The field trip was over and now we could either go home to Sweden or continue the fun fun fun on our own. We chose to do the latter. Only one day in which to "do" San Fransisco, so one had better cram as much into is as possible. Linda, Louise and I got up early and went down to Fisherman's Wharf, where we spent the day being touristy and squandering money. 

We needed some kind of transportation if we were to take our fun to San Diego as we had planned. At the airport, where one of the field trip vans had to be dropped off, we found a white superduper deluxe monster van with TV and VCR and supposedly room enough for eight people. San Diego here we come!

This morning we packed up and all went our separate ways. Lennart and Piret had already left and Åsa, Therese, Thomas and Pelle chose to stay another four days in San Fransisco, while the rest of us (Calle, Anna-Marie, Niclas, Johan, Anna, Linda, Louise and I) squeezed ourselves and all our gear into the monster van and headed out, searching for an exit towards San Diego. After winding about aimlessly for about 30 minutes we got the monster van pointed south along Highway One, a road we were already acquainted with. Lennart had told us this road is the American car dream, so we were obviously doing the right thing, and trying to find the words to "Born to be wild" too.

California is really very pretty, and so incredibly varied. There's a lot more to it than Los Angeles, which is the impression you get from TV and movies. Of course, that kind of California exists too, like for instance Santa Cruz where we had lunch, at the wave-eroded sea-front and overlooking the surfers. This town really reminded me of the vampire movie "The Lost Boys".

After lunch we continued south, past Monterey and Carmel and Point Sur... and then there were no more towns or settlements, and the road got narrower and the cliff to the sea steeper... For four hours we followed the winding road along the Big Sur coastway, to the sound of Metallica. Awesome. This is an incredibly beautiful road, with tall cliffs, crashing surf, uninhabited woods, waving feathery reeds and an occasional house. Further south the hills flattened out a bit and we saw in the distance William Randolph Hearst's little castle.

It was dark by the time we reached Santa Barbara and tried to find somewhere to spend the night. All motels said "No Vacancy" but after some erratic driving we located the Carpinteria Beach and campground at 2300 and once again hauled out our tents and sleeping bags, to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Pacific surf.

All American campgrouds are noisy. Usually it's cars and RV:s rumbling around looking for their camping spots, or the entire camping area is located next to a highway with large trucks. Grand Canyon had deer and coyotes making noise and Yosemite was bear-infested. Tonight we were kept awake by the freight trains blasting past two meters from our tents...

In daylight we could see we had chosen a great spot for our tents, a stone's throw from sandy beaches and the mighty Pacific, in which the surfers were already plying the waves. There were oil rigs in the bay and mountains on the coast. A little later we discovered they had good coffee and tea as well--Santa Barbara has got it all!

After refuelling we set off along the freeways with sketchy maps, with destination Beverly Hills. Amazingly, we managed to get onto Sunset Boulevard, and I glimpsed the Hollywood letters on a hillside. Anna got a star map and we steered our monster van around the lush gardens of Beverly Hills, looking for Arnold Schwarzenegger's estate. Yes, we all immediately decided on Arnold as our target. We probably saw his gates, but that was all.

Lunch today was eaten in the Palisades, after which we tried to find a way out of Los Angeles, via Santa Monica Beach and presto, we were in San Diego. It's just one long megalopolis along this part of the coast. Anna had perused a booklet of discount coupons and found us a hotel in National City, where the guys promptly guzzled their gallon of vodka and got plastered. Pissed as newts. In order not to get us immediately thrown out of the hotel, we took the hotel's offer of (got suckered into) a meal at a Mexican tourist place, that could only be reached by taxi. "Sällskapsresan" Mexican style, that's what the place was like. While Linda, Anna-Maria and I went back to the hotel, the others continued their revels and they later told us they crashed a party and spent some time at the border trying to find their way back to the hotel...

After sleeping in a bit, some of us set out to find downtown San Diego. A longish walk past slummy houses and under a freeway took us to a tram station, or trolleys as they are called here. The perfect transportation for Gothenburgers. We talked continuously, thus averting the usual "Where are you guys from?" that all Americans ask the second you stop talking. But we did shut up momentarily in front of the ticket inspector: the largest man I've ever seen, tall and wide and totally intimidating.

The first thing we found in downtown San Diego was an Internet outlet. Yay! Finally finally I could go to #lexx and spend ten minutes talking to Boblet and the others! Not that I had forgotten them, having brought my LEXX T-shirt, my Stan hat and my very own mini travel Cluster Lizard also named Boblet...

Then we zeroed in on Horton Plaza, a big expensive shopping "house" where the others spent money on clothes and watches as we wandered around hour after hour, working up quite an appetite. We saved most of the appetite for the evening, when we went to the Gaslamp Quarters and discovered a pub that served Swedish food. So naturally we stayed there for some time--drinking tequilas by the dozen. I had five... and we continued partying when we had somehow got back to the hotel...

Not surprisingly, we were all a bit tender today, and it didn't help that we suddenly discovered our monster van surrounded by policemen. Someone had burglarised it, smashed the interior and made off with the camping gear that was left in it. Two nice policemen talked to us, saying this sort of thing happens all the time around here (how reassuring), and then a cool policewoman came along, dusting for fingerprints and taking statements. Fortunately, I had hauled all my gear up to the hotel room (in case the van got broken into...), but the others lost sleeping-bags, mattresses and tents.

Our monster van was hauled away and Niclas and Calle went to the airport to rent another. The rest of us went to the pool to relax, get bubbled by the jacuzzi, and talk to a German also staying at this hotel. In the evening we felt ready for a pizza and a tour in our new gangsta van--the same model as our monster van, but black. So we could go to Imperial Beach and watch the surf, and drive across Coronado and his bridge. At last we went back to National City and Boulevard Plaza, where we bought some food, the others stocked up on booze, and I found an incredibly cute toy lemur.

Our discount coupons included tickets to Sea World. Anna, Linda, Louise and I got dropped off by the others (who went to Mission beach at Garnet Avenue) at opening hours, and spent the entire day there; they almost had to kick us out forcibly at closing time. Boy was it fun!

First we went on a guided behind-the-scenes tour of the place, looking at baby dolphins, pelicans, parrots and orcas. Then it was time for the spectacular orca show; we sat well out of the soak zone, but we saw what happened to the less fortunate... There was a really wet rafting ride that was way more fun than Kållerado at Liseberg in Gothenburg, and an amazing 3-D movie with totally surprising water FX. There were shark tanks and manatees and an arena for the incredible sea lion show, and even a cool Arctic ride with polar bears and beluga whales. Wowee! One might have objections to Americans making shows out of everything, and mostly being quite shallow, but they do it so darned well there is no way you can avoid having a great time doing it, whether it is Sea World or Las Vegas or whatever.

In the evening we all went back to the Swedish pub for one last night of fun fun fun. Not being too keen on hangovers, I didn't imbibe quite as liberally as the other night--which turned out to be a mistake, since the others got plastered again and went to a salsa club, where they found a Norwegian and his friend Raul the Spaniard. Linda presented me with a tall handsome Black man, to teach me salsa. Ha ha ha. I wonder who was most embarrassed, he or I. Had I been as intoxicated as my comrades I wouldn't have cared. When the club closed at two a.m., we all piled into Raul's tiny car and drove north to his place, where there was more drinking. Raul was heavily into "Star Wars"; he even had a little Yoda who talked endlessly if pokled... but he was ignorant of LEXX. At 0530 or so, we all crashed on Raul's furniture, neglecting the worries of Anna-Maria, Louise and Johan, who had opted to stay at our hotel.

Linda and I managed to get the others going by 0830 and we left Raul snoring in his bed. We returned to the hotel just as breakfast had been cleared away. The others grumbled a bit at our not having told them where we were or anything, but when everyone was ready we tried our skills at public transportation and made our way back to Mission beach at Garnet Avenue, where we might have stayed at a surfer hotel, if we hadn't been so keen on luxuries like rooms with showers and TV.

The beach was a bit cold and overcast, so some of us went shopping. Anna-Maria wanted clothes so that's the kind of store we visited. There are a whole lot of clothes stores on this coast, let me tell you. But too soon it was time to catch the bus and tram and bus back to the hotel, for pizza and "Friends" and packing.

In order to finish packing, check out, stow ourselves and gear into the gangsta van, drive to the airport and return said gangsta van to Hertz, we got up at 0400. It was dark and gloomy as we got to the airport and checked in, and when daylight seeped in, we realised it was raining heavily. All through the trip we had joked about our Gothenburg weather and how we had dragged it with us all the way, but suddenly the jokes weren't fun anymore. And certainly not when we got back to Europe, after changing aeroplanes at Detroit and Amsterdam, which was completely hidden under thick nimbostratus clouds. When we had said good-bye at Landvetter and got out in the Swedish weather, it was raining dismally.

But at least we had memories of better weather: warmth in Denver, clear skies over Dinosaur and the Great Salt Desert, wonderful heat in Las Vegas and Death Valley, sky merging with the Pacific on the Big Sur coast... This was one incredible field trip, that all would-be geologists at Gothenburg university should be treated to.