Only a visit to an old friend brought me to this most famous of counties, not the allure of glamour promised by TV. Indeed, it took a while to find this glamour, as it lives only in narrow beach strips and behind the walls of gated communities. Scary stuff and I don't mean the people on the outside of the wire fences, who seemed fine to me. Otherwise, the power of car culture, and hence freeways, dominates everything. Public transport is a foreign word with a big thanks to the gas and auto lobbyists. Great work fellas. Nevertheless, it was a pleasure to see my pal - after a gap of years in double figures - and hang out with his missus and little ones. Trips to BMX parks are not part of my usual routine and that's what travel is all about. Even less part of my routine is visiting off-road enthusiast fairs. Still unsure how these guys can keep going in the face of global warming and economic doom, even with the gratuitous use of porn star stand dollies. After this sojourn, I continued my cooking themed travels by knocking up spicy lamb chops and oven roasted veggies - served with an excellent Oregon Pinot Noir. Further evidence it's the Victoria of the Pacific Northwest.
Our attempt to capture the more debauched days of our university life took us to the beaches. A fifty minute drive was required to get us to the nearest bar: Sharkies Bar in Newport Beach. A fun night was just getting going here - beers, dancing, girls, the usual stuff - when everything ground to a halt at the alarmingly early 1am. Pretty standard by all accounts and so off to the ham & cheese croissant stall we went. An odd doner kebab substitute, but it did the job. At the more up-market Laguna Beach late afternoon hangovers were still present and so a spicy Bloody Mary, drunk as the sun set over the water, was just the order of the day.
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