The Fresh Princes of Bel-Air

With the pacific perfectly flat off the Santa Barbara shore, we decided to follow the surf and continue south to LA. The drive took us through the outskirts of California's wine region, but the rolling hills and neat vineyards soon gave way to urban sprawl as we entered L.A. The interstate took us past immense malls and through vast industrial complexes, all the time barraged with messages and images from a forest of giant billboards. 

As the city sucked us further in, we found ourselves cruising down lavish streets lined with the enormous gated manors of Bel-Air, then a glamorous beachside boulevard straight out of Baywatch, then through gritty beach-side neighbourhoods with leathery-skinned old dudes weaving around on rusty beach cruisers. After literally hours, we emerged on the other side of LA, and the concrete wasteland started giving way to fields once again. Another long stretch of beach side road signaled our arrival at Huntington Beach - a world class surf break, the birthplace of surfing in America, and venue for this year's US Open of surfing.

We installed ourselves in the Surfers Inn, an eccentrically decorated motel right on the beach, which had just been taken over by Nike to accommodate the pro surfers during the recently held competition. Having spotted a Jimi Hendrix themed room and a surfing shrine room, we eagerly anticipated how our abode would be decked out. We opened the door, full of excitement but even with sunlight blaring in, we struggled to make out any of the room's features. Every surface was painted black, including the ceiling, which was home to a huge plastic chandelier. The room boasted a mere two beds resulting in a session of “rock, paper, scissors”. Mike produced a badly timed Rock and was promptly ushered out of the room, bags in hand and sent back to Spot for the night.

Sand sculpting for 30 years

We left our new base of operations for the day and strolled into town. The waves were infuriatingly small and messy, so Will vetoed a surf and instead we headed to a BBQ eatery where we smashed through succulent pork sandwiches and a few beers. Fully energised, we embarked on a tour of the world famous surf museum, which was fittingly low key and laid back. Once we'd feasted our minds on surf history, we headed for a bar, walking back past the dominant statue of Duke Kahanamoku, the father of surfing, who brought the sport to Huntington Beach from Hawaii in the 1940s. 

Good view.

A small bar crawl ensued culminating in a damp stroll down the pier as misty rain set in for the night. The pier had been invaded by fishermen searching the dark water for sharks! To Will's alarm (he was desperately trying to keep his mind off the recent shark attack in the area) we walked past a group of anglers as they hoisted out a shark, violently thrashing around in the torchlight. Mike and Tom watched, slightly embarrassed as they, with a host of manly West coast fisherman watched the silhouette of Will, hands in air, running back to the mainland screaming.

We headed back to the hotel, and as Tom and Will settled into warm beds, Mike decided to cut the early night loose and head back into the town to partake in a night of throwing his English accents at unsuspecting West Coast girls.

Love at first sight

The next morning, the lads ventured down and cracked open Spot’s door. They were nearly knocked out by the alcoholic fumes drifting from Mike’s sleeping quarters. As the sliding door came completely open a highly hungover body was revealed that looked roughly like ET did when he got sick in the third act of Spielberg’s classic Scifi flick. Tales of the previous night were revealed over breakfast about crazy Sunday night scenes in Santa Barbara with Asian double team girls grabbing Mike’s crotch while he was talking to 'the one' from Ohio. They were followed by clear signs of Mike’s discontent at the fact that he returned to Spot alone.

With Mike in a delicate state and emails to attend to, Will and Tom set off to complete their Huntington Beach Surf Dreams. Arriving at a wet-suit/board rental store, the mood was quickly soured by a rude, belligerent pro-local running the rental store. He quickly let off a list of things he hated including tourists, which was ironic as his entire business depended on them. Surf complete with no shark incidents, the three lads shipped out of Huntington in the direction of Venice Beach.

On the way we stopped off at a Sports Authority to pick up some classic American mesh basketball shorts for Baylis to take home as a memento of his trip. Naturally, being in a store with shoes, Mike had to by some and invested in a brand new pair of wrestling trainers, which is more than slightly ironic. 

We stopped by at Foam-EZ, a surfboard shaping supplier, to get Will some specialist shaping equipment to assist with his surfboard crafting hobbies back in the UK. The guys running the store showed clear excitement at our trip, and especially our van. Spot squealed with excitement as he became the focal point of a team photo taken by the surf store staff which later became their facebook profile pic!

Foam EZ, CA

Armed with new surfboard creation tools and an arsenal of bumper stickers, we continued on to Venice Beach and amidst the hippy/alternative scene found the second Mollusk surf shop, conveniently within eyesight of our hostel. Mike, who was now feeling like a new man having braved the hungover morning in the driving seat, got his appetite back and initiated himself in the world of vegan food, while Baylis and Tom got us checked in at the hotel.

We were totally unprepared for the view that our budget hostel room would offer (see above). We entered the room to be blown away by a sunset drenched Venice Beach scene! As we moved to the window we found a dude on a cherry picker painting a mural on the exterior wall of the building. It was pretty cool.

Old school graffiti

It was Will’s last night, and realising that we had subjected the poor lad to two weeks of adhering to our stringent budget-based approach to holidaying, we decided to take him out for a hamburger (Baylis hadn't had one yet). As way of apology for our cheapness for the last two weeks, we let Will pay for the dinner. Cashbook was pleased.

We then moved to an Irish bar in Santa Monica where we got 3 drinks for price of 1 due to our general English charm (once again, pretty ironic as we were in an Irish bar) Tom and Mike flipped the bill for this one, as it afforded them the ability to seem generous without paying much. We then headed back to Washington Blvd to go to some sort of beach bar. We met JB who entertained us and gave us reduced drink prices. Mike, who, somewhat weak in the area of maths, completely misjudged the price reduction and in an attempt to give JB a compensatory tip ended up giving more than what the drinks were worth full price. Cashbook was fuming.

We then continued to a “trendy” hipster bar opposite the hostel. Thinking, quite reasonably, that having witnessed and involved ourselves in the source of  Hipster culture, beginning in Brooklyn (we went there) we expected further steep drink reductions. When the bitch behind the bar delivered our 10 dollar beers we were far from pleased. Cashbook on the other hand was furious. Two dead hipsters later we had Cashbook back in the bag and were running desperately back to the hostel. With Cashbook still in a frenzy, but locked in bathroom, we clutched the pillows around our heads and tried to get some sleep.