Shivering in Bear Valley

Following a second evening in Vegas, we had a late start for the next stage in our journey, to Yosemite National Park. We had been told that this little road trip of ours was ambitious, and it was, but we were rewarded richly for our efforts, although it didn't feel like it when we finally arrived at the park a little shy of midnight having been on the road for over ten hours, the last two on pitch back windy roads. After checking in and signing all sorts of forms agreeing that we would put all food, drink, rubbish and toiletries in the bear boxes outside the tents, we then had to rummage around sorting these out in the howling wind, before trying to find our tent in a dark sea of tents by a small beam of light from a torch.

It was chilly outside but nothing compared to how cold our tent was. It was a canvas structure with a proper door and camp beds insides, so luxury compared to our usual camping escapades; except it was damp and the temperature was about minus 3 or 4 degrees inside the tent. We each made up our beds using 5 or 6 blankets each and headed out in numbers for safety into the bear infested woods hunting for the toilet block.


I woke up in the night shivering and try as I might could not get warm, despite having put on my thick hoodie and my coat to bed. I decided to visit the facilities again and bravely grabbed the torch and headed out alone, not having the heart to disturb my usual protector. It was actually warmer outside and by now I was so sleep deprived that I was willing to take on any bear that dared to appear before me. Luckily, I spotted no bears, and headed back to continue to shiver under my blankets until morning, being oddly comforted by the snoring this time. I got up early and went for a quick shower before the others were up, and overheard some girls in the tent behind us say that they had been visited by a bear in the night who had tried to break into their food box and left scratch marks down it in frustration; the same bear box I had passed in the middle of the night. Gulp.

When I emerged from the tent in the daylight, the view which greeted me was spectacular. We were staying in a deep valley surrounded by enormous rock faced mountains with waterfalls caressing down them. Despite the lack of sleep, it was rejuvenating and warm, so wonderfully warm, after I feared I would never be hot again.

A big breakfast and a big walk in the forests to see Mirror Lake, so called as it is so still it reflects the mountain views, and we were on the road again, having been privileged enough to see more natural awe inspiring beauty in five days than in some people's lifetimes.

On the Road

The early start we had hoped to get was overtaken by a minor disaster at the car hire firm. Some poor customer service and several hours later we had a car and a map, some pre-mixed CDs and the enthusiasm of those who have only had three or four hours sleep; we were raring to go. Grand Canyon here we come!

After the initial excitement of the Hoover Dam which was surprisingly amazing, and a vast lake just outside Vegas, the journey gave way to the dull and unrelenting Arizona desert. With the sun baking down and the air con on full, our faces and lips began to shrivel and the tedium meant we actually became eager to visit the jerky shop which had teasingly began to advertise itself from 30 miles away, despite the fact that this would in turn desiccate our insides as well. The jerky stop was actually two small shed like stores in the middle of nowhere, with empty shelves and overpriced goods, and suspiciously stained but extremely friendly staff. We bought yet more water, some jerky and headed off again in search for lunch. No more than a mile later, the empty desert gave way to a large town which had we known, we could have actually just stopped here for all our needs. Still, we had the jerky.


It seemed like we spent most of our trip either on the road or not sleeping with a few pit stops for wonderment. The journey to the Grand Canyon took so long that we had to stop in a town outside called Flagstaff, an old route 66 town, to try to get some sleep before heading to the Canyon the next day. We were only at the Canyon a couple of hours before heading off again. Still, there is only a finite amount of wow's that one person can say. I'm sure Flagstaff was lovely too but we only saw the inside of our motel room, and at some limited points in the night, our eyelids. The next day's breakfast was in another old route 66 town called Williams, and was a proper 50s style diner with slow old fashioned service, which at any other time we would have appreciated more, but for now we needed to fill our tired faces and get back on the road.

Along the journey we passed through two security points, one agricultural stop where we panicked unnecessarily about a banana we had, and whole towns just full of every variant of fast food you can imagine and some petrol. We never saw any of the radar or planes which allegedly monitored the speed of cars on the freeway. We 'met' some interesting types on the road - fellow drivers who may or may not have passed their driving test, people who liked to stare a lot at outsiders in some of the smaller towns, and last but by no means least, the wardrobe man. He had ingeniously taken out the back seat of his car and inserted a pole where he had then hung numerous garishly patterned and brightly coloured shirts. He was in a convoy with a woman we assumed was his wife who wore what looked like short pyjamas; and between them they took about twenty minutes to get fuel, wash their windscreens and generally not notice that we were waiting almost patiently behind them to get our petrol.

Our mood was in the main, somewhere between delirious and irritable. We were over tired and hysterical and the slightest thing could set us off into fits of stomach wobbling, mirth tear producing laughter. In fact, we were so susceptible to the ridiculous that we decided that when Mike asked us to make the Star Trek hand sign at the Hoover Dam, that not only was it an excellent idea, that it was also hilarious. Luckily, Mike had set the camera to a weird setting so the end result looked like we were in mid alien abduction, which was probably fitting.

The Grand Canyon

Words truly cannot describe the beauty, vastness, or awe inspiring nature of the Grand Canyon, so I am not even going to try to use them.

Sensory Overload in Vegas

You expect it to be tacky, monstrous even, and maybe a little wonderful, but nothing prepares you for the Vegas strip, with it's colossal strangely themed dens encouraging you to commit all seven of the deadly sins at once, whilst wearing nothing but some strategic sequins.

A very early start on Thursday morning meant we arrived in Vegas airport around 11am. We caught a bus to our hotel, wading through the crowds queuing for limos and taxis, to a clearly seldom visited bus stop, so it was a quite a while before we properly arrived in the thick of things. As soon as we had checked in to our 'budget' hotel (better than most places we have ever stayed), the Stratosphere tower, and marvelled at all of the people gambling and drinking already, we entered into the heart of the city in search of food, in quantity and virtually free. We were in luck! The Excalibur, the one hotel with an English theme, was pretty grim but offered 2 for 1 on their buffet, so for $10 each we filled our boots, then pockets, cheeks, bags, and underwear and waddled out, safe in the knowledge we had got our monies worth and wouldn't have to eat again, perhaps ever, or until the next day as it turned out.

Among the lurid and constant adverts and flashing neon, we had seen signs for 99c margaritas, and headed for them while wandering through the various hotels, visiting some lions who would probably be better off in the wild, and endless casinos, marvelling at the sheer variety of people here. Among my favourite sights was a man wandering around the MGM Hotel Casino in just a towel; a chain smoking old woman in a mobility scooter which she had dumped next to a slot machine and settled in for the long haul, and a gaggle of young girls in obligatory sequins all wearing exactly the same hair in different shades, striding out of the Luxor with great purpose.

When we eventually turned up at the home of the promised bargain cocktail, it took us a long time to track down the correct bar, and even some hotel staff didn't know where it was, we were horrified to discover that the drinks were $7.50 instead. We had one for the road and headed back to our hotel to investigate the tower.

The Stratosphere tower contains 3 of the most horrifying rides I have ever seen. I actually couldn't watch as people dangled off the side of the enormously tall building while the wind whipped around them, in the name of fun. In fact I needed a mud slide and a cherry bomb in order to fully recover from the great height and prepare myself to mill nervously around some casino tables watching the dead eyed begin their evening.

We had a relatively early night (and then a late night when we returned to Vegas; the true way to see the place) in order to be fresh for the Grand Canyon the next day.

Between the hours of 2.30 and 7.30am, one of our party who shall remain nameless, attempted to raise the dead through the sole use of their nasal passages, and kept the nasally-silent awake.

Day one of our short break had left us over tired, over stimulated and over eager for the road trip to begin. I liked Vegas a lot more than I thought I was going to, but the natural bounty of the state of Nevada and it's neighbour Arizona blew it out of the water.

Nav Sat and the Sat Nav*

We have just returned from a road trip with friends which took in Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam, the Grand Canyon, and Yosemite National Park, as well as various other sites and towns along the way. We used all of the superlatives we knew to try to express our awe, filled up our eyes with wonderment, and took over 600 photos in 5 days; but despite the grandeur of nature and the incredulity of more man-made establishments, the real magnificence was the steadfast, unwavering perseverance of our designated driver Nav.

Super-Nav drove in excess of 1300 miles (roughly half the way from San Francisco to New York) over four days in the heat and monotony of the desert, the confusion of the city, the terrifying pitch black windy-next-to-a-sheer-cliff roads of Yosemite, with a mostly terrible soundtrack, probably not enough sleep and having to tackle appalling drivers on rule-less freeways, and a distinct lack of signage. He was truly marvellous and didn't complain once, and before I get around to sharing the photos and stories from the trip, I wanted to pen this small tribute to him.

Thank you Nav. You are more magnificent than the Grand Canyon. Fact.


* credit for pun goes to Helen.

Sack of Nuts Anyone?

Today we spent a glorious sunny afternoon at a baseball match - the San Francisco Giants versus the LA Dodgers; a pre-season friendly. The actual sport part, yet again, was pretty dull to be honest. The Giants won; balls were thrown, hit and caught and for some reason, it seemed to take two and a half hours to reach this conclusion.

Still, all of the other parts of the baseball game were fantastic, and I'm not even sure that most people were there for the hitting and catching balls bit anyway.

Inevitably, we all rose for a patriotic song at the beginning. The one about stars and spangles was warbled melodramatically as usual, but this time, people clutched their hearts, some with their recently doffed baseball caps, presumably to keep the pride from leaking out. As with the ice hockey, by the time the lyrics 'the land of the freeeeee............... and the home of the brave' came about, the crowds whooped with self congratulatory gratification, wiping away the tears of joy and smugness.


Worse, after the first two hours, we had to rise again for ANOTHER America-is-great song, but this time lyrics were provided so we could all sing along. This was followed by the Giants theme song which had clearly been composed by a musical genius with a gift for lyrics, and not a class of four year olds on a rainy day.

The ball park itself is amazing. It contains a giant Coca Cola bottle, inside of which is a slide. This is so brilliant that I have to say it again. We went to a baseball game, probably the most all-American sport we can partake in as spectators ( I know, I know, it's just primary school rounders, except they have padding for some reason), and here is one of the most corporate symbols of Americanism, the Coca Cola brand and iconic bottle symbol, and inside, and this is the real genius part, people slide down it. I love it. Simple as that. Sheer brilliance.


The people who worked at the ball park that we encountered were courteous, friendly and incredibly helpful. The spectators were a varied bunch and in the main genial and capable of tucking away large amounts of junk food. We were bombarded with people constantly walking up and down the aisles offering all kinds of overpriced goodies, to name but a few, lemonade, frozen lemonade, hot dogs, kettle corn, cotton candy (candy floss), peanuts, sunflower seeds, ice creams and one unfortunate soul had to carry around a vat of hot chocolate on his back. It was hot and the midday sun burned down on us and as the hot chocolate man did his sorry rounds, we slapped on yet more sunscreen. Although as some people were wearing their coats and several layers of clothing, I'm sure he did some trade.

Despite the incessant food offerings, there were also stand after stand of fast food options to be had. Some people never actual made it to their seats as they were too busy stuffing their faces. The people next to us sat down twenty minutes into the game with some nachos each and then an hour later disappeared only to come back and devour two huge hot dogs. Meanwhile, we were drinking vats of liquid in an effort to cool down.

Although, when in Rome.....


It was very casual unlike the ice hockey had been. The game was very much secondary to socialising or eating for lots of people. There were some people sat behind us who used the afternoon as an opportunity to tell other people long and dull stories of various nefarious acts which all seemed to end in the words, 'yeah, we were so drunk.' There were so loud, opinionated and obnoxious and this, combined with the heat and the relative tedium of the game, made me want to maim them. On the other hand, there were the more interesting die-hard fans who had made T-shirts especially to mock the LA Dodgers, were probably even wearing their Giants strip underpants and were prepared in every way for this game. Some had bought radios to listen to the commentary while they watched the game, a very clever idea and which proved most helpful to us too.

All in all, it was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon, and at $13.50 a ticket, good value too.

Taxes, Teeth and a Tremor (but mostly taxes)

NB - This may well be the most over-blown post of my entire life to date.

This week has been up and down as usual and somewhat stressful in places.

We had our first 'proper' tremor on Monday which shook the whole building and could not possibly be mistaken for anything else. It was about a 4 on the Richter Scale so only a slight chair wobble, but it made the weekly test warning siren a bit more unnerving. In fact, 10 months later, I still can't believe that I live somewhere which has a weekly World War 2 siren at noon to test the earthquake warning system, but perhaps that is a good thing, that I still can't believe it that is, as it means I am not immune.

Also this week, when free dental screening at a dental school was offered, we found ourselves at the front of the queue, proving that we will actually do anything for free. It was very worthwhile as it was discovered that possibly as the result of sugar laden food, I now have a cavity the size of a whale which needs immediate attention. These weren't the exact words used but the whiter than white teeth which surrounded me as soon as the masks were removed bewitched and dazzled me so the actual exact phrases have become blurred in my head. I was just pleased that there were no gasps of horror when I got my British dull yellow choppers out.

I managed to flood the bathroom floor and then almost broke my neck trying to clean it up.

Our veggie box came with celery even though I expressly told them I loathed it.

OK, so those last two were just for bulk purposes but all of this was nothing compared to the trauma of having to do a tax return. What turned out to be four short forms took us eight long days to complete. We almost got divorced in the process (not really Mum, I'm exaggerating ever so slightly) and it only ended well or at all because we finally admitted we needed some help.

We had to file federal and state tax returns. We went to a workshop to help us with the federal forms, which turned out to be relatively straightforward, despite the workshop being the usual horrific poorly explained nonsense. It obviously did provide some help though as we managed to complete the forms. I had to suffer another lecture from someone in the post office in order to post them (why, why, why would you ever write the sender's address on the front of an envelope? I simply cannot remember stupid systems, perhaps on principal) but all of that was fine. We felt a little smug. One down, one to go; this wasn't so hard after all.

Then, we got around to the state tax. I won't bore you with the details. Tax isn't exciting or sexy and in the hands of a country of crazy bureaucracy, it was blood boiling, confusing and exhausting. I spent a long time on hold to the state of California listening to the worst on-hold music I have ever encountered, spoke to a very friendly and helpful woman who really didn't want the whole process to be confusing or difficult for us, left her feeling I had a grasp on which alphanumerical titled form we needed to send back, only to find that as soon as we sat down to fill in boxes, we had no more idea than a wet fish what the hell they wanted from us. Mike bore most of the form filling brunt as, well, he actually has a job.

The breakthrough came when we decided we would ring someone, make an appointment, and pay them to do it for us. This morning these words would have stuck in my throat like the bones of that recently wet but now fried fish. We were desperate people willing to pay any price to take the pain away and make sure we did it right. If this sounds melodramatic to you, well then it probably is. We were quoted $120 and made the appointment anyway thinking that although expensive, our sanity was worth more than that. Half an incredibly painless hour and $40 later we skipped away from our new bestest tax-genius friends feeling that everything was right in the world. $40 was a very small price to pay for skip-inducing glee. We immediately spent some of our 'winnings' on a bottle of wine to celebrate.

We had to run for the bus back from the supermarket, at full pelt, and when we got there huffing and puffing, the driver told us that she had at first intended to wind down the window to tell us not to worry that she would wait for us anyway, then decided that we needed the exercise so she didn't bother. Not even that took the wind out of our sails for these nonresident aliens have filed their tax returns for this year and feel jubliance hitherto never felt about charges levied by the government on income.

I'm still not sure that I have explained how happy we felt enough, so to labour the point, this: On Thursday I won two free tickets to a show which had good reviews and was entertaining. Regular readers will know how much I love a freebie. I dream of worlds full of so much freeness that disease has been eradicated...did I say I was labouring the point? That's lucky. Anyway, even the show, the freeness of the entire night out, and the joy of winning something, which is always a wonderful feeling, was nothing compared to the ecstasy of having completed our tax return.

UK PAYE I salute you; a heartfelt, respectful long salute which, for tonight anyway, knows no bounds.