Too Old For This Stuff

There once was a time when...

I could act erratically and be considered a joker.
I could write an essay with less than three hours sleep.
I could mix my drinks and never suffer the consequences.

Over the years since leaving school, I have noticed that I have a mounting list of things that I can't seem to do now. It could be down to my body acting out in protest, an influence by the people I'm surrounded by or I might be *gasp* growing up. 

Above, are three examples that spring to mind and all revert back to my youth. I say youth, I'm not exactly ancient right now but I do feel the pressure to act all grown up and it's petrifying.

Back at school, I could do something daft and make a silly decision with no major repercussions. It's like my age instantly warranted forgiveness. Out in the real world however, life is never that simple. I feel no gratification knowing that I don't fall under the category of young and carefree but instead am a social outcast. I have to be serious and think about a career, setting up a pension and finding someone to grow old with. When did that happen!? I'm still stuck in the  transient stage of self-discovery that most people complete whilst still in education. I wish it was that easy, realising what I want to do.

Travelling has opened up another branch in my life. I've met so many people heading down the same path as me which is reassuring. To some I'm an outcast but to others, I'm just like everyone else.

University did lead to a slight air of enlightenment as I pushed my body to its limits. Gone are the days when I could stay up late and wake up ridiculously early in my voracious attempt at tackling an essay. I didn't need coffee or energy drinks. I must have been radioactive or something as nowadays I can barely string a sentence together after a sound sleep, never mind when I'm deprived of such a luxury!

My lack of endurance after a restless night can only be matched by my absolute lack of tolerance for alcohol. I used to be able to drink an array of random concoctions put in front of me by my merry friends and still manage to function the next day. Presently, I only have to sniff a glass of wine and I'm bed-bound.

This is exactly what happened post-party-bus in Vegas. I didn't think I drank that much but the morning after, I felt like I'd fallen down ten flights of stairs.

Ken called a couple of times to rouse me from my coma but I was not prepared to move. 

Somehow, I managed to crawl out of bed and roll over to the shower. Each bead of hot water pelted my feeble body. The steam calmed me and I rested my body in a position where only my face was being hit. I was hoping the water would massage my senses and I'd feel human again. It felt good but I still wasn't cured.

Surrounding myself with teenagers didn't make me feel any better. Everyone was smiling and hangover-free. I'm going with the excuse that I don't drink that much anymore so when I do, my body can't handle it. My body is a temple and all that.

As much as I wanted to go on the New York New York (casino) roller coaster, I'd not eaten and I still felt groggy. I didn't want to risk feeling worse. Whilst a few of the others went up to the top floor, I went off to find some food.

Afterwards, there was still some daylight left so we went to The Venetian, a casino and hotel that is supposed to emanate the beautiful Italian city. Vegas has the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty so why not Venice?

Although it has been a long while since I'd been to Venice, I don't recall it being that creepy. The decor reminded me of Venus Fort, the shopping mall in Odaiba, Japan. Odaiba boasts elaborate architecture, marble water fountains and artificial sunsets every 30 minutes. Not willing to be outdone, Vegas went one step further with incorporating a river complete with motorised gondolas so tourists can experience the "true" Venice. 

Just one Cornetto...wait, I mean...O sole mio!!**

The over-the-top lavish replica of St. Mark's Square I can just about get my head around. The actors that warbled random songs whilst sporting manic grins were just too much. I stepped to the back of the crowd before they had chance to jig in my direction. I think this eerie display was supposed to represent Mardis Gras...well I hope! 

After soaking up as much fake-Venice as we could handle, we headed back to the hotel via the monorail. I laughed as the announcer warned us against everything an idiot would do to harm themselves. Due to the sue-nation that makes up America these days, it is a safety net that is sadly needed to protect firms from accident claims.

Back at the hotel I still couldn't muster up any enthusiasm to eat so I went back to bed. Enveloped in my duvet, I took comfort in watching crap TV and snacking on whatever I had left from the day's outing.

Later that evening Ken came over to see what I was doing. Some of the others were going out with the guys from the night before. I didn't feel like leaving my cocoon and knew that I'd only be getting in the way. Oh, and I wasn't invited, ha! 

What was only meant to be a brief pit-stop, turned into a lengthy chat. Ken and I talked about random rubbish which led to a rather deep, meaningful and almost philosophical discussion. 

Although I wasn't down in any sense or form, I did feel uplifted by the end. It made me realise how much I have grown and cemented my beliefs that I should no longer resent events from my past but be thankful as they have brought me to this moment in my life. I used to carry so much anger and stress about everything and nothing. I avoided positive thinking and proclaimed to be a realist. I'm still sarcastic and dry-humoured, that will never change, but I've learned to let a lot of things go and just live. You can never be too old to do that.

_________________________________________________________________

**Although both songs are linked to Venice and sung by gondoliers to tourists, O 
Sole Mio is a Neapolitan song. A different ice cream and a different city!

The Only Way Is Vegas

Have you ever sat and watched someone struggle to set up the DVD player or fail to find the right drop down menu on the television? If you’re like me, you stir and itch with impatience. Sometimes it’s quicker to just do things yourself. Alone, you can take control and steer yourself in the right direction. Victory or failure, it’s on your terms. When somebody else is in charge you have no choice but to sit and watch as things play out.

On an organised tour it’s not as simple as snatching a remote off your nonplussed counterpart. When things aren’t working out, you’re powerless. It’s not something I ever thought I’d have to think about whilst on a tour. The reason why I booked it is so someone who has traversed America more times than I’ve had cooked dinners can take charge whilst I sit back and relax. Not having to worry about maps and navigation is a huge weight off the mind. Unfortunately, when things go wrong you’re screwed. At least when you’re out there on your own you can be more proactive and usually end up with a funny story to entertain future drinking buddies.

Alas, I still managed to get lost but we’ll get to that soon. There was still a long long long journey before we caught a glimpse of Vegas.

After listening to Pearl Jam's extensive collection among other mixed CDs Ken owned, I took over as resident DJ. Opening up my limited music library was probably a step down but at least the music was different. As usual everyone fell straight asleep anyway so there was no fear of mutiny.

A short while later it was time for our first tourist stop, the delightful Bedrock City. For a few dollars we got to run around like idiots and take silly photos.

Back on the road again, it was time for our second and final stop off at old Route 66. This time the roadside cafe Delgadillos was open. We all ordered milkshakes and each got a dose of zany fun from the server. For instance, I was asked if I wanted a straw...wait for this...you'll crack up...the server passed me a handful of straw. You know, straw, like what horses eat. Tim Vine would be proud.

Coach loads of tourists were flooding the area so we didn't hang about too long. We boarded the bus and headed straight to Vegas.

Entering Las Vegas by day gave our eyes a bit of a rest from the beaming lights and famous neon signs. Instead, we were greeted with giant billboards advertising lawyers who specialise in divorces juxtaposed with chapel invitations. Even if I was insanely drunk, I can't see myself getting married. With that thought in mind, Ken jokingly recommended that we note down the number "just in case". He added that he's had people get married in Vegas during his tour but he's never had a baby in the mix. There would be a reward for the person who shows up with a baby the next day. I think someone's been watching The Hangover too many times.

We seemed to be nearing Las Vegas Boulevard so, the legendary DJ that I was, I sat poised with my finger hovering over the play button. "Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire." Yes people, Elvis is in the minibus!

Cut to the tenth time of playing the song and we were done with Elvis. Where the heck are we? Nobody knew. I must be some sort of jinx. I know I get lost all the time but I guess I can lead others into the same fate too. Travelling has helped me learn so much about myself and my own capabilities.

At first Ken hid behind the music and looked in control. As time marched on, we all realised what was happening. I kept picturing the scene from Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (don't judge me. It's a perfect fluffy movie). When they drive off to Tucson? No? Aw come on!

For the first time, Ken looked stressed out. Hurling a few swear words at the road vented some of his frustrations at least. We knew we were in trouble when his fellow tour guide friend rang him and asked where we were. The original plan was to rock up at our hotel, go out for something to eat, get glammed up and board a party bus. The tour guide that called was with his group who we'd be joining later. They travelled south from San Francisco.

We eventually arrived and it was only Ken who seemed to be bothered by this. I was slightly vexed only because I was hungry. Ken rushed in to collect our room keys.

Hearing that I had a room to myself, I tried to hide my elation. We all got ready whilst Ken sorted food. By some miracle, I managed to make myself look presentable in around 10 minutes. I should keep that a guarded secret really as it might be used against me at a later date. Some people just don't understand the process of getting ready to go out. It's meant to take a while, it's all part of the fun.

Moving on...my room seemed to be the hub of the evening's proceedings. My room was massive. I had two double beds, a kitchenette, en suite facilities and a TV. Everyone burst in whilst I was watching Man Vs. Food. I was enjoying that!

Ken continued to beat himself up for delaying our arrival and we sympathised. But carrying around that guilt didn't make him the winner of the 'Sucks To Be You' prize. One of our poor passengers had lost their case. It wasn't in the trailer when we arrived in Las Vegas. To this day, I still don't know what happened to it. Perhaps a crafty tourist poached it at our last stop. The thought of that happening to me sent shivers down my spine. Lucky for me my bag weighs a flipping tonne. I'd like to see someone try and run away with my case!

Sitting down to eat the pizza Ken brought across for us, I noticed that I was a tad overdressed. Everyone else erred on the casual side so I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Despite running late, we were the first ones on the bus. It looked awesome inside and out. 

Music was playing and drinks were flowing. Unfortunately I'm not going to cue a photo montage akin to the credits of The Hangover, but I will admit I had to look back at them to retrace my steps.

From what I can see, I had a good night. I thought I remembered most of it but upon reflection, perhaps not. I spent most of the night with a few guys from the other group. It was rather funny seeing them board the bus. Each guy resembled a horny Terminator sizing up each female specimen, tallying the stats. Drink had dumbed it down to a hot or not categorisation. Their targets had been acquired as they casually sat right by us. Sensing that we weren't completely trashed, they played it cool. I chose to stay aloof from the situation and watched events unfold. Let's just say, it's not only male backpackers who are out for what they can get!

At that moment I had an overwhelming desire to dance. Two metal poles were strategically positioned at either end of the bus. These came in handy for regulating my balance. They were obviously there for people to hold on to so they don't fall over...ahem.

By this point I must have been tipsy as I sashayed up to a handsome dark haired guy. I was more interested in the blue sequined trilby he was wearing. I busted a few moves and, in my eyes at the time, stealthily apprehended the pretty shiny object. I felt that I pulled it off. Mission accomplished, I sashayed off.

Moments later a few girls asked me how I managed to get the hat as they'd been trying all night. Apparently it's a lucky hat or something. I shrugged and carried on dancing. I managed to keep hold of the hat until it came to departing the bus and therefore gamble the night away. I didn't want to stand in the way of a guy and his lucky charm.

My night consisted of a light/water show at the Bellagio, watching a bit of TV on Fremount Street, having photos taken at the welcome sign and doing a spot of casino hopping. Gambling was involved at some point too but that died out pretty quickly. I wasn't feeling lucky and I didn't want to gamble my remaining dollars away and be left homeless. I have no idea what order those events transpired in but I do have remnants of memories from each. There are some things I'm happy to remember and others, not so much (the weirdest kiss I've ever had comes to mind).

 

Fremount Street

Ooooo, aaaaahh

Somehow I managed to rip my dress in the taxi. No, it wasn't in some heated sexual tryst. My life doesn't resemble an episode of Sex and the City. It got caught on the seat belt. Embarrassed and a little upset (it was one of only two dresses I own), I trudged up to my room. I stumbled about muttering nonsense. I remember Ken calling me to check that I was still alive and I think I passed out as the next thing I remember was waking up and seeing daylight...eugh.

Please Sir, I Want S'more

Lengthy road journeys have featured heavily in my travels. There were the delightful night buses of South East Asia, my (momentarily) perilous road trip up the east coast in Australia and touring the length and breadth of New Zealand by mini-bus.

These journeys left me with a hefty amount of time on my hands. There’s nowhere I can escape to. I’m bound to my seat accompanied by a random selection of people.

Although you have the risk of snorers and chatty insomniacs, night journeys have actually been the best. It’s the one time where it is socially acceptable to be quiet, ergo I can avoid mundane small talk. I can tune everyone out with a simple switch on my mp3 player. It is inevitable that I won’t get a good night’s sleep but time seems to sail by mysteriously.

Long journeys by day can be painful. Without sleep, I get frustrated being rooted to one specific place for a prolonged time. I have been lucky in the past and met some great people – Mel and Steff are testament to that – but for the most part I get bored.

With over three hundred miles to cover from Joshua Tree National Park to Grand Canyon, relief came with the odd tourist stop.

First stop…

London?

Old London Bridge

My eyes weren’t deceiving me. We stopped off at Lake Havasu City which houses Old London Bridge. The story goes that in 1962 the London Bridge was on its last legs and needed to be replaced. Originally constructed in 1831, this bridge was an antique. Robert McCulloch, founder of Lake Havasu City, submitted a bid of 2.46 million dollars.

Placing the winning bid was the easy part, lugging all those bricks across the pond was a challenge and a half. Each brick was numbered, shipped and driven to the site where it took just over three years to assemble. Piece of cake really.

Seeing cobbled stones and a red telephone box did give me jolts of nostalgia and I seemed to be the only one smiling at this point. Everyone else was underwhelmed.

Our next stop received a bigger reaction. I don’t think we could have tried to be more American as we pitched up along the iconic old Route 66 and devoured peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

It was my first time enjoying the popular combination and it was tasty. I wasn’t expecting to like it.

Before we hit the road again it was time for a toilet break. We all entered the back yard which was filled with random corny knick-knacks. This place was outwardly cheesy which would certainly give tourists a laugh.

An injection of fresh music made the last part of our journey more bearable. I got on really well with tour guide Ken so I had someone to talk to whilst everyone else slept.

Due to the heat, thirst and the fact that everyone had just woken up, the mood once we reached Grand Canyon was slightly sour. It took us so long to get there, we just wanted to see what all the fuss is about. Ken had other ideas and gathered us round and handed us a flat piece of khaki cloth. What the…

So we’re to tie this piece of cloth around our heads so it covers our eyes? We looked at each other dumbfounded whilst hordes of tourists flooded past us. Are you mad?

We reluctantly followed our orders but soon broke out in laughter at the foolishness of it all. Once we were blindfolded and couldn’t see a thing, Ken positioned us one in front of the other. Each of us held out our right arm and clung to the person in front of us. Ken then guided us to the viewpoint. I could only imagine what the masses of people around us were thinking. We did look like we’d stumbled off a special bus.

As all my inhibitions drained away, I actually realised what a clever idea it was. Grand Canyon is flipping ginormous. As you walk up to the viewpoint you’d be able to see it and take it in gradually. We didn’t have that. As soon as we took off our blindfolds, BAM! I couldn’t ask for a better moment. 

Holy moly!

Looking out from a generic viewpoint wasn’t enough for us, we needed to get a better view of this vast landmark. Helicopter? Go on then!

It was a pricey excursion but I’ve never been in a helicopter before and I really wanted to go out there. Also, everyone else was going up so I’d definitely feel like I was missing out if I didn’t go.

Yet again, I had to get weighed. Naturally I was the heaviest against my petite 19-year-old counterparts. On the plus side, my weight somehow meant I needed to be up front to balance out the craft. See, my badonkadonk has its uses!

Despite the fantastic views, I still managed to drift off towards the end. Whoops. I wasn’t the only one at least. It was a great experience and money well spent.

When we got back we spotted Ken having a kip on the sofa. Before we woke him we took a few photos, naturally.

Wakey wakey!

It had been a long day and we were all beat. We headed off to camp. It was a lot larger than the previous camp we stayed at. I had no idea where the showers were. By the time we set everything up it was dark. I decided to hang around and wait to go with someone else. I did not fancy getting lost in the woods.

Dinner came in the form of hot dogs and corn on the cob. We failed to get our barbecue going so sheepishly Ken had to use somebody else’s. We were so hungry we didn’t care where we got our food.

After our food settled we started a fire and got to toasting some marshmallows in preparation to making s'mores. Yet another American masterpiece that I’d not had the joy of gobbling. There is a knack to making the perfect s'more and I did a fair job. I slowly toasted my marshmallows, making sure that it toasted enough to be gooey without burning the outer layer. In the meantime I had my crackers and Hershey’s chocolate ready.

At this point I would like to add that this would be the only time that I’d ever eat Hershey’s chocolate. It’s what is traditionally used for s'mores but if I had a choice it’d be thrown into the fire with the wood. That stuff is vile! I hope Americans don’t actually call that stuff chocolate. I’ve chewed on pen lids that tasted better than that stuff.

Somehow, the magic of the s'more means that you don’t really taste the Hershey’s. It’s a sugary sandwich of goodness. I had three (two marshmallows in each!) but felt like I was edging on a high equalling Bart and Milhouse’s syrup bender. I did not fancy a sugar hangover. I felt good though and went to sleep feeling happy with the day’s events.