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Published: August 18th 2023
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The very late flight to San Diego meant a taxi from the airport to Stay Classy made sense and I arrived about midnight. It was a major upgrade from The Green Tortoise, with no bunk beds, and even solid walls between beds. As those who know me well, I have a low threshold for the fine art of snoring, and this problem had followed me from the previous establishment., and was to be an issue for the next three nights. The hostel was about a twenty minute walk into town, and like the Tortoise had kitchen facilities which helped keep the budget on track. There was an interesting mix , and I subsequently learned that this included backpackers like myself, people who were working but could not afford the big rents that the city had to offer, and some people who found themselves homeless on a short term. The issue of housing is replicated wherever you go, and a few blocks down there was a shelter where those who had been left behind, and spent their days hanging out on the street waiting for their luck to change.
Heading dowtown to the seafront, I found a far more chilled city
than any of those I had visited previously. Wanting to add to my musical experiences, I booked an outdoor concert with the San Diego Symphony Orchestra, who would perform a fusion of Tchaikovsky and the rapper Drake. They had a summer amphitheatre down by the water, and with temperatures in the mid 20s, conditions were perfect. Tickets were pricey but as my late mother used to say, you can't take it with you. I spied a ferry which would bring you over to Coronado Island across the water so I jumped on. Earlier I had been advised to visit The Hotel Coronado, and after disembarking I saw that the Hotel was three miles away. Just as I was debating whether I could manage it, a free shutttle bus passed me and dropped me outside. It was the most incredible structure, one of only two completely wooden hotels in the U.S. Some thing about it seemed familiar, and it backed out onto a most beautiful beach. Suddenly I realised that I had been here before, in the presence of Tony, Jack and Marilyn. It was where Some Like It Hot had been filmed, and little had changed in over sixty years.
In the ballroom I met a nice couple who agreed to photograph me, they left and I found myself alone and in my mind I enjoyed a slow dance with the ghost of my first ever girlfriend when aged ten, Marilyn Monroe. On the beach I treated myself to an extra special hotdog and a cocktail. There was little change from 50 dollars after the tip had been paid, but I was transported back to 1959, and it was worth every cent. Later I visited the laundry/museum where Marilyn and I had our photo taken together. Met a nice family of three generations on the bus back, the grandfahter lived in Arizona but had a summer home on Coronado. His flight from Phoenix was 40 minutes, but temperatures in the high twenties were far more agreeable than the furnace that was Phoenix.
The concert was to start at 8 pm so I rushed back to change for my date with the S.D.S.O. What a setting , a stage withe large ships passing by on one side, and the city on the other. Four singers, one in the role of Drake combined beautifully with the Russian composer and the orchestra.
Rarely have I felt so moved by music, moved so much that I decided to go from my mid-priced seat, to the VIP section at the front, nobody asked any questions, and I got a free bottle of mineral water from my new table. I spoke to the couple beside, who were in the music business and had recently visited Ireland as guests of the owner of Ballyfinn Demense, who they knew through his sponsorship of the Chicago Opera. Expecting an invite for drinks by his party, I was left disappointed. On the way back I caught a few songs from Morgan Wallen, the latest Garth Brooks, who had sold the San Diego Padres stadium for 2 nights. Myself and others stood outside, and heard aswell as those who had paid 200 dollars plus a head to get inside.
Saturday was the day trip to Tijuana. It was an organised trip, but those I spoke to who lived stateside suggested it might be a bit of a risk. Having hoovered up Narcos, and Breaking Bad, nothing would stop me from crossing the border only 15 miles away. On the train there, I got to see a little bit of
the Pacific Fleet which is based in San Diego, and realised that all the fear should be with those leaders based in Beijing and Moscow. On arrival at the frontier, there was no guide there to meet me, as had been agreed. I met two girls from Watford who were equally displeased at the been left alone. Then Ronald came to my rescue. Still struggling with my internet coverage, I entered McDonalds and connecting to their wifi, I received a message to say that the guide was at the other side in Mexico. Myself and the two girls cleared the border control in five minutes, and we found our guides at the other side. We were held up by two narky looking New Yorkers who were getting coffee, our group of 8 finally boarded a taxi, bus with others and paid a dollar for the ride to downtown Tijuana. We had entered another world into a bustling, falling down city. Every second business was a dentist, as tooth tourists head down south for better prices. The guide gave us a bit of the history, but before he brought us to a quiet local restaurant where we tried some of the
local fare, I got to to taste some deep-fried crickets which were crunchy with a smokey flavour, but now wonderful. I had been adopted by a lovely American, Philipino couple and their friend. Jose had been in the miltary, before becoming a high school teacher on his retirement. His faher had been in the Bataan Death March of World War Two, and had survived, and now a third generation, Jose's son, had enlisted in the US Army. Jose insisted on paying for my lunch,and when we went for a most wonderful margarita on a roof top bar, all the fear of meeting a sticky end at the hands of Pablo Escobar's nephew or Tuco Salamanca had dissapated. A visit to a tequila emporium with a tasting of all sorts, including scorpion and snake flavoured finished the tour, and we took the taxi back to the border. Our guide then informed us that it would take us an hour and a half to get over. He apologised and left. It took us two hours but we bonded more, and met New York Jim, who worked in bus maintenance at nights in San Diego but lived in Tijuana as rents were less
than half of those on the other side. Totally exhausted, I retired to my leaba on my return.
Not sure my co-inmates in Stay Classy were happy at my watching the Wimbledon final on my laptop at 7 am, but snoring had cost me, and this was a little payback. A vist to Balboa is a must, and has no connection to the Rocky which was mentioned earlier. It contains museums, several theatres, and The San Diego Zoo. It hosted the 1915-1916 Panama-California and the 1935-1936 California Pacific International Exposition, both of which left behind amazing achitectural landmarks, some of which were used in the opening scenes of Citizen Kane. I visited the village of countries, each with those promoting their culture and history. The house of Israel was my first stop, and we debated the current political situation over some Israeli food. Next the sleepy house of Ireland had a session with a Frenchman and two locals. The Czechs and Slovaks were still sharing and in the house of Iran, the proprietor was a huge fan of Ireland and had many Irish friends. He encouraged me to head straight to the weekly meeting of Irish in San Diego
close by but sadly there was no time. In the house of Palestine I was treated like a long lost friend, always play the Irish card. Some wonderfully tasty, cheap Mexican food followed, before heading to the airport. Ahead of me, Nashville via Denver and a five hour layover in Philadelphia. This was to be the biggest challenge of the tour so far.
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