11th January 2016
What an interesting country. If I'd realised, I would have stopped off at a few more places along the way to San Ignacio on the Western edge of the country. Keen to get out of Mexico and on to a new country, I took a long bus trip from Chetumal in Mexico all the way to San Ignacio via a quick stop to cram more passengers into the vehicle in Belize City.
Belize City! I expected to see high rises, but there didn't seem to be a building over 3 stories - a true old style capital. Although, actually, the capital has been moved in land to Belmopan and I didn't stop there. It's not certain that they'll be much to see there anyway.
The bus has seats that fold down into the gangway, that gives the operators the maximum possible income per journey. This is an interesting route. It starts in Mexico, travels through Belize and ends in Flores, in Guatemala, about 10-12 hours in total, and designed it seems, solely to get cheap backpackers through "expensive" Belize and out into wonderful "cheap" G'mala. Nonsense, but they do a roaring trade. In fact, this is a pretty good way to travel if car hire is off the menu, as the other options are pricey private hires or the infamous "chicken buses". In order to take that route on Chicken Buses, you'd likely need to catch 3 or 4 different ones and schedule a lot longer passage of time (and a great deal more patience) for the journey.
Out of 24 passengers I was the only one to hop off the bus at San Ignacio. But Belize is nice, they have a 40-year-old Queen on the money, and everyone speaks English here. What's not to like?
As we left Mexico early that morning, everyone had to exit the bus to line up and pay the infamous Tourist tax of around $10. I'd read about this online and researched a little as it is widely reported that it's a scam implemented by the border police. But actually, it's not a scam at all, western backpackers are known to shout and scream, refuse to pay etc., and yes, we got one of these guys. We all waited ten or so minutes (could have been much longer), while he was escorted into the office to have the tax explained further to him.
Many have already paid this tax when entering Mexico by plane, but if you don't keep the itemised flight receipt, then there's no proof so a fee is charged. As I'd read about it, I found the email confirmation for my flight to Cancun, and there and behold was the tax. I printed this off the day before the journey, not expecting it to have any effect at the border, but intrigued to play the game.
To my great surprise, the guard examined and accepted the receipt despite being somewhat faded and heard to read. He examined the coinciding passport numbers and reluctantly waived the fee. I had done it. I saved $10 and beaten the system! First Vegas, and now this. How far could my luck stretch?
I had been prepared to quietly and amiably argue the point for a few seconds before paying up if that's the way things went, but none was required.
But the Dutchman was shouting that he wasn't paying etc. etc. I don't imagine that kind of carry on is going to get anyone very far at any border anywhere. Well, perhaps some place, but for how much longer?
Finally, the shouter came back out and returned to the window to pay his fee.
I suggested to a fellow passenger that it was all very well arguing the point, but when you hold up a whole bus load of people at the start of an excruciatingly long journey for a measly $10, then that's not really acceptable.
Next, we went through the charade of the Belizean borer control, (no fee here - only $17.50 on exit), and the rigmarole of having to unload all the bags from the roof of the bus and carry them through. I was asked if I had any fruit or veg in my see through plastic bag containing some fruit and veg.
Then I was escorted into a room to the side where it was suggested, (all in a very polite fashion), that I should eat my lunch or add it to the piles already confiscated that day. The bags of goodies on the table looked suspiciously like they were heading for the table of the employee of the ministry of agriculture. During a conversation about keeping out fruit flies etc., I scoffed down a banana and left the rest for him to dispose of in an appropriate manner. All very friendly. It's good work, keeping out all those invading bugs.
I waved goodbye and out through the door into Belize proper. Sitting just beyond the door, right under the noses of the "authorities", was a bunch of youthful travellers eating the lunch they'd just smuggle through. Good job. I felt like grassing them up, although it was pretty obviously done, right under their noses. I could tell that the whole display was merely for show anyway. No-one cares.
As I boarded the bus, I asked the driver where the cambio is? No-one else had changed money and I'd forgotten all about the wad of Mexican cash in my pocket. I was directed back down past the border control. All I saw when I went down there were a bunch of guys on the other side of a fence.
"Err, cambio?"
"Sure, what do you need?"
This is the most laid back money exchange I've come across so far and it had to be negotiated through a chain link fence. The rate was pretty damn good, much higher than the official rate for some reason so I readily agrees to the first number suggested. "Thanks, have a nice day."
I ran back past the border control to the waiting bus. Had everyone just waited ten minutes for me? Seems so.
After the bus ride I disembarked in San Ignacio and lugged the backpack around a while before finding the Old House Hostel, I'd booked online.
It was located above a bar and live music venue, (oh shit), and the room was cramped, (eight beds in one tiny room), lockers broken open from when a previous guest had forgotten their padlock number, but the owner and her boyfriend were so friendly, it was almost acceptable. Especially when I was offered some of their delicious smelling cajun style meat curry. It had been a long drawn out day, and this meal was just what I needed. None of the other guests seemed to partake in this delight when they arrived back from whatever attraction they'd been at. Timing is everything!
I shared the room with 5 Australian girls in their early twenties and a sixty something American guy. The girls were funny, and we all shared a laugh over a local beer at the Bamboo Club that evening, where the American guy had also located himself to shout at the NFL on the TV (a common sight across all of Central America).
I had already noticed something wasn't quite right about him of course, but wasn't quite prepared for the awkwardness that night when he walked stutteringly back into the digs. There were strange noises, drunken singing, and then the weird walking around oblivious to surroundings. At one stage I woke to find him with one hand on my upper bunk taking in the floor fan, and muttering to himself, belly out.
Later he was sitting on the bunk of the Australia girl beneath me. I tapped him on his hairy shoulder to ask what he was doing. He got up and wondered out the room leaving the door wide open and was gone for some time.
Next day, I asked if he had any memory of last night, and perhaps getting so drunk isn't a good idea. I left that day, but the staff were tasked to deal with that situation. I was off to couchsurf, which turned out to be one of the best I've experienced.
Another crazy hostel story, another nail in the coffin of that kind of lodging.
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Friday, January 29, 2016
San Pedro
28th and 29th January
Average people from wealthier countries, can live a very fine life here and many have. As you journey around the lake you see the shore dotted with the swish pads
of foreigners, and perhaps a small percentage of elite from Guatemala City and other places.
It's a chance to live well. Guatemala attracts that kind of thing as it seems easy to do. The lake is home to so many wintering, and occasional all-year-round, ex-pats it's hard to estimate how many. I admire
those people who are able to take risks and come here to build houses (no
planning needed), but I am not brave enough. I see why they do it, some
of the pads are towards the luxurious end of the scale, or seemingly, whilst many others are simple, but nice homes with superb lakeside views. A large percentage only stay for the winter and many have been doing just that since the eighties. (The Civil war ended in 1996 so I'm not sure how that worked, but property prices would certainly have been cheap!).
San Pedro has the reputation of being the party town of Lake Atitlan, although I believe this hotel is furthest away from the
"action" and I hear no parties from here, just the noise of a surprisingly powerful fan. The only party I see is the insect festival which occurs around the light outside my room each night. I can see it clearly from my bed as there's an unobstructed view through the glass above my door. I use my duct tape to fix the spare towel over the window and partially block the light out. The room is fine but not £30 worth. The toilet stinks so I keep the door closed. I book another place away from any towns as San Pedro isn't so interesting to me anyway. I had considered taking a one week Spanish course here but this town can't hold my interest that long.
Most tourists come here to live in a
bubble. They leave the bubble of Antigua, travel through real Guatemala
to get to Lake Atitlan and continue the bubble life further. I'm doing it as well. The road ahead could be more challenging, El Salvador, honduras, Nicaragua.. the temperature makes it all more problematic when hauling what feels like a ridiculous backpack about.
Forty years ago, the lake was a collection
of villages, home pretty much exclusively to locals, these days many of them are sustained on tourist money. I'm in San Pedro at the moment, at the Mikaso
Hotel, supposedly the swankiest in town at £30 per night. It's nice to
have bricks and mortar around me, and an en-suite bathroom, after three
nights in a straw and wooden shack at La Iguana Perdido in Santa Cruz, but it's by no means luxurious.
San Pedro has the reputation of being the party town of Lake Atitlan, although I believe this hotel is furthest away from the
"action" and I hear no parties from here, just the noise of a surprisingly powerful fan. The only party I see is the insect festival which occurs around the light outside my room each night. I can see it clearly from my bed as there's an unobstructed view through the glass above my door. I use my duct tape to fix the spare towel over the window and partially block the light out. The room is fine but not £30 worth. The toilet stinks so I keep the door closed. I book another place away from any towns as San Pedro isn't so interesting to me anyway. I had considered taking a one week Spanish course here but this town can't hold my interest that long.
The dusty breeze block lanes that wind back towards the main stretch and party-ville are ugly, uninviting affairs, lined with numerous
eateries and shops orientated towards tourists. I ate in the second
rated place on trip advisor for lunch, Atitlan Cafe. Back in the UK, this would be a 2
out of 5 star cafe, but here it receives a 4.5 on tripadvisor. The people are really friendly here. No reason not to be. Money pours in.
I need a haircut, as I'm tired of the freaky geometric shapes my hair makes with each morning and hat wearing. I sought out the only hairdressers/
barbers in town, named after the owner's five year old daughter, Nathalie.
I found the shop closed, then noticed the opening hours. Cerrado
(Closed) 12-2pm. People here must be doing alright if they can afford two
hour lunch breaks, but then it's not that busy, and it's a small town.
The coffee shop owners across the street, (which turns out to be the Father-in-law of the owner), let me into the shop to wait more comfortably, (nice of them). He telephoned the hairdresser, Belinda; She'll be down in ten. Twenty minutes later she arrives
with husband and daughter in tow, and we begin shaving my head. Number four all over
with a little two on the sides. That'll set me up for most of the next month in Central
America.
Her English is good and we switch between
languages, although my Spanish is still very basic. At one stage, a
friend of hers comes by, and Belinda stops the haircut to chat and make a phone call.
I want this over with as soon as possible.
"Disculpe, Por Favour," I say,
"Quiero a va." According to the Google Translate website that
means, "Sorry for Favour. I want to go." But she got the message
anyway. I thought I might be risking trouble, by being in a hurry, but they were ok, a little out out for a brief moment, but not for long. Another few minutes, it's done. Good job! I think. It'll do, thanks Belinda. £3.50 and mission
accomplished. I've been wanting to deal with this for a week or more. Now to shower and find a place to wash my clothes. I
hope they will a) dry them properly, and 2) Not loose any of the garments.
I took a photo of the clothes I was
leaving there, feeling slightly guilty about doing this in front of them, but
it can be useful later. I explained my memory was bad and need to
remember what was there, as politely as possible. My only decent pair of trekking trousers went missing in India, during a wash, several weeks into a year long trip around the world. The manger/owner was angry when I asked
about my missing trousers, telling me I hadn't given him any. I
told him I wasn't leaving until they were returned. All this went on in the back
streets of Paharganj, in quite a nice hotel/ guest house for that particular area. In fact, I was
going to leave couple of days later no matter what, but on the evening before I was due to move on, the trousers that didn't exist, miraculously returned and went on to have a
number of wild adventures with me over the next year.
During the day or so before they were returned I went out to look for similar garments. I don't know about now, but back then it was difficult to find clothes like that there. I went to a second hand market and found some strides exactly the same as the ones I had lost, albeit completely the wrong size. The practice is to life a few items of clothing from washing here and there and sell them on the market. They're more difficult to get in Delhi so can fetch a reasonably high price, (£20 approx). A nice little earner Terry. I was happy to get mine back. The zips are worth their weight in gold.
Meanwhile, back in the present, at the "classiest"
hotel in San Pedro, Guatemala, I was getting dressed post-hair slaughtering shower, when a woman, speaking in Spanish, began knocking on my
door. I said "Que?" several times and
didn't understand her reply. There were lots of senors. I tried to ignore her as I rushed to unpack my backpack tand locate some clothes. I sensed some kind of scam, or perhaps a
robbery, (over re-acting perhaps), but who was this person in the hotel? Why won't they go away. Perhaps a maid. She was still knocking on the
door repeatedly though.
Eventually, I found something to thrown on and
opened the door, only to discover that she was selling a blanket. So this is the reason for all the knocking? Not even a
staff member? It's a good job she didn't understand English, (or perhaps she did, I didn't care), I don't want to deliberately upset locals. It's one thing people trying to sell
their goods in the street, but persistently disturbing me IN THE HOTEL. That's not the standard I've come to expect from anywhere in the world. The receptionist said it hadn't happened before. No way to tell.
Much of this journey goes through countries where many people work
hard for very little pay. It all reminds me of India to some degree and is definitely somewhere on the sliding scale towards that way of life,
(although a much smaller population makes it all less of a struggle). I'm not sure I've mentally adapted to being in an undeveloped area yet, it happens in increments. In India I went in somewhat deeper, but won't this time. I'm a selfish traveller. Can't or won't do anything about that now. Those people who come to volunteer are to be admired. I've recently realised that if I to do anything like that, whether it be for conservation or something else, I'll primarily be doing it for me. The side affect of that, is that I might end up doing something for a selfless cause, but no mistake, it's all for me.
29th January 2106
I took my clothes to be washed last night. When I collected then this morning, I found them all nicely folded, and I assumed washed, but stinking of smoke. They obviously dry them in an area where they cook or burn rubbish. What can you do? This morning I spent relaxing and catching up on my blog, as this afternoon and evening will be spent one of the Europeans who winter in their very own house here. The Hotel Mikaso is perched right on the lake edge and for some time I watched what i assumed to be a fisherman operating in a small boat not far of shore.
It came as quite some surprise when he caught an American Coot from the large number that frequent the lake edges. He held it up for the small number of guests that spotted his efforts and cheered. I had no idea people ate Coots of any kind. Perhaps they once did in the UK and Europe before chicken became the commonly utilised bird. These Coots don't cost anything after all. I wonder what they taste like?
He then tied it by the legs, during which it made the coot made a failed attempt to attack his face, and added it to a bag in which I could see several more of the birds!
29th January 2106
I took my clothes to be washed last night. When I collected then this morning, I found them all nicely folded, and I assumed washed, but stinking of smoke. They obviously dry them in an area where they cook or burn rubbish. What can you do? This morning I spent relaxing and catching up on my blog, as this afternoon and evening will be spent one of the Europeans who winter in their very own house here. The Hotel Mikaso is perched right on the lake edge and for some time I watched what i assumed to be a fisherman operating in a small boat not far of shore.
 |
| Not quite a fisherman. Perhaps a cooterman. |
Fresno
30th November
I didn't know how long it would take to reach Fresno. I took lunch in a McDonald's as I didn't recognise the other chains I encountered. It felt great to come down out of the hills and out of the cold. This trip is meant to be about escaping the winter. I could have planned a little better but no regrets about that.
I stopped off to walk along the San Joaquin River after trying and failing to see the closed Friant dam just north of Fresno. The river was a nice quiet place to walk and see some wildlife, mostly birds but a fair number of gophers and squirrels as well. Gophers are funny animals. They closely resemble squirrels but run down holes instead of trees when you approach.
A Mexican/American family turned up before dusk to cook a barbecue. It looked like a good time was about to unfold but I was off to meet my host Steve at his work place, a large car/ motorcycle maintenance and sales lot. He showed me what he had been working on, a spider three wheeled motorbike.
They had vehicles I'd never even seen on TV before, and the lot itself was huge, one massive building for car sales and repairs, and the same sized building again concerned with motorbikes and everything else motorised. And there are a lot of types of the "everything else" type in the US.
I followed his truck back to his good sized bungalow in a suburban cul-de-sac and was shown to my room, a luxurious affair by my standards. The bed actually had four posts.
Steve is a football fan, supporting West Ham United, so we headed to the local "Arsenal" bar in downtown Fresno. I was expecting to see at least some red, or a shirt or a photo of the team, but all they had was a black and white drawing of the gunners emblem and nothing else. They watch the games in there though, so that's the main thing. I thought about making some suggestions to the barkeep, perhaps getting something to pep up the Arsenal theme a little more, but actually decide it wasn't me place to tell them how to go about their business. I'll save that for the homelessness situation, which I'm done with now, by the way.
At one point, while we were eating our supper, Steve spotted a guy partially dressed in civilian camouflage, walk into the bar holding a 9-inch knife in it's scabbard. He walked right behind me and looked behind a fridge holding the usual soda etc. Behind the fridge. Into a gap behind the fridge? Then he walked straight out. The bar staff didn't even notice. Apparently, it'll be illegal to conceal such a weapon but fine to carry it around like that. Weird. There's no way I would have sat with my back to him if I'd known. No wonder everyone is initially so guarded here. I would be too.
A fusball game was arranged regularly by Pedro, a contact of Steve's and a readily went along to join in the fun. The teams consisted of Pedro myself and the real stars: a collection of Mexican/American teenage boys aged from 13/14 to 17. I arrived a little early and walked about a little to see if I could work out the meeting spot. It was clearly a sketchy area. As I walked along a street bordering the park, I saw some kind of deal going down. I walked on walking my very best, 'I'm not a tourist walk' and looked unbothered by the potential BS. Within five minutes a police helicopter appeared overhead and began circling, it's powerful searchlight scanning the area around and near the small park. This went on for about ten minutes at least. The helicopters in the US, (or in Fresno at least), fly much closer to the ground than those in the UK. Surprisingly close. And it's intimidating, which is likely the idea. They fly two thirds closer to the ground! I hung around the park looking innocent and unconcerned until the guys turned up in a pick up truck with homemade goal posts in the back. I met with Pedro and helped unload the plastic pipes that made up the perfectly functional goals, and we set fitting and taping them together under the guidance of Pedro. Of course, many of the lads didn't help, due to being teenagers but they were all really great kids as I discovered as the night went on.
The games started and I was part of an unbeaten team that night, often as goalie as I grew weary. The guys on my team made me look good. In truth, two of my number were talented players and helped us win the night. It was great fun under the lights. The entire evening we played along side some older Korean kids playing volleyball at what seemed to me to be a relatively high level. College sports level I'm guessing. By the end of the night, I wanted to follow the progress of my fellow fusballers. Such a shame I couldn't get back to play every week. I could do with some fitness training as well.
The next day, I went to try and extend my car hire for a few days or weeks. Everyone I spoke to gave a different answer from; it's not possible, to yeah sure, just do it the day you want to extend it. Some time later, I actually just did it over the phone contrary to what two other advisors had told me. It was a simple affair in the end, but the staff in the various offices all had very different ideas concerning which hoops you need to jump through to give them more money. The car hire was a good experience overall, and really cheap too.
I met my host Steve for lunch at a diner, that's some good unhealthy American food there. Perfect. Another tick in the box!
The day after that was Steve's day off and we went together with his lovely Mother to Sequoia National Park an hour or so to the East.
To see those famous large trees was a treat. It was a little icy in the area because of the elevation, and consequently it had received some light snowfall for us to deal with, but the trees are magnificent and it wasn't particularly cold.
The views along the road into the park are breathtaking. Steve explained why there are so many dead trees. A huge percentage have died due to the drought conditions experienced over the last few years. The figure quoted was 70%, and everywhere you look, you see trees entirely covered in dead and dry pine needles. The fire risk, which is high outside winter, now has an unimaginable amount of fuel. Disaster waits just around the corner. The sheer number of dead trees, as well as the difficulty getting into the deep forest to take down problems, makes it impossible to remove all the dead ones. There are millions. All they can do is watch and wait, and hope. The lumberjacks will be busy in the areas along the roads over the next few years. Those are the priorities for removal. More bad news for the environment.
On the final night, Steve made a glorious home cooked steak with veg, by far the best meal I'd had in the US to date. What a great host. He hosts a fair number of people through the couchsurfing website. Each time someone new comes to stay, his little daughter places a pin on the map of the world. It's getting quite crowded up on that wall. Experiences like this, and the good people I meet along the way, really make the trip.
I didn't know how long it would take to reach Fresno. I took lunch in a McDonald's as I didn't recognise the other chains I encountered. It felt great to come down out of the hills and out of the cold. This trip is meant to be about escaping the winter. I could have planned a little better but no regrets about that.
I stopped off to walk along the San Joaquin River after trying and failing to see the closed Friant dam just north of Fresno. The river was a nice quiet place to walk and see some wildlife, mostly birds but a fair number of gophers and squirrels as well. Gophers are funny animals. They closely resemble squirrels but run down holes instead of trees when you approach.
A Mexican/American family turned up before dusk to cook a barbecue. It looked like a good time was about to unfold but I was off to meet my host Steve at his work place, a large car/ motorcycle maintenance and sales lot. He showed me what he had been working on, a spider three wheeled motorbike.
They had vehicles I'd never even seen on TV before, and the lot itself was huge, one massive building for car sales and repairs, and the same sized building again concerned with motorbikes and everything else motorised. And there are a lot of types of the "everything else" type in the US.
I followed his truck back to his good sized bungalow in a suburban cul-de-sac and was shown to my room, a luxurious affair by my standards. The bed actually had four posts.
Steve is a football fan, supporting West Ham United, so we headed to the local "Arsenal" bar in downtown Fresno. I was expecting to see at least some red, or a shirt or a photo of the team, but all they had was a black and white drawing of the gunners emblem and nothing else. They watch the games in there though, so that's the main thing. I thought about making some suggestions to the barkeep, perhaps getting something to pep up the Arsenal theme a little more, but actually decide it wasn't me place to tell them how to go about their business. I'll save that for the homelessness situation, which I'm done with now, by the way.
At one point, while we were eating our supper, Steve spotted a guy partially dressed in civilian camouflage, walk into the bar holding a 9-inch knife in it's scabbard. He walked right behind me and looked behind a fridge holding the usual soda etc. Behind the fridge. Into a gap behind the fridge? Then he walked straight out. The bar staff didn't even notice. Apparently, it'll be illegal to conceal such a weapon but fine to carry it around like that. Weird. There's no way I would have sat with my back to him if I'd known. No wonder everyone is initially so guarded here. I would be too.
A fusball game was arranged regularly by Pedro, a contact of Steve's and a readily went along to join in the fun. The teams consisted of Pedro myself and the real stars: a collection of Mexican/American teenage boys aged from 13/14 to 17. I arrived a little early and walked about a little to see if I could work out the meeting spot. It was clearly a sketchy area. As I walked along a street bordering the park, I saw some kind of deal going down. I walked on walking my very best, 'I'm not a tourist walk' and looked unbothered by the potential BS. Within five minutes a police helicopter appeared overhead and began circling, it's powerful searchlight scanning the area around and near the small park. This went on for about ten minutes at least. The helicopters in the US, (or in Fresno at least), fly much closer to the ground than those in the UK. Surprisingly close. And it's intimidating, which is likely the idea. They fly two thirds closer to the ground! I hung around the park looking innocent and unconcerned until the guys turned up in a pick up truck with homemade goal posts in the back. I met with Pedro and helped unload the plastic pipes that made up the perfectly functional goals, and we set fitting and taping them together under the guidance of Pedro. Of course, many of the lads didn't help, due to being teenagers but they were all really great kids as I discovered as the night went on.
The games started and I was part of an unbeaten team that night, often as goalie as I grew weary. The guys on my team made me look good. In truth, two of my number were talented players and helped us win the night. It was great fun under the lights. The entire evening we played along side some older Korean kids playing volleyball at what seemed to me to be a relatively high level. College sports level I'm guessing. By the end of the night, I wanted to follow the progress of my fellow fusballers. Such a shame I couldn't get back to play every week. I could do with some fitness training as well.
The next day, I went to try and extend my car hire for a few days or weeks. Everyone I spoke to gave a different answer from; it's not possible, to yeah sure, just do it the day you want to extend it. Some time later, I actually just did it over the phone contrary to what two other advisors had told me. It was a simple affair in the end, but the staff in the various offices all had very different ideas concerning which hoops you need to jump through to give them more money. The car hire was a good experience overall, and really cheap too.
I met my host Steve for lunch at a diner, that's some good unhealthy American food there. Perfect. Another tick in the box!
The day after that was Steve's day off and we went together with his lovely Mother to Sequoia National Park an hour or so to the East.
To see those famous large trees was a treat. It was a little icy in the area because of the elevation, and consequently it had received some light snowfall for us to deal with, but the trees are magnificent and it wasn't particularly cold.
The views along the road into the park are breathtaking. Steve explained why there are so many dead trees. A huge percentage have died due to the drought conditions experienced over the last few years. The figure quoted was 70%, and everywhere you look, you see trees entirely covered in dead and dry pine needles. The fire risk, which is high outside winter, now has an unimaginable amount of fuel. Disaster waits just around the corner. The sheer number of dead trees, as well as the difficulty getting into the deep forest to take down problems, makes it impossible to remove all the dead ones. There are millions. All they can do is watch and wait, and hope. The lumberjacks will be busy in the areas along the roads over the next few years. Those are the priorities for removal. More bad news for the environment.
On the final night, Steve made a glorious home cooked steak with veg, by far the best meal I'd had in the US to date. What a great host. He hosts a fair number of people through the couchsurfing website. Each time someone new comes to stay, his little daughter places a pin on the map of the world. It's getting quite crowded up on that wall. Experiences like this, and the good people I meet along the way, really make the trip.
Yosemite National Park!
29th November
I'd been looking forward to Yosemite National Park since before I began my trip. The winter was closing in and I may have left it too late to cross the park and witness the wilder areas. By the time I got to the Yosemite Bug Hostel, some twenty miles outside the park, it was apparent that snow had closed the road for the season. That wasn't going to stop me seeing the park and what all the fuss is about. You should really take chains at this time of year but it's possible to drive in Yosemite Valley without them. On entering the circular route around the valley I lost control and skidded on the ice, and soon adjusted my driving style so that wouldn't happen again. Hopefully. I've only had that happen a few times, and although not serious, it can be a problem if travelling too fast. Especially when returning the messed up hire car.
Yosemite Valley itself is halfway between a beautiful wild park and disney world. The roads that were closed are where the real wilderness is found, but ascending one of the routes out of the valley can take you in to the wild side again. I only went a few miles before turning back at an altitude where the paths become a little more icy than dry. The views are spectacular and now I need to come back outside of winter to see the rest. And The Grand Canyon. And Arizona. And everywhere else! To get the best out of these places you have to equip yourself and go camping. I was hoping to get in contact with some locals who would be up for such adventures and have some of the equipment, but no such luck. Winter's just not the right time for most people.
I was hopeful I'd see a bear, but they're no fan of disney world day trippers. I bet they are around at dawn and dusk, there are signs warning drivers and campers to secure there food and cars, and bears have damaged many a car in search of an easy meal. It's smart not to keep food in your tent with you if camping, but everyone in the US knows that already.
The Yosemite Bug Hostel is twenty miles outside the park entrance. The road in to the park, winds slowly along the river that must have cut the deep valley. There are so many great views and stunning rock landscapes here. It's the sort of place you should share with friends or family.
I don't remember seeing a single wild mammal here, and very few birds such is the disturbance from tourism. I almost feel guilty, but it's not me, it's everyone else. Bloody humans. Next time I come it'll be in summer when the roads are open.
The numerous camping vehicle spots (I'm talking hundreds of births), were mostly empty at this time of year. In the height of summer I can't imagine anything worse than coming to Yosemite Valley with thousands upon thousand of people. That's what I meant likening it to Disney Land. There are cafes, shops, a supermarket, a bar and likely a lot more I didn't see here. The parks were famously created to save the environment for the public and wildlife. I hope the wildlife are thriving more in the vast reaches closed to vehicles in winter. After a day and a half visiting the park I realised I wasn't going to see any bears, and it was time to move on anyway. Driving for 40 minutes each day, just to get to the entrance was something I hadn't envisioned/ or researched properly. The next stop: Fresno. "What you wanna go there for?" someone asked me. "To meet and stay with some real Americans in a real American home!"
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| Ice, Ice baby |
Yosemite Valley itself is halfway between a beautiful wild park and disney world. The roads that were closed are where the real wilderness is found, but ascending one of the routes out of the valley can take you in to the wild side again. I only went a few miles before turning back at an altitude where the paths become a little more icy than dry. The views are spectacular and now I need to come back outside of winter to see the rest. And The Grand Canyon. And Arizona. And everywhere else! To get the best out of these places you have to equip yourself and go camping. I was hoping to get in contact with some locals who would be up for such adventures and have some of the equipment, but no such luck. Winter's just not the right time for most people.
I was hopeful I'd see a bear, but they're no fan of disney world day trippers. I bet they are around at dawn and dusk, there are signs warning drivers and campers to secure there food and cars, and bears have damaged many a car in search of an easy meal. It's smart not to keep food in your tent with you if camping, but everyone in the US knows that already.
The Yosemite Bug Hostel is twenty miles outside the park entrance. The road in to the park, winds slowly along the river that must have cut the deep valley. There are so many great views and stunning rock landscapes here. It's the sort of place you should share with friends or family.
I don't remember seeing a single wild mammal here, and very few birds such is the disturbance from tourism. I almost feel guilty, but it's not me, it's everyone else. Bloody humans. Next time I come it'll be in summer when the roads are open.
The numerous camping vehicle spots (I'm talking hundreds of births), were mostly empty at this time of year. In the height of summer I can't imagine anything worse than coming to Yosemite Valley with thousands upon thousand of people. That's what I meant likening it to Disney Land. There are cafes, shops, a supermarket, a bar and likely a lot more I didn't see here. The parks were famously created to save the environment for the public and wildlife. I hope the wildlife are thriving more in the vast reaches closed to vehicles in winter. After a day and a half visiting the park I realised I wasn't going to see any bears, and it was time to move on anyway. Driving for 40 minutes each day, just to get to the entrance was something I hadn't envisioned/ or researched properly. The next stop: Fresno. "What you wanna go there for?" someone asked me. "To meet and stay with some real Americans in a real American home!"
Cold Wind through Antigua
24th January 2016
A cold wind blows through the evening in Antigua lowering the temperature. Myself and two American sisters who are staying in the neighbouring room, try to walk the town but we need better clothing. It's not usually this cold according to some. Last night was uncomfortable at the Earth Lodge higher up the mountain sides, tonight will be better. I'm staying at a simple but atmospheric airbnb booking. I'm tired due to last night's lack of sleep. Good night.
The retired owner of the house, and his wife, put together interesting jigsaws then mount them on the wall for decoration. It makes for colourful surroundings, and the old car, living in the entrance hall adds to the character. Neither Frederico nor his wife or three visiting sisters speak English much so I get to practice Spanish some more.
A cold wind blows through the evening in Antigua lowering the temperature. Myself and two American sisters who are staying in the neighbouring room, try to walk the town but we need better clothing. It's not usually this cold according to some. Last night was uncomfortable at the Earth Lodge higher up the mountain sides, tonight will be better. I'm staying at a simple but atmospheric airbnb booking. I'm tired due to last night's lack of sleep. Good night.
The retired owner of the house, and his wife, put together interesting jigsaws then mount them on the wall for decoration. It makes for colourful surroundings, and the old car, living in the entrance hall adds to the character. Neither Frederico nor his wife or three visiting sisters speak English much so I get to practice Spanish some more.
Earth Lodge Antigua
23rd January
I came to the Earth Lodge twenty minutes drive outside of Antigua today. It's touted as a get away, a quiet secluded spot with magnificent views. The views are fantastic. You can see three volcanoes from the terrace, but it's not so quiet. It's the busiest eatery I've seen since I arrived in this area, and that includes the whole of Antigua.
It's Saturday, so it's packed with grim-faced wealthy Guatemalans, clearly unimpressed by this place. They look lost. Expecting something very different, something more especial. The view is amazing, but I think it's old hat to many. An erupting volcano becomes background to many here.
I'm due to sleep 2 nights with the third night free but I'll likely leave tomorrow. I cant wait until the restaurant closes at three and all the day trippers bugger off.
Bugger off day trippers, I'm sleeping here.
Spoke to a couple of very interesting Guatemalan day trippers later in the evening. They spoke very good English and were obviously well educated. They told me it was easy to climb the volcano without a guide and Franz (Austrian father) had done it a few times before. I wanted to find out more about their international work and adventures, (he had once lived in Little Venice in London for two years), but it was soon time to close the bar and they had late night parties to attend.
That night was the coldest in a while and sleeping in a dorm, (as nothing else was available), just added to my frequently disturbed slumber. At around 2am two young Norwegian girls got up and began packing their bags nosily for around half an hour. I was awake for hours after that, until I realised they had left blankets I could pilfer to line my wooden nest. So cold! At around 1500m it can get pretty chilly here at night, but that's the very reason so many people get stuck in this region. The lowlands are sweltering, even in winter.
If any dorm dwellers are reading this, the rule is: pack before you go to bed. Wake up, grab your pack, and head out. Shhh.
I came to the Earth Lodge twenty minutes drive outside of Antigua today. It's touted as a get away, a quiet secluded spot with magnificent views. The views are fantastic. You can see three volcanoes from the terrace, but it's not so quiet. It's the busiest eatery I've seen since I arrived in this area, and that includes the whole of Antigua.
It's Saturday, so it's packed with grim-faced wealthy Guatemalans, clearly unimpressed by this place. They look lost. Expecting something very different, something more especial. The view is amazing, but I think it's old hat to many. An erupting volcano becomes background to many here.
I'm due to sleep 2 nights with the third night free but I'll likely leave tomorrow. I cant wait until the restaurant closes at three and all the day trippers bugger off.
Bugger off day trippers, I'm sleeping here.
Spoke to a couple of very interesting Guatemalan day trippers later in the evening. They spoke very good English and were obviously well educated. They told me it was easy to climb the volcano without a guide and Franz (Austrian father) had done it a few times before. I wanted to find out more about their international work and adventures, (he had once lived in Little Venice in London for two years), but it was soon time to close the bar and they had late night parties to attend.
That night was the coldest in a while and sleeping in a dorm, (as nothing else was available), just added to my frequently disturbed slumber. At around 2am two young Norwegian girls got up and began packing their bags nosily for around half an hour. I was awake for hours after that, until I realised they had left blankets I could pilfer to line my wooden nest. So cold! At around 1500m it can get pretty chilly here at night, but that's the very reason so many people get stuck in this region. The lowlands are sweltering, even in winter.
If any dorm dwellers are reading this, the rule is: pack before you go to bed. Wake up, grab your pack, and head out. Shhh.
Lake Atitlan
Most tourists come here to live in a bubble. They leave the bubble of Antigua Guatemala, travel through real Guatemala to get here and continue the bubble life further. I'm doing it as well.
Average people can live like they're rich here and many have. As you journey around the lake you see the swish pads of foreigners and perhaps a small percentage of elite from Guatemala City. It's a chance to live well, and it happens all over. In Guatemala the lake is home to so many it's hard to estimate how many. I admire those people who are able to take risks and come here to build houses (no planning needed), but I am not brave enough. I see why they do it, some of the pads are luxurious, while many others are simple, nice homes with great views of the lake. Many will only stay for the winter. Escaping Northern climes fro the winter is common here and people have been doing it since the eighties.
Forty years ago, the lake was a collection of villages, home to locals, now many of them are sustained and probably prosper on tourist money. I'm in San Pedro at the moment, at the Mikaso Hotel, supposedly the swankiest in town at £30 per night. It's nice to have bricks and mortal and an en-suite bathroom around me again after three nights in a straw and wooden shack at La Iguana Perdido in Santa Cruz.
San Pedro is the party town of the many around the lake, although I believe this hotel is furthest away from the "action". The dusty breeze block lanes that wind back towards partyville and the dock, are ugly, uninviting affairs, lined with numerous eateries and shops orientated mostly to tourists. I ate in the second rated place on trip advisor for lunch. Back in the Uk , this would be a 2 out of 5 star place but here it's a 4.5. The people are really friendly.
I need a haircut, I'm tired of having it mope about on my head doing nothing so I sought out the only hairdressers/ barbers in town, named after the owner's five year old daughter, Nathalie. I found the shop closed, then noticed the opening hours. Cerrado (Closed) 12-2pm. People here must be doing alright if they can afford two hour lunch breaks, but then it's not that busy and it's a small place.
The coffee shop owners across the street got the Father-in-law to let me in and wait and then telephoned the hairdresser Belinda. She'll be down in ten. Twenty minutes later she arrives with husband and daughter and we begin shaving my head. Number four all over with a little two on the sides. That'll set me up for most of Central America,
Her English is good and we switch between languages, although my Spanish is still very basic. At one stage, a friend of hers comes in and Belinda stops the haircut to chat and make a call. I want this over with as soon as possible.
"Disculpe, Por Favour," I say, "Quiero a va." According to the Google Translate website that means, "Sorry for Favour. I want to go." But she got the message anyway. I thought I might be risking trouble but they were ok, when I added the second part. Good job! Thanks Belinda. And mission accomplished. Now to shower and find a place to wash my clothes. I hope they will a/ dry them properly, and 2/ Not loose any of the garments.
I took a photo of the clothes I was leaving there, feeling slightly guilty about doing this in front of them, but it can be useful later. I explained my memory was bad and need to remember what was there, as politely as possible. My only good trekking pair of trousers went missing in India just several weeks into the trip, when the hotel sent them out to wash. The manger/owner was angry when I asked about my missing trousers, telling me I hadn't given them any trousers, but I told him I wasn't leaving until they were returned. All this in the back streets of Paharganj, in quite a nice hotel for that area. Actually I was going to leave couple of days later no matter, but on the evening before the trousers that didn't exist miraculously returned and went on to have a number of wild adventures over the next year.
While back at the "classiest" hotel in town and getting dressed from a shower, a woman began knocking on my door, and talking Spanish. I said "Que?" several times and didn't understand her reply. I ignored her as I unpacked my backpack to look for clothes to put on. I sensed some kind of scam, or perhaps a robbery, (over re-acting perhaps), but who was this person in the hotel? Perhaps a maid. She wasn't going away though and knocked on the door repeatedly, somewhere between five and ten times.
Eventually, I got some clothes on and opened the door just to find out it's somebody selling a blanket or some such thing. This is the reason for all the knocking? And not even a staff member? It's a good job she doesn't understand English, there might be some pay back from a relative. It's one thing people trying to sell their goods in the street but this was knocking on my door IN THE HOTEL.
Much of this Central American journey goes through countries where many people work hard for very little pay. It doesn't feel comfortable to witness the poverty on display. Those working around tourists are doing relatively well, but not everyone is.
Average people can live like they're rich here and many have. As you journey around the lake you see the swish pads of foreigners and perhaps a small percentage of elite from Guatemala City. It's a chance to live well, and it happens all over. In Guatemala the lake is home to so many it's hard to estimate how many. I admire those people who are able to take risks and come here to build houses (no planning needed), but I am not brave enough. I see why they do it, some of the pads are luxurious, while many others are simple, nice homes with great views of the lake. Many will only stay for the winter. Escaping Northern climes fro the winter is common here and people have been doing it since the eighties.
Forty years ago, the lake was a collection of villages, home to locals, now many of them are sustained and probably prosper on tourist money. I'm in San Pedro at the moment, at the Mikaso Hotel, supposedly the swankiest in town at £30 per night. It's nice to have bricks and mortal and an en-suite bathroom around me again after three nights in a straw and wooden shack at La Iguana Perdido in Santa Cruz.
San Pedro is the party town of the many around the lake, although I believe this hotel is furthest away from the "action". The dusty breeze block lanes that wind back towards partyville and the dock, are ugly, uninviting affairs, lined with numerous eateries and shops orientated mostly to tourists. I ate in the second rated place on trip advisor for lunch. Back in the Uk , this would be a 2 out of 5 star place but here it's a 4.5. The people are really friendly.
I need a haircut, I'm tired of having it mope about on my head doing nothing so I sought out the only hairdressers/ barbers in town, named after the owner's five year old daughter, Nathalie. I found the shop closed, then noticed the opening hours. Cerrado (Closed) 12-2pm. People here must be doing alright if they can afford two hour lunch breaks, but then it's not that busy and it's a small place.
The coffee shop owners across the street got the Father-in-law to let me in and wait and then telephoned the hairdresser Belinda. She'll be down in ten. Twenty minutes later she arrives with husband and daughter and we begin shaving my head. Number four all over with a little two on the sides. That'll set me up for most of Central America,
Her English is good and we switch between languages, although my Spanish is still very basic. At one stage, a friend of hers comes in and Belinda stops the haircut to chat and make a call. I want this over with as soon as possible.
"Disculpe, Por Favour," I say, "Quiero a va." According to the Google Translate website that means, "Sorry for Favour. I want to go." But she got the message anyway. I thought I might be risking trouble but they were ok, when I added the second part. Good job! Thanks Belinda. And mission accomplished. Now to shower and find a place to wash my clothes. I hope they will a/ dry them properly, and 2/ Not loose any of the garments.
I took a photo of the clothes I was leaving there, feeling slightly guilty about doing this in front of them, but it can be useful later. I explained my memory was bad and need to remember what was there, as politely as possible. My only good trekking pair of trousers went missing in India just several weeks into the trip, when the hotel sent them out to wash. The manger/owner was angry when I asked about my missing trousers, telling me I hadn't given them any trousers, but I told him I wasn't leaving until they were returned. All this in the back streets of Paharganj, in quite a nice hotel for that area. Actually I was going to leave couple of days later no matter, but on the evening before the trousers that didn't exist miraculously returned and went on to have a number of wild adventures over the next year.
While back at the "classiest" hotel in town and getting dressed from a shower, a woman began knocking on my door, and talking Spanish. I said "Que?" several times and didn't understand her reply. I ignored her as I unpacked my backpack to look for clothes to put on. I sensed some kind of scam, or perhaps a robbery, (over re-acting perhaps), but who was this person in the hotel? Perhaps a maid. She wasn't going away though and knocked on the door repeatedly, somewhere between five and ten times.
Eventually, I got some clothes on and opened the door just to find out it's somebody selling a blanket or some such thing. This is the reason for all the knocking? And not even a staff member? It's a good job she doesn't understand English, there might be some pay back from a relative. It's one thing people trying to sell their goods in the street but this was knocking on my door IN THE HOTEL.
Much of this Central American journey goes through countries where many people work hard for very little pay. It doesn't feel comfortable to witness the poverty on display. Those working around tourists are doing relatively well, but not everyone is.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
San Francisco
26th November
San Francisco was my Father's favourite city apparently. He spent around five years in Canada and The USA before I was born, beginning his journey on the East coast of the US and travelling across Canada to California over those years, working many jobs along the way. In those days, it was possible to do that. He was in his early to mid twenties and the youthfulness smiles back from the black and white photos he brought back. I've always wanted to visit Canada and am yet to do so. I've often thought about finding the spots in the photos to see how they've changed, perhaps recreate them, but that's one hell of an undertaking and near on impossible to complete. I will scan in some of those photos when I next have the chance.
Travelling into San Francisco across any of the bridges you need to pay a toll. I made sure to set it up so as not to incur a fine. I almost came through the trip without a citation, as they call it, but on the very last day got caught out staying too long in a 2-hour parking zone. And that's where my Vegas winnings went.
The HI hostel at Fort Mason in SF is an interesting and very busy building. It was built to house army and navy personnel a hundred so years ago but is now entirely privately owned. Rikers Island can be seen through the window of the cafe. It seems so close, everybody wonders how the prisoners couldn't have escaped. I wouldn't fancy swimming out there but plenty of people do swim in the harbour below Mason. All through the winter as well. Nutters! I watched them for a while, admiring the hardiness on show, then headed West to to what all the tourists do, see the bridge up close. It was just as busy as all the other days, none of the famous mist on any day I was there. I always wonder if there really isn't a type of super human that designs and builds these things. People don't give much thought to the engineering behind the 20th and 21st Centuries. These people are superstars of the our time.
If you walk under the bridge and head into the bay to the SW of the bridge you find a secluded beach where few people go but from where you have the best vista of the bridge. It's huge.
San Francisco was my Father's favourite city apparently. He spent around five years in Canada and The USA before I was born, beginning his journey on the East coast of the US and travelling across Canada to California over those years, working many jobs along the way. In those days, it was possible to do that. He was in his early to mid twenties and the youthfulness smiles back from the black and white photos he brought back. I've always wanted to visit Canada and am yet to do so. I've often thought about finding the spots in the photos to see how they've changed, perhaps recreate them, but that's one hell of an undertaking and near on impossible to complete. I will scan in some of those photos when I next have the chance.
Travelling into San Francisco across any of the bridges you need to pay a toll. I made sure to set it up so as not to incur a fine. I almost came through the trip without a citation, as they call it, but on the very last day got caught out staying too long in a 2-hour parking zone. And that's where my Vegas winnings went.
If you walk under the bridge and head into the bay to the SW of the bridge you find a secluded beach where few people go but from where you have the best vista of the bridge. It's huge.
Point Reyes National Seashore
24th November
I booked two nights at the secluded HI hostel located inside Point Reyes National Park. The wild landscapes, stunning vistas and lagoons attract a lot of visitors, including many day trippers from the Bay area and San Francisco, but the area is large enough and wild enough to accommodate almost everybody. There are no stores anywhere in the park so stocking up before you go is essential. Meals aren't provided. A couple of young-uns from Canada turned up without any food and ended up rummaging through the free food and left over shelf for their supper. So Kraft Mac and Cheese it was for them! Mmm, mmm. This is relatively tasty if you eat one piece. I can't imagine throwing a plateful down though. They didn't seem to mind it so much.
The hostel itself is a wi-fi free zone to encourage people to switch off for a while. No phone signal out here either so many people come to escape the constant messages. I have no such problem there. My dorm was shared with a variety of people including a young french man who seemed to suffer from night terrors. "Noooo, noooo, nooooo, nooooo," woke me up some time during the night. I considered waking him the second time it happened but it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.
The Canadian guy, who was motorcycling from Edmonton all the way down to Argentina (brave fecker), thought it was me for some reason. I've been told I talk in my sleep but not so often and not like this, yet. I'd heard of night terrors but never encountered it before. He was gone early the next morning so there wasn't a chance to ask about it.
One of the other guests was a man, around sixty five years old, who came to this same hostel for 14 nights in a row once a year. He used to stay for longer, but recent regulations prevent a/ anyone staying for more than 14 days at any one hostel per year, and b/ no-one who lives in the same region as the hostel can stay. The poor old homeless chaps turn up to the hostels in cities and towns from time to time and I witnessed one being turned away. I understand why they do it of course. It's trouble. That's a sad fact of life here. Not sure what else to say about it. It sucks. There are no solutions. It's utterly ruthless. I wonder over how easily it could happen, but no doubt, it can happen a lot easier here.
I visited the nearby area of Limantour spit and beach a number of times in my time there. This Jackal was walking unperturbed along the edge of the road on one such occasion. This was the only time I saw this species during my time in the US. Perhaps they'll be more on view when I return in the Spring.
Check out the elk keeping a careful eye on the predator in the topper-most photo.
Point Reyes National Seashore is a great place to camp and walk and generally enjoy the natural world. There are camp sites a mile or so hike from the road at the hostel which I'd like to do if I lived in the region.
The other aspect of the reserve is the Point Reyes lighthouse which is crowded with day trippers and the like. The views looking North along Point Reyes beach are spectacular and it's possible to see Blue Whales out to sea here. Although I didn't see any, the Canadian Motorcyclist did by chance.
There are numerous opportunities for out of the way hikes and camping in this area. It's exactly the sort of place I want to get kitted out to spend a few nights. But thats' not happening this time. I'm too chicken to go it alone, and I have accommodation booked in San Francisco after here, and for Yosemite after that.
It was whilst staying here that I received the bad news from back home. My frame of mind shifted at some point and it took a while to bring it back. A good man taken to soon (mod thirties) by cancer, leaving behind a wife and three young children. Travelling around feels more self centred than usual during times like that. We live in a self imposed bubble. It can be the only way to cope with reality. So many family members have succumbed to cancer and I never know what to say or do. Nature will do as it pleases. The world is a random place and the sense we make of it is all that we have. It's a sick joke that some people can still believe in a god despite the painfully obvious absence of such a thing.
I booked two nights at the secluded HI hostel located inside Point Reyes National Park. The wild landscapes, stunning vistas and lagoons attract a lot of visitors, including many day trippers from the Bay area and San Francisco, but the area is large enough and wild enough to accommodate almost everybody. There are no stores anywhere in the park so stocking up before you go is essential. Meals aren't provided. A couple of young-uns from Canada turned up without any food and ended up rummaging through the free food and left over shelf for their supper. So Kraft Mac and Cheese it was for them! Mmm, mmm. This is relatively tasty if you eat one piece. I can't imagine throwing a plateful down though. They didn't seem to mind it so much.
The hostel itself is a wi-fi free zone to encourage people to switch off for a while. No phone signal out here either so many people come to escape the constant messages. I have no such problem there. My dorm was shared with a variety of people including a young french man who seemed to suffer from night terrors. "Noooo, noooo, nooooo, nooooo," woke me up some time during the night. I considered waking him the second time it happened but it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.
The Canadian guy, who was motorcycling from Edmonton all the way down to Argentina (brave fecker), thought it was me for some reason. I've been told I talk in my sleep but not so often and not like this, yet. I'd heard of night terrors but never encountered it before. He was gone early the next morning so there wasn't a chance to ask about it.
One of the other guests was a man, around sixty five years old, who came to this same hostel for 14 nights in a row once a year. He used to stay for longer, but recent regulations prevent a/ anyone staying for more than 14 days at any one hostel per year, and b/ no-one who lives in the same region as the hostel can stay. The poor old homeless chaps turn up to the hostels in cities and towns from time to time and I witnessed one being turned away. I understand why they do it of course. It's trouble. That's a sad fact of life here. Not sure what else to say about it. It sucks. There are no solutions. It's utterly ruthless. I wonder over how easily it could happen, but no doubt, it can happen a lot easier here.
I visited the nearby area of Limantour spit and beach a number of times in my time there. This Jackal was walking unperturbed along the edge of the road on one such occasion. This was the only time I saw this species during my time in the US. Perhaps they'll be more on view when I return in the Spring.Check out the elk keeping a careful eye on the predator in the topper-most photo.
Point Reyes National Seashore is a great place to camp and walk and generally enjoy the natural world. There are camp sites a mile or so hike from the road at the hostel which I'd like to do if I lived in the region.The other aspect of the reserve is the Point Reyes lighthouse which is crowded with day trippers and the like. The views looking North along Point Reyes beach are spectacular and it's possible to see Blue Whales out to sea here. Although I didn't see any, the Canadian Motorcyclist did by chance.
There are numerous opportunities for out of the way hikes and camping in this area. It's exactly the sort of place I want to get kitted out to spend a few nights. But thats' not happening this time. I'm too chicken to go it alone, and I have accommodation booked in San Francisco after here, and for Yosemite after that.
 |
| Point Reyes Beach looking North |
Friday, January 22, 2016
Camp Meeker
14th November 2015
There was another hostel South of San Francisco that is located in a lighthouse. It had been my plan to stay there but there were no vacancies so I decided to head straight to Camp Meeker North of San Francisco, where I would spend about ten nights. I reasoned that I could return and stay longer in the Big Sur and Monterey on the way South. But right now, I had the opportunity to stay in Camp Meeker in a place by myself for ten days. And for free thanks to an extremely generous and helpful fellow birder from the Birding California group on facebook. Who knows, maybe I could even get some writing done.
I passed the lovely lighthouse hostel and many other coastal sites before hitting the traffic of San Francisco. Before long, I'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and attempted to park in the viewing area, but gave up pretty quickly. These areas were built before everyone in America had a car I'm sure. These days, with the huge number of tourists visiting the bridge it's insanely congested. Traffic crawls across the bridge whilst tourists cycle dangerously in the right lane. Thousands of pedestrians are present at any given time on and around the bridge. It's only a bridge! I'll be back to join their sheeply numbers soon enough.
Another hour or so and I'd make it to Camp Meeker.
Camp Meeker is a fascinating place, located amongst, and beneath a towering canopy of Redwood trees that block out a lot of heat from the sun in the morning and evening. It was built to house the logging industry back in the 19th Century, but now are often used as second homes and a cool summer get away. I imagine the shade from the trees gives welcome relief in the summer months.
About a week into my stay I realised that the somewhat famed Bohemian Grove from the adventures of Jon Ronson was located nearby. I briefly considered sneaking in to the site before remembering that it was no longer a mystery what went on there. That is another story which has already been told, exposed and passed over, but in a nutshell, rich and powerful people get together once a year and burn a ceremonial giant owl in some kind of adult frat boy club. For more on that, read Jon Ronson's Them: Adventures with Extremists.
And for the wiki page on the club itself: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohemian_Grove
All very fascinating back in the day, and still something conspiracy theorists will likely cite when speaking of the so-called "illuminati". These days the nutcases are more into new brands of fiction like "Chemtrails", the 911 conspiracy theory (that one's never going away) and other nonsense to do with GM products. And let's not forget the moon loading "hoax". The thing that most bothers me about all these things is that they're easily debunked with a small amount of research. I can't understand why these apparently "awake" individuals, can't wake up enough to and use simple reasoning and critical theory methods. Perhaps, just open their eyes to reality a little more. It's been said before, there's comfort in thinking that someone's in control, because the truth that no-one is, and the whole world is thrashing along quite randomly is a terrifying concept for many. But beautiful for astronomers and evolutionists alike. This very randomness has created the world we know and the life that resides here.
I would stay here for the next eight to ten days (not sure which), visiting the coast and bird watching most days and watching Amazon Prime; Deadwood, Curb Your Enthusiasm season 8 and Master of None, in the evenings until I'd seen them all! Good times.
The evening temperature fluctuated between cool to cold, but the days were pleasant and occasionally hot. I made use of having access to a kitchen most days. The nearest store was a few miles away, and the nearest supermarket around fifteen miles away, so there wasn't any popping to the shop from this location. I made sure I always had fresh milk for tea, you can be assured of that. Without a car, I'm not sure what someone would do, but then, nobody does without a car.
For the next week or so I enjoyed Sonoma County, visiting the picturesque coastal towns like Jenner and Bodega Bay on many occasions. The Russian River opens up into a lagoon at the beach and joins with the ocean at high tide or when the river levels rise. In this area you can see seals and a lot of bird life. It was here I saw my first Bald Eagle.
Bodega Bay is nature reserve with a spit separating ocean from the bay and saltwater march where thousands of birds spend each day. The species change with the season but there's always something to see.
It was here I saw my first Bobcat. It was only spotted when it crossed the path in front of a couple of people out enjoying the sunshine. As soon as they're under cover it was near on impossible to see but they watched, and noticed where it had picked to slump in the shade of a bush. I tried to get good photos and this is the best I could manage this time. I haven't seen so many wild cats, other than a Jaguarundi in South America so this was great.
More to follow...
There was another hostel South of San Francisco that is located in a lighthouse. It had been my plan to stay there but there were no vacancies so I decided to head straight to Camp Meeker North of San Francisco, where I would spend about ten nights. I reasoned that I could return and stay longer in the Big Sur and Monterey on the way South. But right now, I had the opportunity to stay in Camp Meeker in a place by myself for ten days. And for free thanks to an extremely generous and helpful fellow birder from the Birding California group on facebook. Who knows, maybe I could even get some writing done.
I passed the lovely lighthouse hostel and many other coastal sites before hitting the traffic of San Francisco. Before long, I'd crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and attempted to park in the viewing area, but gave up pretty quickly. These areas were built before everyone in America had a car I'm sure. These days, with the huge number of tourists visiting the bridge it's insanely congested. Traffic crawls across the bridge whilst tourists cycle dangerously in the right lane. Thousands of pedestrians are present at any given time on and around the bridge. It's only a bridge! I'll be back to join their sheeply numbers soon enough.
Another hour or so and I'd make it to Camp Meeker.
Camp Meeker is a fascinating place, located amongst, and beneath a towering canopy of Redwood trees that block out a lot of heat from the sun in the morning and evening. It was built to house the logging industry back in the 19th Century, but now are often used as second homes and a cool summer get away. I imagine the shade from the trees gives welcome relief in the summer months.About a week into my stay I realised that the somewhat famed Bohemian Grove from the adventures of Jon Ronson was located nearby. I briefly considered sneaking in to the site before remembering that it was no longer a mystery what went on there. That is another story which has already been told, exposed and passed over, but in a nutshell, rich and powerful people get together once a year and burn a ceremonial giant owl in some kind of adult frat boy club. For more on that, read Jon Ronson's Them: Adventures with Extremists.
And for the wiki page on the club itself: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bohemian_Grove
All very fascinating back in the day, and still something conspiracy theorists will likely cite when speaking of the so-called "illuminati". These days the nutcases are more into new brands of fiction like "Chemtrails", the 911 conspiracy theory (that one's never going away) and other nonsense to do with GM products. And let's not forget the moon loading "hoax". The thing that most bothers me about all these things is that they're easily debunked with a small amount of research. I can't understand why these apparently "awake" individuals, can't wake up enough to and use simple reasoning and critical theory methods. Perhaps, just open their eyes to reality a little more. It's been said before, there's comfort in thinking that someone's in control, because the truth that no-one is, and the whole world is thrashing along quite randomly is a terrifying concept for many. But beautiful for astronomers and evolutionists alike. This very randomness has created the world we know and the life that resides here.
The evening temperature fluctuated between cool to cold, but the days were pleasant and occasionally hot. I made use of having access to a kitchen most days. The nearest store was a few miles away, and the nearest supermarket around fifteen miles away, so there wasn't any popping to the shop from this location. I made sure I always had fresh milk for tea, you can be assured of that. Without a car, I'm not sure what someone would do, but then, nobody does without a car.
For the next week or so I enjoyed Sonoma County, visiting the picturesque coastal towns like Jenner and Bodega Bay on many occasions. The Russian River opens up into a lagoon at the beach and joins with the ocean at high tide or when the river levels rise. In this area you can see seals and a lot of bird life. It was here I saw my first Bald Eagle.
It was here I saw my first Bobcat. It was only spotted when it crossed the path in front of a couple of people out enjoying the sunshine. As soon as they're under cover it was near on impossible to see but they watched, and noticed where it had picked to slump in the shade of a bush. I tried to get good photos and this is the best I could manage this time. I haven't seen so many wild cats, other than a Jaguarundi in South America so this was great.
 |
| Bobcat |
More to follow...
Continuing North to Monterey and San Francisco
13th November 2016
From San Luis Obispo heading North, Highway 1 hugs the coast more. Things start to get scenic and eventually it becomes the famous beatnik coastal get away of Jack Kerouac and his contemporaries, known as the Big Sur.
The traffic is more spaced out now and the scenery is enough to make you want to constantly stop. I choose my spots. One is a deserted estuary that flows under the road and onto the beach where I see a number of new species of birds and take in the wild Pacific vistas.
Further along, there's a much visited Sea Lion colony. Here you can enjoy the sight of 1 hundred or more humans snapping photos of Sea Lions on the beach a few metres below the car park. On the most part, the sea lions sleep or snooze but there are a few in the water and I actually spotted an Otter a short way out at sea.
Some young male sea lions are flighting so I try to take an amazing shot of this action. I should have filmed it, but forgot my camera could do such a thing until much later in the trip. Fool! There were many sights where a video is better than a photo in the US. I'll do better next time.
A fair distance further North is Los Ranchos National Park then Los Padres of which Big Sur is a part. It's all beautifully scenic and worth a much longer visit than the day I drive through it. I stop for a few hours, and walk into the wilds of Los Ranchos forest. I hear what sounds like a bear scratching a tree but later, a park ranger tells me there haven't been any for many a year. Might be a cougar though! Yike. I read too much about cougar attacks online. Although they are rare, they can be pretty serious, occasionally resulting in death or permanent injury. I read about how to deal with an attack. Fight back mostly. There's conflicting advice as to whether running is a good idea or not. Recent studies suggest people who run have less chance of serious injury. Either way, my worries are unnecessary. Seeing one would be rare enough. I'd love to see one. Am not too keen on fighting one is all. And when you're walking in a dark secluded wood a mile or so from anywhere, you do get spooked. Some of the route felt a bit like walking through a forest from the Hobbit, dark and cool, with moisture all around.
I did see an owl, which is always cool, but the beach is where the wildlife action is mostly at, or where you can see it anyway. It's mostly birds but I'll take that. The sand here is perfect, the visitors respectful and the air clean. Long gone are the grim faces of the city. This is more why I came here: friendly (armed) park rangers and more relaxed locals.
Walking through that wild area made me want to see a larger area of it, perhaps Yellowstone or Yosemite. But I want to see the really wild areas, not the Disney Land that some of these parks can become. I know it's out there, I just need to pinpoint how to get in. Winter is coming and much of the wild areas close because of snowfall. It'll be a race against time, but I'm not in a hurry.
That night, I spent at Monterey HI Hostel. There's so much to do here, yet I'm heading off again in the morning. At dinner time I meet up with Marissa, who surfed at my place in London a few years back. I'm getting used to the way the waitresses are here, and the food, and the fact she drove so far to meet me, yet it's not considered so far (about an hour) in this huge nation.
From San Luis Obispo heading North, Highway 1 hugs the coast more. Things start to get scenic and eventually it becomes the famous beatnik coastal get away of Jack Kerouac and his contemporaries, known as the Big Sur.
The traffic is more spaced out now and the scenery is enough to make you want to constantly stop. I choose my spots. One is a deserted estuary that flows under the road and onto the beach where I see a number of new species of birds and take in the wild Pacific vistas.
Further along, there's a much visited Sea Lion colony. Here you can enjoy the sight of 1 hundred or more humans snapping photos of Sea Lions on the beach a few metres below the car park. On the most part, the sea lions sleep or snooze but there are a few in the water and I actually spotted an Otter a short way out at sea.
Some young male sea lions are flighting so I try to take an amazing shot of this action. I should have filmed it, but forgot my camera could do such a thing until much later in the trip. Fool! There were many sights where a video is better than a photo in the US. I'll do better next time.
A fair distance further North is Los Ranchos National Park then Los Padres of which Big Sur is a part. It's all beautifully scenic and worth a much longer visit than the day I drive through it. I stop for a few hours, and walk into the wilds of Los Ranchos forest. I hear what sounds like a bear scratching a tree but later, a park ranger tells me there haven't been any for many a year. Might be a cougar though! Yike. I read too much about cougar attacks online. Although they are rare, they can be pretty serious, occasionally resulting in death or permanent injury. I read about how to deal with an attack. Fight back mostly. There's conflicting advice as to whether running is a good idea or not. Recent studies suggest people who run have less chance of serious injury. Either way, my worries are unnecessary. Seeing one would be rare enough. I'd love to see one. Am not too keen on fighting one is all. And when you're walking in a dark secluded wood a mile or so from anywhere, you do get spooked. Some of the route felt a bit like walking through a forest from the Hobbit, dark and cool, with moisture all around.I did see an owl, which is always cool, but the beach is where the wildlife action is mostly at, or where you can see it anyway. It's mostly birds but I'll take that. The sand here is perfect, the visitors respectful and the air clean. Long gone are the grim faces of the city. This is more why I came here: friendly (armed) park rangers and more relaxed locals.
Walking through that wild area made me want to see a larger area of it, perhaps Yellowstone or Yosemite. But I want to see the really wild areas, not the Disney Land that some of these parks can become. I know it's out there, I just need to pinpoint how to get in. Winter is coming and much of the wild areas close because of snowfall. It'll be a race against time, but I'm not in a hurry.
That night, I spent at Monterey HI Hostel. There's so much to do here, yet I'm heading off again in the morning. At dinner time I meet up with Marissa, who surfed at my place in London a few years back. I'm getting used to the way the waitresses are here, and the food, and the fact she drove so far to meet me, yet it's not considered so far (about an hour) in this huge nation.
My travelling youtube channel is up!
I intend to put more and more interesting videos up as I go along. If I get 30 subscribers I can change the URL to something more memorable! So please subscribe!
Thanks
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCfjDnIWGsXK99EoREeNmbIA
A road trip begins.
12th November 2015
The uber taxi back to the Alamo car hire lot near to LAX airport cost a mere $8. The car was pristine and the driver was a friendly Mongolian who was due to return home within a few months. he gave me his email address for when I visit Ulaanbataar but I've sadly lost that information since.
Picking up the car was an interesting conveyor belt affair that I hadn't experienced before. I entered my reservation code in a machine, which took me through a few questions, then printed a ticket. Then all I had to do was go the area f the lot labelled "economy" and choose any car. The keys are in the door.
There was only one car in that area but they come and go as they are processed. The number plate was Oregon 599 HMG, I felt like James Bond. HMG is shorthand for Her Majesties Government for some people.
So then the process of familiarisation with the car began, and continued for some days. I have to admit that having an automatic transmission is a huge bonus when driving on the "wrong side" of the road.
I went over the body work for marks and exited the checkpoint. I mentioned some marks on the bumper and was told they don't bother with bumpers, just body work. It was in pretty good condition, just 5000 miles on the odometer.
I didn't figure out just how cheap petrol/ gas is in the US at first, but with this Kia Rio, I can drive for 400 miles on one tank, and a tank only cost $20 - $25 dollars to fill. What with the $12 a day rental, this is definitely the best way to travel the United States. My guess is that it has to be kept cheap because of the distances people need to cover to do business here. They think the cost is high, but then "they" often drive a pick up which likely uses two or three times the amount of fuel.
Out on the open road, I headed straight for the Pacific Coast Highway, (highway 1), keen to leave the city behind. The road winds along the coast, past Santa Barbara and up into less bust areas. In my excitement I drove past some police highway patrol vehicles (one facing in each direction ready to engage any "perps") at over 80 (in 55 zone), but they didn't give chase thankfully. I don't need this on the first day. I resolved to only driver 5-10% over the over changing speed limit.
I later discovered, that they don't send automated tickets to the registered owner in most places here. They usually only chase you down to give you a ticket. For weeks I wondered whether the car hire company had received something before I found out how the system worked. You can drive as fast as you like on the freeways in Las Vegas it seems, but everywhere else, watch out.
The Highway patrols do a great job, but someone tell US drivers that driving 3 metres from the car in front at 80 is a bad idea. They all seem to have it down to an art form but it freaked me out when I returned to the worst offending city (L.A.) and drove around a while. I'm not exaggerating when I say that that L.A. is the worst place on earth to drive. And the freeways particularly. These are used for most journeys across town, because as it's spread over such a wide area, it's often the best way to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. The metro system is laughable, apart from the red line which actually resembles something you might expect from a subway. When trains and cars went to war, the cars came in force. No contest!
I began to enjoy the drive. The roads are great outside of the city with a lot to look at en route. Up this way, it's mostly agriculture, but later on there's forest and coastal scenery.
My first stop on the road North was to be San Luis Obispo, a quaint town, that gives off a dreamy small town vibe that initially makes you want to go and live there. I don't know how long that feeling would last, as I was moving on the next morning.
I stayed in the Hostelling International place, which was pretty groovy. This was a long way from L.A. I'd made my escape.
One of the other guests and room mate of myself and two trainee pilots, was an American who told me he'd spent the previous night in his truck, which nearly caused him to loose his toes due to the cold. It's fascinating how everybody feels cold differently, but I don't expect it was that warm in there as nights do occasionally get a bit nippy. I think he was more used to San Diego weather which is even nicer than L.A.'s.
This guy looked a bit weird to my eye, and seemed a bit too keen to hang out. I tried to shake him, and his proposal to go and catch a beer, but he hung around a while, and when it was time for me to find food, we took the short walk to the centre together. He was tall and wiry, had face that suggested something of his hedonistic past. The pencil thin moustache and goatee is something I expect from an artist or semi-hippy type, but america has many of it's own sects of characters, that I haven't understood yet.
It was Wednesday and the farmer's market was on, and busy with patrons. I was told it's one of the biggest in California and there was a huge variety of foods and craft on offer as well as some street acts and musicians. It was like a mini festival, and of a quality sort.
I ordered an oven baked pizza from a trailer in the street. The buzz was good and numerous people hung about enjoying one. My companion for the night informed me that he really needed a beer, lets go find a bar while we wait. So we found a bar just in time for me to have to go back and grab my pizza, leaving him there to fuel up. Pizza was great, and I gobbled it down whilst walking amongst the stalls, caring nothing for what they had to offer, only the pizza that delivered me from hunger. Amen.
By the time I reached the bar, he was on his second drink and insisted on buying me a drink. I refused the offer but a few minutes later, a beer appeared in front of me. This guy knew how to talk with bar staff and was already bestest buddies.
So I drank the beer slowly, my new friend managed 2 or 3 in that time, then ordered shots when I said it was time for me to head off. He drank both shots and mentioned that he's had a couple more while I was off collecting my pizza. Oh, I thought. Oh. That's... funny.
We had to go via a liquor store to get this guy some smokes of course. I wonder if he bought anything else in there? I didn't notice but maybe he did because later back at the hostel he was supping on huge 2 pint glass of beer. Right. I think there was some talk about drinking too much from him earlier, but a lot of people say that from time to time. Were there any clues up to this point? Yeah, this is an interesting one, wait for it.
When you stay in a hostel, you can expect lack of privacy and a strange character now and then, but this guy was about to reach the strangest level.
At 3 am I was awoken by a fuss in the room. Another american national had come in to find our drinking friend standing behind the door with his dick out, whilst holding the garbage bin in front.
The exact quote was, "I don't know what you're doing, but you need to take it somewhere else." The pilots also awoke, and the dutch one started pointing at our strange room mate who had only stepped outside the room, "I can still see him, he's still... close the door." Much laughter and piss taking ensued. The Dutch guy being the loudest disapprover. I felt slightly embarrassed for the guy but this is probably the weirdest thing I can remember happening in a hostel. My guess is that he's a little bit crazy, a little bit alcoholic and a little bit attracted to guys, but in a freaky kind of way.
Once the furore had died down, and everyone had gone back to sleep, out weirdo sneaked back in, took up his bags and left, never to be seen again, probably for another night in his truck.
The next day, the story was the highlight of the morning conversation. This was only the fourth night in the US. Please don't let this be a common occurrence.
The uber taxi back to the Alamo car hire lot near to LAX airport cost a mere $8. The car was pristine and the driver was a friendly Mongolian who was due to return home within a few months. he gave me his email address for when I visit Ulaanbataar but I've sadly lost that information since.
Picking up the car was an interesting conveyor belt affair that I hadn't experienced before. I entered my reservation code in a machine, which took me through a few questions, then printed a ticket. Then all I had to do was go the area f the lot labelled "economy" and choose any car. The keys are in the door.
There was only one car in that area but they come and go as they are processed. The number plate was Oregon 599 HMG, I felt like James Bond. HMG is shorthand for Her Majesties Government for some people.
So then the process of familiarisation with the car began, and continued for some days. I have to admit that having an automatic transmission is a huge bonus when driving on the "wrong side" of the road.
I went over the body work for marks and exited the checkpoint. I mentioned some marks on the bumper and was told they don't bother with bumpers, just body work. It was in pretty good condition, just 5000 miles on the odometer.
I didn't figure out just how cheap petrol/ gas is in the US at first, but with this Kia Rio, I can drive for 400 miles on one tank, and a tank only cost $20 - $25 dollars to fill. What with the $12 a day rental, this is definitely the best way to travel the United States. My guess is that it has to be kept cheap because of the distances people need to cover to do business here. They think the cost is high, but then "they" often drive a pick up which likely uses two or three times the amount of fuel.
Out on the open road, I headed straight for the Pacific Coast Highway, (highway 1), keen to leave the city behind. The road winds along the coast, past Santa Barbara and up into less bust areas. In my excitement I drove past some police highway patrol vehicles (one facing in each direction ready to engage any "perps") at over 80 (in 55 zone), but they didn't give chase thankfully. I don't need this on the first day. I resolved to only driver 5-10% over the over changing speed limit.
I later discovered, that they don't send automated tickets to the registered owner in most places here. They usually only chase you down to give you a ticket. For weeks I wondered whether the car hire company had received something before I found out how the system worked. You can drive as fast as you like on the freeways in Las Vegas it seems, but everywhere else, watch out.
The Highway patrols do a great job, but someone tell US drivers that driving 3 metres from the car in front at 80 is a bad idea. They all seem to have it down to an art form but it freaked me out when I returned to the worst offending city (L.A.) and drove around a while. I'm not exaggerating when I say that that L.A. is the worst place on earth to drive. And the freeways particularly. These are used for most journeys across town, because as it's spread over such a wide area, it's often the best way to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. The metro system is laughable, apart from the red line which actually resembles something you might expect from a subway. When trains and cars went to war, the cars came in force. No contest!
I began to enjoy the drive. The roads are great outside of the city with a lot to look at en route. Up this way, it's mostly agriculture, but later on there's forest and coastal scenery.
My first stop on the road North was to be San Luis Obispo, a quaint town, that gives off a dreamy small town vibe that initially makes you want to go and live there. I don't know how long that feeling would last, as I was moving on the next morning.
I stayed in the Hostelling International place, which was pretty groovy. This was a long way from L.A. I'd made my escape.
One of the other guests and room mate of myself and two trainee pilots, was an American who told me he'd spent the previous night in his truck, which nearly caused him to loose his toes due to the cold. It's fascinating how everybody feels cold differently, but I don't expect it was that warm in there as nights do occasionally get a bit nippy. I think he was more used to San Diego weather which is even nicer than L.A.'s.
This guy looked a bit weird to my eye, and seemed a bit too keen to hang out. I tried to shake him, and his proposal to go and catch a beer, but he hung around a while, and when it was time for me to find food, we took the short walk to the centre together. He was tall and wiry, had face that suggested something of his hedonistic past. The pencil thin moustache and goatee is something I expect from an artist or semi-hippy type, but america has many of it's own sects of characters, that I haven't understood yet.
It was Wednesday and the farmer's market was on, and busy with patrons. I was told it's one of the biggest in California and there was a huge variety of foods and craft on offer as well as some street acts and musicians. It was like a mini festival, and of a quality sort.
I ordered an oven baked pizza from a trailer in the street. The buzz was good and numerous people hung about enjoying one. My companion for the night informed me that he really needed a beer, lets go find a bar while we wait. So we found a bar just in time for me to have to go back and grab my pizza, leaving him there to fuel up. Pizza was great, and I gobbled it down whilst walking amongst the stalls, caring nothing for what they had to offer, only the pizza that delivered me from hunger. Amen.
By the time I reached the bar, he was on his second drink and insisted on buying me a drink. I refused the offer but a few minutes later, a beer appeared in front of me. This guy knew how to talk with bar staff and was already bestest buddies.
So I drank the beer slowly, my new friend managed 2 or 3 in that time, then ordered shots when I said it was time for me to head off. He drank both shots and mentioned that he's had a couple more while I was off collecting my pizza. Oh, I thought. Oh. That's... funny.
We had to go via a liquor store to get this guy some smokes of course. I wonder if he bought anything else in there? I didn't notice but maybe he did because later back at the hostel he was supping on huge 2 pint glass of beer. Right. I think there was some talk about drinking too much from him earlier, but a lot of people say that from time to time. Were there any clues up to this point? Yeah, this is an interesting one, wait for it.
When you stay in a hostel, you can expect lack of privacy and a strange character now and then, but this guy was about to reach the strangest level.
At 3 am I was awoken by a fuss in the room. Another american national had come in to find our drinking friend standing behind the door with his dick out, whilst holding the garbage bin in front.
The exact quote was, "I don't know what you're doing, but you need to take it somewhere else." The pilots also awoke, and the dutch one started pointing at our strange room mate who had only stepped outside the room, "I can still see him, he's still... close the door." Much laughter and piss taking ensued. The Dutch guy being the loudest disapprover. I felt slightly embarrassed for the guy but this is probably the weirdest thing I can remember happening in a hostel. My guess is that he's a little bit crazy, a little bit alcoholic and a little bit attracted to guys, but in a freaky kind of way.
Once the furore had died down, and everyone had gone back to sleep, out weirdo sneaked back in, took up his bags and left, never to be seen again, probably for another night in his truck.
The next day, the story was the highlight of the morning conversation. This was only the fourth night in the US. Please don't let this be a common occurrence.
L.A. Day 2
11th November 2015.
The overgrown area I cycled past in Pacific Palisades on the way to Will Roger's State park, turned out to Larry David's old house. I don't know why I noticed it, but when later searching for shooting locations for Curb your Enthusiasm, (this is out of interest in the architecture and infrastructure of the wealthy etc. in the USA), I came across articles about his house sale. Messy looking overgrown undergrowth are a great way to maintain privacy.
I guessed this was a very wealthy area, from the private cop eyeing me up as I struggled up the hill. Although a public road, in a place like this, they watch for homeless, crook and paps I guess. This turned out to be one of the areas which is home to the rich and famous. All very interesting to have a nose through but the park was my destination. There aren't so many cyclists in these parts, and a lot of the poor homeless types have bikes so I must have looked like a possible "person of interest".
There are a fair number of sport cyclists amongst the outdoor people of California. You can see them zipping about here and there, but not so many people use bicycles to get from A to B. I cycled 26 miles that day. L.A. was bigger than I thought for sure, and this was only moving about a small section of it.
Will Rogers lesson about respecting the indigenous people are long forgotten and discarded but his ranch remains as the centre of a park and tourist attraction. It's an appealing area, although the hills above his home are parched from four years of drought. A drought that doesn't appear to have affected golf courses and the lawns in many areas. Much of Southern California seems to be on the verge of returning to desert as the earth dries out and plants die out, but much of the area inland haas been desert for thousands of years already. They rise and fall throughout history, perhaps this one is on the rise now. The day after I left the rains came and filled the LA "rivers" - (the famous concrete drainage systems of Hollywood legend), but even that wasn't enough to much for the water supplies sadly. Deserts have a certain beauty but you need to be strong and determined to live in one. My later visit to Death Valley reminded me of that.
More to follow...
The overgrown area I cycled past in Pacific Palisades on the way to Will Roger's State park, turned out to Larry David's old house. I don't know why I noticed it, but when later searching for shooting locations for Curb your Enthusiasm, (this is out of interest in the architecture and infrastructure of the wealthy etc. in the USA), I came across articles about his house sale. Messy looking overgrown undergrowth are a great way to maintain privacy.
I guessed this was a very wealthy area, from the private cop eyeing me up as I struggled up the hill. Although a public road, in a place like this, they watch for homeless, crook and paps I guess. This turned out to be one of the areas which is home to the rich and famous. All very interesting to have a nose through but the park was my destination. There aren't so many cyclists in these parts, and a lot of the poor homeless types have bikes so I must have looked like a possible "person of interest".
There are a fair number of sport cyclists amongst the outdoor people of California. You can see them zipping about here and there, but not so many people use bicycles to get from A to B. I cycled 26 miles that day. L.A. was bigger than I thought for sure, and this was only moving about a small section of it.
Will Rogers lesson about respecting the indigenous people are long forgotten and discarded but his ranch remains as the centre of a park and tourist attraction. It's an appealing area, although the hills above his home are parched from four years of drought. A drought that doesn't appear to have affected golf courses and the lawns in many areas. Much of Southern California seems to be on the verge of returning to desert as the earth dries out and plants die out, but much of the area inland haas been desert for thousands of years already. They rise and fall throughout history, perhaps this one is on the rise now. The day after I left the rains came and filled the LA "rivers" - (the famous concrete drainage systems of Hollywood legend), but even that wasn't enough to much for the water supplies sadly. Deserts have a certain beauty but you need to be strong and determined to live in one. My later visit to Death Valley reminded me of that.
More to follow...
Introduction to the trip
18th January 2016
Hurriedly catching up on the last few months
Hurriedly catching up on the last few months
Before I
headed out on this trip, I decided that this would be my last in the backpacking style. Perhaps that will change, but I’m getting older, feeling tired, (maybe lazy), out of breath more often when scrambling up some rocks. The slight cough I've endured for the past three years remains undiagnosed. My enthusiasm for "hard knocks" travelling has waned in recent years. I still like adventure, but perhaps I've grown wiser, less inclined to do crazy things. Although, I am still interested in taking up sky-diving. Travelling/ backpacking will often delivers knocks however you go about it, but I feel that in future, I'll increasingly soften them. I'm not sure in what manner I’ll experience Africa, (the
only continent I’m yet to visit, not counting Antarctica), but perhaps it’ll settle for a resort or on one of
those previously hated tours.
But for now, I’m cramming too much into my pack, (as usual), stressing from the preparation and disorganisation of trying to let my apartment, something that's necessary before I can head off. The flight is booked and the calendar is ticking.
In the end, the let was only confirmed 2-3 days ahead of my flight to Los Angeles. STRESS. FUCKING STRESS. But I’m so glad that I can finally escape. I find the intense way or life of London more difficult to cope with these days. It doesn't make me happy and I don’t intend to return to it. Not unless there’s a very, very good reason; like love or a loved job.
I feel that the time has finally come to leave London for good. The place of my birth, and my home for so many years has become unrecognisable. Most of the inhabitants came to the city for money, not for love. I used to love my city. That city is gone. Stone cold dead. I won’t mourn it any longer. It has spurned us for money anyway, the familiar story of economical growth and sacrifice of tradition and honour. We've been betrayed and few seem to grasp the meaning of honour honour these days. Derided by the left, misused by the right, honour is an outdated concept, desperately lacking in 21st Century life.
In the end, the let was only confirmed 2-3 days ahead of my flight to Los Angeles. STRESS. FUCKING STRESS. But I’m so glad that I can finally escape. I find the intense way or life of London more difficult to cope with these days. It doesn't make me happy and I don’t intend to return to it. Not unless there’s a very, very good reason; like love or a loved job.
I feel that the time has finally come to leave London for good. The place of my birth, and my home for so many years has become unrecognisable. Most of the inhabitants came to the city for money, not for love. I used to love my city. That city is gone. Stone cold dead. I won’t mourn it any longer. It has spurned us for money anyway, the familiar story of economical growth and sacrifice of tradition and honour. We've been betrayed and few seem to grasp the meaning of honour honour these days. Derided by the left, misused by the right, honour is an outdated concept, desperately lacking in 21st Century life.
My London heritage, on my
father’s side (and much of my Mother’s), goes back hundreds
of years to when reliable records began for us working class people. Back then, my forefathers lived in an area of the much smaller city called Kensington, these days, famed for being home to the fabulously wealthy and stores like Harrods. But my people inhabited a world the modern inhabitant wouldn't recognise, or dare to tread. Interestingly, some of them kept cows (to provide milk) or
worked in carpentry and tailoring amongst other professions. Yes, there were cowkeepers in what is now Central London. In a yard in Kensington. Milk has long been important to the British. Tea without fresh milk is for heathens!! Perhaps that was a good business to be in.
There are still master carpenters in the family today, though now they live South of London, in nicer surroundings. Most of those living in Kensington these days are the mega rich, and many of them from numerous oversea destinations. Times have changed alright, and there’s no point dwelling on the past, or a lost home. It won't return, it can't. No one from that side of the family remains in London, and none can return. The increase in property prices, driven by wealthy investors makes Kensington one of the most expensive places for real estate on the entire planet. Those who helped build this city. are dispossessed, bought-off if they're lucky. I am one of the last of my family to have lived there. It’s happening in many cities worldwide, and perhaps it has always been the way, albeit at a much slower pace than we experience today. But I have to move with the times. I see no other cause of action. There is no choice. The saying adapt or die still holds truth.
Out of all my friends that still reside in the more central part of Zone 2, all live in what is, or once was social housing.
There are still master carpenters in the family today, though now they live South of London, in nicer surroundings. Most of those living in Kensington these days are the mega rich, and many of them from numerous oversea destinations. Times have changed alright, and there’s no point dwelling on the past, or a lost home. It won't return, it can't. No one from that side of the family remains in London, and none can return. The increase in property prices, driven by wealthy investors makes Kensington one of the most expensive places for real estate on the entire planet. Those who helped build this city. are dispossessed, bought-off if they're lucky. I am one of the last of my family to have lived there. It’s happening in many cities worldwide, and perhaps it has always been the way, albeit at a much slower pace than we experience today. But I have to move with the times. I see no other cause of action. There is no choice. The saying adapt or die still holds truth.
Out of all my friends that still reside in the more central part of Zone 2, all live in what is, or once was social housing.
But anyway, I’m happy to be
leaving now. There's nothing to be done to stop the tide. I hope never to
return to the grey, miserable winter days. Only love or a loved job could tempt me
back again. Both are unlikely. It's time for something I have often longed to try: the countryside, or a small country town or village. A fresh start. When I finally settle. But for this winter, I am escaping those grey skies and exploring the
Americas; from California all the way down to Panama, and back up again to New York. South America was last years adventure. That was good, but this is now.
EDIT below
And right now, I’m sitting in Coban in Guatemala two months and eleven days into this trip. It’s January 19th and the weather back in England is cold and dark. There’s even snow in London. Here, I am in a cooler place than the last few days (30 degrees daily), due to altitude. Tomorrow I head to Antigua, then after a few days there, on to Lake Atitlan, followed soon after by El Salvador and on and on, every day or two, catching buses, until I reach Granada in Nicaragua where I plan to rest again. That is the future, but the past was mostly filled with California until twelve days ago.
EDIT below
And right now, I’m sitting in Coban in Guatemala two months and eleven days into this trip. It’s January 19th and the weather back in England is cold and dark. There’s even snow in London. Here, I am in a cooler place than the last few days (30 degrees daily), due to altitude. Tomorrow I head to Antigua, then after a few days there, on to Lake Atitlan, followed soon after by El Salvador and on and on, every day or two, catching buses, until I reach Granada in Nicaragua where I plan to rest again. That is the future, but the past was mostly filled with California until twelve days ago.
On the 8th
November I boarded my Norwegian Air flight to L.A., glad to be finally getting
away and ending four years of running a guesthouse for minimum wage. After eleven hours in the air of a very
smooth flight I disembarked into the bright light of California. I’m sad to report that this light
illuminated a gabble of taxi drivers.
How much am I going to be ripped off by? If I’d planned ahead I could have caught an Uber for about
$10 to my airbnb destination, but instead I handed over about $40. Never again though, my hire car would
remove the need for taxis within a few days.
The next three nights
were spent in Culver City waking up at 2 am whilst trying and failing to stay
awake beyond 6pm. This was the
worst jet lag I have ever experienced and it took about a week to settle down. I should have slept on the plane, but
that never comes easy for me.
On the first morning I
planned to use the bicycle, from the airbnb I had booked named “Bike to the Beach” and go for a spin. Unfortunately, I
had to fix the bike first. Not a
great start but I made it work.
Whilst going about this task, I noticed bananas growing in the back
yard. They were only small but
still… this is exotic to us Brits. There were also Persimmon fruit growing, of which I was a
happy taster over the next week or so.
They seem to last a good long while in a zip bag on the open road.
The dawn temperature
of L.A. in November is lovely.
Cool and fresh, then later hot and sunny. No clouds. And
I didn’t see any for a week or two either, felt no rain at all for several more. The skies are blue blue blue in California. Several Hummingbirds sat on the wires
out back. I took photos of a bright red one and reasoned to look it
up later.
My first stop was
Ballona Creek. I wasn’t yet sure
which areas are safe, so as I took out my camera and binoculars to hungrily eye
up an Osprey and other interesting bird species, I checked out passers by for
intent. Little did I know, that
everyone here is as unfriendly as a potential robber. This seemed like a dodgy place. It wasn’t really.
That’s just the city doing it’s thing. There are random shootings and robberies all over, so naturally, it puts people on guard more than in Europe.
On the second day I
headed out at dawn again, this time to Santa Monica Beach via little Venice, and
cycled all the way along the promenade, stopping at the piers along the way. Again, clear blue skies.
A seal pup swam playfully around the end of the first pier. I tried to get a photo but not this time. I was surprised and shocked by the sheer amount of homeless people that appeared to be waking up all the way along the promenade. I later found out that they aren’t permitted to sleep there so go down early to set up camp and get ready for a day’s begging and/or enjoyment of the environmental conditions, the one thing that works in favour of homeless in L.A. I was to see this level of homelessness pretty much everywhere in the US, even in small towns. I’ve not seen anything like this level of destitution anywhere in the world since India. The United States need to think about that. India. Even the Indians will tell you what a terrible situation they have for the street people but this is the richest nation on Earth. A majority of these people appear to be mentally ill. In Europe these people are mostly cared for in hospital. In the USA, the money is spent elsewhere, and very much fuck the unfortunates. What a crazy juxtaposition with the richest, “free-est” nation on earth. I struggled to understand the United States. Perhaps there's nothing to understand.
It was only towards the end that I came to realise something quite obvious about the culture. They worship money. And pretty much everybody who immigrated there, did so because of economical reasons. To make money. To have a better life it’s called, (the american dream - remember that?), but really it’s about the opportunity to make money, very similar to what has been happening in London in recent history.
The immigrants didn’t go to America because they loved the land. They went for money. And the nation was built on the love for money, and that in a nutshell is what’s wrong. In Europe, we have history, culture, love of our land. The land is historically loved mostly for what it can produce in the USA. There’s something missing in the soul of the country. I look forward to seeing more of the East coast and New York because I know, despite the problems, it's a great nation of a sort, with numerous advancements in science and tech originating here. And there are a good deal good people as well, mostly in the Democratic part of the political spectrum seemingly, but it’s all getting fucked up by the narrow minded mental cases on the other side.
Apart from the great roads and road trips, wildlife and nature that remains, the USA is a some what vacuous place to visit at times. I hope for different experiences in the other states I'll visit, for they are unique, each and every one. A fascinating, complex place. Every culture, every idea, every religion and concept on the planet exists somewhere in the USA. I may end up living here, but it seems unlikely. There's just one thing will sway me. Love. It seems unlikely I could ever work there given the strict regulations.
A seal pup swam playfully around the end of the first pier. I tried to get a photo but not this time. I was surprised and shocked by the sheer amount of homeless people that appeared to be waking up all the way along the promenade. I later found out that they aren’t permitted to sleep there so go down early to set up camp and get ready for a day’s begging and/or enjoyment of the environmental conditions, the one thing that works in favour of homeless in L.A. I was to see this level of homelessness pretty much everywhere in the US, even in small towns. I’ve not seen anything like this level of destitution anywhere in the world since India. The United States need to think about that. India. Even the Indians will tell you what a terrible situation they have for the street people but this is the richest nation on Earth. A majority of these people appear to be mentally ill. In Europe these people are mostly cared for in hospital. In the USA, the money is spent elsewhere, and very much fuck the unfortunates. What a crazy juxtaposition with the richest, “free-est” nation on earth. I struggled to understand the United States. Perhaps there's nothing to understand.
It was only towards the end that I came to realise something quite obvious about the culture. They worship money. And pretty much everybody who immigrated there, did so because of economical reasons. To make money. To have a better life it’s called, (the american dream - remember that?), but really it’s about the opportunity to make money, very similar to what has been happening in London in recent history.
The immigrants didn’t go to America because they loved the land. They went for money. And the nation was built on the love for money, and that in a nutshell is what’s wrong. In Europe, we have history, culture, love of our land. The land is historically loved mostly for what it can produce in the USA. There’s something missing in the soul of the country. I look forward to seeing more of the East coast and New York because I know, despite the problems, it's a great nation of a sort, with numerous advancements in science and tech originating here. And there are a good deal good people as well, mostly in the Democratic part of the political spectrum seemingly, but it’s all getting fucked up by the narrow minded mental cases on the other side.
Apart from the great roads and road trips, wildlife and nature that remains, the USA is a some what vacuous place to visit at times. I hope for different experiences in the other states I'll visit, for they are unique, each and every one. A fascinating, complex place. Every culture, every idea, every religion and concept on the planet exists somewhere in the USA. I may end up living here, but it seems unlikely. There's just one thing will sway me. Love. It seems unlikely I could ever work there given the strict regulations.
You adapt to any
situation, any country, any culture, that fact is well known. It’s taken me about 12 days to adapt to
being outside of the West again.
Despite the problems, the USA is the west, and western life IS
comfortable for most of us.
It’s been 12 days since I
flew from LA to Cancun. As
soon as I cleared immigration and customs I was hit by the heat, followed
swiftly by the taxi drivers offers to take my money. $65
to get to my most recent airbnb booking?
Oh no, no. I don’t think
so. After a fair amount of
negotiation, myself and my new travelling friend, Marjolein, accepted a $10 per head trip
in a shuttle bus right to the door of our accommodation. Street numbers are a bit confusing here, so we spent some time texting the host to find
out the exact house. In the end
she pulled up in a nice new looking car and drove us about ten doors along. We could have walked, I swear, I didn’t
know she was driving from so close.
I glimpsed a night bird of some kind in the street, but this wasn’t the
time to scramble about in my bag looking for the camera and binoculars, so I ignored it. Later evenings searching for whatever it was proved fruitless. Thems the
breaks when watching wildlife.
The accommodation was
pretty much perfect, and the family were very accommodating, and even fed us on
several occasion. Breakfast on the
first day was provided by the sweet 20-year old daughter. She speaks English very well and is
soon on her way to study at a university in Mexico City. A bright future lies ahead.
After breakfast,
Marjolein (from Bruges), and I, set off to see some Mayan ruins near to the
beach. They weren’t up to much as
I expected, (we would have heard of them), and my companion was disappointed. This was the first time I’d seen so
many Iguanas in one place, and I snapped away trying to get a decent shot. Once, we’d exhausted the smallish site,
the beach was a short walk away.
Playa las Fines, and it was fine.
We considered getting into the beautifully clear blue waters, but for
some reason headed to the Museum instead.
I was sure it was further away than it was and we caught a bus for about two
stops, rather then the ten or more I’d imagined. The Museum had some interesting things to say, as you’d
expect, but I found the map (with photos) of all the main sites in Central
America, that was the most useful thing, and I took a photo for later use.
A short walk in the grounds to see a modestly sized Pyramid introduced me to some local biting insects. Suddenly, insect repellent flew to top of the shopping list. On the way back to base, we stopped off in a supermarket to check what things are meant to cost here. I bought some cheap insect repellent, not having much faith in any of them anyway, and ate cold chicken from the supermarket counter. They sell chilli’s by the kilo here. No thanks. A single piece could last me a year.
A short walk in the grounds to see a modestly sized Pyramid introduced me to some local biting insects. Suddenly, insect repellent flew to top of the shopping list. On the way back to base, we stopped off in a supermarket to check what things are meant to cost here. I bought some cheap insect repellent, not having much faith in any of them anyway, and ate cold chicken from the supermarket counter. They sell chilli’s by the kilo here. No thanks. A single piece could last me a year.
After three nights,
the hosts dropped us off at my next destination, Playa Del Carmen, as they had stuff to do there anyway. I went to meet my couchsurfing host, and
Marjolein began her three weeks rushing around trying to see every interesting
site she could in Eastern Mexico. But only after a day at the beach.
I met with my host, Daniella, we ate lunch and then went down to the beach ourselves, through a gated community away from the main packed to the brim beach, that she had some underhand access to. The soft sanded sea floor drops gradually here, so you can wade out reasonably far, and swim about almost as if a pool. A pool with the occasional head banging wave. I stayed in the water long after Daniella went to sunbathe. It had been a while since I’d been in the sea and I wanted to enjoy it. The highlight was when a Brown Pelican started diving for fish just metres away. I tried to swim up to it several times but it would take off and pass round again to make another assault on some miniature fish.
I met with my host, Daniella, we ate lunch and then went down to the beach ourselves, through a gated community away from the main packed to the brim beach, that she had some underhand access to. The soft sanded sea floor drops gradually here, so you can wade out reasonably far, and swim about almost as if a pool. A pool with the occasional head banging wave. I stayed in the water long after Daniella went to sunbathe. It had been a while since I’d been in the sea and I wanted to enjoy it. The highlight was when a Brown Pelican started diving for fish just metres away. I tried to swim up to it several times but it would take off and pass round again to make another assault on some miniature fish.
Later on, we went to
eat at a restaurant-café towards the higher end. I wanted to try some really good Mexican food. Started with tomales. Not good. I never liked semolina when we were force fed in for dessert
at school, and I still hate it today.
Overall, I’m sorry to say, that I can’t stomach Mexican food, and I was
seriously worried that that was all they ate all the way to Panama. Thankfully, that’s not quite the case. I’m sorry Mexico and to my Mexican
readers. Our cultures collide
culinary. In fact, there’s a lot
of Mexican food in California and I did try a little bit back there, some was
ok, but mostly not to my tastes.
What can I do?
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