The final stop on my tour of the Americas (North. And not really a tour, more just a few stops) took me to San Diego. Let’s hand over to Ron Burgundy: “Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diego, which of course in German means a whale’s vagina.” And it’s hard not see that influence wherever you go – even the shape of the roads makes reference to this fact, so it’s certainly an interesting city to take a look-o-tour of.
Driving through the city and its outskirts made me realise that there are some rather ridiculous houses in this part of the US, and that every single one of them is stupid, flat and boxy. And around half of them are shiny. Oh, and there was a massive church on the way to our destination that was utterly, utterly ridiculous in its size and displayed an abhorrent flaunting of wealth on the part of the god botherers in charge of it. So you lose points there, DEE AH GO.
Picking up most (read: all) of your experience of a city through the windows of a car and the sanctity of a hotel balcony/poolside may form a rather skewed opinion of the place, mind you. Full disclosure: most (read: all) of my experience of San Diego was through the windows of a car and the sanctity of a hotel balcony/poolside. Read (most: all) into that what you will.
In summation: San Diego is a city entirely comprised of roads, swimming pools and tanning tourists. There is table service by over-eager waiters in approximately 50 per cent of the places you go and the others will simply provide a buffet (with pulled pork mini-burgers, natch). It also has an airport.
You stay classy, San Diego.