San Francisco: A city of highs and lows.

After the memorable drive up the Pacific Coast Highway, our arrival into the city of San Francisco was slightly underwhelming. Some misinformation resulted in a taxi ride from our car rental drop-off to our hostel costing a little bit more than we had hoped, and our hopes to catch a quick glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge were dashed by the ever present fog that swallows the city.

Pacific Coast Highway and The Big Sur

Normally I wouldn't dedicate an entire post to describing a drive, but the trip up the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), or California 1, is undoubtedly one of the best drives I have ever done, and probably will ever do.

The Pacific Coast Highway, especially the section throughout the Big Sur is frequently named as one of America's iconic drives, and the rugged and tranquil route throughout the coastal mountains has inspired many artists, from writers to musicians over the years.

San Diego and American tradition

After the customary and enjoyable American later than usual check-out of 11:00am, we set off on the longest drive we had encountered thus far, a 326 mile (525km) leg from Vegas to the supposed sunny south and San Diego. After trekking back over much of the same interstate we had traversed a few days earlier, we picked up lunch in the very Greek and slightly tacky Mad Greek Restaurant that promotes itself as having the best Gyros in all of the USA. Good? Yes. Best? We'll see.

There was a distinct and welcome change in the landscape as we got closer to San Diego, as the dry desert plains were suddenly hilly outcrops, then green mountains further toward the coast. Expecting to arrive in a warm, sunny climate, we were slighty disappointed to find the weather cool and slightly overcast. Locally, it turns out this weather is known as Grey May/June Gloom and is apparently much worse this year than years gone by.

V is for Vegas. And vomit.

From the moment we set foot in Vegas, it was clear that the city would live up to its name as an adults' playground. We had made the half day or so drive from Vegas in a fairly relaxed fashion, with a couple of enjoyable stops along the way. Calico, our main stop off, is a 'ghost-town' located out of California, although  it should probably lose it's "ghost town" status given the significant amount of tourist based stalls and buildings that have set up shop there. Regardless, it had some interesting aspects and buildings and, along with our stop off at the 'World's Largest Themometer' in Baker, broke up the six hour or so trip nicely.

Tourist Time in Hollywood

Cliché photographs, huge crowds, famous landmarks, inflated prices; from those who love it, to those who avoid it like the plague, to those like myself, who view it as a guilty indulgence, a chance to take the easy yet cheesy route, playing the role of super tourist divides opinion.

After swerving in and out the masses of crowds along the Walk of Fame, dodging people holding up traffic to get photographs of the Hollywood Sign and driving down Sunset Boulevard pondering if the jet black SUV with jet black tint on its windows was a celebrity in transit, it was clear we had ticked off a lot of the usual Americana to-do list.

California, here we are.

I'd heard LA was quintessential America and from the moment I've stepped off the plane I've felt like I've been dropped onto a movie set. From the cab drivers, to the street artists, to the homeless people that litter Venice Beach, in a way it almost feels like I'm not seeing anything new. Everything is exactly as I pictured it, which is not a bad thing, but it's almost eery.

Our Armenian-come-American cab driver gave us a slight hint of what to expect as we grinded to a halt on one of LA's sprawling freeways. "Welcome to LA", he laughed, before explaining the unusual Sunday afternoon gridlock was for most the part caused by a massive exodus of the Los Angeles populace heading towards Venice Beach, where we were to spend out first few days, to make the most of the picture-perfect weather.