Ocean Beach Rundown

Ocean beach was…a little less than what I expected.

My expectations weren’t high for the area or the Hostel, and both still underwhelmed me.

Early Wednesday morning, I rolled out of bed and realized I needed to pack. I had been at the Hostelling International downtown for two weeks!

Packing took a very short amount of time, and showering took even less. I had a very light and fast breakfast of pancakes, uploaded a video to blip.tv, and checked out of the hostel.

I was ready to move on, for sure, and was looking forward to the change in scenery.

A quick consultation with Google Earth told me to take the 932 bus in the Ocean Beach direction (pretty straightforward) and I would be there in a matter of minutes.

It took a half-hour to drive across town to the Ocean Beach area, but I enjoyed it. It felt nice to have my stuff packed withint their 28 liter confines again. I felt more free, and less stressed.

I managed to get off at the wrong stop. I can’t deny that it was slightly intentional, however, as the had a pretty cool-looking dog-accessory store I wanted to see. After looking around, I opted against trying to catch another bus. The hostel was only a few more miles down Cable St. and I needed a good walk.

During my walk, two backpackers crossed the opposite way, heading towards the Point Loma hostel. As I saw them, hunched over and weighed down by gravity, I felt quite blessed to only have 20 pounds of stuff on my back. Judging by the size and weight, I would say each of theirs were at least 50 or 60 pounds.

My arrival at Newport Avenue was unceremonious. I walked past it, actually. I was talking on the phone to Julie and it took a few moments that I had already passed my destination. I bid her a farewell, explaining to her I had to get checked-in.

My impression of the hostel, at first glance, was that it was a social place. A faded-blue wooden porch appended the front of the building. At least five people were sprawled on various warn pieces of furniture, talking, laughing, and smoking. I was interested and looking forward to meeting some of the people there. When I walked in, however, the office window was closed shut, and I had to yell through the glass to get the attention of the woman inside.

When I told her I wanted to check in (it was well past noon, and Hostelling International hadchecked me in at 11:30am) she did not look up from the paper she was writing on. She did not open the window, either. She simply yelled back “check-in is at two”.

That was that.

I walked out the door, passing the same group of people. One of the women watched me leave as she exhaled a long stream of smoke. So much for a friendly atmosphere.

Instinctively, I headed towards the ocean. It was smoggy (I’ve since heard it is pretty much always that way), but I could just make out a beach about a hundred yards away. I glanced into the window-fronts of stores and resteraunts as I walked. It seemed to be a standard array of beachy, young shops. There were smoke shops, hookah bars, hair salons, jewelry shops, and a Starbucks.

I reached the beach surprisingly quickly. A cement wall was seperating the asphalt from the beginning of the beach. I took a seat on it and laid down my stuff. It felt good to get even my small pack off of my shoulders.

I had taken the minimal amount of groceries I had not eaten at the last hostel with me in a plastic grocery bag, and was getting sick of carrying it, so I decided to eat something.

A couple slices of bread and cheese quickly satiated my hunger for “grocery” food, and I realized I would have to supplement them with something more if I was going to keep exploring.

Deciding where to go, however, was another matter entirely.

Should I go to the beach-side bar? No…too many overpriced entree’s. Should I go to the sadly convenient McDonalds? Uh uh. Not happening. Deep in thought, I gaze out at the ocean, my eyes following the length of the pier until reaching the end.

A word swims into view…a word I wouldn’t have expected to see thirty yards out in the ocean: “Cafe”.

Eh? A Cafe out there at the end of that smog-covered pier? I had to investigate.

When I reached the end of the pier, my curiosities were answered: Yup. It was a Cafe. Affixed to the cafe was a small candy and souvenir shop. Most interesting.

I took a glance at the menu, and decided that eating lunch while hovering twenty feet above the water was not at all unnapealing. I took a seat and ordered some nachos (the kind with lots of vegetables and spices on top) and the signature “Pier Fries”. The food came quickly and I scarfed it down. It was very good. The nachos were…nachos. The fries were amazing. Home-cut and cooked potatoes with some form of vinegar seasoning. Yum.

I glanced at my watch after paying for the meal. It was 2:15pm, time to check in!

I sidled back, feeling the comforting weight of my backpack pressing into my back.

The lobby of the hostel was packed with people checking in. I managed to squeeze into a fairly decent place in line, and was checked in within minutes. There was someone new behind the window, and she was much nicer.

The room was small, but not cramped. Three large wooden bunkbeds lined each wall. Every bed had already been “claimed” but the one right in front of the window, it was a bottom bunk.

Happily, I set down my pack. Why didn’t anyone want this bed? I LOVE air when I sleep, so it couldn’t have been a better location for me.

I wanted to get some work done, had read of free wifi at the hostel. Sure enough, there it was. I logged on and started writing a blog post.

A couple minutes in, a guy walked in (I’d guess he was about 24 years old).

“G’day!” he said.

“Australia?” I responded, evaluating his idiom and taking a stab at his nationality.

“Wales…actually.” he said. “But I’ve just been to Australia”.

That explained it. I know from experience that Australian’s idiosyncrasies are quite easy to integrate into your own way of speech, even without thinking about it.

We chatted for a little while, and throughout the course of the conversation, I was becoming acutely aware of all the work I had yet to do. I politely excused myself and went in search of a less social environment to do my work in.

Unfortunately, Starbucks was the only one with an internet connection, and I grudgingly ordered a drink and sat down.

Their connection was absolute crap. I pay money for their internet access on a monthly basis, and this is supposed to allow me unlimited access at all kinkos, borders, and starbucks locations. The unfortunate part, is that each location is subject to the location’s overall connection quality. This one stunk.

I turned off my computer, and took a sip of my chai. It was watery and brought back, once again, the feeling of being ripped off by a big company.

Outside, some form of festival seemed to be forming. The main street had been blocked off and musicians and vendors were setting up on the sidewalk. Curious, I walked outside.

Two hours later, I emerged from the crowed taking refuge on the “guests only” hostel porch. Apparently, it was a street fare which happens each week on Wednesdays. Someone had told me it was supposed to go until 8pm, but it was well passed that, and it was still going strong.

The fare was made up of a typical set of crafts, exotic foods, new products fighting their way into the market, jewelry makers, and farmers selling goods.

During my crowd-fighting I had purchased two gifts, a turkish kabob, and a plastic-bag full of cherries. I had also been suckered into becoming a “member” of GreenPeace, and signing up to give them $20 every month by a fast-talking acitivist girl. This was a special occasion – I told myself. Of course…every day seems to be a special occasion now.

Feeling a little unproductive, I walked up the stairs to my room. I flopped down on my bed, turned on some trance music, and got to work.

Five hours later, I looked up from my computer screen. Out the window, the sky was dark. Light still emanated from the oh-so-conveniently-placed bar next door. Unmistakeably American-loud laughter echoed from the back of the bar. I guess it was time for bed.

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1. Curio’s Cafe renews my faith
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3. No good deed goes unrewarded at Starbucks

Tagged as: California