Saturday 15 June Overcast/dry/warm
Paul:
Packing the suitcase is something I resent doing but has to be done. I have more stuff now than I started with but the case shuts easily. Somehow Amanda fits her voluminous lugguge and assorted cables and electrical equipment into her green case. It weighs a ton.
Breakfast is at the Glen Oaks diner called Ripplewood. The only English speaking guy is from Monterey and says the Spanish speaking staff are from Mexico. "They come in droves across the border, get diner cleaning jobs and work their way up". It seems they are not really assimilated with English speaking California but many are hard working and willing to work for little money. Roberto at the gas station will never return to his native Mexico because he says there is nothing there "no work amigo". He arrived in California in 1984 and this feels like home for him and his children.
The 155 mile drive to SF airport is quite simple; even the six lane highway traffic moves across and between lanes at a steady 65mph. For once I am grateful for the SatNav as it guides us to the car return and soon we are at the luggage check-in being told Amanda's case is too heavy for the huge aircraft.
British Airways suggest I take some of Amanda's luggage to save us $60.00. Amanda finds this stressful because she has to open her case and rummage about for heavy looking stuff. A few minutes later my case contains an industrial amount women's make-up, some electrical equipment and a bottle of booze.
Check-in successful. We will wait until 19.25 hours before take off.
I now prefer to cross the Atlantic by ship than passenger plane travelling Economy class. The plane left just a bit after 19.45 and was full. It is a lottery as to who you are put next to, behind and in front of. In the queue to board are 20 exceptionally noisy US students taking pizzas onto the plane. Nearby is a large family of Iranians who have in their possession five unruly children screaming and carreering around other people's baggage waiting to board. Amanda I were lucky. Peter, a strategic industrial designer and lecturer from Dublin sat next to me. We enjoyed a chat and few drinks. Amanda has the window seat but is hot and uncomfortable. This will make for a long nine hour flight but it could have been much worse.
I cannot sleep on night flights and around 02.00 I look around the low lit cabin at the corpses in their seats some heads bent forward and others tilted back with mouths open. I watch the films Django and Snatch.
We landed at 05.25 [time of origin], which is 13.25 BST.
It has been my best holiday and if we could, Amanda and I would individually thank all those people who, last November, made it so.
Amanda:
It's always sad to come to the end of a holiday - more so now because it's been 3 weeks and because it's been such a special trip, being both our honeymoon and wedding presents. We have been dreading the flight back but it's inevitable and has to be endured - very different to the trip out by boat!
I start the day with a half stack of pancakes - only my third batch of the trip and deliciously crammed with blueberries. Then Paul drives a busy route back to the airport - the satnav lady guides us back to the actual car hire place and Paul almost forgives her for directing us on to the tram line in San Francisco.
The flight is with BA but looking around at our fellow travellers, you'd be forgiven for thinking it's some charter trip back from Magaluf. Paul nobly takes the middle seat and gets on very well with the Irish chap sat next to him - they bond over booze and the fact that the girls in the seats in front of them tip them back so far that the girls must be looking directly up Paul and Peter's nostrils. The plane is unbearably hot - unusual for a plane in my experience - and it makes comfort impossible. The food is dire and I feel ashamed that this is our national carrier.
All good things come to an end (annoyingly) and the only way to get through it is to plan our next holiday (anyone know anything about Virginia or North Carolina?). This has very much been a special one off though, an experience I doubt we shall ever repeat but will always cherish the memory of.
END
Monday, 17 June 2013
Park and Ride
Friday 14 June Sunny/dry/hot
Paul:
The Glen Oaks diner serves up an 8oz steak, poached eggs and hash browns for breakfast with as much coffee as you can drink. Amanda's breakfast looks good too. The Mexican looking staff confirm that English is still widely spoken in Monterey County and shortly after breakfast we visit the Glen Oaks reception greeted by a Spanish only speaking cleaner, "Hola!". The receptionist confirms in English that we must be out by 11.00 hours tomorrow.
The diner staff recommended we visit the Julia Pfeiffer State Park and we're glad we did. The views of the vivid turquoise Pacific ocean frothing onto the sand and crashing against the pine tree infested rocks is quite something. The fresh waterfall cascades straight into the ocean: it looks like a film set.
We drive next to the purple sand beach three miles north of Glen Oaks. It is about a mile and a quarter's hike from the car park to the beach. The walk takes us through woods and sand tracks. The dry sand is yellow but if you look closely you can just about see a purplish dusting of sand catching the sunlight. The tide is in and perhaps the sand is more purple when it's wet. Amanda and I are examined by a Western Gull as we eat nuts and fruit for lunch. The breakfast was too big to fit another meal in before dinner. The gull looks hopeful for scraps but three folk on horse back surprise it and it loses interest. We trudge back to the car.
We have given up hoping for good bread and some cheese at the largely Spanish speaking General Store. Instead we buy pop and ice cream saving ourselves for tonight's dinner out. Andrew, who speaks English, at the Post Office promises us that Steve will get his book the next day.
Still no news about my niece Kate and her new born.
I am writing in the airport so have bags of time. It is 15.15 SF time and 23.15 BST.
Our last meal at Glen Oaks: the Nepenthe restaurant looks posh online so I wear a jacket. Amanda looks very smart too. We needn't have bothered. Some folk are dressed casually for dinner but about 75% are dressed in beach wear. We are eating at 18.00, the earliest all this holiday so that we can light the fire pit for the last time at our woodland apartment.
Lee, our waiter, also makes his own wine and suggests a local Gary's vineyard wine. The Pinot Noir is delicious and I order a bottle, some for now and some for Amanda later who is driving back.
The party of eight Americans at the next table are loud but articulate. At first I think they are holding a business meeting, each is referring to their own bundle of A4 paper and taking it in turns to present a topic to the group. They are in their mid 20s and after each person speaks the group summarises what has been said and asks if anyone has anything to add. The full horror of this scene begins to unfold when Amanda and I realise this is how they socialise and hold a conversation at the dinner table. There is no spontaneity, no wit and no sparkle. It is as if the topics of conversation have been ordered in advance and any potential humour removed. The conversation is conducted with the intensity of a difficult business meeting. Sentences begin with: ' statistics show that......'; 'according to recent analysis.....'; 'do the math and see what you get', and other clunky openers. The oddest thing is none of them actually seems to say anything interesting but all nod enthusiastically at each others verbal description of life's pie charts and bar graphs.
Lee, our waiter, says they're from Silicon Valley and pretty much everyone is like that there. He describes them as weirdos. Spot on I think; they could even be robots.
Our last fire pit is huge because we burn every scrap of paper, maps, guides we collected in the past three weeks. The flames leap 5' into the night air and Amanda melts more marshmallows for her s'mores, which I don't have and between us we finish up the Pinot Noir. No skunks tonight. Bed at 22.00.
Amanda:
We start off on a trail to see a coastal waterfall after an omelette breakfast of epic proportions. The sea is an almost unbelievable turquoise and the coastline is reminiscent of Cornwall. Except much, much bigger - an uber-Cornwall. We walk as far as we can along the coastal path and then return to the car where I drive Paul so he can see the coastline properly. We head off to the next park to see purple sand and hopefully eat our yellow cherries on the beach. The path is supposedly only a mile but it seems quite a bit longer. We rest on a washed up tree and eat our cherries, beadily observed by a large gull. We're saving the pits for the fire tonight as they apparently make good fuel.
After another dinner of essentially pretzels and plastic cheese I have rebelled and say I want to go out to dinner tonight. We were simply going for the closest place but Paul decides Nepenthe would be a nice last night treat. It looks fabulous so we dash off early as you can't make reservations. We're lucky to be seated promptly and watch the occupants of the table nexgt to ours agog: it's difficult at first to work it out but it seems to be one girl's birthday. Each person must make a speech of eulogy about her and present her with a gift and explanation of its choice. She then responds. I tell Paul I want this arranged for my birthday as it's shamlessly flattering - one says she is "ethereal yet vibrant"; there's no sense that they realise how funny they are. And that's aside from them being dressed in shorts and plastic sandals in one of the area's top restaurants. Paul and the waiter exchange verbal eyerolls before I drive us back - well, beyond back as we overshoot the turning by a couple of miles and have to do a U-y.
Paul builds the ultimate fire and I catch him expertly lobbing unused matches in when he thinks I'm not looking. I suspect it was visible from space. We finish the remains of the wine Paul had with dinner and I make final s'mores. I'll be taking the Grahams crackers home and we agree to see if s'mores translate to a Suffolk setting.
 |
| It gets bigger than this. WAY bigger. |
The Glen Oaks diner serves up an 8oz steak, poached eggs and hash browns for breakfast with as much coffee as you can drink. Amanda's breakfast looks good too. The Mexican looking staff confirm that English is still widely spoken in Monterey County and shortly after breakfast we visit the Glen Oaks reception greeted by a Spanish only speaking cleaner, "Hola!". The receptionist confirms in English that we must be out by 11.00 hours tomorrow.
The diner staff recommended we visit the Julia Pfeiffer State Park and we're glad we did. The views of the vivid turquoise Pacific ocean frothing onto the sand and crashing against the pine tree infested rocks is quite something. The fresh waterfall cascades straight into the ocean: it looks like a film set.
We drive next to the purple sand beach three miles north of Glen Oaks. It is about a mile and a quarter's hike from the car park to the beach. The walk takes us through woods and sand tracks. The dry sand is yellow but if you look closely you can just about see a purplish dusting of sand catching the sunlight. The tide is in and perhaps the sand is more purple when it's wet. Amanda and I are examined by a Western Gull as we eat nuts and fruit for lunch. The breakfast was too big to fit another meal in before dinner. The gull looks hopeful for scraps but three folk on horse back surprise it and it loses interest. We trudge back to the car.
We have given up hoping for good bread and some cheese at the largely Spanish speaking General Store. Instead we buy pop and ice cream saving ourselves for tonight's dinner out. Andrew, who speaks English, at the Post Office promises us that Steve will get his book the next day.
Still no news about my niece Kate and her new born.
I am writing in the airport so have bags of time. It is 15.15 SF time and 23.15 BST.
Our last meal at Glen Oaks: the Nepenthe restaurant looks posh online so I wear a jacket. Amanda looks very smart too. We needn't have bothered. Some folk are dressed casually for dinner but about 75% are dressed in beach wear. We are eating at 18.00, the earliest all this holiday so that we can light the fire pit for the last time at our woodland apartment.
Lee, our waiter, also makes his own wine and suggests a local Gary's vineyard wine. The Pinot Noir is delicious and I order a bottle, some for now and some for Amanda later who is driving back.
The party of eight Americans at the next table are loud but articulate. At first I think they are holding a business meeting, each is referring to their own bundle of A4 paper and taking it in turns to present a topic to the group. They are in their mid 20s and after each person speaks the group summarises what has been said and asks if anyone has anything to add. The full horror of this scene begins to unfold when Amanda and I realise this is how they socialise and hold a conversation at the dinner table. There is no spontaneity, no wit and no sparkle. It is as if the topics of conversation have been ordered in advance and any potential humour removed. The conversation is conducted with the intensity of a difficult business meeting. Sentences begin with: ' statistics show that......'; 'according to recent analysis.....'; 'do the math and see what you get', and other clunky openers. The oddest thing is none of them actually seems to say anything interesting but all nod enthusiastically at each others verbal description of life's pie charts and bar graphs.
Lee, our waiter, says they're from Silicon Valley and pretty much everyone is like that there. He describes them as weirdos. Spot on I think; they could even be robots.
Our last fire pit is huge because we burn every scrap of paper, maps, guides we collected in the past three weeks. The flames leap 5' into the night air and Amanda melts more marshmallows for her s'mores, which I don't have and between us we finish up the Pinot Noir. No skunks tonight. Bed at 22.00.
Amanda:
We start off on a trail to see a coastal waterfall after an omelette breakfast of epic proportions. The sea is an almost unbelievable turquoise and the coastline is reminiscent of Cornwall. Except much, much bigger - an uber-Cornwall. We walk as far as we can along the coastal path and then return to the car where I drive Paul so he can see the coastline properly. We head off to the next park to see purple sand and hopefully eat our yellow cherries on the beach. The path is supposedly only a mile but it seems quite a bit longer. We rest on a washed up tree and eat our cherries, beadily observed by a large gull. We're saving the pits for the fire tonight as they apparently make good fuel.
After another dinner of essentially pretzels and plastic cheese I have rebelled and say I want to go out to dinner tonight. We were simply going for the closest place but Paul decides Nepenthe would be a nice last night treat. It looks fabulous so we dash off early as you can't make reservations. We're lucky to be seated promptly and watch the occupants of the table nexgt to ours agog: it's difficult at first to work it out but it seems to be one girl's birthday. Each person must make a speech of eulogy about her and present her with a gift and explanation of its choice. She then responds. I tell Paul I want this arranged for my birthday as it's shamlessly flattering - one says she is "ethereal yet vibrant"; there's no sense that they realise how funny they are. And that's aside from them being dressed in shorts and plastic sandals in one of the area's top restaurants. Paul and the waiter exchange verbal eyerolls before I drive us back - well, beyond back as we overshoot the turning by a couple of miles and have to do a U-y.
Paul builds the ultimate fire and I catch him expertly lobbing unused matches in when he thinks I'm not looking. I suspect it was visible from space. We finish the remains of the wine Paul had with dinner and I make final s'mores. I'll be taking the Grahams crackers home and we agree to see if s'mores translate to a Suffolk setting.
Elephant and Castle
Thursday 13 June Sunny/dry/hot
Paul:
The Glen Oaks diner in Big Sur serves a very good Mexican breakfast, which I have with toast. It is so filling I don't eat until 11 hours later at 19.30. In between those times Amanda and I drive, with the hood down, south along the PCH to the sprawling castle of William Hearst perched on top of a mountain.
William Hearst made his money from a variety of very successful business interests that included films and publishing but at the age of 56 decided to spend the next 28 years building this castle. His architect Julia Morgan stuck with him for the whole period as he continually changed his mind about how the castle should look. Even when it was open to the 1920s and 30s stars of the silver screen and VIPs in industry and government the house remained under construction. Visitors arrived by a private DC3 plane on the private airstrip built specially. Provided guests stayed in the cars for the short journey to the 165 room castle they would avoid being attacked by Hearst's private collection of wild animals left to roam in the 225,000 acres of surrounding land.
The remainder of the day was spent looking at Elephant Seals lolling around on the sandy beach. For the most part they were motionless but occasionally a few would square up to each other or shuffle their huge bulk into the sea. Amanda and I loved the Elephant Seals.
It is rare for me to be able to drive along a coastal road in a fast car. The Swedish Mustang's 225bhp engine roars into life when floored and careers towards Big Sur at alarming speeds negotiating the elevated coastal hairpin bends with ease.
Our stop at a different deli was less successful. We had anticipated buying some nice bread and smoked fish pate to go with our bottle of white. The staff speak only Spanish and Amanda, who is holding a chocolate bar, is beginning to sound despairing. We make a decision to buy something: Amanda gets a Enchilada thing and I buy a Tamale pie and we return to the wood hut.
At about 19.30 I send Scott at work an email with a photo of Hearst castle and then make the fire. My Mexican takeaway was alright and mostly filling but brilliant. The last bottle of fizz and a Chardonnay helped it along. Amanda said hers was just okay but she is hugely pleased that Steve and Alex at Blackberry Inn found her sapphire stud in their washing machine. It must have got deeply embedded in the bathroom rug. They will send it to our home address. Amanda will send Steve his Yosemite book back as a fair trade off. Last full day tomorrow. At about 21.00 two black and white weasel like animals appear near out porch. Amanda says they are skunks. They don't stay long and surprisingly to me don't smell either.
Amanda:
The tour guides here are almost comically banal: my favourite comment today was about the Roman mosaic floor "It's neat: they didn't even have a tile shop but the weird dolphins are kinda cute". Heroically I remain silent as she expands on how Romans couldn't buy tiles from shops but I think my eyes bulge slightly It's delivered in a voice like Minnie Mouse on helium so possibly difficult to get a serious point across - she certainly didn't try. All the guide really told us was which were her favourite antiques and not to walk off the matting. And to tell us gum was banned after they found it stuck to priceless antiques! She tells us Harry Potter was filmed there; it wasn't but two Spanish girls gasp in excitement.
Hearst Castle seems to me to be the ultimate folly. It's a hotch-potch of styles and antiquities which feels oddly impersonal. The story behind it is fascinating - and not covered by the guide! I come back and do some research online and regale Paul with facts, theories and scandal. Then I order Citizen Kane to watch when we get back.
We drove back along the very twisty road at alarming speed, only stopping to admire the comical elephant seals. They are amusing to watch; they mostly loll but occasionally flick sand over themselves to block out the sun, scratch or square up to one another. We watch them for a while and console ourselves a bit over not having seen a bear. Later that night we see two little black and white faces peering over a ridge at us - at first we think they are possums but from Paul's description it sounds more like they are skunks. My knowledge of skunks is largely based on Pepe le Peu but I hear no trace of a French accent as they go off to peer in another cabin.
Paul:
The Glen Oaks diner in Big Sur serves a very good Mexican breakfast, which I have with toast. It is so filling I don't eat until 11 hours later at 19.30. In between those times Amanda and I drive, with the hood down, south along the PCH to the sprawling castle of William Hearst perched on top of a mountain.
William Hearst made his money from a variety of very successful business interests that included films and publishing but at the age of 56 decided to spend the next 28 years building this castle. His architect Julia Morgan stuck with him for the whole period as he continually changed his mind about how the castle should look. Even when it was open to the 1920s and 30s stars of the silver screen and VIPs in industry and government the house remained under construction. Visitors arrived by a private DC3 plane on the private airstrip built specially. Provided guests stayed in the cars for the short journey to the 165 room castle they would avoid being attacked by Hearst's private collection of wild animals left to roam in the 225,000 acres of surrounding land.
The remainder of the day was spent looking at Elephant Seals lolling around on the sandy beach. For the most part they were motionless but occasionally a few would square up to each other or shuffle their huge bulk into the sea. Amanda and I loved the Elephant Seals.
It is rare for me to be able to drive along a coastal road in a fast car. The Swedish Mustang's 225bhp engine roars into life when floored and careers towards Big Sur at alarming speeds negotiating the elevated coastal hairpin bends with ease.
Our stop at a different deli was less successful. We had anticipated buying some nice bread and smoked fish pate to go with our bottle of white. The staff speak only Spanish and Amanda, who is holding a chocolate bar, is beginning to sound despairing. We make a decision to buy something: Amanda gets a Enchilada thing and I buy a Tamale pie and we return to the wood hut.
At about 19.30 I send Scott at work an email with a photo of Hearst castle and then make the fire. My Mexican takeaway was alright and mostly filling but brilliant. The last bottle of fizz and a Chardonnay helped it along. Amanda said hers was just okay but she is hugely pleased that Steve and Alex at Blackberry Inn found her sapphire stud in their washing machine. It must have got deeply embedded in the bathroom rug. They will send it to our home address. Amanda will send Steve his Yosemite book back as a fair trade off. Last full day tomorrow. At about 21.00 two black and white weasel like animals appear near out porch. Amanda says they are skunks. They don't stay long and surprisingly to me don't smell either.
Amanda:
The tour guides here are almost comically banal: my favourite comment today was about the Roman mosaic floor "It's neat: they didn't even have a tile shop but the weird dolphins are kinda cute". Heroically I remain silent as she expands on how Romans couldn't buy tiles from shops but I think my eyes bulge slightly It's delivered in a voice like Minnie Mouse on helium so possibly difficult to get a serious point across - she certainly didn't try. All the guide really told us was which were her favourite antiques and not to walk off the matting. And to tell us gum was banned after they found it stuck to priceless antiques! She tells us Harry Potter was filmed there; it wasn't but two Spanish girls gasp in excitement.
Hearst Castle seems to me to be the ultimate folly. It's a hotch-potch of styles and antiquities which feels oddly impersonal. The story behind it is fascinating - and not covered by the guide! I come back and do some research online and regale Paul with facts, theories and scandal. Then I order Citizen Kane to watch when we get back.
We drove back along the very twisty road at alarming speed, only stopping to admire the comical elephant seals. They are amusing to watch; they mostly loll but occasionally flick sand over themselves to block out the sun, scratch or square up to one another. We watch them for a while and console ourselves a bit over not having seen a bear. Later that night we see two little black and white faces peering over a ridge at us - at first we think they are possums but from Paul's description it sounds more like they are skunks. My knowledge of skunks is largely based on Pepe le Peu but I hear no trace of a French accent as they go off to peer in another cabin.
Fruit & Nut
Wednesday 12 June Sunny/dry/hot
Paul:
After breakfast we listen to new guests from 'Noo Yawk' complain to each other that the outdoor lights should stay on until 0300 so, 'you can see what you're drinking', say goodbye to Greg, Mrs Greg, our Florida neighbours and Steve and Alex the owners. Steve draws a rough map which should cut two hours off our planned journey.
Amanda drives the first two and half hours leaving me to map read from a paper map and take photos. There are so many eagles and vultures here I have stopped staring at them. They are too high to photograph but the scenery is straight out of every Western TV series I have seen including Bonanza and Alias Smith & Jones. At a steady speed we passed through two cowboy towns: La Grange and Waterford [population 250] dating back to the 1850s.
As I take on the driving out comes the SatNav and the cabling. Amanda has a real yen for local fruit and nuts and within minutes of my driving we stop at Robertsbridge where Amanda has a nut buying frenzy, including almond nuts coated in lemon chocolate. Amanda starts on the coated nut and spots a cherry farm just off the highway. The farm is run by people who only speak Spanish and by pointing and nodding Amanda buys pounds of red and yellow cherries both of which are really juicy. Happy with our healthy purchases we head for MacDonalds at Salinas.
The MacDonalds is spotless clean, a lad permanently cleans tables and collects diners' left rubbish. Marlee the server loves Amanda's accent saying her friend lives in Surbiton and she hopes to visit there someday. She'll have a shock over the state of the MacDonalds there.
The drive then takes us to the Monterey Peninsula and onto Route 1, the Pacific Coast Highway [PCH]. The Pacific ocean is a vivid blue green colour and there is a strong smell of seaweed as we hurtle along the road towards Big Sur.
At 17.00 we fill up with fuel at Big Sur, book in at reception with Jeannie who tells us we must help ourselves to coffee anytime.
The wooden hut is really well designed with a large bed dominating the small room surrounded by a kitchenette and shelf/wardrobe space. The toilet and shower are just off the main room.
We anticipate using our fire pit tonight so we're on the lookout for some really good bread and cheese from a local deli to go with our last bottle of red from Sonoma. The deli doesn't sell such things. The two local checkout girls are battling to make themselves understood with a Chinese woman in her 70s. They ask for Master or a Visa card and each time Chinese woman frowns, then points at a car outside and smiles. After three goes I show Chinese woman a Visa card and point to the staff.
Amanda is not happy one bit with the cheese selection and baulks at cheese string. I always try to head off her (understandable) frustration with shops that do not sell what she wants. Our dinner will be Monterey Pepper Jack and Organic Monterey cheese to be eaten with crisps and pretzels. On the upside the deli does sell Graham biscuits, Reece's Peanut Butter cups and marshmallows for Amanda to make something called s'mores.
The cold bottle of fizz goes down far too easily. The fire pit is kicking out some heat, the flames licking the logs and sending smoke across to the wooden hut opposite us. We are surrounded by a forest of Redwoods and Pines of differing heights and girth and the last of the sun streams into the forest at 20.26. The logs turn to embers and glow for hours as we eat our cheese and glug the red. Amanda makes the s'mores toasting marshmallows on the embers and sandwiching them between two biscuits and a peanut chocolate cup. It's nice. I fall asleep at 22.00, 'totally zoned out man'.
Amanda:
I start the driving again today round some very twisty roads. We are soon into nut country - something we hadn't realised and I screech into a car park to buy more almonds than anyone really ever needs. Still, there are a couple of varieties I regret not buying after the event. Paul reckons I have squirrel tendencies as I eat some and wrap the rest for later. Then it's fruit groves - white peaches, apricots, cherries and more. We pull off a road along an orange dustball field, following a sign for cherries and find a shed with big, fat red and yellow varieties. Through sign language I buy some of each - I don't speak Spanish and that's all the vendor does speak. It feels like being somewhere more 'foreign' than America.
We arrive at our log cabin in good time. It really is a little shed amongst redwoods - lovely. Paul's eyes light up at the opportunity for some sanctioned pyromania - we have our own fire pit. Neither of us wants to drive out for dinner and although the nearest restaurant is only just over a mile, it's along a busy and poorly lit road. We decide on a fireside picnic and go to buy provisions to go alongside our nut stash.
It's the second of our poor cheese buying experiences. They actually have cheese in an aerosol. I would have bought it as a curiosity if it weren't for the fear of it exploding in my suitcase and coating the contents in some 'faux cheese' monstrosity. We end up with the American staple of cheddar-lite - a plasticy, bland block - but the wine from our Sonoma adventures is great. I introduce Paul to s'mores. I'm not sure I made them right but I know it's a big part of the great American outdoors. He's initially dubious but takes to them with alacrity.
Paul:
After breakfast we listen to new guests from 'Noo Yawk' complain to each other that the outdoor lights should stay on until 0300 so, 'you can see what you're drinking', say goodbye to Greg, Mrs Greg, our Florida neighbours and Steve and Alex the owners. Steve draws a rough map which should cut two hours off our planned journey.
Amanda drives the first two and half hours leaving me to map read from a paper map and take photos. There are so many eagles and vultures here I have stopped staring at them. They are too high to photograph but the scenery is straight out of every Western TV series I have seen including Bonanza and Alias Smith & Jones. At a steady speed we passed through two cowboy towns: La Grange and Waterford [population 250] dating back to the 1850s.
As I take on the driving out comes the SatNav and the cabling. Amanda has a real yen for local fruit and nuts and within minutes of my driving we stop at Robertsbridge where Amanda has a nut buying frenzy, including almond nuts coated in lemon chocolate. Amanda starts on the coated nut and spots a cherry farm just off the highway. The farm is run by people who only speak Spanish and by pointing and nodding Amanda buys pounds of red and yellow cherries both of which are really juicy. Happy with our healthy purchases we head for MacDonalds at Salinas.
The MacDonalds is spotless clean, a lad permanently cleans tables and collects diners' left rubbish. Marlee the server loves Amanda's accent saying her friend lives in Surbiton and she hopes to visit there someday. She'll have a shock over the state of the MacDonalds there.
The drive then takes us to the Monterey Peninsula and onto Route 1, the Pacific Coast Highway [PCH]. The Pacific ocean is a vivid blue green colour and there is a strong smell of seaweed as we hurtle along the road towards Big Sur.
At 17.00 we fill up with fuel at Big Sur, book in at reception with Jeannie who tells us we must help ourselves to coffee anytime.
The wooden hut is really well designed with a large bed dominating the small room surrounded by a kitchenette and shelf/wardrobe space. The toilet and shower are just off the main room.
We anticipate using our fire pit tonight so we're on the lookout for some really good bread and cheese from a local deli to go with our last bottle of red from Sonoma. The deli doesn't sell such things. The two local checkout girls are battling to make themselves understood with a Chinese woman in her 70s. They ask for Master or a Visa card and each time Chinese woman frowns, then points at a car outside and smiles. After three goes I show Chinese woman a Visa card and point to the staff.
Amanda is not happy one bit with the cheese selection and baulks at cheese string. I always try to head off her (understandable) frustration with shops that do not sell what she wants. Our dinner will be Monterey Pepper Jack and Organic Monterey cheese to be eaten with crisps and pretzels. On the upside the deli does sell Graham biscuits, Reece's Peanut Butter cups and marshmallows for Amanda to make something called s'mores.
The cold bottle of fizz goes down far too easily. The fire pit is kicking out some heat, the flames licking the logs and sending smoke across to the wooden hut opposite us. We are surrounded by a forest of Redwoods and Pines of differing heights and girth and the last of the sun streams into the forest at 20.26. The logs turn to embers and glow for hours as we eat our cheese and glug the red. Amanda makes the s'mores toasting marshmallows on the embers and sandwiching them between two biscuits and a peanut chocolate cup. It's nice. I fall asleep at 22.00, 'totally zoned out man'.
Amanda:
I start the driving again today round some very twisty roads. We are soon into nut country - something we hadn't realised and I screech into a car park to buy more almonds than anyone really ever needs. Still, there are a couple of varieties I regret not buying after the event. Paul reckons I have squirrel tendencies as I eat some and wrap the rest for later. Then it's fruit groves - white peaches, apricots, cherries and more. We pull off a road along an orange dustball field, following a sign for cherries and find a shed with big, fat red and yellow varieties. Through sign language I buy some of each - I don't speak Spanish and that's all the vendor does speak. It feels like being somewhere more 'foreign' than America.
We arrive at our log cabin in good time. It really is a little shed amongst redwoods - lovely. Paul's eyes light up at the opportunity for some sanctioned pyromania - we have our own fire pit. Neither of us wants to drive out for dinner and although the nearest restaurant is only just over a mile, it's along a busy and poorly lit road. We decide on a fireside picnic and go to buy provisions to go alongside our nut stash.
It's the second of our poor cheese buying experiences. They actually have cheese in an aerosol. I would have bought it as a curiosity if it weren't for the fear of it exploding in my suitcase and coating the contents in some 'faux cheese' monstrosity. We end up with the American staple of cheddar-lite - a plasticy, bland block - but the wine from our Sonoma adventures is great. I introduce Paul to s'mores. I'm not sure I made them right but I know it's a big part of the great American outdoors. He's initially dubious but takes to them with alacrity.
Redhead in the Redwoods
Tuesday 11 June 2013 sunny/dry/hot
Paul:
Our last full day here. At 08.00 I met Greg next door. He's from Florida with his wife and thinks Amanda and I have had the most perfect holiday.
This morning we go to Tuolumne [pronounced Toolomeen] Grove to see the Giant Redwood trees. The Dead Giant is the biggest example with a tunnel cut through the base in 1878 for stage coaches and horses to pass through, a good photo opportunity. Many living Giants here are more than 2,500 years old. The hike from the car park to the Grove is an easy two mile descent into a valley. The return hike was tough. Amanda stops frequently to take photos and take on water. We're constantly forgetting that even the valley floor is still 5,000 feet above sea level.
Puffing noisily we settle from our hike into the air conditioned Swede motor and glide speedily to Lake Tenaya for our picnic lunch. We stare out at the sapphire blue 150 acres of water eating ham sandwiches and fruit; it is very relaxing until a large group of Chinese people spill out of their bus chattering noisily in that sing song way they have and furiously photographing everything they see. Five minutes later they are gone.
Returning to Blackberry Inn we rehearse tomorrow's route and agree Amanda should drive the first few hours. It is a 7-8 hour drive I reckon. Tonight we take our last meal at the local diner and hope they have Anchor Steam beer.
Amanda will need a drink. Her happiness about being finally reunited with her lost hair irons [4 June] yesterday is replaced with a new profound disappointment: she has lost one sapphire ear stud that I'd bought her. It is somewhere in a hotel bathroom in the Sierra Nevada but still we cannot find it! This might affect the dinner plans!!
We sat in a booth for our last meal at the diner so far from the waiting staff that Joe the manager served us drinks himself. Amanda had meat balls and spaghetti and said it was alright but not brilliant. She is still thinking about the lost sapphire. My steak and mushroom sauce was fabulous. Amanda drove back. During the night my breathing stopped and I woke struggling to breathe. It doesn't often happen but with a long drive to Big Sur tomorrow this interrupted sleep isn't the best preparation!
Amanda:
Rather than drive 3 hours to the more famous Mariposa glade, we hike a mere 1.5 miles down to a closer glade of redwoods today. What with the trail around the glade, it will only be a 4 hour walk. I think of other things to do. And then we do the trail. I keep forgetting how high up it is - it's a bit like having asthma I suspect, the constant struggle to catch my breath. The trail is all down hill on the way and so...... I stop twice for a glug of water on the way back but otherwise determinedly keep going. I find as long as I don't panic about not being able to fill my lungs, it's okay and I make it in good time and with some energy left. We drive to a lake which is about 8,000 feet above sea level for our sandwich lunch and I admire the hopeful and beautiful Jay which comes to watch. It has a black crested head, fading to steel grey and then it's sapphire blue from the wings and tail. We have been told not to feed the animals, sigh. The lake is also beautiful - more of a topaz colour than a sapphire and we watch three Americans get in to swim, scream and beat a hasty retreat. It IS an alpine lake - did they really think it would be anything other than freezing? I think it's beauty lies in looking only - although at over 8,000 feet, it's always nice and cool when it's so hot elsewhere in the valley.
I lose an earring in the bathroom. Crawling over every mm with a torch I am baffled - where has it gone? It wouldn't be so bad but Paul bought them for me. I try to not let it affect the evening. We go back to our diner and I have pretty awful spaghetti and meatballs. The owner comes out to offer me a port - as I'm English I must like it apparently - and I re-direct it to Paul. The owner enthuses about the fruity upfront character and long nose - it's Sandemans bog standard! Paul makes the right noises of appreciation but I think he enjoys his schooners of local beer more.
 |
| Buck Meadows Diner |
Our last full day here. At 08.00 I met Greg next door. He's from Florida with his wife and thinks Amanda and I have had the most perfect holiday.
This morning we go to Tuolumne [pronounced Toolomeen] Grove to see the Giant Redwood trees. The Dead Giant is the biggest example with a tunnel cut through the base in 1878 for stage coaches and horses to pass through, a good photo opportunity. Many living Giants here are more than 2,500 years old. The hike from the car park to the Grove is an easy two mile descent into a valley. The return hike was tough. Amanda stops frequently to take photos and take on water. We're constantly forgetting that even the valley floor is still 5,000 feet above sea level.
Puffing noisily we settle from our hike into the air conditioned Swede motor and glide speedily to Lake Tenaya for our picnic lunch. We stare out at the sapphire blue 150 acres of water eating ham sandwiches and fruit; it is very relaxing until a large group of Chinese people spill out of their bus chattering noisily in that sing song way they have and furiously photographing everything they see. Five minutes later they are gone.
Returning to Blackberry Inn we rehearse tomorrow's route and agree Amanda should drive the first few hours. It is a 7-8 hour drive I reckon. Tonight we take our last meal at the local diner and hope they have Anchor Steam beer.
Amanda will need a drink. Her happiness about being finally reunited with her lost hair irons [4 June] yesterday is replaced with a new profound disappointment: she has lost one sapphire ear stud that I'd bought her. It is somewhere in a hotel bathroom in the Sierra Nevada but still we cannot find it! This might affect the dinner plans!!
We sat in a booth for our last meal at the diner so far from the waiting staff that Joe the manager served us drinks himself. Amanda had meat balls and spaghetti and said it was alright but not brilliant. She is still thinking about the lost sapphire. My steak and mushroom sauce was fabulous. Amanda drove back. During the night my breathing stopped and I woke struggling to breathe. It doesn't often happen but with a long drive to Big Sur tomorrow this interrupted sleep isn't the best preparation!
Amanda:
Rather than drive 3 hours to the more famous Mariposa glade, we hike a mere 1.5 miles down to a closer glade of redwoods today. What with the trail around the glade, it will only be a 4 hour walk. I think of other things to do. And then we do the trail. I keep forgetting how high up it is - it's a bit like having asthma I suspect, the constant struggle to catch my breath. The trail is all down hill on the way and so...... I stop twice for a glug of water on the way back but otherwise determinedly keep going. I find as long as I don't panic about not being able to fill my lungs, it's okay and I make it in good time and with some energy left. We drive to a lake which is about 8,000 feet above sea level for our sandwich lunch and I admire the hopeful and beautiful Jay which comes to watch. It has a black crested head, fading to steel grey and then it's sapphire blue from the wings and tail. We have been told not to feed the animals, sigh. The lake is also beautiful - more of a topaz colour than a sapphire and we watch three Americans get in to swim, scream and beat a hasty retreat. It IS an alpine lake - did they really think it would be anything other than freezing? I think it's beauty lies in looking only - although at over 8,000 feet, it's always nice and cool when it's so hot elsewhere in the valley.
I lose an earring in the bathroom. Crawling over every mm with a torch I am baffled - where has it gone? It wouldn't be so bad but Paul bought them for me. I try to not let it affect the evening. We go back to our diner and I have pretty awful spaghetti and meatballs. The owner comes out to offer me a port - as I'm English I must like it apparently - and I re-direct it to Paul. The owner enthuses about the fruity upfront character and long nose - it's Sandemans bog standard! Paul makes the right noises of appreciation but I think he enjoys his schooners of local beer more.
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
Tall Tales
Monday 10 June 2013 hot/dry with some storms
Paul:
I am up at 06.50 to video the hummingbirds. There are loads of them, different colours and sizes that arrive at the nectar feeders hanging from the large hotel porch. The air is cool, there are no biting insects, it's sunny and the bird song competes with the sound of breakfast preparation.
'DO NOT FEED THE BEARS' is the most common instruction and signage in Yosemite but it wasn't always so. Park Ranger Sheree, a female Navajo Indian brought up in Michigan, tells the tour group in the back of a small articulated lorry a different story.....
Park Rangers used to raise money for the park by attracting black bears to a tourist spot by dumping food garbage thrown out by the nearby Ahwahnee hotel, a place frequented by stars of the Silver Screen: they discovered the bears eventually got tooth decay, became sick and died.
Rangers tried to raise money another way without bears. Hurling burning logs from a height of several thousand feet into the valley below worked well for a short time as a tourist attraction and even attracted a visit and applause from President JF Kennedy but had to stop when Rangers realised this was destroying the valley's pines and making the bears sick.
Finally Rangers acknowledged bears would always be attracted to the American outdoors diet of marshmallows, jello and peanut butter. Rather than encourage bears to eat this stuff Rangers put up signs urging people not to feed them and spent the rest of their time shooting the bears using paintball guns and slingshots, which they do to the present day.
At a rest room stop I chatted with a tourist from Washington State and he confirmed yesterday's weed smoking biker story. The restrooms here are airless wooden cupboards with a bottomless oil drum in which human effluent falls and the stench rises.
The rest of the three hours tour was also informative about, rivers, ice peaks and El Capitan and the Three Brothers granite mountains some several thousand feet high. Climbers could be seen as small limp dolls hanging from ropes and pegs a mile above us. Ranger Sheree says some people die on these climbs.
We ate lunch in the posh Ahwahnee hotel cafe; Amanda agreed it was alright but not as fantastic as the tour guide suggested.
Mid afternoon saw us at the top of Glacier Point, miles above almost everything including the famous Half Dome rock. I almost fell asleep driving the two hazardous hours to get there and left Amanda to climb to the very top while I had a 15 minute doze. When I woke up a squirrel and a chipmunk were staring at me closely.
We missed the mother bear and her two cubs by two minutes. They had scarpered by the time we leaped out of the car - shame really. Amanda is very sorry she missed them. Two American 40 something women travelling together told us that, "momma bear had two itty bitty boo bears". Why do they talk like this?
Steve, the hotel owner wasn't best pleased that I parked the finely tuned, gleaming granite chiselled Swedish Mustang on his lawn so I moved it to its proper space.
Tonight's diner meal for Amanda and I was meatloaf. It was better than lunch. Still no Anchor Steam beer but two pints of Sierra Nevada were much appreciated. Amanda drove back.
I am asleep before 22.00.
Amanda:
Today was supposed to gently separate Paul and the car by getting the bus about Yosemite Valley. This was only a partial success as he insisted on driving up to Glacier Point and almost fell asleep. The bends are deemed to severe for me to negotiate and I feed Paul peanut butter M&Ms to keep him awake on the long drive back.
Prior to the bends, we took a tour around the Valley sights with a Native American guide who spoke to us as if we were all rather simple 6 year olds. The content was interesting though and we stopped to appreciate the idiocy of people who climb El Capitain: it takes an average two days and you have to nail in a portable ledge to sleep on overnight. Your toilet is a portable tube and you have to take provisions weighing about 8stone. At the top, you have to then hike 8 miles back down again. It's vertiginous looking up, it must be truly terrifying looking down.
I expect it was that thought alongside the bendy road which prompted Paul to go for two schooners of beer that night. A schooner is like a 1970s wine glass on steroids and I can't lift one without both hands and a bit of effort. I get a plastic beaker of diet Pepsi which is easier to manage but makes me feel like a small child. The mozzies have new and even more nefarious tricks up their metaphorical sleeves - they bite me on the forehead leaving huge lumps as if I were trying to grow horns. It is vaguely disconcerting to be outwitted by insects. Fortunately after 7 days and £25 postage fee later, I am reunited with my GHDs and hairdryer brush. At least I can arrange my fringe silkily to conceal my contoured forehead now though.
 |
| Yosemite Valley |
 |
| El Capitain |
Paul:
I am up at 06.50 to video the hummingbirds. There are loads of them, different colours and sizes that arrive at the nectar feeders hanging from the large hotel porch. The air is cool, there are no biting insects, it's sunny and the bird song competes with the sound of breakfast preparation.
'DO NOT FEED THE BEARS' is the most common instruction and signage in Yosemite but it wasn't always so. Park Ranger Sheree, a female Navajo Indian brought up in Michigan, tells the tour group in the back of a small articulated lorry a different story.....
Park Rangers used to raise money for the park by attracting black bears to a tourist spot by dumping food garbage thrown out by the nearby Ahwahnee hotel, a place frequented by stars of the Silver Screen: they discovered the bears eventually got tooth decay, became sick and died.
Rangers tried to raise money another way without bears. Hurling burning logs from a height of several thousand feet into the valley below worked well for a short time as a tourist attraction and even attracted a visit and applause from President JF Kennedy but had to stop when Rangers realised this was destroying the valley's pines and making the bears sick.
Finally Rangers acknowledged bears would always be attracted to the American outdoors diet of marshmallows, jello and peanut butter. Rather than encourage bears to eat this stuff Rangers put up signs urging people not to feed them and spent the rest of their time shooting the bears using paintball guns and slingshots, which they do to the present day.
At a rest room stop I chatted with a tourist from Washington State and he confirmed yesterday's weed smoking biker story. The restrooms here are airless wooden cupboards with a bottomless oil drum in which human effluent falls and the stench rises.
The rest of the three hours tour was also informative about, rivers, ice peaks and El Capitan and the Three Brothers granite mountains some several thousand feet high. Climbers could be seen as small limp dolls hanging from ropes and pegs a mile above us. Ranger Sheree says some people die on these climbs.
We ate lunch in the posh Ahwahnee hotel cafe; Amanda agreed it was alright but not as fantastic as the tour guide suggested.
Mid afternoon saw us at the top of Glacier Point, miles above almost everything including the famous Half Dome rock. I almost fell asleep driving the two hazardous hours to get there and left Amanda to climb to the very top while I had a 15 minute doze. When I woke up a squirrel and a chipmunk were staring at me closely.
We missed the mother bear and her two cubs by two minutes. They had scarpered by the time we leaped out of the car - shame really. Amanda is very sorry she missed them. Two American 40 something women travelling together told us that, "momma bear had two itty bitty boo bears". Why do they talk like this?
Steve, the hotel owner wasn't best pleased that I parked the finely tuned, gleaming granite chiselled Swedish Mustang on his lawn so I moved it to its proper space.
Tonight's diner meal for Amanda and I was meatloaf. It was better than lunch. Still no Anchor Steam beer but two pints of Sierra Nevada were much appreciated. Amanda drove back.
I am asleep before 22.00.
Amanda:
Today was supposed to gently separate Paul and the car by getting the bus about Yosemite Valley. This was only a partial success as he insisted on driving up to Glacier Point and almost fell asleep. The bends are deemed to severe for me to negotiate and I feed Paul peanut butter M&Ms to keep him awake on the long drive back.
Prior to the bends, we took a tour around the Valley sights with a Native American guide who spoke to us as if we were all rather simple 6 year olds. The content was interesting though and we stopped to appreciate the idiocy of people who climb El Capitain: it takes an average two days and you have to nail in a portable ledge to sleep on overnight. Your toilet is a portable tube and you have to take provisions weighing about 8stone. At the top, you have to then hike 8 miles back down again. It's vertiginous looking up, it must be truly terrifying looking down.
I expect it was that thought alongside the bendy road which prompted Paul to go for two schooners of beer that night. A schooner is like a 1970s wine glass on steroids and I can't lift one without both hands and a bit of effort. I get a plastic beaker of diet Pepsi which is easier to manage but makes me feel like a small child. The mozzies have new and even more nefarious tricks up their metaphorical sleeves - they bite me on the forehead leaving huge lumps as if I were trying to grow horns. It is vaguely disconcerting to be outwitted by insects. Fortunately after 7 days and £25 postage fee later, I am reunited with my GHDs and hairdryer brush. At least I can arrange my fringe silkily to conceal my contoured forehead now though.
Tuesday, 11 June 2013
Pass Perfect... and Those Bear Necessities (updated)
Saturday 8 June 2013 Very Hot/Dry
Paul:
After breakfast we are back on the road, route 89 heading east to Yosemite National Park. Amanda drives us away from Cottage Inn and further into cowboy country towards Blackberry Inn some 150 miles away.
As I am not driving this bit I can spend time identifying our route the old fashioned way with a paper map and staring out at the big scenery all around: snow capped mountains towering over the pine forests ahead of us and scrub land and dessert around us dotted with huge impossibly blue lakes all set against the cloudless sky. After about two hours of motoring at about 35 mph I sense Amanda has had enough of driving and we change over just outside Marklesville on route 89. Out comes the SatNav and yards of cabling.
There are loads of cyclists battling to reach the summit of a 9,000 feet mountain in the hazy heat. We travel through three passes today: Luther, Monitor and Tioga and we stopped for another photograph. A man on a bike has just enough energy to say, "hi this is brutal". We have a short chat as he's moving so slowly and I tell him it's just another half mile which Amanda thinks is bad of me because it's nearer a mile and half to the top. He pulls away slowly saying he is crazy.
It is mid-day and 106 degrees F. We quickly pass through the towns of Coleville and Walker and take a lunch break at Bridgeport, proper cowboy town country where no accommodation is called Cottage Inn. It looks like Dodge City for cars. I tell Amanda I am going to ask the cowboy with spurs on his boots and the best Stetson in his group where we should eat hotdogs and burgers. She looks alarmed when she realises I am actually going to do this. I tell the group I am not from around here and ask about diners. Mr Stetson, who has a white beard, says, "are you from the south son"? I laugh and say, "not really, more from the east, a long way east" The group laugh, joke about being, 'outta town' and point Amanda and I to the diner behind us called Kool Kones where I chow down with a chilli dog and Amanda has a Corn Dog. All that mountain climbing in the car has made me hungry.
We turn down an offer to visit Bodie the ghost town of 1860 and the wildest most lawless cowboy city in Sierra Nevada's gold rush. Instead we plough on to the National Park pay $20.00 for a 7-day pass and drive 30 odd miles through the most picturesque scenery: waterfalls, ice, and more hills and pine trees. I have discovered cruise control for the car and am now able to look at the 9,000 feet altitude views without being concerned with foot pedals.
We reach Blackberry Inn around 17.00 the same time as a shed load of others. Steve the owner is in over drive and Amanda and I watch some humming birds and sit in the cool hall of the large house. Amanda looks for Montana on the very large globe.
Our apartment is just a month old and as big as a large studio flat: our home for four nights. The carpet is deep pile. There is no WiFi or TV so we're properly cut off from the World.
Dinner is a super size large pizza from Pizza Factory in Groveland eaten at about 21.20 on the porch outside our apartment called Yosemite Falls. It is still 80 degrees F. Our Sonoma wine, an RGB blended red goes really well and then next is the port wine which goes down well with cookies and a muffin saved from breakfast.
Sleep doesn't come easy because my tummy is so full to bursting. No late night gluttony from now on!
Amanda:
I mourn a bit for the wide empty roads of New England. The ones I drive are narrow with either a drop or a stone wall on one side; still, it allows Paul to enjoy some beautiful scenery around Lake Tahoe and along the first of our three mountain passes - Luther. It's incredibly beautiful - all fir trees, valleys and rocky mountainside. No sheep, curiously. No Julie Andrews either.
Paul takes over after a couple of hours with a very wiggly mountain pass to negotiate - Monitor. All these passes are only opened from late May/early June due to the snow! Hard to believe when it's tipping 100oF outside.
We pass alot of lunatic cyclists free-wheeling down, and then much more lunatic cyclists peddling up. Paul reassures one that he's near the top and tells him he's a hero. The cyclist says he thinks he's mad. I reckon a bit of both, personally.
We stop in a bizarre place for lunch where Paul makes a beeline for men in cowboy boots and spurs, cowboy hats and odd facial topiary for a recommendation. We eat in a place where everything is very deep-fried - not sure if they were having a laugh at our expense.
We pass an amazing and huge lake - it's three times more saline than the sea and is eerily still. It picks up the pink of the rocks and is quite stunning. Then we enter the third of our passes - Tioga. Just outside the actual park we stop so I can verify that the white patches are indeed snow.
It's a long old trek to our B&B but it's lovely. Paul doesn't fancy eating out so we buy a pizza to eat on the veranda (and in turn, are meal for a variety of bitey insects). The pizza place is grim but the pizza is okay - helped, no doubt, by the wine.
It's a curious thing but nowhere stocks deet; the common response is "oh yeah, we get asked for that a lot. No, we don't have it". I suspect that the insects are paying backhanders and are certainly dining out on us. I hope we at least are finer fare than that pizza.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday 9 June 2013 Very Hot/Dry & Stormy
Paul:
It is 08.50 and it's forecast to rain heavily but the sky is a cloudless blue. Amanda is not particularly chatty at 08.00 at breakfast for two on the porch. Everything is prepared for us. Amanda becomes more animated when the two brown horses make noises and Alex, Steve's wife pops by to advise on walks, health and diet. She recommends the high ground to avoid the windless valley, Elizabeth Lake walk 4.5 miles. But it is about 40 miles drive back the way we came yesterday. Amanda thinks she has found another walk much closer: we'll see.. We hope to see bears and in anticipation attach bells to our rucksacks.
The Amanda walk turned out to be the walk we hadn't envisaged, largely due to us not having a map and a heavy reliance on signs, the hikers equivalent of SatNav I imagine.
The start point at White Wolf was a shorter drive. The walk or hike as it's called here was through some fabulous pine tree and granite rock scenery. We both get wet feet and legs crossing an abundance of streams. We headed for Lake Harden, which even the guide book tells us is not an exciting walk but does attract folk who like flowers.
Without the map we have no idea how far or near Lake Harden is from us. We plod along for almost two hours. The bells now removed from our rucksacks to improve our chances of seeing a black bear. We stop at a precipice looking down to a long canyon with a river a few thousand feet below. The trail seems to take us down here but I have had enough of being bitten by mozzies and attacked by small aggressive flies and who knows if the lake is there? The walk is billed as easy and this descent is the sort of thing you'd abseil down. We are both disappointed with ourselves. We eat bits of our packed lunch made by Steve's wife Alex; it's very good.
The trek back is hard going mostly up hill but with a raging storm echoing around the canyon we march onwards grim faced. We do not see black bears but we did see a large deer, some colourful burrowing birds, a lizard, some flowers and some fish so not all was lost on the day. Amanda wants to buy packets of salt to deter being bitten by leeches. I think she has altitude sickness.
As it was only 14.45 we raced around the valley hugging the road's edges that excites Amanda so much. We stop at El Capitan, a massive granite edifice rising more than three thousand feet from the meadows the largest single granite rock on Earth. I chat briefly to a 60 something old timer biker also taking photos. In the short time we discuss, Chris Bonnington and biker's dad's WWII posting to England. He is proud to live in Washington State because you can marry whatever age you like, your doctor can put you to sleep legally and you can smoke some weed when you want to. He shows me his stash inside the BMW 1200 top box. He is half way through Destiny With Death but finds it hard reading. I was quite sleepy at the wheel but after this I am wide awake. Amanda has severe tummy upset but we find time to buy a map and the Swedish Mustang purrs along at 75mph to get her back to Blackberry Inn. We make it......
We decide to visit the nearby Buck Meadow's diner just 10 minutes drive away. A couple in the early 70s sitting outside ask us, 'how's it going' and direct us to the entrance. The outdoor small speakers play an Eddie Valence song with heavy emphasis on the treble sound.
Inside the diner is doing a brisk trade. Katelynn our waitress cannot believe I just want a filet mignon steak cooked medium and a side salad with blue cheese sauce. I am interrogated about having chips, mash and baked potato but resist them all because I don't want the same stomach bloat as last night. She cheers up when I order a pint of Sierra Nevada beer in a heavy schooner glass. I wanted Anchor Steam beer but they ran out. The glass is ice frosted and a film of ice covers the beer's surface it is most welcome.
Amanda and I agree that our steaks are superb as are the salads; what a great diner this is. We finish dinner at 20.45 and Amanda drives the short route back mostly on the right side of the road. There is no TV or WiFi so Amanda eats her take away lemon pie and entertains me with local travel facts from her Big Moon Book of Yosemite Park Knowledge while I finish the Sonoma port. Tomorrow we think we will book an open top tram tour of the park. I hope to see Old Grizzly a huge Redwood 2,700 years old.
Amanda:
It's going to be hot and I fail to buy hair sunscreen. Paul points out the baseball caps but I pick up a kerchief - "How does it look?" I ask, "Ridiculous?". "No more so than the baseball cap" is the reassuring response. Deciding that I'd rather someone crossed my palm with silver than asked for a large fries and milkshake, I opt for the headscarf as the lesser of two evils.
Americans clearly love driving. Every walk they recommend to us requires a two hour drive each way. I look for the closest walk marked 'moderate' - an easy trip of just under 6 miles round trip. Except round trip clearly means something else here. We yomp for a good couple of hours (including - literally - through streams) before Paul comes to a halt and refuses to go on. On the way back I find I am glad of this as it's a long uphill trudge. To distract myself I examine the effect altitude has had on my hands, wrists and fingers which have blown up to bizarre swellings: I may turn into Violet Beauregarde and simply pop from the wrists. That should attract the evasive bears in any case.
I see a deer with enormously long ears and we walk through fields of wild orchids. This salvages the walk a bit for me - that and Paul's examination of a map which tells us we walked almost 10 miles. At least I have the right to be so tired! I am however severely displeased with the book and have to restrain myself from annotating it for future hikers, a trait I seemed to have inherited from my grandfather who was fond of correcting books. I often correct spelling and punctuation but this is a factual inaccuracy and a trap that future hikers may fall into! Still, it's not my book.
Paul almost causes an international incident by declining to have ANY sort of potato with his steak at dinner. The waitress almost cries. "Not even a baked one?" she asks plaintively before scurrying off to the kitchen to point out the weird Brits. In the land of the pie, I try lemon meringue - it's nowhere near as good as my mother's. I aspire to try a peach cobbler but such things only seem to exist in the movies. My canny tactic of wearing boots to deter the mozzies is a fail: they simply bite me through my clothing.
 |
| Mono Lake |
Paul:After breakfast we are back on the road, route 89 heading east to Yosemite National Park. Amanda drives us away from Cottage Inn and further into cowboy country towards Blackberry Inn some 150 miles away.
As I am not driving this bit I can spend time identifying our route the old fashioned way with a paper map and staring out at the big scenery all around: snow capped mountains towering over the pine forests ahead of us and scrub land and dessert around us dotted with huge impossibly blue lakes all set against the cloudless sky. After about two hours of motoring at about 35 mph I sense Amanda has had enough of driving and we change over just outside Marklesville on route 89. Out comes the SatNav and yards of cabling.
There are loads of cyclists battling to reach the summit of a 9,000 feet mountain in the hazy heat. We travel through three passes today: Luther, Monitor and Tioga and we stopped for another photograph. A man on a bike has just enough energy to say, "hi this is brutal". We have a short chat as he's moving so slowly and I tell him it's just another half mile which Amanda thinks is bad of me because it's nearer a mile and half to the top. He pulls away slowly saying he is crazy.
It is mid-day and 106 degrees F. We quickly pass through the towns of Coleville and Walker and take a lunch break at Bridgeport, proper cowboy town country where no accommodation is called Cottage Inn. It looks like Dodge City for cars. I tell Amanda I am going to ask the cowboy with spurs on his boots and the best Stetson in his group where we should eat hotdogs and burgers. She looks alarmed when she realises I am actually going to do this. I tell the group I am not from around here and ask about diners. Mr Stetson, who has a white beard, says, "are you from the south son"? I laugh and say, "not really, more from the east, a long way east" The group laugh, joke about being, 'outta town' and point Amanda and I to the diner behind us called Kool Kones where I chow down with a chilli dog and Amanda has a Corn Dog. All that mountain climbing in the car has made me hungry.
We turn down an offer to visit Bodie the ghost town of 1860 and the wildest most lawless cowboy city in Sierra Nevada's gold rush. Instead we plough on to the National Park pay $20.00 for a 7-day pass and drive 30 odd miles through the most picturesque scenery: waterfalls, ice, and more hills and pine trees. I have discovered cruise control for the car and am now able to look at the 9,000 feet altitude views without being concerned with foot pedals.
We reach Blackberry Inn around 17.00 the same time as a shed load of others. Steve the owner is in over drive and Amanda and I watch some humming birds and sit in the cool hall of the large house. Amanda looks for Montana on the very large globe.
Our apartment is just a month old and as big as a large studio flat: our home for four nights. The carpet is deep pile. There is no WiFi or TV so we're properly cut off from the World.
Dinner is a super size large pizza from Pizza Factory in Groveland eaten at about 21.20 on the porch outside our apartment called Yosemite Falls. It is still 80 degrees F. Our Sonoma wine, an RGB blended red goes really well and then next is the port wine which goes down well with cookies and a muffin saved from breakfast.
Sleep doesn't come easy because my tummy is so full to bursting. No late night gluttony from now on!
Amanda:
I mourn a bit for the wide empty roads of New England. The ones I drive are narrow with either a drop or a stone wall on one side; still, it allows Paul to enjoy some beautiful scenery around Lake Tahoe and along the first of our three mountain passes - Luther. It's incredibly beautiful - all fir trees, valleys and rocky mountainside. No sheep, curiously. No Julie Andrews either.
Paul takes over after a couple of hours with a very wiggly mountain pass to negotiate - Monitor. All these passes are only opened from late May/early June due to the snow! Hard to believe when it's tipping 100oF outside.
We pass alot of lunatic cyclists free-wheeling down, and then much more lunatic cyclists peddling up. Paul reassures one that he's near the top and tells him he's a hero. The cyclist says he thinks he's mad. I reckon a bit of both, personally.
We stop in a bizarre place for lunch where Paul makes a beeline for men in cowboy boots and spurs, cowboy hats and odd facial topiary for a recommendation. We eat in a place where everything is very deep-fried - not sure if they were having a laugh at our expense.
We pass an amazing and huge lake - it's three times more saline than the sea and is eerily still. It picks up the pink of the rocks and is quite stunning. Then we enter the third of our passes - Tioga. Just outside the actual park we stop so I can verify that the white patches are indeed snow.
It's a long old trek to our B&B but it's lovely. Paul doesn't fancy eating out so we buy a pizza to eat on the veranda (and in turn, are meal for a variety of bitey insects). The pizza place is grim but the pizza is okay - helped, no doubt, by the wine.
It's a curious thing but nowhere stocks deet; the common response is "oh yeah, we get asked for that a lot. No, we don't have it". I suspect that the insects are paying backhanders and are certainly dining out on us. I hope we at least are finer fare than that pizza.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday 9 June 2013 Very Hot/Dry & Stormy
 |
| Hummingbirds breakfasting at our B&B |
 |
| Apparently a path... |
 |
| Please don't tell the fashion police..... |
Paul:
It is 08.50 and it's forecast to rain heavily but the sky is a cloudless blue. Amanda is not particularly chatty at 08.00 at breakfast for two on the porch. Everything is prepared for us. Amanda becomes more animated when the two brown horses make noises and Alex, Steve's wife pops by to advise on walks, health and diet. She recommends the high ground to avoid the windless valley, Elizabeth Lake walk 4.5 miles. But it is about 40 miles drive back the way we came yesterday. Amanda thinks she has found another walk much closer: we'll see.. We hope to see bears and in anticipation attach bells to our rucksacks.
The Amanda walk turned out to be the walk we hadn't envisaged, largely due to us not having a map and a heavy reliance on signs, the hikers equivalent of SatNav I imagine.
The start point at White Wolf was a shorter drive. The walk or hike as it's called here was through some fabulous pine tree and granite rock scenery. We both get wet feet and legs crossing an abundance of streams. We headed for Lake Harden, which even the guide book tells us is not an exciting walk but does attract folk who like flowers.
Without the map we have no idea how far or near Lake Harden is from us. We plod along for almost two hours. The bells now removed from our rucksacks to improve our chances of seeing a black bear. We stop at a precipice looking down to a long canyon with a river a few thousand feet below. The trail seems to take us down here but I have had enough of being bitten by mozzies and attacked by small aggressive flies and who knows if the lake is there? The walk is billed as easy and this descent is the sort of thing you'd abseil down. We are both disappointed with ourselves. We eat bits of our packed lunch made by Steve's wife Alex; it's very good.
The trek back is hard going mostly up hill but with a raging storm echoing around the canyon we march onwards grim faced. We do not see black bears but we did see a large deer, some colourful burrowing birds, a lizard, some flowers and some fish so not all was lost on the day. Amanda wants to buy packets of salt to deter being bitten by leeches. I think she has altitude sickness.
As it was only 14.45 we raced around the valley hugging the road's edges that excites Amanda so much. We stop at El Capitan, a massive granite edifice rising more than three thousand feet from the meadows the largest single granite rock on Earth. I chat briefly to a 60 something old timer biker also taking photos. In the short time we discuss, Chris Bonnington and biker's dad's WWII posting to England. He is proud to live in Washington State because you can marry whatever age you like, your doctor can put you to sleep legally and you can smoke some weed when you want to. He shows me his stash inside the BMW 1200 top box. He is half way through Destiny With Death but finds it hard reading. I was quite sleepy at the wheel but after this I am wide awake. Amanda has severe tummy upset but we find time to buy a map and the Swedish Mustang purrs along at 75mph to get her back to Blackberry Inn. We make it......
We decide to visit the nearby Buck Meadow's diner just 10 minutes drive away. A couple in the early 70s sitting outside ask us, 'how's it going' and direct us to the entrance. The outdoor small speakers play an Eddie Valence song with heavy emphasis on the treble sound.
Inside the diner is doing a brisk trade. Katelynn our waitress cannot believe I just want a filet mignon steak cooked medium and a side salad with blue cheese sauce. I am interrogated about having chips, mash and baked potato but resist them all because I don't want the same stomach bloat as last night. She cheers up when I order a pint of Sierra Nevada beer in a heavy schooner glass. I wanted Anchor Steam beer but they ran out. The glass is ice frosted and a film of ice covers the beer's surface it is most welcome.
Amanda and I agree that our steaks are superb as are the salads; what a great diner this is. We finish dinner at 20.45 and Amanda drives the short route back mostly on the right side of the road. There is no TV or WiFi so Amanda eats her take away lemon pie and entertains me with local travel facts from her Big Moon Book of Yosemite Park Knowledge while I finish the Sonoma port. Tomorrow we think we will book an open top tram tour of the park. I hope to see Old Grizzly a huge Redwood 2,700 years old.
Amanda:
It's going to be hot and I fail to buy hair sunscreen. Paul points out the baseball caps but I pick up a kerchief - "How does it look?" I ask, "Ridiculous?". "No more so than the baseball cap" is the reassuring response. Deciding that I'd rather someone crossed my palm with silver than asked for a large fries and milkshake, I opt for the headscarf as the lesser of two evils.
Americans clearly love driving. Every walk they recommend to us requires a two hour drive each way. I look for the closest walk marked 'moderate' - an easy trip of just under 6 miles round trip. Except round trip clearly means something else here. We yomp for a good couple of hours (including - literally - through streams) before Paul comes to a halt and refuses to go on. On the way back I find I am glad of this as it's a long uphill trudge. To distract myself I examine the effect altitude has had on my hands, wrists and fingers which have blown up to bizarre swellings: I may turn into Violet Beauregarde and simply pop from the wrists. That should attract the evasive bears in any case.
I see a deer with enormously long ears and we walk through fields of wild orchids. This salvages the walk a bit for me - that and Paul's examination of a map which tells us we walked almost 10 miles. At least I have the right to be so tired! I am however severely displeased with the book and have to restrain myself from annotating it for future hikers, a trait I seemed to have inherited from my grandfather who was fond of correcting books. I often correct spelling and punctuation but this is a factual inaccuracy and a trap that future hikers may fall into! Still, it's not my book.
Paul almost causes an international incident by declining to have ANY sort of potato with his steak at dinner. The waitress almost cries. "Not even a baked one?" she asks plaintively before scurrying off to the kitchen to point out the weird Brits. In the land of the pie, I try lemon meringue - it's nowhere near as good as my mother's. I aspire to try a peach cobbler but such things only seem to exist in the movies. My canny tactic of wearing boots to deter the mozzies is a fail: they simply bite me through my clothing.
Friday, 7 June 2013
Mad dogs and English men
Friday 7 June 2013 Very Hot/Dry
Paul:
The breakfast is served by the happiest, nicest woman in Lake Tahoe City. Afterwards Amanda and I mosey on down to the lake beach, which is 72 miles in circumference.
Amanda drove us into town controlling the 225 bhp engine with expert aplomb. Like most cowboy folk we need to wash our clothes and repel insects and Safeway does not disappoint. Staff are so helpful here and walk with us to make sure we are not taking items out of the shop.
The rest of the afternoon is spent on the Tahoe Gal boat: three hours in temperatures of 100 degrees F. An old Labrador called Cartman sees us off. On the upper deck of the boat we sit without hats staring across the emerald lake to the sound of the captain's narration on our outward bound journey and the entire Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon album to bring us home again. Americans wear hats or stay inside the boat. The scenery is spectacular, the snow capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada sweeping down the thick pine forested slopes to the golden sand and green/blue lake.
We are set to visit a micro brewery pub this evening. Driving back with the roof down we now take it turns to watch the roof contort itself into a hard top again.
This evening we dine at the Mountain Brewery Company. I get through three craft beers and a huge meal shared with Amanda, BBQ ribs and filled potato skins. There is easily enough for two even though they're meant to be eaten by one person. Four large flat silent screen TVs in each corner keep local diners of all ages occupied with sport. Music is provided mostly by Fleetwood Mac and Lynyrrd Skynrrd.
Stuffed to the gills Amanda drives us back and I change into a green flower patterned smock as supplied by the cowboy owners. Tomorrow is another long drive: to Yosemite National Park.
Amanda:
Apparently the insects only bite the tourists since we are helpfully told in both the pharmacy and the supermarket that although people do ask for insect repellent, they don't actually have any. The Americans' interpretation of a pharmacy is much racier than ours: they sell booze and cigarettes too. But not insect repellent.
We spend most of the day on a boat. I am amused by the unsubtle machinations of the middle aged American women in the queue - who have to go and stand out of their place in the queue to stand in the shade. This gets them to the start of the queue whereupon they leg it on to the boat, straight to the best tables in the sun! I slather on the sunscreen but miss a patch on one hand, one foot and my parting. The redness has developed nicely - at least is proves the sunscreen works. My head now not only sports ungainly frizz but a scarlet stripe of skin. And I'd adopted my Syrian headwear too - too late, alas.
The view from the boat is beautiful and we float along admiring the view as the water changes from deep blue to violet to emerald green. At far point, the boat turns, the occasional narration stopped and blaring music starts up. I ask the waitress why and she told us that it's very peaceful and quiet so people like music! We retreat from the speakers but the sensation of tranquillity is lost.
Our dinner choice is based on beer - they brew their own. We order a starter and main between us - and fail to finish it. How can anyone eat that much?!!
Paul's not kidding about the smock. He's worn an array of robes - white waffle on Queen Mary, an extraordinary black satin, fur-lined number in Sonoma that made him look like a Mafioso but this is the most humorous: a cream brushed cotton smock with green pictures of pine trees and log cabins. He looks - at best - Amish. I threaten to video him but I fear the retaliation.
No wifi now until Wednesday night....
Paul:
The breakfast is served by the happiest, nicest woman in Lake Tahoe City. Afterwards Amanda and I mosey on down to the lake beach, which is 72 miles in circumference.
Amanda drove us into town controlling the 225 bhp engine with expert aplomb. Like most cowboy folk we need to wash our clothes and repel insects and Safeway does not disappoint. Staff are so helpful here and walk with us to make sure we are not taking items out of the shop.
The rest of the afternoon is spent on the Tahoe Gal boat: three hours in temperatures of 100 degrees F. An old Labrador called Cartman sees us off. On the upper deck of the boat we sit without hats staring across the emerald lake to the sound of the captain's narration on our outward bound journey and the entire Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon album to bring us home again. Americans wear hats or stay inside the boat. The scenery is spectacular, the snow capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada sweeping down the thick pine forested slopes to the golden sand and green/blue lake.
We are set to visit a micro brewery pub this evening. Driving back with the roof down we now take it turns to watch the roof contort itself into a hard top again.
This evening we dine at the Mountain Brewery Company. I get through three craft beers and a huge meal shared with Amanda, BBQ ribs and filled potato skins. There is easily enough for two even though they're meant to be eaten by one person. Four large flat silent screen TVs in each corner keep local diners of all ages occupied with sport. Music is provided mostly by Fleetwood Mac and Lynyrrd Skynrrd.
Stuffed to the gills Amanda drives us back and I change into a green flower patterned smock as supplied by the cowboy owners. Tomorrow is another long drive: to Yosemite National Park.
Amanda:
Apparently the insects only bite the tourists since we are helpfully told in both the pharmacy and the supermarket that although people do ask for insect repellent, they don't actually have any. The Americans' interpretation of a pharmacy is much racier than ours: they sell booze and cigarettes too. But not insect repellent.
We spend most of the day on a boat. I am amused by the unsubtle machinations of the middle aged American women in the queue - who have to go and stand out of their place in the queue to stand in the shade. This gets them to the start of the queue whereupon they leg it on to the boat, straight to the best tables in the sun! I slather on the sunscreen but miss a patch on one hand, one foot and my parting. The redness has developed nicely - at least is proves the sunscreen works. My head now not only sports ungainly frizz but a scarlet stripe of skin. And I'd adopted my Syrian headwear too - too late, alas.
The view from the boat is beautiful and we float along admiring the view as the water changes from deep blue to violet to emerald green. At far point, the boat turns, the occasional narration stopped and blaring music starts up. I ask the waitress why and she told us that it's very peaceful and quiet so people like music! We retreat from the speakers but the sensation of tranquillity is lost.
Our dinner choice is based on beer - they brew their own. We order a starter and main between us - and fail to finish it. How can anyone eat that much?!!
Paul's not kidding about the smock. He's worn an array of robes - white waffle on Queen Mary, an extraordinary black satin, fur-lined number in Sonoma that made him look like a Mafioso but this is the most humorous: a cream brushed cotton smock with green pictures of pine trees and log cabins. He looks - at best - Amish. I threaten to video him but I fear the retaliation.
No wifi now until Wednesday night....
Chips with everything
Thursday 6 June 2013 Very Hot/Dry
Paul:
We had been warned by Les that the Mancunian cook was a bit of a character and often his comments could be misconstrued as being offensive. At breakfast the Manchester cook did not disappoint and Amanda and I immediately detected a big chip on his shoulder about posh London accents and Brits class system. He told the breakfast party how proud he was of Manchester followed by a mildly racist joke about his close mate who speaks with a thick West Indian attending Edinburgh university but too ashamed to speak because of all the posh people there. The ten Americans and Canadians at the table seemed bemused but smiled politely.
Our first stop was the picturesque Gloria Ferrar winery to buy three bottles of award winning fizz. Then onto the Fremont diner to eat smoked pulled pork and corn bread and to surprise Dan's wife Bridget. Fabulous food also included sweet potato fries [chips to us] and salted caramel shakes. Bridget wasn't surprised. She thought she served us last week and looked familiar. She keeps Dan in order.
Joining Interstate 80 is a bit like taking part in the Gumball rally and Rollerball combined. Cars regularly hurtle towards us from behind and both sides and once in front slam brakes on to avoid cars in front of them. I quickly get the hang of this and for 100 miles Amanda clutches the door handle and seat leaning back into her seat whilst pressing an imaginary brake pedal. Outside it is 93 degrees F and the six lane east bound freeway shimmers.
On a gentler road we climb to 7,000 feet, the temperature drops to 60 degrees in the Sierra Nevada. I miss the turning to Cottage Inn, Lake Tahoe City and go back. Huge trees everywhere but no bears at this time of day.
Our room is designed by cowboys, real ones with stetsons and lassos. In barbed wire above the bed is the word, 'howdy'.
The Swedish Mustang's roof is controlled by microchips and at the press of the button the roof folds down like a Transformer from the films: amazing.
I am too exhausted to eat out so we load up with cheese, Kettle chips and biscuits from Safeway. We chat to local celeb Mark Jennings who makes travel shows. We convince him we aren't Irish or Welsh and continue looking for cheese. Back at the ranch we wash them down with red wine. Our attempt to sit outside on carved wooden seats amongst the long grass and trees to keep an eye out for bears is short lived. The attacks by bitey insects is too much and we return to the ranch. I am asleep by 22.00 but am woken up in the night periodically by the rustling and crashing of noises outside. It is the man next door not a bear.
Amanda:
I still have the taste of toothpaste in my mouth as I sit down in possibly the most beautiful vineyard in the world with a "flight" of fizz in front of me (about a third of a glass of three varieties). It's the sort of place I could sit for a long time in the sunshine but we have a long journey ahead. I almost vote to skip our planned lunch in the Freemont Diner but I'm glad we didn't - it looks like something from a film and we split an "awesome" pulled pork sandwich and sweet potato fries. Trying Paul's salted caramel milkshake, I order my own (a first as I don't like milk and am not bothered by ice cream) - it's Nutella and almost as yummy as his.
Paul negotiates the interstate with aplomb before we climb the Sierra Nevada mountain range (in the car) to descend a little the other side to Lake Tahoe. It's very beautiful and our hotel has much bear memorabilia - and yes, they do have bears here but although I keep looking, I don't see any. My hair civilising tools are equally evasive - still in San Francisco and I wonder if we will ever be reunited. Our room cheers me up though as it is hilarious - themed right down to the loo roll holder, it's a cowboy room. Most things are made of horseshoes and even the plant pot is a pair of cowboy boots - the curtains are denim, held back by bandanas. Yeehaw! I do a quick 'Achy Breaky' line dance when no-one's looking.
We go to buy cheese for an evening al fresco picnic; I have come over all Sonoma, I am appalled to be directed to 'cheese' in the 'deli' in Safeway (of all places). I have never seen so many varieties of processed cheese. I think back to Brian describing his "cheese crush" - a cheese rolled in the Maquis herb of Corsica; I think he would cry. I simply buy pretzels.
Paul:
We had been warned by Les that the Mancunian cook was a bit of a character and often his comments could be misconstrued as being offensive. At breakfast the Manchester cook did not disappoint and Amanda and I immediately detected a big chip on his shoulder about posh London accents and Brits class system. He told the breakfast party how proud he was of Manchester followed by a mildly racist joke about his close mate who speaks with a thick West Indian attending Edinburgh university but too ashamed to speak because of all the posh people there. The ten Americans and Canadians at the table seemed bemused but smiled politely.
Our first stop was the picturesque Gloria Ferrar winery to buy three bottles of award winning fizz. Then onto the Fremont diner to eat smoked pulled pork and corn bread and to surprise Dan's wife Bridget. Fabulous food also included sweet potato fries [chips to us] and salted caramel shakes. Bridget wasn't surprised. She thought she served us last week and looked familiar. She keeps Dan in order.
Joining Interstate 80 is a bit like taking part in the Gumball rally and Rollerball combined. Cars regularly hurtle towards us from behind and both sides and once in front slam brakes on to avoid cars in front of them. I quickly get the hang of this and for 100 miles Amanda clutches the door handle and seat leaning back into her seat whilst pressing an imaginary brake pedal. Outside it is 93 degrees F and the six lane east bound freeway shimmers.
On a gentler road we climb to 7,000 feet, the temperature drops to 60 degrees in the Sierra Nevada. I miss the turning to Cottage Inn, Lake Tahoe City and go back. Huge trees everywhere but no bears at this time of day.
Our room is designed by cowboys, real ones with stetsons and lassos. In barbed wire above the bed is the word, 'howdy'.
The Swedish Mustang's roof is controlled by microchips and at the press of the button the roof folds down like a Transformer from the films: amazing.
I am too exhausted to eat out so we load up with cheese, Kettle chips and biscuits from Safeway. We chat to local celeb Mark Jennings who makes travel shows. We convince him we aren't Irish or Welsh and continue looking for cheese. Back at the ranch we wash them down with red wine. Our attempt to sit outside on carved wooden seats amongst the long grass and trees to keep an eye out for bears is short lived. The attacks by bitey insects is too much and we return to the ranch. I am asleep by 22.00 but am woken up in the night periodically by the rustling and crashing of noises outside. It is the man next door not a bear.
Amanda:
I still have the taste of toothpaste in my mouth as I sit down in possibly the most beautiful vineyard in the world with a "flight" of fizz in front of me (about a third of a glass of three varieties). It's the sort of place I could sit for a long time in the sunshine but we have a long journey ahead. I almost vote to skip our planned lunch in the Freemont Diner but I'm glad we didn't - it looks like something from a film and we split an "awesome" pulled pork sandwich and sweet potato fries. Trying Paul's salted caramel milkshake, I order my own (a first as I don't like milk and am not bothered by ice cream) - it's Nutella and almost as yummy as his.
Paul negotiates the interstate with aplomb before we climb the Sierra Nevada mountain range (in the car) to descend a little the other side to Lake Tahoe. It's very beautiful and our hotel has much bear memorabilia - and yes, they do have bears here but although I keep looking, I don't see any. My hair civilising tools are equally evasive - still in San Francisco and I wonder if we will ever be reunited. Our room cheers me up though as it is hilarious - themed right down to the loo roll holder, it's a cowboy room. Most things are made of horseshoes and even the plant pot is a pair of cowboy boots - the curtains are denim, held back by bandanas. Yeehaw! I do a quick 'Achy Breaky' line dance when no-one's looking.
We go to buy cheese for an evening al fresco picnic; I have come over all Sonoma, I am appalled to be directed to 'cheese' in the 'deli' in Safeway (of all places). I have never seen so many varieties of processed cheese. I think back to Brian describing his "cheese crush" - a cheese rolled in the Maquis herb of Corsica; I think he would cry. I simply buy pretzels.
Seven deadly zins
Wednesday 5 June 2013 Hot/Dry
Paul:
Breakfast is at a communal table: 10 adults. Amanda and I are a novelty coming from London. The Americans main topics of chat are: the Cotswolds, Dover Castle, burning priests and 9/11. The 9/11 chat was sparked off by the recent Boston marathon bombing but the breakfast folk all knew where they were on 9/11 and what they were doing.
Today is the wine tour with Dan Wood from Terrific Wine tours. Just four of us: Don and Mary Ann from Seattle making up the party. I drink wine all day, about 40 different sorts in total, mostly in the sunshine rather than in the shade.
Dan the driver has a ZZ Top beard and is really into army stuff, military toys and his four acre farm of chickens. He also loves the local wines and we visit four vineyards; each is different in its own way. The wackiest is Kaz who grows organic vines using boiled vinegar to kill bugs and hawks to kill birds. He'd like a predator to kill raccoons. He lived in Guildford for 6 months arranging photo shots for British Leyland cars and now he's here. The skeleton hanging from the ceiling is his old dad. The most generous vineyard is Naked Wine. Suzanne, originally from Norwich, takes us on a short tour before releasing 30 wines, red and white, to us. She joins in after the 12th glass. Their outfit provides investment to young growers who don't have the means or land to make wine themselves. For £20.00 a month a can join the club and get cheap wines. We'll think about it.
We've drank: Zins, Cabs, Pinots, Sauv Blancs, Rausannes, Chards and Port wines: fantastic...
The conversation veers between where to get good BBQ pulled pork and Boeing's approach to military research during the 1960's to the present day. Don has worked for Boeing for 33 years and he and Mary Ann spent most of their lives on airbases. Dan was in the military posted to Cobra helicopters. It turns out that Dan's wife, Bridget, works in a pulled pork restaurant and we'll go tomorrow. We're to surprise her without mentioning we know Dan. Tonight we go to the Mexican restaurant at Kaz's recommendation. We should eat, 'Carnetus', he says.
Back from the Mexican. It was a disappointment mostly because the waitress spoke so little English that drinks arrived that weren't ordered and our starters just didn't arrive. The grateful smile never left her face whether she brought the right things or not. Amanda and I eventually made bets as to what would arrive at our table.
Amanda:
Considering that I really don't like to drink during the day, I seem to have done quite well today. The number of wines was literally and figuratively dizzying. It was an interesting day with beautiful scenery in the sunshine. The other couple on the trip were from Seattle and the man sounded just like George Clooney; he didn't look like him though. And he didn't stop talking! Incessant chatter - we had to wait for him to finish his lunch which he was prevented from doing by never shutting up! The boys had a detailed conversation about helicopters and Mrs Clooney and I rolled our eyes at one another. We come away from the day with 4 bottles of wine and a half bottle of rose port, all of which we need to consume before our return to blighty.
We go to a recommended Mexican for dinner: I think the kindest thing to say about it was that it was indifferent. They forgot our starter and brought me the wrong drink (twice). The food was lack-lustre and we are in and out within 45 minutes. We walk around the square but the temperature drops dramatically in the evening and it's not wandering weather; we try not to laugh as three 13 year old girls go past with one saying to the other "You shouldn't say 'whoah' too often: it's offensive". Tomorrow we move on to Lake Tahoe - a step closer to being reunited with my straighteners and big brush.
Paul:
Breakfast is at a communal table: 10 adults. Amanda and I are a novelty coming from London. The Americans main topics of chat are: the Cotswolds, Dover Castle, burning priests and 9/11. The 9/11 chat was sparked off by the recent Boston marathon bombing but the breakfast folk all knew where they were on 9/11 and what they were doing.
Today is the wine tour with Dan Wood from Terrific Wine tours. Just four of us: Don and Mary Ann from Seattle making up the party. I drink wine all day, about 40 different sorts in total, mostly in the sunshine rather than in the shade.
Dan the driver has a ZZ Top beard and is really into army stuff, military toys and his four acre farm of chickens. He also loves the local wines and we visit four vineyards; each is different in its own way. The wackiest is Kaz who grows organic vines using boiled vinegar to kill bugs and hawks to kill birds. He'd like a predator to kill raccoons. He lived in Guildford for 6 months arranging photo shots for British Leyland cars and now he's here. The skeleton hanging from the ceiling is his old dad. The most generous vineyard is Naked Wine. Suzanne, originally from Norwich, takes us on a short tour before releasing 30 wines, red and white, to us. She joins in after the 12th glass. Their outfit provides investment to young growers who don't have the means or land to make wine themselves. For £20.00 a month a can join the club and get cheap wines. We'll think about it.
We've drank: Zins, Cabs, Pinots, Sauv Blancs, Rausannes, Chards and Port wines: fantastic...
The conversation veers between where to get good BBQ pulled pork and Boeing's approach to military research during the 1960's to the present day. Don has worked for Boeing for 33 years and he and Mary Ann spent most of their lives on airbases. Dan was in the military posted to Cobra helicopters. It turns out that Dan's wife, Bridget, works in a pulled pork restaurant and we'll go tomorrow. We're to surprise her without mentioning we know Dan. Tonight we go to the Mexican restaurant at Kaz's recommendation. We should eat, 'Carnetus', he says.
Back from the Mexican. It was a disappointment mostly because the waitress spoke so little English that drinks arrived that weren't ordered and our starters just didn't arrive. The grateful smile never left her face whether she brought the right things or not. Amanda and I eventually made bets as to what would arrive at our table.
Amanda:
Considering that I really don't like to drink during the day, I seem to have done quite well today. The number of wines was literally and figuratively dizzying. It was an interesting day with beautiful scenery in the sunshine. The other couple on the trip were from Seattle and the man sounded just like George Clooney; he didn't look like him though. And he didn't stop talking! Incessant chatter - we had to wait for him to finish his lunch which he was prevented from doing by never shutting up! The boys had a detailed conversation about helicopters and Mrs Clooney and I rolled our eyes at one another. We come away from the day with 4 bottles of wine and a half bottle of rose port, all of which we need to consume before our return to blighty.
We go to a recommended Mexican for dinner: I think the kindest thing to say about it was that it was indifferent. They forgot our starter and brought me the wrong drink (twice). The food was lack-lustre and we are in and out within 45 minutes. We walk around the square but the temperature drops dramatically in the evening and it's not wandering weather; we try not to laugh as three 13 year old girls go past with one saying to the other "You shouldn't say 'whoah' too often: it's offensive". Tomorrow we move on to Lake Tahoe - a step closer to being reunited with my straighteners and big brush.
We're on the road to nowhere!
Tuesday 4 June 2013 Hot/dry
Paul:
The first part of the journey was simple. Packed early and off the airport to collect our hire car. We did not eat breakfast because the hotel kitchen staff took longer to pour granola into a bowl for us than it took for a couple on the next table to receive a cooked breakfast. Otherwise the Chancellor hotel is very good and we'd stay again.
I had been under the illusion that we'd ordered a Ford Mustang convertible but Sancho at Budget car says it is not available. After explaining this is our honeymoon and we had hired it he says we can have one at an additional $5 per day or have a Volvo C70 T5 convertible. We take Sweden's finest Ford Mustang. It has no handbook or any guidance to explain the controls, tyre pressures, how the roof goes up and down; the sort of things most car hire firms tell you about. At least we know the car is petrol because there is no indication what fuel it takes.
Out on route 101 everything is going fine: the satnav voice is working well and Amanda repeats what the satnav says. We are headed for golden Gate bridge and it is there things go very , 'wrong. Satnav directs us back into San Francisco and onto some cable car rails during the lunch time rush of people and cars. A blind man steps in front of us and walks slowly across our path as a cable car loom up behind us in the rear view mirror, clang clang clang......a tense moment passes and I floor the gas pedal careering safely around the blind man speeding towards Union St j/w route 101. Amanda clutches the seat squealing and the satnav says, 'recalculate'. We head back towards the airport and restart our journey.
All is well and the Golden Gate bridge disappears in the rear view mirror. We head for Sausalito, as recommended by Dave at work and eat at Scomas pier restaurant looking out over the bay towards SF. Amanda spills all her Pepsi and the waiters replace it without comment, fabulous service. I have Clam Chowder in a sour dough bread bowl. Amanda eats Crab roll salad: delicious.
It's getting late now so there's no time to stop at Muir Woods to see huge Redwoods. We eventually reach our Senoma destination at 17.00. I am exhausted and need to collapse. Les Waller the B&B co owner has other ideas........he takes us on a tour of the B&B, explains the 17 miles of wine valley country and the different vineyards and wine styles. We have a demonstration as to how the fridge works and the different keys for doors. Breakfast is 09.00 sharp and coffee available from 07.30 hours.
Shock.......Amanda left her hair tools back in the Chancellor hotel in SF. She is furious with herself and says the irons alone cost £120.00. I don't know what these are but I can see they are the equivalent of a cheap priced case of NV fizz.
Amanda's agitation passes by the second once she is settled into the Girl & Fig restaurant at the end of our road. Complementary fizz, a cocktail and a theatrically camp waiter called Brian conspire to bring a smile to Amanda's face. The meal was superb. I had a Rausanne with soft shell crab to start and a Flounder poached in butter as a main. The cheese accompanied five reds and pudding washed down with a Port style wine made by Chris Loxton from Australia. Brian said he really enjoyed serving us and hoped we'd be back soon.
Senoma is such a pretty town almost like Bar Harbor in New England; friendly folk taking in the warm night air before returning to their homes. In the room I sleep quickly.
Amanda:
Poor Paul. Driving a different car in a different country on a different side of the road looks fiendishly tricky - and then the sat nav lady directs us on to a tram track. Paul's long-standing deep mistrust of 'sat nav lady' seems to be proven right. He never much liked her in England but now she's really blown it - he harbours a suspicion that she's doing it deliberately to annoy him. It seems unlikely to me but there's no denying that she seems to have gaffed. I pretend I know how to get us back on course and bluff my way back on to the freeway. Looking over the Golden Gate bridge when we finally get there seems disloyal to Paul who's having to concentrate on the whole driving thing, so I just peep a couple of times. Trickier roads lie ahead after lunch overlooking San Francisco from the other side of the bay as Paul manoeuvres around a 40 min stretch of hairpin bends - only for us to run out of time to get out of the car and re-trace the bends. Sonoma is further away than we had been led to believe but the boutique hotel is lovely. I try unsuccessfully not to blub when I realise that I've left my hairdryer brush and straightening irons in SF. All I have is a mini hairbrush and a comb; my hair looks fluffy. A glass of fizz and a lavender mojito later I feel a bit more cheerful. We have a fabulous meal and our waiter is, what I believe is called a hoot - the wine is amazing and I have one of my best puddings ever.
Prohibition
Monday 3 June 2013 Hot/Dry
Paul:
We still wake up on Eastern time giving us plenty of time to get ready, eat breakfast at Boudin and take a boat to Alcatraz. I believe I am getting so fat eating huge meals here. Breakfast at 0840 is Swiss cheese, bacon and bell peppers in a sour bread bowl. I am still full at 15.00.
Alcatraz is chaotic with people, some leaving some entering and some standing about dazed staring at sea gulls. I don't think Alcatraz would have been the same had it been run like this. Its population started with the Gold Rush in the 1870s and it became a prison for people who broke the Prohibition laws in the 20s and 30s. Amanda and I spend an interesting 3 hours on our audio tour of the prison commentary provided by former guards and inmates. I buy a prisoner's coat for $60.00 to wear in London when it gets colder, probably around July. The money goes towards the upkeep of the island and stops Indian protesters from returning again to claim the island as their own.
Still full from breakfast Amanda takes me to a Mexican restaurant she heard is very good. Despite being full I eat lunch and it is good. We finish eating at 15.00 and walk it off around Union Square. We visit the pharmacy for essential Senoma and Yosemite National Park supplies. Amanda is away to buy some jeans and I return to the hotel. Tonight we visit a Prohibition Speakeasy and a Chinese restaurant, our last night here.
We look so conspicuous pacing in a circle with a map looking for 501. The Prohibition bar is well disguised: a plain dark oak wooden door nestling in a red brick 4 storey building on the corner of Geary Street. An Indian couple join us at the door after we've knocked. I tell them if it's the wrong door I'm legging it with Amanda. At 18.30 we enter into a very dark room after giving the password and showing proof of ID. The bar is lit by candles but soon our eyes adjust and within minutes we are downing our first of three cocktails each listening to jazz standards and songs from Cole Porter, Puttin' on the Ritz'. Lindsey our waitress is congratulated on her dress by Amanda as I neck my third drink, Medicine Man. At 20.05 hours we have left it far too late to walk to the Chinese R&G restaurant so we take a yellow cab.
The restaurant is heaving with Chinese and us Ferrang types. Our order is taken quickly but the first course takes 40 minutes to arrive. The first course is mine double BBQ cooked pork, enough for two easily. Amanda and I have over ordered and the meal becomes an episode of a, 'Man vs Food', TV show. The remaining courses arrive quickly jostling for position on our small table. It is fabulous and the short, thin waiter cannot believe we are ploughing through: Peking duck, lemon chicken; crispy fried fig beef, Singapore noodles and prawns in black bean, a typical Friday night meal after closing time. Washed down with a 2011 Gewurztraminer we leave the restaurant to the applause from Chinese waiters and walk the 11 blocks back to our hotel. As we approach Powell Street j/w Sutter St the familiar voice of the black beggar rings out, "give me your spare money, just give me your money you arsehole!". All is well, it's just like 126 W street j/w Malcom X Boulevard all over again.
Amanda:
"Alcatraz - it's so much more than just a prison" the boat commentary concludes earnestly. I think they have hired that same man who does the voiceovers for cheesy action film trailers. Paul and I fall about laughing but we are the only ones.
It's a fascinating visit and I am about to exclaim disapprovingly over the glamorising of criminals by selling replications of their clothing when I notice Paul clutching a peacoat. Oh. Paul who ate a loaf of bread stuffed with breakfast at 9am does not want lunch so I invite him to watch me eat a Mexican starter to guard against the strong cocktails coming up next. He caves and has a starter too.
I want to wear my teal satin cocktail dress but Paul counsels against it. I think it would be fine for the bar but not for the chinese. Finding the bar is funny as they pretend to be a bar from the prohibition - you have to find an anonymous address, give the password you've been issued and are then ushered in to intense darkness. We are seated at a small booth with a directory of unfamiliar cocktails - we adjust to both the lack of light and the menu and having been determined to have only two cocktails, somehow find ourselves having a third. We head off for Chinese - it's unfamiliar American chinese and the waiter firmly tells us we needed half a duck. We did not. I cave very quickly and Paul manfully ploughs through a respectable amount.
Paul:
We still wake up on Eastern time giving us plenty of time to get ready, eat breakfast at Boudin and take a boat to Alcatraz. I believe I am getting so fat eating huge meals here. Breakfast at 0840 is Swiss cheese, bacon and bell peppers in a sour bread bowl. I am still full at 15.00.
Alcatraz is chaotic with people, some leaving some entering and some standing about dazed staring at sea gulls. I don't think Alcatraz would have been the same had it been run like this. Its population started with the Gold Rush in the 1870s and it became a prison for people who broke the Prohibition laws in the 20s and 30s. Amanda and I spend an interesting 3 hours on our audio tour of the prison commentary provided by former guards and inmates. I buy a prisoner's coat for $60.00 to wear in London when it gets colder, probably around July. The money goes towards the upkeep of the island and stops Indian protesters from returning again to claim the island as their own.
Still full from breakfast Amanda takes me to a Mexican restaurant she heard is very good. Despite being full I eat lunch and it is good. We finish eating at 15.00 and walk it off around Union Square. We visit the pharmacy for essential Senoma and Yosemite National Park supplies. Amanda is away to buy some jeans and I return to the hotel. Tonight we visit a Prohibition Speakeasy and a Chinese restaurant, our last night here.
We look so conspicuous pacing in a circle with a map looking for 501. The Prohibition bar is well disguised: a plain dark oak wooden door nestling in a red brick 4 storey building on the corner of Geary Street. An Indian couple join us at the door after we've knocked. I tell them if it's the wrong door I'm legging it with Amanda. At 18.30 we enter into a very dark room after giving the password and showing proof of ID. The bar is lit by candles but soon our eyes adjust and within minutes we are downing our first of three cocktails each listening to jazz standards and songs from Cole Porter, Puttin' on the Ritz'. Lindsey our waitress is congratulated on her dress by Amanda as I neck my third drink, Medicine Man. At 20.05 hours we have left it far too late to walk to the Chinese R&G restaurant so we take a yellow cab.
The restaurant is heaving with Chinese and us Ferrang types. Our order is taken quickly but the first course takes 40 minutes to arrive. The first course is mine double BBQ cooked pork, enough for two easily. Amanda and I have over ordered and the meal becomes an episode of a, 'Man vs Food', TV show. The remaining courses arrive quickly jostling for position on our small table. It is fabulous and the short, thin waiter cannot believe we are ploughing through: Peking duck, lemon chicken; crispy fried fig beef, Singapore noodles and prawns in black bean, a typical Friday night meal after closing time. Washed down with a 2011 Gewurztraminer we leave the restaurant to the applause from Chinese waiters and walk the 11 blocks back to our hotel. As we approach Powell Street j/w Sutter St the familiar voice of the black beggar rings out, "give me your spare money, just give me your money you arsehole!". All is well, it's just like 126 W street j/w Malcom X Boulevard all over again.
Amanda:
"Alcatraz - it's so much more than just a prison" the boat commentary concludes earnestly. I think they have hired that same man who does the voiceovers for cheesy action film trailers. Paul and I fall about laughing but we are the only ones.
It's a fascinating visit and I am about to exclaim disapprovingly over the glamorising of criminals by selling replications of their clothing when I notice Paul clutching a peacoat. Oh. Paul who ate a loaf of bread stuffed with breakfast at 9am does not want lunch so I invite him to watch me eat a Mexican starter to guard against the strong cocktails coming up next. He caves and has a starter too.
I want to wear my teal satin cocktail dress but Paul counsels against it. I think it would be fine for the bar but not for the chinese. Finding the bar is funny as they pretend to be a bar from the prohibition - you have to find an anonymous address, give the password you've been issued and are then ushered in to intense darkness. We are seated at a small booth with a directory of unfamiliar cocktails - we adjust to both the lack of light and the menu and having been determined to have only two cocktails, somehow find ourselves having a third. We head off for Chinese - it's unfamiliar American chinese and the waiter firmly tells us we needed half a duck. We did not. I cave very quickly and Paul manfully ploughs through a respectable amount.
Pizza the action
Sunday 2 June 2013 Sunny/Dry/Hot
Paul:
My first impressions of SF are that 3 languages dominate: English, Spanish and Chinese. Men around our hotel speak in a lisping theatrically loud camp way and women dressed in Prada carry small dogs on their shoulder just as a brickie carries a hod. The cable cars cling clang up and down the extremely steep gradients, not one is less than 1:5 and most are 1:4 and 1:3!
We have several recommendations for eating. Breakfast at Cafe de Presse was superb. Some diners were provided with meals they didn't ask for creating wonderful opportunities for aggrieved parties to perform some ham acting. The rest of morning is devoted to a 3 hour movie tour of the town. We starred in our own thriller chasing the tour bus on foot along Geary Street towards Nob Hill after it failed to stop for us. Some tense minutes pass when a character called Brian used satellite technology to target the tour bus and guided us in on Post Street. Amanda says it will cost me $25 for my call. An excitable woman called AJ sang, danced and flounced her way through 80 films and their SF locations. Touring the city like this was fun for me but I sensed Amanda was still fuming about our bus chase earlier. The Bullit car chase was not nearly so dramatic.
After a superb lunch at Boudin, another recommendation, we headed for a cable car. My two pints of Anchor Steam beer with lunch began filling my bladder to capacity and I started to get crotchety until Amanda spotted a MacDonalds. The long queue for unisex toilets snaked through to the serving area and I just about hung on. Somewhere further back the queue had mutinied when an attendant said he needed to clean the toilet. He was beaten back and the queue whooped in victory.
The cable car ride back along Powell St was $6.00 each and quick. It got very crowded and a hapless Chinaman in his 40s was continually barracked by the car driver for stepping into the driver's space, even though Chinaman was simply letting people pass to leave the cable car. "Just stay outta my office man", the driver shouted at him between Union St and Post St where Amanda and I got off. "Don't get shouted again", I said to Chinaman as he stepped aside to let us off. "Man I keep tellin you stay outta my way or WILL throw you off the car", is what I hear walking into the hotel.
Before dinner Amanda and I head for Murphy's bar in Kearny St for a Moose Drool beer and G&T. TV baseball dominates the room. Carl the bar man says he hasn't been allowed to drink on the premises for 14 years when I offer to buy him a drink.
The recommended Tony's Pizzeria didn't look far on the map nor did it show the 1:4 gradients. Amanda and puff our way up hills further away from the glittering lights of shops and bars into the semi dark streets of China town; small Chinese men and women darting around very fast pushing trolleys of food into metal shuttered lock ups. We are the only white folk and we're reminded of our walk through Harlem up Malcom X Boulevard jw 125 W St to Sylvia's.
The Pizza was easily worth the trek we agreed and the Zin/Syrah wine was a fabulous choice. Three camp sounding men next to our table shouted to each other about the men in their lives in a whiny sing song voice; one of them had a Californian Leeds accent. Too late to walk we hailed a yellow cab home driven by a Soviet refugee in his 60s. After I told him I'd visited Moscow and Leningrad in 1974 he became quite chatty. He is very suspicious of Putin's motives he says just he was suspicious of Andopov when he left the USSR as we leave his cab feeling lucky to be back.
Amanda:
I love San Francisco! Looking down from the view across the city, colourful Victorian houses in the foreground and modern skyscrapers behind, I feel I could live here in a way I could never feel about New York. The film tour is an interesting prism for me to explore the areas as I have not seen the vast majority of the films. I'm just glad we got on the bus after it sailed past our designated meeting point with us in hot pursuit - and ignored. The tour shows well over 50 clips on a videos screen but I'd rather see what is actually outside. We then have a fabulous lunch in Boudin on the harbour with the best Virgin Mary that I am ever likely to have.
Not much time for shopping - I have an unsuccessful look for an emergency pair of back-up jeans (since I've lived in mine and they need washing) but buying jeans is hard enough when you know where you are and where you're going and I console myself with one of the mind-boggling array of frappuccino flavours from Starbucks; they have a Starbucks approximately every 100 yards, it's quite peculiar.
For dinner we schlep up many hills of extraordinary gradient and I feel a burgeoning blister growing under my gladiator sandals. By the time we reach the famous Tony's I feel we have earned our pizza. We tell the waiter that we have been sent by friends from Birmingham - and hastily qualify that we mean the UK, not Alabama. It's great pizza and worth the blister but we take a cab back just the same. Paul startles the driver by hopping in next to him and then speaking Russian. I suspect the fare reflects this.
Paul:
My first impressions of SF are that 3 languages dominate: English, Spanish and Chinese. Men around our hotel speak in a lisping theatrically loud camp way and women dressed in Prada carry small dogs on their shoulder just as a brickie carries a hod. The cable cars cling clang up and down the extremely steep gradients, not one is less than 1:5 and most are 1:4 and 1:3!
We have several recommendations for eating. Breakfast at Cafe de Presse was superb. Some diners were provided with meals they didn't ask for creating wonderful opportunities for aggrieved parties to perform some ham acting. The rest of morning is devoted to a 3 hour movie tour of the town. We starred in our own thriller chasing the tour bus on foot along Geary Street towards Nob Hill after it failed to stop for us. Some tense minutes pass when a character called Brian used satellite technology to target the tour bus and guided us in on Post Street. Amanda says it will cost me $25 for my call. An excitable woman called AJ sang, danced and flounced her way through 80 films and their SF locations. Touring the city like this was fun for me but I sensed Amanda was still fuming about our bus chase earlier. The Bullit car chase was not nearly so dramatic.
After a superb lunch at Boudin, another recommendation, we headed for a cable car. My two pints of Anchor Steam beer with lunch began filling my bladder to capacity and I started to get crotchety until Amanda spotted a MacDonalds. The long queue for unisex toilets snaked through to the serving area and I just about hung on. Somewhere further back the queue had mutinied when an attendant said he needed to clean the toilet. He was beaten back and the queue whooped in victory.
The cable car ride back along Powell St was $6.00 each and quick. It got very crowded and a hapless Chinaman in his 40s was continually barracked by the car driver for stepping into the driver's space, even though Chinaman was simply letting people pass to leave the cable car. "Just stay outta my office man", the driver shouted at him between Union St and Post St where Amanda and I got off. "Don't get shouted again", I said to Chinaman as he stepped aside to let us off. "Man I keep tellin you stay outta my way or WILL throw you off the car", is what I hear walking into the hotel.
Before dinner Amanda and I head for Murphy's bar in Kearny St for a Moose Drool beer and G&T. TV baseball dominates the room. Carl the bar man says he hasn't been allowed to drink on the premises for 14 years when I offer to buy him a drink.
The recommended Tony's Pizzeria didn't look far on the map nor did it show the 1:4 gradients. Amanda and puff our way up hills further away from the glittering lights of shops and bars into the semi dark streets of China town; small Chinese men and women darting around very fast pushing trolleys of food into metal shuttered lock ups. We are the only white folk and we're reminded of our walk through Harlem up Malcom X Boulevard jw 125 W St to Sylvia's.
The Pizza was easily worth the trek we agreed and the Zin/Syrah wine was a fabulous choice. Three camp sounding men next to our table shouted to each other about the men in their lives in a whiny sing song voice; one of them had a Californian Leeds accent. Too late to walk we hailed a yellow cab home driven by a Soviet refugee in his 60s. After I told him I'd visited Moscow and Leningrad in 1974 he became quite chatty. He is very suspicious of Putin's motives he says just he was suspicious of Andopov when he left the USSR as we leave his cab feeling lucky to be back.
Amanda:
I love San Francisco! Looking down from the view across the city, colourful Victorian houses in the foreground and modern skyscrapers behind, I feel I could live here in a way I could never feel about New York. The film tour is an interesting prism for me to explore the areas as I have not seen the vast majority of the films. I'm just glad we got on the bus after it sailed past our designated meeting point with us in hot pursuit - and ignored. The tour shows well over 50 clips on a videos screen but I'd rather see what is actually outside. We then have a fabulous lunch in Boudin on the harbour with the best Virgin Mary that I am ever likely to have.
Not much time for shopping - I have an unsuccessful look for an emergency pair of back-up jeans (since I've lived in mine and they need washing) but buying jeans is hard enough when you know where you are and where you're going and I console myself with one of the mind-boggling array of frappuccino flavours from Starbucks; they have a Starbucks approximately every 100 yards, it's quite peculiar.
For dinner we schlep up many hills of extraordinary gradient and I feel a burgeoning blister growing under my gladiator sandals. By the time we reach the famous Tony's I feel we have earned our pizza. We tell the waiter that we have been sent by friends from Birmingham - and hastily qualify that we mean the UK, not Alabama. It's great pizza and worth the blister but we take a cab back just the same. Paul startles the driver by hopping in next to him and then speaking Russian. I suspect the fare reflects this.
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Manhattan Transfer
Saturday 1 June 2013 very hot/dry
Paul:
Today is Cunard's 70th anniversary of the first Queen Mary's maiden voyage into New York.
I am woken by green flickering lights in the room and once I discount it's a hangover leap out to discover the New York sky line straight ahead in the 04.45 twilight. I think we missed the bridge bit. On deck within minutes Amanda and I are amazed how warm it is and photograph furiously at the approaching Manhattan drama. Coastguard ships, tugs and a NYPD helicopter greet us. Amanda is quite choked up about the imposing skyscraper vista ahead of us; she's dreamt of this moment since she was a little girl and now it is happening.
After a huge breakfast we have a comparatively easy disembarkation to shore, through baggage collect and through immigration and customs. The next phase is exhausting........
At JFK we travel from T5 to T4 by air train to drop off our suitcases with a pleasant black guy speaking Spanish to a tourist. Switching to English effortlessly he charges $23. We then take a gruelling journey into Penn station near 7th Avenue. Nothing is straight forward for tourists. We take the free air train to Jamaica station where 'free' is not recognised and it costs $5.00. It costs another $17.00 each to Penn. The confusion of different tickets for different train companies and the fact our plastic cards are not recognised adds to my exhaustion. The journey through New York suburbs is quick.
New York city is hot: 33 degrees C. I am here for a few hours because Amanda fancies a restaurant she read about and I learnt there is a full size Star Wars spaceship fighter made of lego sited in Times Square. But it isn't there and we don't visit the restaurant. Instead I take pictures of men and women dressed as Toy Story characters and eat at the biggest MacDonalds in the World. It is quite surreal being here just 3 hours. We embark on our complicated journey back to JFK T5 shelling out again for the 'free' air train at Jamaica station and collecting our baggage en route. There are a few stroppy people at T5 but New York seems to be like that.
I now sit in JFK with a sleepy Amanda by gate 15 awaiting our 17.32 flight to San Francisco.
I enjoyed the fact that the QM2 offered people no opportunities to use their mobile phones to blah down endlessly on unlimited calls per minute. Internet access was severely restricted also and people resorted to books to read. At gate 15 there is a cacophony, a wall of sound that Phil Spectre would be proud of: tannoy announcement compete with blue grass and country rock from cafes and shops. Hoards of Spanish/Cuban families await boarding to Orlando and gabble away at thousands of watts volume. Mobile phones inspire folk to shout in strange languages about their forthcoming plans. I wish I was still on the Atlantic ocean. Ahead is a 6 hour flight with no food on jJtBlue. California is 3 hours behind Eastern time.
The plane journey seems longer than it is. It takes off an hour later at 18.30 and I have been in the same clothes since 04.45 and my calf muscles ache to be stretched out but there is no room. The 6 hour flight crawls by. I alternate my boredom between watching baseball on TV, which I don't understand and staring down at the huge fields, hills, lakes and mountains below. I regular see very large precise circles miles across but don't know what they are. I think perhaps I am becoming delirious. Amanda watches a film and sleeps. A woman behind me sniffs in a long drawn out rasp behind me every 30 seconds.
The San Fransisco [SF] baggage system is efficient and so is the taxi ride. At hotel Chancellor we are too late for a hotel dinner despite going back back 3 hours in time. Getting dressed again we leave the hotel and soon Amanda and I are sitting in bubblegum booth next to a gleaming blue and cream Ford Edsell eating a burger and fries. Amanda is drinking an orange fizzy chemical in a glass and I have two bottles of Sierra Nevada beer and one glass, which initially confuses the waiter. Bed at 00.20 and sleep at 00.21.
Amanda:
I managed to confuse my phone alarm clock - like me, it's a bit hazy as to exactly what day it is and seems to have blithely lost 2 days. It means we miss scraping under a bridge but we're on deck to see the deep purple sky turn to rose and then to blue behind the Manhattan skyline. I don't think Paul and I have ever really 'got' New York, our later trip in makes me realise that essentially I like New York as a backdrop but the smelly, baking streets and ferociously jostling tourists made me want to leave as soon as possible. We spent an absurd amount of time and money just getting to Time Square - only to eat in a (strangely clean) McDonalds. Still, that seems to be the extent of our gourmet adventures for today as we wait to board an 8 hour flight which provides no food. I am not a fan of feeding people on short flights but I do not count 8 hours as short. Possibly Americans do but I will watch with interest how they cope with 8 hours with only teeny-tiny cans of Coke to sustain them.
Of course, they took picnics. The girl next to me calmly produces sandwiches from her pocket and then proceeds to munch multiple packs of crisps. The flight is grim and I try not to think about the longer one ahead. Arriving at our hotel tired and hungry we decide to order room service - no, room service ended at 9.30pm! Grimly, we re-dress and are then directed to an amazing 50s style diner with a whole car in it and booths. I have a bizarre drink which seems to be a kind of blended ice cream float but with sorbet - appallingly bad for me but a delicious one off. The e numbers and sugar do not keep me awake.
Paul:
Today is Cunard's 70th anniversary of the first Queen Mary's maiden voyage into New York.
I am woken by green flickering lights in the room and once I discount it's a hangover leap out to discover the New York sky line straight ahead in the 04.45 twilight. I think we missed the bridge bit. On deck within minutes Amanda and I are amazed how warm it is and photograph furiously at the approaching Manhattan drama. Coastguard ships, tugs and a NYPD helicopter greet us. Amanda is quite choked up about the imposing skyscraper vista ahead of us; she's dreamt of this moment since she was a little girl and now it is happening.
After a huge breakfast we have a comparatively easy disembarkation to shore, through baggage collect and through immigration and customs. The next phase is exhausting........
At JFK we travel from T5 to T4 by air train to drop off our suitcases with a pleasant black guy speaking Spanish to a tourist. Switching to English effortlessly he charges $23. We then take a gruelling journey into Penn station near 7th Avenue. Nothing is straight forward for tourists. We take the free air train to Jamaica station where 'free' is not recognised and it costs $5.00. It costs another $17.00 each to Penn. The confusion of different tickets for different train companies and the fact our plastic cards are not recognised adds to my exhaustion. The journey through New York suburbs is quick.
New York city is hot: 33 degrees C. I am here for a few hours because Amanda fancies a restaurant she read about and I learnt there is a full size Star Wars spaceship fighter made of lego sited in Times Square. But it isn't there and we don't visit the restaurant. Instead I take pictures of men and women dressed as Toy Story characters and eat at the biggest MacDonalds in the World. It is quite surreal being here just 3 hours. We embark on our complicated journey back to JFK T5 shelling out again for the 'free' air train at Jamaica station and collecting our baggage en route. There are a few stroppy people at T5 but New York seems to be like that.
I now sit in JFK with a sleepy Amanda by gate 15 awaiting our 17.32 flight to San Francisco.
I enjoyed the fact that the QM2 offered people no opportunities to use their mobile phones to blah down endlessly on unlimited calls per minute. Internet access was severely restricted also and people resorted to books to read. At gate 15 there is a cacophony, a wall of sound that Phil Spectre would be proud of: tannoy announcement compete with blue grass and country rock from cafes and shops. Hoards of Spanish/Cuban families await boarding to Orlando and gabble away at thousands of watts volume. Mobile phones inspire folk to shout in strange languages about their forthcoming plans. I wish I was still on the Atlantic ocean. Ahead is a 6 hour flight with no food on jJtBlue. California is 3 hours behind Eastern time.
The plane journey seems longer than it is. It takes off an hour later at 18.30 and I have been in the same clothes since 04.45 and my calf muscles ache to be stretched out but there is no room. The 6 hour flight crawls by. I alternate my boredom between watching baseball on TV, which I don't understand and staring down at the huge fields, hills, lakes and mountains below. I regular see very large precise circles miles across but don't know what they are. I think perhaps I am becoming delirious. Amanda watches a film and sleeps. A woman behind me sniffs in a long drawn out rasp behind me every 30 seconds.
The San Fransisco [SF] baggage system is efficient and so is the taxi ride. At hotel Chancellor we are too late for a hotel dinner despite going back back 3 hours in time. Getting dressed again we leave the hotel and soon Amanda and I are sitting in bubblegum booth next to a gleaming blue and cream Ford Edsell eating a burger and fries. Amanda is drinking an orange fizzy chemical in a glass and I have two bottles of Sierra Nevada beer and one glass, which initially confuses the waiter. Bed at 00.20 and sleep at 00.21.
Amanda:
I managed to confuse my phone alarm clock - like me, it's a bit hazy as to exactly what day it is and seems to have blithely lost 2 days. It means we miss scraping under a bridge but we're on deck to see the deep purple sky turn to rose and then to blue behind the Manhattan skyline. I don't think Paul and I have ever really 'got' New York, our later trip in makes me realise that essentially I like New York as a backdrop but the smelly, baking streets and ferociously jostling tourists made me want to leave as soon as possible. We spent an absurd amount of time and money just getting to Time Square - only to eat in a (strangely clean) McDonalds. Still, that seems to be the extent of our gourmet adventures for today as we wait to board an 8 hour flight which provides no food. I am not a fan of feeding people on short flights but I do not count 8 hours as short. Possibly Americans do but I will watch with interest how they cope with 8 hours with only teeny-tiny cans of Coke to sustain them.
Of course, they took picnics. The girl next to me calmly produces sandwiches from her pocket and then proceeds to munch multiple packs of crisps. The flight is grim and I try not to think about the longer one ahead. Arriving at our hotel tired and hungry we decide to order room service - no, room service ended at 9.30pm! Grimly, we re-dress and are then directed to an amazing 50s style diner with a whole car in it and booths. I have a bizarre drink which seems to be a kind of blended ice cream float but with sorbet - appallingly bad for me but a delicious one off. The e numbers and sugar do not keep me awake.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)