Well There's Always Cake

As brilliant as our three-stop detour was, we were running seriously low on sunlight. There was no more time left to soak in the vastness of Yosemite.  I did my best but I know we barely scratched the surface. Another time perhaps.

My stubbornness may have saved the day but the evening brought a fresh challenge, dinner time. It was my turn to cook and I looked a little lost trying to turn the gas cooker on without engulfing my face with fumes, or worse, flames! This time I wasn't on my own in my quest. My followers became my saviours as we all chipped in to get my stir-fry cooked. Well, I say all of us. There was one person in the group that got away with doing chuff all because they were shy and quiet but in a sweet and endearing way. Dammit! How can you be angry at someone so nice? 

Normally, I make a mean stir-fry in the kitchen but I was working with the bare minimum here. I wouldn't say everything ran like clockwork but we managed to dance around, swapping pans and thank the heavens for seasoning. Of all the supermarkets in all the land, we managed to go to one that didn't house any cooking sauces. I guess Uncle Ben doesn't make it out to America that often. I found a soy sauce that looked passable but when I opened it up for pouring a pungent odour bitch-slapped my nostrils. There is no way I am putting that into my masterpiece. 

In a moment akin to Tenacious D's song Tribute, we did something extraordinary that made our stir-fry stupendous but I can't actually remember what we did...but it was awesome, honestly! It was the best meal I'd had for a while. The past few days of eating luke-warm crap (Kaiserschmarrn and s'mores not included) felt like months of hardship. It's like that moment after a music festival when you come home and have a shower and it just happens to be the best shower in the world. There might not be anything different in temperature or location but just the feeling of fresh hot water in the safety of a clean bathroom brings you back to life like you'd almost forgotten what a shower is! It's kind of like that if you've not had a decent meal for a while, you could eat a Mcdonald's and think that you're eating a feast fit for royalty.

Whilst we were dealing with our kitchen dilemmas it seemed Ken had his own trials and tribulations. See, when we arrived, Ken remarked how cold the staff were and that our reservation had been lost. Surely if we have a printout of our reservation details then there shouldn't be a problem but no such luck. Our names are not on the list therefore we're not coming in. After a few choice words we pushed our way through defiantly. Ha, take that Mr Campsite Man! Campsite Man, Campsite Man, Campsite Man, CAMPSITE MAN! (I originally called him Camp Man but shouting that repeatedly sounds like harassment of a different kind!).

Indignantly, we continued with our evening. Ken was still fighting this when dinner was ready. One of the girls went off to let him know. We could see her walking back with a slight smirk on her face. Before any of us had chance to question what had tickled her, she informed us that we're at the wrong campsite. We all looked at each other for a few seconds as we all thought the same thing and burst into fits of laughter. Oh dear, Ken strikes again. That guy cannot catch a break. Thankfully they did let us stay. I find it hilarious that Ken was arguing and battling his way onto the site and we weren't even supposed to be there. That's like the person who kicks off at gym reception staff saying their stuff had been stolen only to find that they were looking in the wrong locker. Or someone who starts threatening to call Trading Standards when you don't agree to accept their faulty goods only for them to realise that they're trying to return something from a different store. Oh dear...

The tents were up, our stuff unpacked from the trailer and a tasty meal rested before us. A little discrepancy with our booking wasn't going to bring us down. Everyone was wiped out and wanted the easy life so if these guys say we can stay then let's stay. That was until I saw the showers. Imagine what a shower block in a gorilla enclosure would look like and you'd come pretty close to picturing the same scene that had befallen me. I had to make a tough decision, do I brave the follicly enhanced shower or do I have a tramp shower (i.e. baby wipes and a double dose of deodorant)? Everyone else was mad enough to brave it so I didn't want to be the dirty git of the camp. Well that is quite clearly an oxymoron. 

Flip flops were my only protection as I waded through the puddles of dirty water. I hunched in the centre of the cubicle paying extra attention to every slight movement ensuring that no part of me touched any surfaces. I tried to distract myself - "If I squint and turn my head slightly, that clump of hair looks nothing like Jesus." What must have been minutes felt like hours but I did it. I felt no cleaner but at least I tried. The thought that the next day I'd be arriving in San Francisco comforted me like a warm blanket on a winter's night. I'd have a new hostel to contend with and couchsurfing stays to finalise. I was so excited to meet new faces, go back to stuffing my face and maybe meet an old face who I became familiar with in Japan.

*****

A faint smell of pancakes wafted through the tent which offered a pleasant welcome to the day. A plethora of smells have greeted my nostrils on a morning, whether welcome or not. Usually they err on the side of malodorous but today was thankfully a break from the norm.

Unfortunately the pancakes didn't survive long enough for me to treat my taste buds. The batter had stuck to the pan so, despite Ken's obstinance, the pancakes failed to take its usual circular form. Points for effort though Ken! I was satisfied with cereal. I was too busy bubbling with excitement to really give a crap. San Francisco was in sight. I had no idea what I was going to do there but I had two hosts organised and one pending so hopefully they'll be able to point me in the right direction.

Our journey from Yosemite to San Francisco was very mechanical as we worked in silence packing everything away. We stopped off at a shopping centre where I picked up a few necessary items. I watched a couple of episodes of The IT Crowd to pass the time. As our impending departure drew closer, I guess everyone knew that all pretenses can be dropped and engaging in conversation was pointless.

Regardless of the dead atmosphere, I had no qualms in breaking the rules by airing my frustrations with the tour arrangements in San Francisco. The brochure and itinerary note that we would be dropped off at a hostel. As it was a seven day tour with a hefty price tag, I naturally assumed that the last night of the tour was included. But knowing my luck, I didn't think this would be the case and pre-booked a night's stay to be on the safe side. My pragmatism paid off as the sneaky bastards didn't include the hostel stay in the tour. Poor show!

Ken pulled up to the hostel, we grabbed our things and there wasn't so much as a weak goodbye. We just sort of trailed off in the directions we needed to go in. I seemed to be the only one staying at the hostel. Our stunted farewell bothered me for all of five seconds and then it dawned on me that I was free and really didn't give a crap.

That's the end of that then. I checked in and made my way to my room for the night. I was mentally drained so all I wanted was some peace and quiet and a bit of a snooze. I entered my room and looked at each bed. All the beds were taken, brilliant. This isn't my first dabble in confusing hostel beginnings. Unnerved, I carted my things back to reception to enquire further.

Ok, so I'm definitely supposed to be in that room. Turns out somebody had left their used socks on my prospective bed and the cleaner didn't know which bed to change. Ah, that old chestnut. The receptionist removed the bedding and paused for a moment. "Wow, it really smells of weed in here." The man is correct, it does. He shrugged and left. Moments later the receptionist returned with fresh bedding. Thankfully he made the bed. I know it sounds pathetic but after a long journey, the last thing you want to do is wrestle with a mattress. It's even worse if you're on a top bunk. I've been very lucky with my hostel bookings. Very rarely have I been assigned a top bunk. Fortune was on my side again as I had a bottom bunk. I parked my belongings and collapsed in my bed. It was still daylight outside but I had no energy. I'd be spending the next 10 days in San Fran so there was no pressure to cram.

Social interaction wasn't on my list of things to do which is why I felt a stab of guilt as one occupant started speaking to me. To begin with I responded lazily to the girl's responses. I guess after seven days of strained civility, I wasn't used to free flowing conversation. I soon snapped out of it. Laura, her friend Bree (not staying in our room) and I traded travel stories. Of course I didn't fail to use this opportunity to talk about Japan. Every time I sense a whiff of travel talk and I'm on it. I don't think it's only me that does it but I reckon people talk about stuff that's personal to them - their babies, weddings, their boyfriends...their dog (!). For me, it's Japan, the love of my life.

Whether or not my Japan speech worked, Laura and Bree were kind enough to hear me out and even feigned interest. Everyone should experience Japan in their lifetime. Ok, ok, I'll move on. Laura and Bree kindly invited me to share a meal with them. We all split the cost and the girls cooked. I think that was a wise decision! I was happy for the company and the convenience of not having to cook or source my own dinner elsewhere.

My evening involved mundane tasks but provided a few laughs for those overlooking my exploits. After a week on the road, I had a full load of dirty washing. I shifted some stuff around in my room and packed my valuables in a metal locker. I had a beefy padlock I purchased in San Diego so I used that for added peace of mind. I left my netbook out as Laura asked to use it to go on Facebook. Normally I don't let anybody on my netbook and if I do, it's for the briefest of moments, and I'm sat by the side of them eye-balling every key strike and keypad movement. I had too much to do so I entrusted my most prized possession with a mere stranger. Laura didn't look like a master hacker or a thief so I felt safe handing it over. Laura said she'd stay in the room with it so it momentarily slipped to the back of my mind. The task in hand was my washing.

Not a problem, I had change and washing powder. I picked the only free machine and shoved everything inside. I just happen to have a very colour-neutral wardrobe so I don't have to separate my darks and whites. Simple enough. I contemplated sitting and waiting for my wash cycle to complete but grew bored after a couple of minutes. I went back to my room. Hmm, Laura wasn't there. I guess the signal in the room is rubbish. Either that or she's ran off with my netbook. Haha, no that's ridiculous.

Before I had chance to truly digest that thought and seek Laura for peace of mind, I had a fresh panic to contend with. Where the flip is my padlock key?! I checked my pockets where I thought I had put it, nothing. I checked on, under and around my bed, nothing. I checked the laundry room and all corridors and steps leading to it, nothing. Uh-oh. It can't be within my washing unless my keys sprouted wings. I wasn't in the mood to let this rest so I went to reception to get some bolt cutters.

Seen as the only workout my biceps have had in the past year have been lifting mighty eats, my confidence in breaking my beefy padlock was beyond low. There's no harm in trying I guess. I huffed and puffed but all I managed to do was score the surface. If padlocks could talk it'd be mocking me right now. 

With one leg raised up, pushing against the face of my locker, I gave a mighty heave of the bolt cutters. I threw in the odd swear word to make myself feel all 'ard - "You talking to me? You talking to ME!?" I probably didn't look so tough from an outsider's perspective. It felt like the moment in Uncle Buck when he's caught trying to open the washing machine door that had jammed. Just as that thought crossed my mind, a fellow roommate walked in. I was quick to jump to my own defence. Firstly, I'm not doing anything nasty, I was just talking dirty to my locker - and that's not a euphemism! Secondly, it's my locker that I'm breaking into. I openly cringed at how much of a mentalist I must look right now.

Hanging my head in shame, I turned back to the matter at hand. My roommate saw me struggle and being a guy who also had muscles, he offered to help. He asked me if reception suggested to take the lock off of it. Normally, I would give a sarccy retort as would I really be stood here looking like a complete wally for the sake of it? (Don't answer that, this is a rhetorical blog). This guy was helping me so I just laughed and said, "You would think so right?"

My confidence edged up a notch as even Mr Muscle couldn't break the lock without smacking it around a bit. Eventually it pinged off and I was reunited with my crap. Victory! I flinched as suddenly, despite all the noise and commotion that previously transpired, a guy emerged from one of the top bunks. Argh! Flippin' heck! I wonder how long he's been there. He grumbled and rolled over.

Muscle and I introduced ourselves and he mentioned something about a sneaky fifth pocket that evades most people. Ha, I checked my pockets, I'm pretty sure it's not...for the love of...yep, there is my key. I have never used the tiny fifth pocket that absolutely nothing fits in...other than keys apparently. Well it's no flaming good to me now! The lock only cost me a few dollars so it's not the expense, it's just annoying.

After all this fuss over my lock, I remembered my washing must be done by now. I thanked Muscle and left. I entered the laundry room and saw that my clothes were resting, my cycle must be finished. I opened the door and started grabbing clothes. Everything was sopping wet. I was going to put my clothes in the dryer anyway but they would get ruined. I went to reception and they explained that there was a brief power cut and gave me some money to put on another cycle. I don't recall there being a power cut and nobody else's washing was affected. I'm sure the machine is just broken. I asked if I could use the hostel's machine as it only needs to go through a spin and rinse cycle. The guy refused and was adamant it was down to the power cut. I went back and all the machines were still occupied. I managed to choose the day where everyone is doing their laundry. I fed the money in, made sure the wash started and left.

With nothing else to do but wait, I decided to see if I could find Laura. That was one of my easiest tasks of the evening. Laura was sat in the kitchen typing away on her blog. I vented for a while and then left. The rest of my evening was spent sorting out my washing. It's not a very exciting story. I went back to the machine with the same outcome as last time. My clothes aren't exactly designer but I don't have anything else but what I'm carrying. These clothes cannot ruin. I went back to reception and they now believed that the machine was broken. I used the hostel's washing machine and dryer and I had everything sorted out by around midnight. Everyone was going to sleep and I wanted to do the same, I had no energy to pack. I broke one of my cardinal rules of backpacking - always pack the night before - but knowing my luck my case would explode or I'd get throttled by my leggings. I wasn't risking taking on any more crap.

After such an arse of an evening, I sniffed out a sizable wedge of chocolate cake from a shop across the street. Technically you're not allowed food in the room but if a waft of weed doesn't faze hostel workers then I doubt a bit of chocolate cake will make waves. I feel so much better now. Goodnight.