Make that four countries...

It's Sunday, and there's three Americans, three Brits, a Greek and a Slovak in this RV, and they head for the Mexican border... I think we've got ourselves a movie! But first, back to Friday.

An uneventful flight passed by slowly. Well, I say uneventful - As we got on the plane and walked down the aisle to the left, we stopped to allow someone to put their bag in the overhead locker. I glanced down and thought to myself, "That bloke looks just like Lee." At about the same time he looked up at me and, I might be paraphrasing slightly here, thought to himself, "That bloke looks just like Stephen." I used to work with Lee back in the dark and distant 90's, before he and his wife Tina (who I'd worked with first) moved to one of those 'outside London but inside the M25' towns, and hadn't really spoken to either much since. I'd heard through mutual friends that they had reproduced a couple of times, and that Lee was now working as a freelance Director for, amongst others, the BBC.

I'm not sure what the chances are of meeting someone you know on a plane, but I'd imagine the odds are fairly high. We agreed to chat later - It was going to be an 11 hour flight - and off we went to find our seats. It was nice to catch up with Lee when we found a couple of empty seats at the back later in the flight, and he explained he was going to LA to do some filming for a documentary he was making for the BBC. We spent a good hour chatting and updating each other before it was time to eat, we promised to keep more in touch, and not rely on chance meetings again.

Oh, and we'd seen Helen Mirren getting on our flight too. But I hadn't worked with her, and so therefore that was less exciting.

Nearly three hours queuing in the Immigration Hall at LAX meant that we actually walked out of the airport at about 5.30 in the afternoon, Pacific Coast time, or 1.30 in the morning Ipswich time, and got on a shuttle bus to take us to the Orbit Hostel. We chatted with a couple on the bus who had been on our flight and were also staying at The Orbit for a few days before flying on to Hawaii as the start of a 10 month trip, and worked out that we will all be in New Zealand at the same time. I think there is much more chance of us bumping into them somewhere in NZ than meeting anyone we know on a plane...

Having checked in and found the room, we dumped the bags and smiled at each other. We had arrived! - until I realised I had no idea where my wallet was, or indeed the last time I had seen it. We emptied all our bags super-quick and didn't find it - so I was straight on the payphone at the end of the hall, calling the shuttle company. It was my first port of call, and having spoken with 'Curly' in the Arizona based call-centre, he passed me on to a lady in the LA office, who found the driver and asked him to have a look. The longest 3 minutes of my life ended with a whoop from the lady telling me he had found out and would drop it off for me within the hour. I wished I'd tipped him now...

Slightly refreshed and very relieved, we met up with my friends Aussie Nick and Brit Gary, and headed off up Melrose Ave to the Snakepit, one of the bars we had used a lot on my previous visit to LA. Being the only LA resident, Gary was of course the only one without the requisite ID to get in the bar, so he went back home with a promise to meet us later at another place. Nick and I ordered Guinness, while Chelle went for a Vodka and Coke. She was already struggling with staying awake, and the strong drink did her no favours at all. We had been up for 26 hours by now, and Chelle was in danger of headbutting the bar. I felt fine, until the end of my second pint, and it was becoming very clear that we were not going to make it to the next planned venue.

We decided to give in, said goodnight to Nick, and walked back to the hostel. There could have been a war going on in our bathroom, and we would have slept through it, until 7.00am local time when we both realised that we hadn't eaten anything the previous night, and needed food. Luckily Farmers Market is only 20 minutes walk down Fairfax, and we were soon tucking in to eggs, toast, potatoes and coffee with gusto.

The car hire place offered a pick-up service, and we were soon sitting in a sodding Chrysler PT Cruiser, or Bread Van as Michelle calls it, wondering how uncool we actually looked. We hadn't ordered one of these (I think a Ford Focus was mentioned), but here we were.

The nice thing about the roads in California is that most of them are straight - either east to west, or north to south, and we soon found our way onto the 405 heading south to San Diego. We stopped off for coffee at our favourite place, Manhattan Beach, and then hit the 5 Interstate, which eventually winds it's way around downtown, before peeling off and over the bridge which heads to the island of Coronado and the home of our friends Nigel and Jana. Nigel is an old friend from home, and Jana his wife. They moved to California a few years ago and, like everyone else, love it.

Coronado is the poshest part of the posh bit of San Diego. It's also right next to the US Navy's largest base, not that you'd know once you're there. These guys have really gone out of their way to help us, and have borrowed the apartment next door to theirs for us to use, as well as organising the night's entertainment. After drinking coffee and eating Jana's fantastic guacamole, we headed over to the South Park Bar to meet Greg and Laurie, friends of Nigel and Jana, along with Jana's work colleague Pia, and watch Greg play with other local Musos.

This turns out to be one of those neighbourhood bars you would never find without local knowledge, and the food is good, the wine and beer flows and the band, despite being of the blues variety, are great. We manage to stay awake a bit longer this time, and during the evening plans are made for tomorrow - we're all off to Mexico!

The next morning we drive over to Greg and Laurie's and all jump into their RV. There is Greg and Laurie, their friend Jesse (the three Americans), Michelle, Me and Nigel (the three Brits), Jana (the Slovak) and Pia (the Greek). It's a 20 minute drive to the border, and then another half an hour to our destination - a little fishing village south of Rosarito. We walk through a myriad of shacks and lean-tos and eventually walk into a building right over the water. The table for eight is soon filled with beer, nachos and various dishes - mostly of fish. Fried, baked, marinated, with rice, and still in it's shell. We have local tequila shots, and before we know it we're walking back up the road, pilling into the RV and heading to Rosarito. A quick walk round a market (where everything is negotiable) and we find ourselves at 'Papa's and Beer' - the headquarters of Spring Break bad behaviour. Only, it's very empty, and the eight of us are the only people sitting on sofas looking out over the beach, sipping bottles of Sol and the sun is setting. It's a long way from Ipswich.

After a detour around some of the less approachable areas of Tijauna, we join the queue to cross back over the border, and while we wait the venders pass by trying to sell pretty much anything and everything. We have churros and cups of corn, and when we reach the border the guard simply cannot cope with so many different nationalities and we get referred to the secondary inspection area. Eventually we get the all clear, and the drive back takes no time at all. We've only known Greg, Laurie, Jesse and Pia for a day, but it's been a long day - and a good one.