various points in the room. A book case full of writing aids and classic favourites - I later learnt that Andy is part of a writing group who meet and trade hints and tips. A music stand and sheets stood to attention next to a cello. Did Andy play or was this an antique? I lay for a moment taking everything in.

One final stretch and it was time to move, I can't spend all day in bed...as tempting as that was. I quickly and quietly showered and changed. I wasn't sure if Andy was awake. Another thing I also learnt about my host is that he doesn't like being woken up early. He asked that if I were to get up early and leave in the morning, to take care not to make too much noise. I assured him that there was no chance of me getting up early. Unless Andy constitutes early as 9am. I still think I'm the only person who classes this as early, for most people that's a lie-in!

Andy had left out a few guide books and a couple of maps to peruse at my leisure which was sweet. I flicked through and picked out a few points of interest. I loosely plotted out my day, making sure that I didn't pile my plate too high. I have a lot of time to play with so there was no need to pack everything in. I was very much up for taking casual strolls rather than booking open top bus tours or day trips. On the other hand, I did have a mammoth task at hand, I was hoping to visit Alcatraz. I tried booking a ticket a few weeks beforehand but they had already sold out. I'd been told that tour companies buy up a bulk of tickets for their day packages. When these aren't sold, they release them back to the Alcatraz ticket office. This was my only shot. With this in mind I decided to head out to the piers.

Let's not jump too far ahead, I needed something to eat. Andy had kindly offered to cook me some breakfast. This was very much unexpected. I assumed I was fending for myself. I joined Andy for some eggs and toast. Somehow Andy had managed to construct the perfect omelette. I don't necessarily mean by taste, although it was yummy, but the omelette itself was a perfect circle. I remember the last time I tried to make an omelette but gave up part way through and pretended that I wanted to make scrambled egg all along. I'm sure to most people it's not that difficult to make but I did look at it in awe. Most of my breakfasts are eaten on the go or are whatever is offered at the hostel - usually fruit and toast. Very rarely do I get a proper cooked breakfast. It's funny the small things that I class as a luxury. An omelette is luxury I tell you!

After a reasonable amount of time had passed (I didn't want to seem rude and eat-and-dash), I left Andy to his day. I had the bus system to tackle. It does surprise me that each place I've visited in America has had a different way of doings things in regards to buses. I only used the bus once in LA, but it was a lengthy trip for less than a dollar. San Diego was an easy $5 for unlimited journeys for one day. In San Fran it's a bit more pricey. It's $2 per trip no matter the length. If you keep your ticket, it is valid for the next couple of hours if you need to transfer. If you time it well and it's only a quick journey, you could get a return out of it. No such luck for me today.

One thing is for sure, you have to have the correct change. Don't EVER board a bus in America and stick a note higher than a dollar in their machine as you won't see the change. I only saw one poor guy do it but he only put in $5. It could have been a lot worse. The bus drivers aren't very sympathetic. That seems very familiar. Bus drivers in England seem to have a chip on their shoulder. With us, they're not that strict on what cash you hand over but I would tread very carefully if you hand over a note. I hated the days I had to go on the bus with a ten pound note. Handing that over is the equivalent of taking a well placed shit in their hands. Seriously. You'll either get a death stare or attitude. Not to pigeon-hole all bus drivers in England, I've met plenty of nice ones, but the cash issue is a definite bug-bear. I bet they'd love to roll out America's policy of only accepting exact change. Knowing us Brits, there'd be a definite backlash. That's too big a change for us to handle.

The perks of being a backpacker...a poor lowly backpacker, is that I had plenty of one dollar notes. I didn't even have any issues in navigating myself on the bus route. I have my trusty map to thank for that. It's still going strong from yesterday when meeting Ulas. As well as street names, it has the different coloured and numbered bus routes on. Wonderful.

As there was no reason for rushing, I paused every now and then as I walked to the bus stop. I took in my surroundings and admired the architecture of the passing houses that stared down at me. I would never do such a thing in my hometown. There are plenty of old buildings in York, but houses are pretty much the same where I live. The houses in San Fran are a bit more interesting to look at.

With so much to do in San Fran, I really was spoilt for choice. I decided to do some of the obvious tourist things first. Pier 39 is a shining beacon for tourists so that seemed like as good a place as any to begin. I stood and stared at the sea lions for a bit but actually found more entertainment in watching people gawp at them, taking several photos. Hoards of people were bunched together collectively staring at a marine creature lolling on a rock. Dolphin and whale watching I can understand as they peep above the surface of the sea and you may see a glimpse of a stray fin or blowhole. If you're lucky, you'll see jumps and flips.

Sea lions just kind of lie there. I grew up watching Andre the sea lion but he's a one off. None of them blew raspberries or waved at me. Man, I love that film. It's pretty much like Fly Away Home but with a sea lion instead of a flock of geese. It's a classic.

Anyway, so I'd walked along a few of the piers, admired the views and saw sea lions. I didn't hang around for long. It was too crowded for my liking. I managed to find a clearing near the aquarium. A stand was pitched up outside and a couple of employees were holding a competition. It was free to enter and there was a chance to get a free ticket to the aquarium, a free t-shirt or a ticket to see a 3D show.

It was my turn. I was asked a sea-related question. I just about managed to answer it unassisted. Phew, dignity intact. I spun the wheel to decide my prize. A ticket to the 3D show, ah well, it's something. It was still early on in the day so I decided to check it out. I'm not one to pass up a freebie.

A woman handed me my 3D glasses and I walked into the auditorium. I was the first one in. A few minutes later I was surrounded by kids. Ah crap. I was hoping for some Jaws 3D crazy-scary-shit but I think I was getting Finding Nemo. The show started and I was almost asleep by the end. Luckily it was only a short showing. I made a speedy exit before the lights turned back on. This is what happens when you get to the point in life where you can't refuse free things. I am a true bodger as my friend Mel would put it.

Moving on from that embarrassment, I found the ticket stand for Alcatraz. I spoke to the desk attendant who informed me that there were no tickets left for the day. I thought as much, so enquired about how early I need to arrive in order to get a day ticket...
Sorry I just picked my jaw up off the floor. Although the ticket kiosk opens at 7 or 7:30am, people (I use that term loosely) start queueing from 5am or even earlier. I guess this is America's version of the Next clearance sale in England. Deck chairs and thermal flasks at the ready...I think not. No offence Alcatraz, but I don't have the impetus for that kind of effort. Another time perhaps and I'll be sure to book ridiculously early. Never underestimate the insane organisation skills of a tourist, lesson learned.

Right tourists, where next? I walked along absent-mindedly looking for inspiration when I saw a hustler. A real live American hustler. Tourists were lapping it up. He had three cups, you needed to find the ball. Easy right? One woman lost $200...so that's a no. I couldn't help but laugh. Who needs a job in America when you can earn a day's wage in a few minutes by duping mental tourists. I swiftly moved on.

Meet the gullible crowd and the 'magician'

From one insane observation to another - Lombard Street. Some of you may be nodding in recognition, others will be puzzled. Lombard Street is a wiggly road that kinda looks funny in photos. I had to see for myself.

There's not too much to see from the base of the street but as you move closer, what first appeared to be rows of hedges in fact break-away to reveal a road.

Wiggle wiggle

Photos do not give this road justice in how steep it is. I ventured up the steps and needed a break half-way up. Young kids bypassed me skipping and jumping...pfft. There was a time when I used to skip and jump, now I just waddle breathlessly like a penguin on 20-a-day.

Reaching the top of the giant hill-of-a-road, I was greeted by swarms of camera-equipped street enthusiasts. Forget trainspotters, I guess in San Fran you have Streetspotters. They're a lot more exciting than trainspotters. Trainspotters are predominantly male and can be found muttering into a teeny tiny notepad and the most technological these guys get is donning a dictaphone (tied around the neck for easy access). They tend to congregate on a specific platform and rarely move. Shuffling back and forth, perhaps leaning in for a closer inspection of a carriage to note down a series of relevant numbers, is as much movement as you'll get from these folk.

Streetspotters on the other hand are insane. They have no qualms in standing in the middle of roads, disregarding moving traffic and contorting themselves into necessary positions to capture the right angle. Some choose to set up tripods but many adventurous types love exploring different sides of the road to make sure that nothing gets in the way of taking that perfect photo. Don't be surprised if queues are formed around the most popular spots to take photos.

A general passer-by would probably assume Britney Spears was on that street, but no. It's a wiggly street and you don't get those nowadays. We just have those regular straight ones or some with a slight curve in, nothing too extreme.

This kind of behaviour probably didn't happen 15 or 20 years ago when most people carried around disposable cameras. Remember those? You had to put all your faith in that tiny plastic box as all you had was a viewfinder and a flash. Oh and less than 30 exposures. I bet most people took one or two photos and were happy. Today, you have limitless photography and a handy delete button. You can preview the photos you've taken and decide whether you have the perfect photograph. I mainly remember the days when I put in a camera for development and picking up the photos only to find that most of them were terrible. Blurry, odd angles and even the dreaded finger-over-lens corrupted my photo collection. I wasn't going to win any awards let's put it that way. Instead, I currently have a good few thousand photos sitting on my laptop waiting to be tweaked and uploaded at some point. I'm probably no better off really given that I have no idea when I'll get around to doing that!

Climbing up the wiggly street was all rather challenging. I needed something pretty hefty to make up for such an exertion. I gorged on a massive sandwich and made one stop before I headed back to Andy's.

Telegraph Hill was a great viewpoint. I took a few snaps and rested to reflect on my day. I'd managed to cover quite a few tourist stops at the piers and a couple of points-of-interest. I mainly walked everywhere so I'd be interested in trying one of the many modes of transport in San Fran.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting to Andy, eating the best pizza ever (Little Star - try it, you won't be disappointed), watching Traffic (the film) and eating cheesecake. That last one was a mighty effort. The pizza was incredible but it was also deep dish and man it was deeeeep. Phew. I hoped it was a taste of what was to come in Chicago. I can never refuse cake though. I still enjoyed it but could barely move afterwards. Luckily Andy has a spacious apartment so rolling from room to room wasn't a problem. By the end of the night though it transcended into weak crawls until I admitted defeat and splayed myself atop my inflatable bed. Very rock-n-roll OD'ing on pizza and cake, what a night!

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

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.

Ten Minutes Or Less

Moving from country to country is inevitably disorientating. Guidebooks warned me of culture shock like it was an incurable disease. Somehow I’ve managed to get by without too many hassles or worries in that department. This is a skill I have unearthed which is fulfilling yet disillusioning as it’s not exactly something that’s easily transferable in “the real world”.

Nonetheless, I was happy with how far I had come. Landing in America, the last country on my round-the-world adventure, felt like the bubbling euphoria that builds when you catch the first glimpse of the finishing line after running a gruelling race. I’d come so far and am showing no signs of giving up and going home.

One of my favourite moments when entering a new country is airport arrivals. No I’m not going to descend into a Hugh Grant monologue and announce that love actually is all around. It’s specifically the point before I enter the arrivals lounge that makes me chuckle to myself.

Leaving a country, you don’t tend to notice anything out of the ordinary. You've practically embedded yourself within that culture for however many weeks so greetings and announcements have gone from surprising and interesting to commonplace. For instance, flying from Australia felt pretty normal but arriving in Fiji to the brightly coloured and musical welcome was lovely yet I couldn’t help but laugh at the contrast.

This feeling certainly came to the fore as I entered the Air Pacific plane in Fiji to soft Bula welcomes and left the flight with the screechings of Little-Miss-Perky when arriving in Los Angeles. Her voice was already high pitched to begin with but the announcement was quite long winded. I’m surprised her voice box didn’t explode as the woman rounded off each sentence an octave higher.

It was one of many over-the-top elements to America, some expected and some surprising. America does get a bad rap but this was my last country and no matter what happened, I wanted to round off my trip off in the best way possible.

LAX was a pain in the ass. If I had the money, I’d go down the Up in the Air route with the loyalty cards and first class seats. I used to laugh at the OCD composure of George Clooney’s character in that film but now I envy the quick-fire system that money can buy.

This was my first taste of American security and it was bitter. My first instinct was to not look like a bomber but I had been travelling for over 15 hours so my brain was a bit scrambled. 

When asked what was in my carrier bag my mind went blank as I just had a mixture of crap in there to relieve my bursting backpack. The security guard looked me up and down and told me to move to a ridiculously long line at the other side of the room.

It was only when I entered the queue that I realised I was queueing for the same check. Oooo, if you couldn’t keep me from coming into the country I would be doing some serious angry pointing and scary stare-down eye glances right now.

Security mark II didn’t ask me what I was carrying and pointed out the exit which was right where I started. I passed the stupid security man and shone the best smile I could muster. Showing my resilience, I air ticked victory in my favour.

It wasn’t entirely over as I still had to be interrogated about why I was entering the country, how long I was staying, who I was staying with etc etc. Thoroughness is America’s game which is understandable given their history.

Finally I exited with my luggage in search for a bus to Union Station. I wasn’t hanging about as I had a train to catch. I knew in myself that if I stayed in LA for the night, I’d do absolutely nothing as I was beat. Rather than resting, I decided to head straight to San Diego.

For some reason LA had a dozen different bus services with no clear signs for how to pay or even when a bus would be arriving. I knew that I needed to catch a Flyaway Bus but that was it. I saw the words pasted to a concrete over-pass and decided to dump my stuff and just sit and wait. Hopefully someone around here knows what’s happening so I’ll just wait and see.

Most people were stood aimlessly so I grabbed the last seat on the solitary bench. Upon doing so I noticed a western-looking couple next to me. With backpacks by their feet, I was adamant they knew what they were doing and decided, if all else fails, to see what they do and follow suit.

In the broadest of Scouse accents, the boyfriend of the couple turned to me and asked if I knew which bus to catch to get to Union Station. Maybe they were thinking the same thing as me and felt that I probably knew more than they did. I would have loved nothing more than to turn around and wisely navigate us all to the station but instead I just said I didn’t know.

Our mutual disorientation turned out to be a great ice breaker. Laura and John were on the same flight as me and were also heading to San Diego. They hadn’t booked their train ticket yet so I at least had some slither of information to impart as I pre-booked my Amtrak rail journey.

A nameless coach pulled up and people began to stir. Everyone simultaneously bombarded the driver with the same questions. It seems we weren’t the only ones who were clueless.

Laura, John and I boarded the bus and spoke for a while until an American girl sat next to me. I ended up chatting to her for a bit about my plans for America and my previous travels. It was an empty conversation that passed time.

Union Station was not that far away from the airport. I departed the bus with the hopeful intentions of joining Laura and John on the journey to San Diego.

In order to get our luggage from the driver, we had to walk around the corner and purchase a ticket from a bus terminal kiosk. They only accepted cash. Thankfully I had some but John had to dash off to an ATM as they only had a cashcard.

A cheery woman served me and hollered when she heard my accent. The friendly attendant kept me there right up until John had purchased tickets for himself and Laura. By this point the attendant knew my travel history. Astonished, the woman told me that I was very brave and asked that I be careful but added that she loves Brits and wished me all the best. What a lovely woman. Her upbeat nature was infectious.

After exchanging the paper tickets with our luggage, I made my way across to the station with Laura and John. We split up as they queued for tickets and I fed my reservation details into a machine. I asked a nearby staff member if my ticket was flexible or whether I had to board the train with the same departure time as marked on my ticket. I was told I could board any train so I looked for Laura and John to tell them the news.

Unfortunately I couldn’t see them at the ticket desk. Perhaps I’d been ditched. It wouldn’t surprise me. Not that I think I’m a person to be avoided but some people travel with the intentions of not making friends. This is by no means directed at couples alone. I’ve met people all over the world who have the same mindset. I have nothing against that but I’m the exact opposite. It used to infuriate me at first as I’d waste time speaking to people, swapping details and making arrangements with those who had no intentions of following through with their promises. I feel like I’m pretty good at gauging people now and I don’t invest as much in people until we’ve had at least a few conversations or one that’s lasted more than 10 (or so) minutes. It’s a working theory and isn’t perfect. I’d only spoken to Laura and John for less than 10 minutes on the bus so I wouldn’t be hurt or annoyed if they decided to make their own way to San Diego.

There wasn’t much time until the next train was about to depart. I tried to check-in my luggage but it was too late. It was here that I saw Laura and John. Without even thinking I went over and started speaking to them. Oh well, they’re stuck with me now! Whether they wanted me there or not, they didn’t show it. The three hour train ride flew by. We swapped Fiji stories and found out something incredibly random that we had in common. We all love The IT Crowd, a British comedy. Once this revelation surfaced, we spent the duration of the journey quoting all the best bits (which is pretty much the whole show!).

Food on the train was averagely priced which shocked us all. We all laughed at the menu as not only were the calories listed for each item, but all ingredients too. One sandwich had at least 20 items listed underneath it from seasonings to colourings. Sheesh! It brought back memories of my time in Sydney when customers would ask questions about everything that was in a dish.

Having decided what we wanted, John and I set out to find the café area. This was easier said than done. John led the way but we ended up walking around in one giant circle. One couple joked – “Haven’t I seen you before?” Let’s just say we took the scenic route…ahem.

It was worth the trek as the sandwiches looked delicious. They had free cheese and crackers too which John and I took advantage of. Another person who doesn’t show any form of decorum when it comes to freebies, I like it.

Despite the three hour duration of the journey, it felt like things had been cut short. I got off at Old Town whilst Laura and John stayed on a further stop as they were meeting a friend they made whist travelling. I’ve met so many people who end up staying with those they’ve met in other countries. I wish I had that luxury!

None of my phones were working, so I used the payphone to call the hostel. Their website said that they organise free transfers to the hostel. The receptionist told me to get a taxi and they’ll reimburse me upon check-in. I was so happy that I didn’t have to lug my crap on and off multiple buses. In all the excitement, I forgot to tip the taxi driver. Shit. I need to get better at remembering to tip.

For what I paid, the hostel wasn’t the best but it was tolerable. I happened to be put in the room right next to the patio area. The receptionist warned me that it does get loud at night when people start drinking and partying but the area closes at 11pm. I wasn’t fussed as the noise seemed to die down after midnight. Sometimes, if I’m tired enough, I can sleep through a lot.

My room was in fact gross. Having walked across the laminate floor for a few minutes, the soles of my feet were black. The lockers in the room were anorexic. I couldn’t fit my day pack in there they were that slim. I had to empty my bag and put my valuables in. It was a pain in the arse at times as I couldn’t just get up, grab my bag and leave.  Everything had to be loaded and unloaded. With restricted space, it wasn’t the easiest of tasks. Again, it’s a pain but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was in a female only dorm with no snorers or smelly bastards so I was happy.

With next to no internet for two weeks in Fiji, I had a lot to catch up on and organise for my future travels in America. For now, I decided to have a relaxed evening and sort things out the next day. After a 5 hour boat ride, 10 hour flight and 3 hour train ride, I think I deserved a rest.

Fish Are Friends, Not Food

My Korovou experience was soon to be over and Coral View would be my next home for the following two nights. I couldn’t help but quiver at the similarity in sound and wondered what awaited me.

Thankfully breakfast was the only meal I had on departure day. I don’t think I quite got over the peas and carrots incident of the previous day. So much so, that I failed to mention it in my previous post.

Ready and waiting, practically drooling at the thought of food (of some description) being presented, my heart skipped when I realised it was pizza. Hardly a traditional Fijian dish but I like pizza so what could go wrong?

One slice was placed in front of me. No, not a New York standard slice, a kid’s individual pizza style slice. Damn I sound ungrateful. There are people starving in the world and I’m getting grouchy over portion sizes. Truth is, I get ratty when I’m hungry. Shameful? Yes. Preventable? Unlikely. People better watch themselves around me when I’m deprived of sleep or food.

Like the fish dish of the first night, the food barely touched the sides of my mouth before being swallowed. It was only after my first mouthful that I realised what was actually on the pizza - chicken, tomato base, cheese, peas and carrots. It was like two recipes had glued together (yes I’m thinking of the Friends episode with Rachel’s trifle).

With my sole slice obliterated in three bites, I asked for more. At first I was hesitant and didn’t want to create some sort of Oliver Twist moment. The last thing I wanted to do was offend people even though the repeated proffers, “More food! More food!” still rang in my ears from my village stay. Things worked differently here. Amy and Amelia reassured me that it’s ok, just ask.

Like the fatty in the class, I had to wait until everyone had eaten so they could see if there were any slices leftover for me. I wasn’t embarrassed by that point. In all seriousness, I rarely get embarrassed when it comes to food. I love food and I love to eat. Sometimes that can be misconstrued as greediness but I don’t really give a shit, ha!

So there were no peas and carrots waiting for me at lunch, instead I boarded a boat with a few others destined for Coral View.

A couple on the boat jovially informed us that Coral View is fantastic and I’d have a brilliant time. They seemed of sound mind so I was hopeful.

We received another sing-song welcome and a fruity beverage. This stuff never gets old. Every staff member shook our hand too. It sounds like a small and insignificant gesture but at the time it felt wonderful. It was as if everyone there were thankful for us to be staying at their resort.

Before we made our way up to the main building, we rinsed our feet of sand. This isn’t something I’ve encountered since South Sea Island. This element of thoroughness was a good sign!

We walked through to the dining area and took a seat. We received an official welcome and a brief introduction to how the resort works and what activities are available. Afterwards we were treated to another welcome song and dance.

Lunch was instantly served afterwards in the form of a buffet. Checking in can wait apparently. Well you can imagine the grin that sprang up on my face. I was a chubby Cheshire cat after I ate and ate. The miniature bread rolls were like drops of doughy heaven. There was rice and noodles as well as two meat options (in sauce). My stomach is growling as I type this and remember the food at that place…ahhhh.

Checking in was a simple process and I spotted a laundry service that was available to guests. I cringed at the thought of my two week old washing that resided in my case. I’ve had the clothes placed in a carrier bag and encased in a shopping holdall to protect my nice clean clothes. This is not by choice I hasten to add, there had been no opportunity up until then to do laundry. I didn’t want to hand wash my clothes as they ruin and I’m a tight arse. I don’t want to buy new clothes unnecessarily. Thankfully the beautiful Fijian weather allowed me to live in my bikinis so going commando wasn’t an option I needed to consider.

A female worker helped me carry my things to my room. The surrounding area was so peaceful and quiet and the day beautifully sunny. I was very happy.

My dorm room was simple, clean and spacious. The shower rooms, toilets and sinks looked usable! Each bed was cordoned off by a short concrete wall. I also got my very own power point. I whacked my camera on charge straight away.

Glancing around, I saw that the dorm was fully occupied and recognised Heather and Sacha’s things across from me. I wondered how they were getting on.

With my stuff safely locked away, I went for a wander. I found Sacha and Heather sunbathing and had a stiff conversation with them. I left them to it and walked through to the activities centre and found Amy and Amelia eyeing up the chalk board list of excursions.

We each had a voucher for a snorkelling trip which was about to embark. We managed to secure places on the trip. I ran and got my things and returned to pick up my snorkelling gear. Again, I had to pay extra for hiring a snorkel. I had to do the same at Manta Ray. Full Monty package my arse!

To my amusement, we gate-crashed the Blue Lagoon trip as they were originally going to take one couple out. Sorry! We didn’t really speak to them much but got chatting to a lovely Canadian girl. Angela is travelling indefinitely as she has left two businesses she owns in the hands of her manager. Angela dives and wants to hit as many breath-taking spots around the world as possible. What a life! Oh, and Angela is younger than me. It does make me wonder what the hell I’ve been doing with my life!

Blue Lagoon came as a welcome distraction. It’s also the name of a film (The Blue Lagoon) I haven’t seen before. I don’t even know what it’s about but I know we’re going to a lagoon that is blue and it should have some fish there to gawp at. Sounds like a good time to me.

A Coral View worker took us out to the lagoon. On the surface it didn’t look that special. I dropped into the water, adjusted my snorkel and submerged my face.

That was a surprise. I couldn’t believe how many fish there were. Now this is what snorkelling in Thailand was like. In Koh Tao there were fish everywhere and they had no problems in swimming right up to you.

These fish were very cheeky and weren’t camera shy.

Some nipped and poked at me. The drawstrings on my swim shorts looked pretty tasty in their eyes.

Like many other places that I have snorkelled in, the coral was significantly damaged which was such a shame. Every now and then a vibrant colour peeped out from the dull coral but it was a rare sight.

There weren’t that many types of fish in the lagoon but there were plenty of them to make this a worthy trip. We even spotted an octopus. After my encounter in South Sea Island, I felt ok swimming up to it. I couldn’t see it at first. I saw a giant piece of coral change colour and then realised that it wasn’t coral but a massive octopus. It was ten times bigger than the one I saw at SSI. I tried taking some footage of it but it kept bobbing up and down within the coral so it still looked camouflaged. It was an incredible sight that will be stored in my memory at least.

After a while I came up to the surface to see that almost everyone was sat on the beach. I wondered how long I had been in the sea. It didn’t feel like that long. Having circled the reef a few times I decided to join the others on the beach. With that, the Coral View worker brought the boat across and took us back to the resort.

Showered and rested, I transferred my videos to my laptop. Soon enough it was time for dinner - yet another culinary delight.

As it was Saturday evening – the resort’s cultural night – we were treated to a series of dance performances.

Both the men and women sang and danced for us. We also got to see a dance that incorporated a long machete-like knife. I’d heard about this type of dance but hadn’t seen it up until now. The whole show was great and the ambiance was very lively.

A girl in the crowd was picked to come up and receive a very personal dance. It was her birthday and her friends squealed with glee. Cameras were poised and ready to film/photograph her embarrassment. There was plenty of love to go around though and everyone got in on the photo action…including me!

 When in Rome…

We were reminded that the bar stays open until the last man’s standing. It’s unfortunate for them if they have some heavy partiers on their hands! It had been a long day so I decided to head back to my room for an early night. I know I’m such a boring-arse!

It was a pointless act anyway as we had a guy hawking all night. For those who don’t know what hawking is, do you remember the spitting scene in Titanic? The sound that Jack makes just before he spits is what I call hawking. It is a common trait in Asia. Both men and women do it. I think it’s disgusting and it makes my skin crawl when I hear it.

Heather had no patience with the guy and kindly told him to stop it. He didn’t listen so she sternly told him to have a drink or something as we’re trying to sleep. At this point I checked my watch. It was nearing 3am. This guy had been hawking for a good four hours. It wasn’t like he did it sporadically, this guy constantly hawked over and over again. I tried to zone it out but it was impossible. He was only two beds away from me. Ah, the joys of dorm life.