Adventures on (and off) the road in California
Craig Hughes hits the road, surfing waves and couches, dodging sharks (of all ilks!) – and even turns a profit in Sin City
FIFTY years after the Summer of Love only a few tie-dye-clad folk can be found on San Francisco’s famous Haight Street – once the centre of the counter-culture movement in 1967, with its cheap rents and liberal outlook. Now the Bay area is home to tech kids more focused on building the next big start-up than free love.
Along with two friends I check into the Green Tortoise Hostel on the edge of Chinatown, where the ethos of communal living still lives on. Each morning, guests cook for themselves and two nights a week take part in a communal dinner. The ingredients are provided by the hostel and the chef Egidio ensures that what isn’t eaten is given to the homeless people he helps locally.
The hostel boasts a large dining room that may well have been a ballroom in a previous life. At the end of the room is a piano and a few guitars that lead to sporadic jam sessions. An Australian singer-songwriter and I were rewarded with half a bottle of whiskey for entertaining a small crowd one evening.
Sadly we only have three days here,
so we rent bikes to explore the city at pace. We breeze down to Fisherman’s Wharf to see the sea lions as they jostle for position on the floating wooden islands and grab some food at Pier 39 before cycling along the coast until we reach the Golden Gate Bridge.
It’s fitting that the golden anniversary of the Summer of Love is being commemorated with an immersive art exhibition in Golden Gate Park at the De Jung Museum. Alas, it’s time to move on and we stop by Hertz to get ourselves a classic piece of American motor machinery – a Chevrolet Cruze – and take the coastal Route 1 south towards Los Angeles. The roads are winding, with houses dotted in the hills. Somehow you are never too far away from another breath-taking view over the Pacific Ocean. It’s not for the faint-hearted – not much protects you from a sheer drop down below if you take a bend too quickly.
Our first stop is Carmel-by-theSea, a sleepy town of just 4,000 people where Clint Eastwood kept order as mayor for two years after being elected in 1986. Stepping onto Carmel State Beach your feet are engulfed in the deep white sand.
It’s one of the most picturesque places I’ve ever visited; perhaps more suitable for a marriage proposal than with two lads from the west of Ireland.
There aren’t many streets in Carmel but it is littered with art galleries and high-end shops for the affluent community. We retreat to a rented room in a house up in the hills. Our Airbnb host leaves the front doors unlocked rather than giving us a key. After all, no one is going to try anything untoward in Clint Eastwood’s town.
Route 1 leads us to the aweinspiring peaks of Big Sur. After 40km of stunning cliff views the road comes to a close as we reach Pfeiffer National Park. The Soberanes fire in 2016 (which burned for three months and was the worst in US history) ravaged parts of Big Sur. This was followed by excessive rain, which caused landslides that led to part of the Pacific Highway being inaccessible.
We decide to take the road to the very end before doubling back on ourselves. It adds a few hours to the trip but is undoubtedly worth it. It’s difficult not to pull the car over every five minutes to take in the views.
The monotonous highway would have taken us to our next stop quicker but we decide on Robert Frost’s advice to take the road less travelled – and it really does make all the difference. The scenic Carmel Valley road brings us cross-country on single-lane roads through the Santa Lucia Mountains. We eventually arrive in Santa Barbara where there are plenty of wineries to sample the local grape.
In terms of nightlife, though, it’s a bit sedate – I’ve seen more bars on the main streets of small towns in the west of Ireland. At least Santa Barbara has other things to offer. In the morning, we throw ourselves into the sea to shake off the cobwebs from the night before. Then it’s just a two-hour drive to LA where we drop off our car at the depot in Venice Beach.
We’re staying in an Airbnb in Venice. Our host has given us some bikes to use, which means we’re only 10 minutes from the beach. Venice Beach is mesmerising, the 4km ocean-front pedestrian walk attracts all sorts – from buskers to skateboarders showing off their tricks. We rent surfboards and enjoy trying to keep up with the locals in the waves.
Outside of the beaches, LA feels strange to me. I’m used to cycling around Dublin but here it’s just not possible. The city is so sprawling, you have no option but to drive or spend a fortune on taxis. You see more cars than people here, a definite downer. After three nights in LA it’s time to fly to the City of Sin – Las Vegas. We check into the MGM Grand and enjoy all it has to offer. For the low, low price of $26 you can get an ice cocktail and sit by the pool, which is like a miniwaterpark in size.
Vegas is bizarre – people who normally wouldn’t dream of step-
ping out of line land here and become someone else. It’s a place for people to come and lose their minds. And they do just that! The constant light inside the hotels means it’s difficult to differentiate between night and day. I’m told there’s more to Vegas than gambling and partying but I don’t see it.
In a former life I played a lot of poker, so I spend a few hours each day swimming with the sharks at the table and manage not to get bitten. A profit of about $500 is halved after a boozed-up encounter with a ruthless blackjack dealer. Oh well…
My two friends decide to end their trip here but I’m not ready to go home just yet. I fly to San Diego and check into a hostel and explore the Gas Lamp area of town, popular because of its microbreweries and bars. The next day I make my way to Pacific Beach to surf with the locals. The waves are bigger than in Venice Beach and, after two hours of being smashed around by the merciless Pacific, with Tiger sharks swimming underneath, I retire and lounge on the beach.
At the last minute, I manage to get a Couchsurfing host. Couchsurfing is a social network where people stay with each other for free. I’ve been using it for years and recently started a company with a friend I met in Berlin through Couchsurfing. My Couchsurfing host this time is Kelly, who recently moved to the city and has been using it as a way to make friends. She is determined to make sure I have a good time and has a full itinerary of sightseeing for me.
Her one-bedroom apartment is a stone’s throw from the beach.
We walk along the coastline of LA Jolla Shores before meeting up with friends she had made through Couchsurfing.
We spend the night drinking beer, eating fruit and toasting s’mores over the bonfire. Couchsurfing may not be for everyone but, in San Diego, it gave the latest in a long line of unforgettable experiences that I wouldn’t have otherwise had.
I take the train back to LA and catch a direct flight to Ireland – the California dream is over and it’s time to go home.