Coastie Toastie

It was his way of explaining what life has been like for him since moving to San Diego from New York. Brooks, having struggled to scrape a living in the big apple for so long, is now the very personification of the American Dream, complete with wife,  house, weight problem, two cars, and a baby on the way.

It makes you wonder why the entire population of America doesn't just move to San Diego. Property prices, I suppose, but you get what you pay for because it really is a good life. For the next three days, Brooks went about showing me just how coastie toastie it is here, starting with a pancake, sausage-and-egg breakfast of ridiculous proportions at his favorite neighborhood breakfast joint, The Mission. 

North Park, the area where he lives, was in the 80s and 90s the part of town you didn't want to stroll into by mistake. Like Clapham and Brixton in London, it went through something of a renaissance in recent years among the trendies, the graduates, and the reasonably wealthy - and now it's the hip (and hippie) place to be. 

A twenty minute car ride from here took us to Ocean Beach where the 'haves' and 'have nots' live in peaceful coexistence along a 2km coastal stretch, although the recent influx of a 'new generation of bums' seems to have disturbed the equilibrium. 

Dinner at a place near the very cool Ray Street was my treat. Breakfast the following morning was his treat. We also went for a round of 'disc golf' - a bizarre and very popular game in San Diego that follows the same rules as golf, except you play it with a frisbee. (Photos to come when I get the chance.)

Three days was as much as I allowed myself to get in their way. With four weeks worth of photos finally backed-up and a suitcase full of laundry done, a little reluctantly, I said my goodbyes and once again took off for the open road in a rented car.