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.

Help Me Help You

My road trip was almost over and I was glad. I've travelled on my own, I've travelled with friends (Australia) and on a hop-on-hop-off bus (New Zealand) and I can safely say that an organised tour has been my least favourite experience.

This is by no means intended as a black mark against tours. Although there have been slight mishaps and mistakes along the way, I've seen some great things and had some memorable experiences over the past few days. I've also been a witness to those who have fully enjoyed the experience, but for me, it was flawed from the beginning.

New Zealand proved more of a struggle than I anticipated through the forced social side of things but there was still a level of flexibility that came with it. I could hop off the bus if I wasn't feeling that great about the people I was surrounded by or if I took a shine to a certain place. Also, there was a weird laid-back air to proceedings yet there was still a structure that was followed. You're never pressured into doing activities and you can frame parts of the day as you wish. When you did choose to take part in paid activities, there were set times and arrangements. Travel with this much structure and directorship is shunned by some but when you're travelling in a large group, this level of organisation is needed, trust me!

It was unfortunate that I didn't warm to that many people on the buses whilst I was in New Zealand but I was still happy with how everything panned out. This Californian tour has been a constant niggling experience that is down to my own personal preferences.

As I said before, I actively repel forced socialisation. I feel like a stroppy teenager being told to do something and rebelling purely to make a point...any point. Of course I knew this going into the tour and was hoping that I'd be a part of bus with at least one person that I could get along with. The maximum capacity is 13 so I would have 12 other people to bounce off of. My first hurdle came when there was only five others on the tour, damn. I didn't really gel with anyone. This wasn't too much of a big deal for me as sometimes I like my own space and having a break from saying the generic spiel about who I am and where I'm from came as a welcome deviation.

This wasn't what frustrated me, it was the lack of a schedule or any kind of organisation. When I'm travelling solo, this isn't an issue. I'm responsible for when I get up, where I go and what I see. In a group it's entirely different. You need some kind of level of structure to ensure that things get done. If you apply a lacklustre attitude, you get a lacklustre result. We'll get up at around this time, set off when everything's packed up and we'll do whatever anyone else wants to do when we get there. NO!!! My group is full of timid people so when the question crops up - "What do you guys want to see/do?" - a giant wad of tumbleweed drifts along beside us.

The reason why I booked a tour is so I could leave all that to someone else. Yes I know what Las Vegas looks like but a tour guide would know where the cheapest drinks are or where there's some zany casino with a secret entrance. It would be like if a Lonely Planet came to life pretty much. The guide would be someone who is easy going and breezy but at the same time authoritative and assertive. This person can make things happen! This is what I wanted, a break from solo travel where the pressure is on me to find things and make experiences. Tours have it all tied up in a neat bow, all I needed to do was give a giant tug and watch as everything falls neatly into place.

Wrong! This was like some new free spirit in the land of tours where everything is left up to the group rather than the leader. This sounds like a great idea on paper. You get to mould the tour and get something truly unique out of it. But what happens when there is nobody in the group who is proactive? You're left with the bare bones. No substance, no action...just blank. I was reluctant to put myself forward as the person to push things forward. I know what I want out of the tour but what I want to do might not necessarily be what others want to do. The last thing I want is debates and arguments. I decided to take a laid-back approach and what will be will be. I didn't want to mother the group, surely we can come to an agreement naturally. My nonchalant attitude bit me in the ass and my patience was wearing thin.

*****

Getting to Yosemite National Park from Bishop was a relatively short drive compared to the distances we had travelled on previous days. Of course 156 miles (or thereabouts) is nothing to sniff at. Perhaps it was this thought that fuelled the lack of urgency during the morning of departure.

If our heads were screwed on tightly we would have twigged that it was a Saturday and we were heading to, what I assume to be, the most popular national park in California. I normally avoid doing anything too touristy on a weekend due to the crowds. I had no such luck today.

There were no roadside stops this time as we headed straight for the action. First up was a viewpoint where we could see Half Dome.

Half Dome is a granite rock face that looks impressive enough from a distance. What was more fascinating was what happens when you look through a telescope one park volunteer had set up. Peering through the lens, I could see a trail of moving dots up the rock face. They weren't ants, they were people! A challenge I would normally relish but looking down at my travel belly, it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Our day of colossal finds continued as we went from big rocks to big trees at the forest of giant sequoias.

This is as much of the tree as I could capture!

Suddenly I felt very small indeed. Smothered by the crowds around me, I followed the walking trail like a marching ant. Every now and then I would flinch from the heat as it beamed down on me. Perhaps somewhere above a giant is playing a game of torture with a magnifying glass. I felt helpless and feeble.

Surrounding myself with water might be a good way to cool down. There just happened to be a waterfall nearby. We'd seen a heavenly photo of it in the brochure handed to us upon entering the park. As I opened the page a soft glow emanated from the falls and a gentle wave of harp assisted soprano singers soothed my ear drums. Hypnotised, I drifted forwards past each signpost for the waterfall.

There seemed to be a lot of interest in this waterfall as everyone was heading off in the same direction. I've been to hidden waterfalls before but never anywhere as popular as this. It felt like I was in a zoo rather than a national park. We had a map of the area and certain features were emboldened for our convenience. There was no sense of discovery which by no means takes away from the beauty of this land. It just felt a little prosaic.

My slight disappointment was cemented by the final arrival at the waterfall...

Where's the rest of it?

At first I aired my consternation to the agreement of the group. Then I thought about it and felt a little sad. It's not the waterfall's fault. It probably flourishes more during autumn rather than the sweltering summer. It might be suffering from stage fright and retracted from the crowds. I can't say I would perform at my best under the scrutiny of tourists by the bus-load. The pressure to be your best 365 days a year is astounding. People have travelled miles to see you and to disappoint anyone would be a tragedy. The media aren't much help either. Getting snapped and airbrushed-to-death then bandied around the masses in leaflet form is a recipe for disaster. This waterfall has stiff competition as it's not the only one at Yosemite. Maybe it's just having a down day and wants to be alone. I felt its pain.

Moving on, we headed back to the visitor centre via the shuttle service which runs throughout the park. Watching group after group shoving together into each bus like sardines, we could tell it was going to be a while until we got back. We'd previously abandoned Ken as we were stuck in a queue of traffic to the car park. Visiting the forest and the waterfall swallowed most of our day but I was still thirsty for more.

Tracking Ken down was pretty easy once we arrived at the visitor centre. Ken was visibly drained which was understandable given that he'd just spent ages negotiating his way through the park like an awkward shaped block in Tetris.

Encouragingly, I ushered the group towards the information desk which wasn't too difficult seen as it was adjacent to the gift shop. I must have grown out of my phase of buying random gift shop crap. Either that or the knowledge that it would add extra weight to my expanding suitcase had put me off. I remember there was nothing more exciting than a giant pencil or a novelty keyring. I am partial to a stretched out penny though, I still haven't given that fascination up yet.

In some mad twist, people seemed to be satisfied in looking at Yosemite's greatest sights on a shiny postcard than in person. Ken announced that we should leave. Hold up, so we've seen some giant trees and a bashful waterfall and that's it? Are you fricking kidding me!? In my head I had grand visions of Yosemite (click here for a video) and stories from the other group in Vegas filled me great anticipation. 

So far, I have taken a back seat to poor decisions and acute laziness. I felt like I'd seen some great things and had some ok experiences but my patience levels were maxed out. We need to buck up or this will have been a waste. In hindsight I might have dealt with the situation a little better. My face did resemble Reggie the comedian in The Nutty Professor when Buddy Love (aka Eddie Murphy) was ripping him apart joke after joke.

Enough! Silence! I can't take this shit no more. That's what I wanted to say, and yes I probably did feel like 'karatesizing' someone but I didn't turn the air blue. What I said resembled more of an uplifting speech, like the ones you see in movies with the slow-building patriotic music.

Suddenly everyone was captivated by my words. I have followers now. I marched up to the help desk. I produced a map of where we were heading (our campsite) and asked what we could see on the way back before sunset. The kind desk attendant circled three viewpoints on our map and showed us pictures of what we expect to see. I was happy and there was no way that I would settle for - "we can get up early in the morning and head out to the viewpoints" - because that will never happen. It didn't happen in Vegas and it didn't happen at the Grand Canyon. We're doing this NOW GODDAMMIT!

Ooof, I'm so domineering and assertive...I like it. Quite fittingly, our first viewpoint was at the base of El Capitan. Yo soy el Capitan!*

Dreamy

Wow, the views were spectacular, so I was feeling pretty chuffed with myself. If I'd dragged everyone over here and it was absolutely pants, I'd never hear the end of it. We took photos, dipped our feet in the stream and stretched out on a fallen tree.

Next up was Bridalveil Fall - not to be confused with Bridal Veil Falls which is the smallest of the three waterfalls which make up Niagara Falls. 

We were quite a distance from the waterfall when we parked up. We took a few photos and noticed people climbing over the rocks. Although there wasn't a dedicated trail, there was a way of getting to the waterfall by clambering over the rocks. A couple of signs warned us about not venturing further but we laughed in the face of danger (the face of the signs that is).

Naturally, I skidded down a rock and nearly face-planted another but I arrived at the foot of the waterfall unscathed. I'm blaming the beautiful rainbow that hugged the waterfall for my lapse in 

concentration. So pretty.

Cue more photography, a brief water fight and further rock teetering. To add to my inflating ego, Ken said that he would definitely add this spot to his list of places for future tours.

Uh-huh, oh-yeah, you know it!

Just as the sun was setting, we visited our third and final stop. The viewpoint was so calming that I forgot about the hassle it took to get us all here. It was a perfect way to end the day. Peaceful, quiet and picturesque...until we reached our campsite...

*I hope this translates to "I am the captain"!

Hot Stuff

Waking up in a large double bed, stretching out and starfishing was such an indulgent way to start the day. It reminded me of lazy duvet days at home.

After googling starfishing in bed in order to add a link explaining the term I was astounded to find it means something entirely different. I must be clear, for me, starfishing is an elaborate pastime. It's a cross between lolling around and having the best morning stretch possible. According to Google it means freezing in said position during another popular bedroom pastime. Mad.

Moving on, I enjoyed my belated morning ritual but winced as I knew it would be a while until I could do it again. The closest I come to stretching out in bed is when I reach for the nearest heavy object to lob at the token dorm-room-snorer. Starfish would not be a very apt sea creature to compare myself to at those moments. Perhaps a sole sea cucumber rolling from side to side, searching tirelessly for a comfortable resting position.

Happy times! No I mean that sincerely. When I look back on my travels I may laugh at some of my sleeping situations but they won't be my strongest memories. Although I must say that this conclusion wasn't something that came instantly. Moving from place to place is disorientating. With each day comes a different bed, a different dorm and a different city to contend with. For some strange reason, the one thing I found difficult to attune to has become the very thing I miss the most.

There are plenty of pros and cons to travel but I would say to people, never let something that small hold you back. I've had plenty of people tell me that they couldn't travel the way I have for reasons ranging from not wanting to stay in a hostel to not wanting to travel alone. I do offer my point of view for reassurance but there are times where I feel like my breath has been wasted.

Staying in hotels and only mixing with people from your own country sounds comforting to some put pointless to others. We each make our own happiness but I do believe that the best experiences come from mixing with locals and making friends with people you would never meet at home. It's so enriching and I will cherish my adventures and serendipitous encounters for years to come.

As much as I wanted to starfish in bed and daydream about my past adventures, it was time to get up and get moving. From Las Vegas we would travel on to Bishop via Death Valley.

A knock on the door startled me. Ken was having a lie-in and gave us vouchers for breakfast. I wasn't expecting anyone to come round.

One of the tour passengers smiled as I opened the door. For a brief moment, I thought she'd come over for a chat but that idea was soon dashed. Straight to the point, the girl asked if she could use my notebook to go on Facebook. Wow. No, "Hi, how are you? Did you sleep well?" Just straight to the point, I want something, can you give it to me? Am I wrong for thinking this was all a bit rude?

There was no point in kicking up a fuss as it will only make things worse for me in the long run. I reluctantly handed her my laptop and sat in agitation as my sole connection to the world perched precariously on the girl's lap. Silence. A rare moment in my life where I could not think of anything to say. I'm the queen of waffle, surely I could muster up some weak small talk. 

Thankfully only a brief internet visit was needed. I packed my things away and made my way down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast.

Ken's donated vouchers were shared out but part of me wished I hadn't bothered as the service was terrible and the water had a strange aftertaste. They'd put on a compulsory gratuity for added bite. Paying the bill caused more problems as two members of our group only had $100 bills. Alright for some!

As I tried to imagine what a $100 bill looks like, we boarded the bus and headed out to our next stop, Bishop. I tried to find an impressive fact about Bishop but, for us, it was just a place to crash before we ventured further to Yosemite National Park.

Looking out the window, there was nothing separating the sandy landscape and milky-blue sky. Dust clouds danced outside the windows as our bus tore through the gritty terrain. I gazed out at the vacant scenery in hope of a distraction to the bubbling boredom that was rising with the heat. It felt like I was in mirage territory when I saw something which made me jolt upright. 

"Stop the bus!!!" The words bellowed out of my mouth before I actually considered the consequences. Everyone on the bus was half asleep, even Ken was startled at my sudden outburst. As we were in the middle of nowhere with no traffic in sight, it wasn't like anyone was going to get hurt as Ken slammed on the brakes obediently.

Lunging for the door, I had no plans on waiting for the dust to settle as I sprang out of the bus. By this time everyone on the bus had woken up a bit more and wondered what the hell was going on. Seeing me run out with my camera made them all the more curious. Cue their disappointment as they saw me take a photo of this...

Come on!

My fellow Brits will understand the hilarity of that surname. You would not be able to walk down any street in Britain with a name like that, and not be jeered. Nobody else saw the humour in this but that didn't stop me. Something as simple as seeing a sign with a ridiculous name on it can make me smile. 

The surprises didn't stop there. Our first roadside break came at Death Valley Junction. That statement alone sounds like I'm stood at Devil's crossroads questioning whether I should sell my soul for greater powers. Nothing that exciting, but still worthy of a mention.

Amargosa Opera House can be found here and is a building that holds a mesmerising history. Marta Becket took a camping break in Death Valley back in 1967 with her husband. After finding a flat tire on their trailer, they were directed to Death Valley Junction to get help. It was here where Marta discovered an abandoned theatre.

It was love at first sight, so much so that the next day Marta and her husband organised to rent the place. Marta is a trained dancer and was taking a break from her solo-show tour when she discovered the isolated theatre. Marta gave her first performance at Amargosa on February 10th 1968. Marta performed show after show, whether it was to curious tourists and locals or to nobody at all. It was at this moment where Marta became inspired and decided to paint her very own audience around her. The murals took her four years to complete and a further two years for the ceiling work.

Unfortunately we arrived a little late as Marta had stopped performing a few months earlier. Instead we were shown through to the theatre by a worker from an adjacent hotel. We had free reign, within reason of course. 

At first we took photos of the murals and the stage. The room screamed theatre despite the beaten up building exterior. From the red velvet cushioned pull-down seats to the long billowing stage curtains. The murals reminded me of panto season back home. It was more animated than portraiture. 

Once we had our photos we descended onto the stage. There was a large black piano at the base of the stage but nobody could play a tune which was a shame. I could attempt chopsticks but felt that I'd probably get a few odd looks. Instead we picked up the props we could find and had a little game of dress-up. The only guy of the group took a particular shine to the feather boa and tiara crown. We all had a go at being theatre royalty until the novelty wore off and the spooky silence and distant echos brought a hint of awkwardness to proceedings.

Before we left, we entered the hotel and the gift shop (naturally). It was here that we realised it was a haunted building. No we didn't see a ghost, well I don't think we did. There was information about it dotted about and something about how a ghost hunt TV show filmed an episode there. We heard stories about a ghost cat, a ghost child and phantom smells (whatever they are). Part of me was interested in the history but I was more fascinated with how everyone who worked there truly believed that the place was haunted and was so passionate about the building's heritage.

It provided a welcome break from the road and the biting heat. We later stopped off at Zabriskie Point. By this point, each sandy mountain looked the same as the next. I got out, took a few photos and went back inside. 

Ironically, the billowing landscape was created by water and earthquakes. Pity there's none of that around now, the water, not the earthquakes. I'm parched!

After taking photos purely to say that I was there, I rested in the bus and waited for everyone else. I felt like such a wimp as the endless blanket of heat engulfed me.

Our bus crawled up to Death Valley. We weren't the only ones 'keen' to have a stroll along the pathway that holds the record for the hottest place on earth (134°F/54°C recorded at Furnace Creek on 10th July 1913). A team of cars were already parked up and a few stray passengers could be found craftily fanning themselves in the shade. I felt no temperature difference so the shade came as no saviour to me. 

We all hastily applied our sunscreen and donned our hats. I managed to pick up an embarrassing bucket hat from our stop at Route 66. It was only a few dollars and I knew I'd need it for this precise moment. If it's a choice between looking like a wally or catching sunstroke, I opted for the former. I didn't want to try my luck. Looking ridiculous actually comes quite naturally to me, it's somewhat of a talent of mine so the hat only acted as an added flourish.

As we made our way to the platform, a giant gauge informed us that we were standing in a scorching temperature of 110°F (43°C). I'm pretty sure I could hear the crackle of my feet burning it was that hot. My sunscreen was doing nothing for me. I was pretty sure I could fry an egg on the pebbled wall, maybe a few rashers of bacon...I miss good food!

My behaviour saw a marked improvement from Zabriskie Point as I took my time to take in my surroundings. Looking up towards the mountains behind us I could see a small sign that simply read 'Sea Level'. I'd been to many that boasted great heights above sea level but never anywhere below it, as far as I'm aware. I saw another sign that informed me that I was standing in Badwater Basin which sounds like another place where water wreaked havoc at one point. It also read that I was standing 282 feet below sea level. That sounds about right. 

You should also make a note that the highest summit in the contiguous 48 states is Mount Whitney which is also located in California. It might come up in a pub quiz one day, you never know.

Before we took our triumphant photos, Ken told the story of where the name Death Valley came from. A group of explorers got lost in the winter of 1849-50. All but one survived and as they were leaving the hellish hot-spot, one of them said, "Goodbye Death Valley" and the name stuck. Some might find that story impressive but I get lost all the time and shout stuff out dramatically as I leave. Next time I'll remember to be a bit more poetic.

We made our way down onto a wooden path which curved to one side and then trailed off. To me this was a hint that you should only go so far out. There were others who agreed, walked up and around, took a few photos then went back to their cars. Then there were some nut jobs that decided that wasn't enough and started walking further and further out into the valley of death. I've had my fair share of challenges that I've conquered on my trip but this wasn't going to be one of them.

In disbelief I stood on the platform and looked out to see a trail of people tackling the walk. Some with hats or some form of protection from the sun and others decided they didn't need it and shorts, flip-flops and a flimsy vest top would suffice. I wasn't prepared to put my bucket hat to the test and opted for the easy route.

I can see Death Valley just fine from here. I don't need to walk through it thanks.

So it came to that moment where I best have a photo taken so family and friends know that I've been here. Of course I could just Photoshop myself onto an image from Google but said family and friends know that I could never be arsed to do that.

We do tend to splash a smile across our faces no matter where we are or what we're doing. You could be in the bitter cold with someone you absolutely hate but when someone points a camera at you your face transforms into artificial glee. It seems that nobody wants to be seen as a grumpy sod. Sometimes a bit of indifference would be better suited. The amount of times I've seen people pose outside memorial plaques, charred buildings or any place synonymous with death and grieving, with massive cheesy grins on their faces is mental. This photo sums up how I'm really feeling at Death Valley.

I was getting frustrated as sweat kept pouring into my eyes whilst I was posing for this photo. Lovely.

Once our baking session was over we headed out of there as quickly as possible. I was thankful that nobody wanted to venture out further into the scorching abyss.

Someone had the grand idea of splitting the cooking duties. Oh dear. Despite being the senior member of the group, there were a couple of the girls who loved cooking and were really good at it. I was an embarrassment. I wish I could have been on dishes duty throughout. I'm good at that, washing dishes, drying dishes, putting them away, you get the idea.

Bishop was not my night for cooking, phew! Instead, the Austrian girls cooked a traditional dish from their home country. When I first heard the dish I thought they were doing a poor Jamaican accent. Kaiserschmarrn is a pancake based dish that can be dressed up or down to taste. The girls did a fantastic job and I went back for seconds without hesitation.

It may not look that much but after a sprinkle of icing sugar and a dollop of apple sauce, I was happy 

My journey through California is almost complete. The next day we'd be visiting the mammoth Yosemite National Park. I'd heard great things from the group we met in Las Vegas and Google images brought up some astounding results. It'd be great to end the tour on a high.

Road to Vegas

Road to Vegas, - click on the link to see the full set of 40 photos.

A selection of photos from the journey to Vegas, Vegas itself and the only couple of photos I took the day after at The Venetian.

Plus, you get to see The Hat. Quite a few of these photos I'd only just recently found in a random folder on my notebook. I might look awake but I seriously cannot remember the majority of these photos being taken.

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.