Miami: how all our nights ended up in strip clubs

Boys and girls, it has been more than a hot second since I last gifted you with one of these but the time felt right to pick up the ol’ blog again with MIAMI BABYYYYYY. 

I can honestly say that Miami is unlike any other place I’ve been to in the sense that I’ve never seen so many strippers in my life. To sum up in 3 words Miami is all about: sun, sex and show.

Sooooo, how did I end up seeing two girls clap their arse cheeks together whilst two men placed dollar bills in their thongs I hear you ask????? ?? ?? ?

Think the club would sue me if I showed you guys the full video…

Let’s roll it back to the beginning of our trip as I take you on a journey of discovery (much like myself at the time) as we find out why innocent Jen ended up spending a good 80% of her nights out in strip clubs.

Day 1: the group had such high hopes for a pleasant flight but being the tight bastards we are only booked ‘light economy’ – what even is that? 

I’ll tell you what it is, an absolute shit show. With a transit time of less than 2 hours, we almost missed our connecting flight despite sprinting through the airport.

Actually, sorry, change that, more like thudding through the airport like the unfit hippos we are. 

AND to top it all off, American Airlines lost our bags despite us picking them up in Orlando and transferring them over.

The moment we realised we weren’t getting the bags anytime soon

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. We’d made it to MIAMI BABYYYY but we were also having to listen to a fucking moron at the airport try to tell us that one bag was in Charlottesville, another in Heathrow and another just gone, forever – tip. of. the. iceberg.

Day 2: Group morale was down. No one had showered, no one had clean underwear and I can confirm, no one was expecting to end up in a strip club that night but OH don’t we treat ourselves.

Ready for the strippers amirite

The club: E11even

The vibe: boobs and noons

The night started as any girls night out does, with a bottle of 12.5% wine and a solitary tequila shot. We headed to a speakeasy to pre and shortly after paying $50 for 3 drinks proceeded to hit up the nearest ‘liquor store’ and buy 3 four lokos only to drink from paper bags on the street — classy broads. 

If you don’t know what four loko is, get to know; it can kill a bitch.

So whilst we’re all on our way to the sweet release of death, we hop in an uber to the super club we’ve been hearing mumblings about, E11even.

I shit you not we queued up for an hour straight all whilst absolutely butters 40 year old women were getting let in, no doubt, by some bald bouncer looking for a good time.

We all aggressively entered the club and at first sight it seemed like any other Mayfair, bouji establishment. We decided to explore and as we delved in further, we realised we were perhaps not on the gals’ night we had expected.

Here is how Google describes your one and only super club:

‘Energetic, neon-lit night spot with trapeze dancers, burlesque shows, DJs & live music performances.’

Seems safe, no? Nada. 

Not really sure how it went from this to about a million strippers?

Towards the back of the club was a raised circular stage, littered with poles and half naked girls. We walked through the crowd, who were all gathered in awe and it kind of felt like an open zoo but with beautiful women and scantily dressed amazing bods that frankly, we were also in awe of.

Feeling uncomfortable being so close to the action we decided to strut ourselves up to the balcony to watch from afar. The balcony had multiple vip tables, which as you would expect were full of sleazy old men. Did that stop us from joining them? Absolutely not.

Please babes, please

We ended up on a table celebrating a geeza’s 50th whilst one had the overwhelming confidence and too much cash to spend on propositioning a 23 year old to sleep with him all because they’d got a bottle they spent half the year saving up for. 

Imagine, a literal old man repeating the words ‘I want to have sex with you’ to a young woman half his age on repeat for hours…

Grow up or just die already babe.

After breaking my heels on the long stairway down, I proceeded to walk bare foot out of the club and hop into an Uber which carried your 3 princesses away to bed.

3 princesses OR

3 whales – you decide

Day 3: Morning came with a lot of vomiting involved, lot of sun involved, lot of regret involved.

Were we willing to head back out on the town? No. Were we willing to spend all day at the beach getting burnt? Yes.

Turns out if you get your bum out at the beach, promoters FLOCK to you.

Shoutout to my boys Andrew and Dimitri. We decided to take up Andrew on his proposition for the following evening in a club called Mokai as he seemed like the most normal out of the two, WRONG — please read on to see.

Maybe don’t get with a promoter lads

Day 4: Time for our second night out in MIAMI BABYYY. 

As Will Smith so eloquently put it in his literary masterpiece, Miami: ‘Ladies half dressed, fully equipped’.

Bloody hell, yes, fully equipped they were. Walked in to a rather empty club to be struck by a goddess on a pole.

Wow

“Ffs girls, we’re in another strip club”. You got it.

Girl power xoxo

Whilst not actually a strip club per-say, it was more than ya gal with wings and a bra in sugar hut on a Saturday night, let’s just put it that way.

As the club got busier smoke filled the air as people were lighting cigs left, right and centre. A man straddling a woman on the table next to us. Free flowing alcohol turning angels into bitches gone wild. 

Anything goes in Miami. Everything is centred around bodies, sex, alcohol and a general haze of phoney-ness quite unmatched by any other place.

So happy to be with my lips shaped urinal

Day 5: nothing noteworthy

Day 6: the girls engaged in a wholesome activity, saw some gators, had some bevs, I won’t bore you

WHAT IS HE DOING

Day 7: your favourite girls leave Miami to head down to the Keys in a white mustang like the basic bitches we are.

Get in loser, we’re going shopping

Miami had gifted us with strippers, hangovers and a loss of dignity so we thought we’d regain it by spending the weekend away in a more wholesome place.

Fed some fish, did some snorkelling, rested up and awoke the next day feeling refreshed for a relaxingggggg timeeee awayyyyyy.

Bloody birds

Day 8: fast forward to our first night in Key West and I fucking died.

Oh, AND guess what, I ended up in a strip club AGAIN with a man named Erik from Tampa. What is up with Florida and strip clubs? Like seriously, wtf?

If you’ve ever been to New Orleans, Key West is kind of like that vibe. It’s full of old people who look like they’ve only just discovered their youth late in life and are looking to get absolutely sloshed away from the kids.

So wholesome

You’d think it sounds kinda wholesome, drama free, good old time but jesus, the drama never ends.

Got myself into a messy situation didn’t I, involving a country singer, a mistress and a girlfriend pregnant with triplets — wild.

Long story short, we started our evening in a bar listening to a very talented country singer. We invited said singer to join us on our night out to which he came. 

A kind, innocent gesture as we enquired who the woman on his background was. He told us she was no one, that he didn’t have a girlfriend but he did have a pregnant ex girlfriend having his triplets who he was going to co-parent in the near future. Tbh, no one really cared and he slinked his way off when he realised shooting his shot had failed.

Didn’t think anything of it UNTIL I received these messages:

What

Had to respond

Ok, now stop pls

Smarter than I hahaha

Day 9: a tame day spent people watching, wandering round Ernest Hemingway’s house and returning to the same bar where I actually met the love of my life but that’s a story for another time.

Literature student in Hemingway’s house, shocker

Day 10: the time had come to say goodbye and good riddance to strippers. You know what though, Miami was jokes. Unique vibe and everybody just wants to live the dream babyyyy. 

Amidst the naked women, sleazy old men and creepy promoters is a place where people just wanna have a goooood time. 

So, soak up the sun, drink some cocktails and just let Miami take you on its wild ride.

In a bit x o

• 

• 

How’s the back treating you babe?

Don’t even think about it hun

You kill it, we grill it

“Do not use the pool if you are ill with diarrhoea”

Why Instagram Made Me Hate Petra, Jordan

No doubt if you follow any travel accounts on Instagram you will have seen a picture very similar to the one below. I know those photos were one of the reasons why I wanted to visit Petra, along with fulfilling a childhood dream of going to the ‘Canyon of the Crescent Moon’ – if you don’t get the reference, Indiana Jones baby, look it up. 

The Treasury

You clicked on this link having a few ideas of what I was going to say but I’m not here to tell you that Instagram is full of lies and everything isn’t picture perfect bla bla bla because if anything Petra looked just as magical as I thought it would and came very close to all the instas I’d seen. Only thing that the pictures don’t capture is the incessant smell of camel shit wafting up your nose every ten seconds but hey, it’s literally their home so I can shut up. The reason why Instagram made me hate Petra is because it has turned people into actual arseholes. I’ll explain. 

The only boys I need in my life

Clock the one in the back

When you visit Petra you have the option of walking through the Siq (the long boi gorge) at night and sitting by candle light as you look up at the Treasury (the main attraction) and listen to the sweet sounds of some old guy playing the flute. Sure, this sounds nice, right? NOT FOR ME. 

The Siq

EXHIBIT A: There we are walking along at a leisurely pace, it’s pitch black, rocky and busy. People are literally racing in the dark to get to the Treasury first. IMAGINE, elderly, meek Chinese tourists are hustling and bustling past youths sprinting with tripods and DSLRs (blogger cameras). I literally felt like I was in the stampede from Lion King 1 one step away from Mufasa crushing me or a similar beast bashing into me. 

EXHIBIT B: We finally reach the Treasury and the festivities have already begun. The set-up is beautiful, candle lit, traditional rugs laid out on the floor for people to sit on. It was packed and we were two amateurs who had decided not to partake in the earlier sprint. 

We scramble to find somewhere to sit as a bedouin gestures to us to sit down. We manage to perch on the end of a rug next to a young couple. Next thing I know the couple next to me have decided to lay down practically on me and attempt to take photos forcing me off the rug and into the dirt while they indulge in some ridiculous photoshoot. IT’S PITCH BLACK YOU MORONS AND YOU’VE GOT AN ANDROID. At almost the same time, I hear an immense shushing from behind as a photographer has just run through the aisles with his tripod to try and get to the front to take a picture of an ‘uninterrupted’ landscape. STOP.

After the performance finishes, a man who works at Petra announces that he will turn the lights on so we can see the Treasury clearly. I shit you not the lights came on and the flashes from everybody’s camera at the same time were more powerful than the lights set up to illuminate a fucking temple. The man had to urge people to appreciate the moment for just two minutes and switch off all phones.

Taken as everyone was leaving, not during, dw

EXHIBIT C: The next day we arrive at 6am. I wanna get in early. Typical, there’s people everywhere but whatever it’s all good. There’s a less competitive air than the night before. We book a guide and he ends up showing us a short climb to a great photo spot. We get up there and there’s people having their lunch on the mat laid down specifically so people can get that once in a lifetime shot. I hang around close to them hoping they get the idea that I want to take a cute photo and leave but alas NO. I had to ask if they could move for 2 minutes to which they reluctantly agreed. 

Just in town for a cute family pic xo

My man Hani took a quick photo and I was on my way. My point is that platforms like Instagram have made people selfish and think they are entitled to this ‘lone traveller experience’. Look through my Instagram and sure, there are photos of me alone with some pretty exciting backgrounds but they’re all real and I go early in the morning to capture these and would never think of disturbing someone else’s experience just so I can get a sick photo. The fact is that there are always people around you, there’s no such thing as discovering a ‘hidden gem’ anymore with the emergence of social media. Countless Instagrammers edit people out of their photos to give the illusion of this ‘lone traveller’ character. The reality is these tourist sites are literally there for the masses to enjoy, learn from and experience. 

What’s more is that people are risking their lives due to the pressures of “getting the gram”. I’m sure you will have heard of people falling off cliff edges or into waterfalls all because they wanted the perfect selfie. Our guide had to tell countless people not to stray off the path because of how unsafe it was. NO ONE listened. Look, don’t be an idiot and better yet, don’t be a selfish idiot. 

I’m not saying don’t take photos and I’m not even saying don’t pose 100 times to get your perfect shot or spend hours editing your photos because it’s your prerogative to do so. Just don’t be inconsiderate to others around you. I visited Petra in November of last year and this was their busiest November in history. According to The Jordan Times, tourism has risen by 49% compared to the same time last year. Petra received over 100,000 visitors in the month of November alone. Largely, in my opinion, due to the power of Instagram. 

Now, there’s many who take this kind of faux intellectual high ground and say that travel shouldn’t be about taking countless photos and parading it on social media but (and I know it sounds like I’m taking a cop out) there has to be a middle ground. 

Here’s a quote from an article in Condé Nast Traveller by David Annand called ‘How Instagram Is Ruining Travel’: 

At its best, travel is about curiosity, outwardness, a search for authentic encounters with the other. Photography was once a medium that enabled this: with its premium on stopping, framing, thinking, it encouraged seeing as opposed to merely looking. Lately, however, we seem to have stopped using photography like this. We’ve turned the camera around, focusing not out, but in. Photography no longer encourages seeing; it simply encourages projecting, turning the world’s great vistas into mere backdrops for the self.

David Annand, ‘How Instagram Is Ruining Travel’, Condé Nast

‘Encourage seeing as opposed to merely looking?’ Sorry hun but what? His pretentious prose is as equally unrelatable as the bouji lifestyles portrayed by the influencers he hates on. The general public aren’t as gullible or stupid as they are made out to be. Of course, people understand Instagram photos are edited, travel photos are more so works of art than they are representative of reality but the fact is I quite enjoy scrolling through my feed and looking at nice pictures whilst heavily aware my eyes probs won’t see the exact same thing in real life. 

Sure, I have my own view on what you should be getting out of travel but that’s personal to me. I can’t tell you what travelling is about but be considerate when doing so. Have fun trying to take the perfect pic for Insta but as a general rule of thumb, just don’t be a dick to those around you. 

In a bit xo

Lil ol’ me up high away from being rude to others

Why does her father look like a Disney villain who’s going to kill her?

Hiked for 45 minutes through camel shit for you all xoxo
This is the monastery.

Insta try-hard but tell me this isn’t a cool pic?

L.A.: My Tinder Nightmare

Los Angeles, what a big friendly giant. Sort of but actually, not really. One thing is correct in that sentence, it was big. After my experience, friendly? Not so much.

First things first, people drive like arseholes in LA. Lost a coin toss and had to do the first drive in the rental car. Imagine never having driven an automatic 4×4 down a freeway in the pitch black– HA! I got proper stressed out and had to pull over because I thought I was going to chunder.

Covering the car up cos it’s so shit

Many other things have made me want to chunder on this trip, including the smell of our air bnb, which smelled like cat piss or cat food, who knows. Maybe don’t stay in Korea Town kids.

L.A. with its vast expanse excited us. We spent the night in our shitty kitty litter flat and were ready to face a day of sightseeing. So, what did we do? See the Hollywood sign of course. Or, try and see the Hollywood sign… multiple times… 3 times to be exact. We drove around the hills for ages looking for the trails. To be fair, we got a great pic with the sign and no one else was around (see below) so go exploring kids. Don’t be afraid to get out there and get lost.

1st attempt wasn’t bad right?

Now, if you’ve made it this far you’re probably wondering about this tinder nightmare. You’ve opened this blog for one reason only and it’s that. So, let me set the scene. It’s a Thursday night, you’re in L.A., you’re loving life after having just eaten the best Korean bbq. You spent last night in a bar that was far too edgy for you and that you were far too drunk for. You want to experience what Korea Town’s night life has to offer (the natural choice of course). What do you do? You get on tinder and ask for recommendations.

The food was AMAZING

We all agreed at the start of the trip to swipe right for most people in order to get good ‘local’ recommendations. And, it worked! For the most part…

Back to Korea town, a man messaged me on Instagram, who I could only guess found me on Tinder. I responded asking for the best unknown spot to go out to in LA. He suggested going to a speakeasy called Break Room 86 in Korea Town. Perfect, right?

No. Really, no. After drinking a solitary beer each whilst a 40 year old man tried to hit on KJ, we decided to check out Break Room. When we arrived they checked our Ids round the back of what looked like a pub’s kitchen fire door and told us to go to a woman standing just behind the door’s opening.

She took us down a corridor with lockers on either side, chairs, other random shit until we got to a vending machine. She opened the vending machine and it turned out to be a door! We walked through the door and were greeted with a swanky bar. Retro decor in the cool way, not the try hard way. A live band began to play later in the night, an ice cream van was outside and a telephone box had a secret doorway to a karaoke room!

Secret doorway

I thought wow, what a great recommendation so I messaged the man back saying ‘Break Room, cool vibe, you were right’. He then replied asking if I was there. I did not reply. He then sent me a message saying ‘Yeah I’m here, where you at?’ This is when I began to shit myself.

There we were, happily smiling the night away, playing some arcade games when the Tinder man walked in. I swiftly turned my head and pretended I was engrossed in Miss Pac-Man. I don’t know why I thought this but I thought oh, it’s fine I’ll just spend the night dodging him. That was so dumb. The venue was super small and intimate.

The time came, I bumped into him ffs. Had to go through the niceties of saying hello, how are you etc. As soon as that was over I turned straight back around to KJ, Jack and Georgia and started dancing. He stood behind us the whole time. Oh, also, can we just clarify something, HE CAME ON HIS OWN. Whilst we were LOVING the band, some of us a little too much, we had to leave.

We snuck out through the back. We’d just had a lovely night together aside from the stalker, everything was fine right? NO, again, no. While your princess (me) was asleep the tinder man sent me these messages…

HE TRIED TO VIDEO CALL ME 25 times. Needless to say I went for that block. Be careful gals. Get those glorious recommendations but do a thorough look through a profile before replying.

Ahhhhh it’s all funny isn’t it or is that borderline psycho?

If you thought that was weird, check back here for a blog on San Francisco soon because THAT was even weirder.

Jack enjoying the ol’ gamesssss

80s rock band we all wanted to “f@#!”

Living it up large on Venice Beach

Blu Jam Café (another Tinder recommendation but from a normal man)

Next stop ——-> San Francisco, California

Keep updated on the journey on Insta

https://www.instagram.com/justjennylamb/

Memphis: the home of nothing except Elvis

“You’d be maaaad too if you had to say that thiiiis was your home”.

Wise, wise words from a recovering drug addict/Uber driver. Her name? Couldn’t tell you, was far too focused on her raspy southern accent and her disdain for Memphis and men, not in that order by the way.

I got the impression that her number one hate in life was men not texting her back. Why do I get that impression? She told us. Second thing she hated, Memphis. And while I don’t want to disrespect the people of Memphis, your city was so shit.

Perhaps it was coming from the previous life of the party that was Nashville but Memphis was like stepping into Nashville’s deathbed. The only thing I knew of it was that it was home to Graceland and it seemed as if that was the only thing it was home to.

So, only go to Memphis if you are an Elvis Presley fanatic, are in the area or it’s a stop over for you. Even as an indifferent fan of Elvis, I have to say that Graceland was pretty cool, the tour is good and it’s just a cool house. Cool is definitely the word to describe everything there. Ahhhh Elvis, what a guy.

Elvis’ COOL pool table

Elvis’ COOL dining room

Elvis’ COOL house

As for my house or rather my air bnb, not so cool. We stayed with a night nurse and his dog. His house was cute from the outside and every house in the neighbourhood looked like it was part of a film set. Inside however, not so pristine. I was just there eating my quesadilla when a cockroach crawled across the floor, niceeeee.

Air bnb looks nice from the outside…

The area had a weird, eerie feel to it. No one was around and nothing was there. It was recommended to us that we visit the massive pyramid in the centre of Memphis. What was inside this pyramid you ask? A massive shop. Classic Americans. And, not just any shop, the world’s biggest Bass Pro Shop; they sell a range of fishing, hunting and boating gear. Lol, the South.

To be fair, the shop is an EXPERIENCE. It’s also a hotel and restaurant with a viewing platform at the top. Pay something like $10 and go up to the top and have a panoramic view of Memphis. The restaurant looked peng but unfortunately we had already indulged in what looked and tasted like a prisoner’s meal at Graceland.

Have you seen anything more Southern?

All in all, Memphis just seemed to be empty; it was weirdly quiet. We had been told to walk down Beale Street, THE street in Memphis. Whilst it was filled with characters including, bikers, trucker guys and alcoholic women, I wouldn’t walk down it again.

Having taken a Greyhound for 4 hours after getting a solid 2 hour sleep the night before, we were in no mood for an even more dismal place than what our heads were already in. We sat in a park for a bit and suddenly saw a rush of people running from all over the place. Turns out Jailbreak had hidden hundreds of dollars all over Memphis and were releasing coordinates throughout the day as to where the money was hidden. People had scooters, bikes, others were simply running for their lives with one guy screaming to his friend in a higher pitch than most little girls, “I CAN’T RUN IN THESE SHOES”. An entertaining spectacle but still didn’t make up for the fact that all in all Memphis was shit.

One thing I would say is definitely ask your Uber drivers for recommendations wherever you go because they are the best for it. If we didn’t ask, we would never have gone to the Pyramid and would have had to have found something else to occupy ourselves for a couple of hours… god.

So folks, avoid Memphis and stay tuned for the next blog somewhere which is set not to disappoint.

Next stop———> New Orleans, Louisiana

Americans’ Ridiculous Zest for Life

You know how Americans are super loud and annoying? Well, I’ve come to the conclusion that they just love life and you know what, that’s kind of refreshing. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the screeching that comes along with the American accent will be the death of me but they have this weird zest for life that frankly I’m just jealous of.

This all started when I went to my residence hall’s boat party in San Francisco. It was an end of year semi-formal event with students from all residence halls. Get this though, NO ALCOHOL. They made it very clear that no alcohol would be served on the boat, no one would be allowed on the bus if they had drunk alcohol and all bags would be checked for alcohol. All in all, I won’t lie, the night was pretty dead for me. It was like being back at a school disco– awkward dancing, children pretending to be adults, atrocious kissing. Seriously, I saw two people who were just holding their mouths against one another for ages, no movement, no passion, no love. But you know what, good for them, they were happy. That’s the thing, everybody was having fun because they didn’t care about anybody else. I needed alcohol to be fun, what does that say about me? That’s pretty sad. My parents have drilled it into me that if someone doesn’t like what they see then they can look the other way; I should really start listening to that.

The beginning of the night when I thought it was going to be fun…

It’s not just the way they seem to be more carefree, they just love celebrating everything; BIGGER AND BETTER. Take 420 for example. Sorry, what? That’s not even a real holiday and it got so much attention here. Classes were cancelled, people skipped class (including me because I’m cool and rebellious). I just wanted to see what the big fuss was about. Hundreds of students gathered on a grass area on campus called Memorial Glade. There were food stands, ready and waiting and I shit you not, at 4:20pm, everybody blaaaaazed on the glaaaade. Everyone was SO happy… mad.

 

 

The gladeeeeeeeeeee @ 4:20pm

A few days later and it was the infamous Cal Day that I had been warned about. In short, Cal Day is basically an open day for prospective students. For current students it is an opportunity to drink for the whole day whilst adopting copious amounts of school spirit. Everybody in sight was wearing Cal gear, from Cal temporary tattoos to Cal pinstriped dungarees. I won’t lie, it was really funny. Everybody was just going crazy and it felt like exactly what I thought a frat party would be like when I first came here. It was like something out of a film. Inflatable slides, kegs, people posing for pictures with empty champagne bottles… (??????) At one point, a guy brought out a box of beer to the bar and the anticipation was real. Everybody gathered round waiting for the momentous occasion of opening the box. The man opened the box and the animals attacked. The beers were gone in two seconds; it was like animals at the watering hole during feeding time. I love it.

What a fucking lad.

Calday came to a close, I got some Chinese food and napped for three hours; I regret nothing. An unnecessary celebration but a celebration nonetheless. That’s my point, Americans just love to celebrate everything but with no shame about the excess to which they do. Take this weekend for example, my residence hall is hosting a carnival with photo booths, bouncy castles, games etc. For literally no reason???? What I’m trying to say is, yes, Americans may have this weird zest for life but you know what, if I could have even the smallest fraction of that, I’d be ten times happier.

My Alternative Spring Break

I’m sure we’ve all heard the phrase ‘SPRING BREAK WOOHOO’ numerous times in American college films but I’m going to tell you why my spring break really was like that. And no, I didn’t go to Mexico and have a blast with the girls whilst downing a shitty vodka lemonade. In fact, I went on a road trip through California with 4 guys. So, immediate reaction, you probably think I’m a raging slut. Just to clarify, I’m not. It was genuinely like being with four brothers. We started our road trip by heading to Santa Barbara. Stopped at Monterey on the way. Saw some rocks. Good crack.

We got in our Dodge car and drove down to Santa Barbara. We decided to visit the university the next day. For those of you who don’t know, the stereotype of UC Santa Barbara is the ‘party school’ with surfers and perfect bodies everywhere. Think of the image you have in your head of the typical Californian and Santa Barbara literally embodies that. It was so odd how everything looked like something out of a film. We were walking along what we assumed was frat row and guys roll past on skateboards while another passes with a surfboard in hand. Walk a little further and you see a bunch of college students on the roof of a house overlooking the beach listening to music and looking genuinely happy unlike the rest of us at university who are on a slow march to death. Santa Barbara served us well. We got into a bar fittingly named Sandbar, with 3 of us getting in on one id… I love America. I’m sure you know what a night out is like, I’m not going to bother explaining how cool I am going to bars, getting in underage, drinking Satan’s nectar etc.

The next day we drove down towards San Diego, our next stop, but got distracted by the serene views of Malibu. We stopped off in Malibu. I can’t explain how nice it was, couldn’t even do it via Facetime. I tried to Facetime my dad overlooking the beach with this view:

His exact words were “Yeah yeah, looks like a shithole”. It wasn’t a shithole but do you know what was? Our airbnb in San Diego.

San Diego was one of the weirdest places I’ve ever been. Again, hard to explain but this would be a terrible blog if I didn’t try. We drove into downtown San Diego and just so many odd characters presented themselves. A surprising amount of homeless people were situated literally opposite our airbnb. I was later informed by my friend that the homeless problem is such a big issue that there is even a conspiracy surrounding people trying to physically burn the homeless in San Diego. Sorry, WHAT? After spending years trying to find a parking space we unloaded the car and were let into the apartment block by a limping man and his dog. The door was unlocked and there was one bed for five… Someone found a mattress in a cupboard but essentially, five of us were sharing a small room. Sleeping like sardines was an absolute treat.

Oh, one thing I do want to say is that my experience in San Diego taught me that people are such liars on social media. So our airbnb claimed to have an ‘AMAZING rooftop’. The rooftop was a few tables and chairs and some outside heaters and a bbq that didn’t work. Hardly ‘AMAZING’. Nonetheless we took advantage of this and invited some other Berkeley students to join us who were conveniently in San Diego at the same time. They stopped by for about an hour maybe tops, don’t think I could tell you more than 3 of their names, socialised amongst themselves and the next day one of them posted on Instagram a mediocre picture of the view from the roof with the caption ‘Rooftop party last night #ifiwasarichgirl’– everything you see on social media is a lie kids. We were on the top of an apartment building surrounded by homeless people; we were not in some millionaire’s penthouse. What a knob.

San Diego was pretty average but before we left we wanted to go see the Mexican border. Not as thrilling as one might expect, just a fence really and some grassland. Border patrol were pretty scary though. A bunch of men in black riding around on quad bikes with masks on, how could that not be threatening? We left quickly and made our way to LA.

LA traffic is no myth. The thing about LA is that you can be in a completely impoverished area and then 10 minutes later be in one of the richest areas in the world; it was jarring but also what I was told to expect. LA was cool; I highly recommend it. Did all the tourist things like spend the day on Venice Beach, go on a Hollywood Studio tour or walk along Hollywood Boulevard. However, the highlight for me was definitely looking across LA from Runyon Canyon Park. It’s about a 1.5 mile hike in the Hollywood Hills and is full of runners and dog walkers, so don’t go in flip flops like I did.

Venice Beach

Paramount Studios

Runyon Canyon

Big city life was too much and we left for Sequoia. Saw some trees. Good. Let me backtrack though. So we left LA quite late and ended up arriving at our airbnb when it was pitch black. I had booked for us to stay on a citrus farm in the middle of nowhere. We were driving amongst orange trees and could not find any sign of life in the dark. I called Diana (our host) who was only too happy to help and she came out from amongst the trees with her hubby, Tim, in a golf cart and led us to our cabin. The woman had thought of everything, different types of tissues in the bathroom, sweet sweet citrus fruits and even turned on the fire for us. God bless Diana. Literally, God bless her.

Guestbook Entry

Citrus Farm Airbnb

 

Had to leave our citrus farm early the next day in order to see the biggest tree in the world, General Sherman. Just when I thought I had seen the best scenery California had to offer, we made our way to Yosemite. We ended up staying in another airbnb that was an old antique shop/ horse supply shop or something. There were hardly any doors in between rooms and the decor was a mixture of Native Americans and cowboys. Odd to say the least. We were in the middle of nowhere. Literally, in the exact centre of California. We obviously visited the National Park and it was beautiful but what struck us most were the people who inhabited the town where we were staying. Pick up trucks everywhere, American flags everywhere, characters everywhere. The further inland we went, the further I felt like we were stepping into redneck territory. Although I didn’t personally experience this my pals went to a bar right next to where we were staying and one of the first things someone said to them was ‘Y’all foreigners aren’t ya?’ Followed by, ‘So how much American pussy have y’all got?’ I’m just going to leave it at that.

Seeing the difference between inland California and Berkeley was mad. So much variety in one state. But it all felt so real and genuine. California is the only place I’ve been where the stereotypes live up to expectation. Isn’t that weird? That never happens. Every place we went excited me more and more and I’ve only just touched the surface in this post; I could talk about this trip forever! If you ever have the opportunity, visit California, you won’t regret it.

Am I a blogger yet?

The Intelligentsia.

I go to Berkeley now, which means I have an unfathomable amount of work to be doing but I thought this was more important. As I write, I can hear the monotonous whirring of helicopters above me and it is so bloody annoying. But, do you know what is even more frustrating? The violence I saw at UC Berkeley earlier this evening. I’m going to tell you what happened from a student’s perspective. From an honest and real perspective.

Today, at about 6pm, well over 1000 students and members of the public gathered in Sproul Plaza at UC Berkeley to protest the appearance of Milo Yiannopoulos. He was due to give a speech after being approached by the UC Berkeley Republicans but after violent actions he was forced to leave; this comes straight off the bat of his unwanted presence at another UC campus earlier this month. He’s a pretty controversial guy but what I saw this evening does not justify that in any way.

You’d think only being here three weeks, it would have been surprising to see a protest of this size in the middle of campus but think again! I am living in the heart of where the free speech movement began in the 60s. I have seen more protests here in the last three weeks than I have in the last three years in London. It started off as a peaceful protest with a few witty signs but as it turned dark, this was mirrored by a group of masked, darkly clothed strangers who entered the crowd and caused havoc. They removed all the barricades that had been set up earlier that day and used them to smash the windows of the ground floor of the building where Yiannopoulos was. They set off smoke bombs and aimed fireworks at the police who were located on a balcony. It was only when a fire started that we felt it was time to leave. Police were firing rubber bullets and despite news reports and over dramatic protestors, tear gas was not used. It was still scary, a man was bleeding after having a brick thrown at his face.

Predictably, there are already a few sensationalised news stories floating about. I found this image from BBC news particularly impressive:

I don’t know what angle this was taken at but the fire was the equivalent to a small bonfire that your enthusiastic uncle sets up in your garden on Fireworks Night. Here’s a more accurate, REAL photo:

What I don’t understand is that even when Yiannopoulos left, the violence spread and worsened. The masked individuals went to the streets. ATMS were smashed, banks were attacked with all the windows smashed and even a Starbucks was looted. Why? Why? Why?

These masked individuals have been linked to an anarchical group from Oakland called Black Block but no one can be sure as to their identity. Whether or not Berkeley students were involved in the violence, there was still mass cheering and celebration when windows were broken, police targeted and fires started. People were taking selfies in front of the fire for their Instagram. And although BBC would like to present this photo as a GREAT FIRE or BLAZE the only ‘blazing’ going on were from the guys behind me getting high. Sorry but what? Is a protest just another recreational activity now? People are stupid. They took this as an event of self-indulgence, whether this be simply to have fun or make themselves feel as if they were ‘making a difference’. We seem to think that because we go to prestigious universities that we are exempt from irrational behaviour when in fact, university students are more disconnected from the real world than ever. Protests have turned into a fashion. People revel in the theatrics of protest. It saddens me because I know that the majority of students will agree with me in condemning the violence of this evening but we will be forever branded as raging hypocritical liberals who do not practise what they preach.

The problem is, especially after this evening, I’m finding it more and more difficult to defend this view. I cannot tell you how many people I have spoken to here, who just want to live in their liberal bubble. People keep telling me that there is a difference between free speech and hate speech but they are one and the same. There may be bad people in the world but tough shit, there are horrible things in the world and you denying that is ignorant. This protest is exactly what Yiannopoulos wanted. Your redundant and violent protests are affirming the radical right’s views of the left. It pains me to say that when Yiannopoulos said tonight’s behaviour was ‘a horrible spectacle and very humiliating for American higher education,’ I can’t help but agree. I wonder how much support he would gain if you simply left him alone. You are fuelling the fire for his ridiculous views and giving him validity he doesn’t deserve. I’m fed up of my fellow students continuously denying that the right exists whilst burying their head in the sand. It is not enough to hold up a cardboard sign every once in a while to make yourself feel better. Engage with the other side in actual debate and then maybe something will change.

I understand that protests are a sure fire way of showing solidarity and you have every right to that, but burning a mobile light or to graffiti on an ice cream shop the words ‘kill fascists’ whilst documenting it all on Facebook live feed for the ‘likes’ is not what your ancestors had in mind when they were protesting for the free speech movement. To all those who went out and destroyed buildings or even stood back and cheered, you have marked yourself as idiots and brought shame upon your accomplished past.