Yosemite Dan

My brother Dan is going back home soon for a job in Plymouth. I will miss him a lot, and at first I was a teeny bit jealous, but as he tries desperately to cram in seeing as much as he possibly can in the two months he now has left, it has made me realise, again, how very lucky we are to be here.

As part of his efforts to see more of the country, he planned a road trip to Yosemite National Park last weekend and he asked us if we wanted to come along. No sooner had he asked, we were sitting in the car and driving over the Bay Bridge and out of San Francisco. We stayed in an old California Gold Rush mining town called Mariposa, an hour away from Yosemite. It was a tiny cowboy type place that took no longer than an hour to explore, which was lucky really as it was boiling hot, and we had plans to get up with the sun the next morning to get to Yosemite early.

It seemed that the sun had insomnia, as when we got up at 5.30am, it was already alive and kicking. In fact, at 6pm later that day it was still 33 degrees C, and reached 36 degrees on Sunday. Too hot to sleep, and certainly too hot to hire bikes without gears, and travel around Yosemite Valley. It was fun though, until goodness knows how many miles later, my bike muscles, stiff from a fourteen year hiatus, said no more please and refused to work. I sat my jelly legs down, mindful of my saddle sore and drank my own body weight in water reserving some to pour on my head like a real athlete. The park was now filling up quickly and as we had been there six hours already decided we should start heading off.

The next stop for the evening was Sonora, another old mining town, but with a lot more going on. We ate barbecued meat and cold beer for dinner and felt like rather full and very happy cowboys and girl. The hotel was full of motorcyclists and had an antique style wire cage lift which you had to propel yourself out of quickly lest it set off again, and the staff didn't seem to mind that three people were staying in a room booked, and possibly suitable only for one. Either they had seen much worse, they didn't care, or were too hot to care. The antique air conditioning wasn't as fun as the lift and kept us awake most of the evening, so the plan to get up really early again to see another part of the park wasn't quite realised.

We arrived a little later than planned at Hetch Hetchy Reservoir, a granite walled valley flooded in 1923 to create a water supply for San Francisco, following the 1906 earthquake. Incredibly, this reservoir is still the place that we get our water from today, a staggering 156 miles away. As well as being so useful (we had already drank 2 liters each of it's bounty), it was beautiful, peaceful compared to the valley which gets most of the tourists (largely due to the fact that Hetch Hetchy has no facilities) and just a pleasant place to be on a Sunday afternoon. We strolled across the bridge at O'Shaughnessy Dam and through the rock tunnel until we felt lethargic with heat, and decided it was probably time to head off home.

(Dan took a lot of photos and some of them can be seen here and here)

The journey back seemed to take forever and we fell foul of the usual US lack of signs and almost ended up in Los Angeles. Over tired and over heating, we had still managed to see a lot of the park, and certainly more than we saw last time we were there and staying slap bang in the middle of it; plus we got to see some real American small towns, the like of which are difficult to describe, or certainly to do justice and which just do not exist in the UK. All of this was possible in a weekend and if that doesn't make me one of the luckiest people alive, I don't know what does.

The Truth is Out There

Opened in a redwood forest just outside Santa Cruz in 1940, the Mystery Spot has been attracting visitors ever since. If last Saturday was anything to go by, in their dead eyed droves.

In order to imagine the Mystery Spot, picture if you will an all-American B movie, with the usual terrible dialogue, dubious special effects, bad acting and poorly constructed set, featuring a science museum run by the non-scientific with a penchant for the extra terrestrial, and staffed by seventeen year olds. But if you can't imagine that, the Mystery Spot is an area within a forest where the normal rules of gravity do not apply. Balls seemingly run uphill and people standing up straight lean at a 17 degree angle. At the centre of the spot is a tilted hut where the weirdness is intensified.

The place is run by timed guided tours and as such your experience entirely rests on the charisma of your tour guide. Unfortunately, our guide was bored, smug, and had the worse West Coast nasal drawl I have heard to date. He wasn't in the league of a teenage Alton Towers worker for sheer terrifying incompetence, but I'm soo better than this, where shall I go tonight?, and the occasional who with?, reeked stinkingly from his pores. I won't repeat what his limbs and worse, his eyes were saying. The pores were bad enough.

His scripted 'jokes' were delivered with the same blase and disinterested manner as every other snippet of 'fact' was. If the timbre of his voice hadn't been grating on my pain receptors I would have simply stopped listening and carried on my own conversation like most other members of my tour group. In fact, as soon as it was possible, we joined the next group along to see if their guide fared any better. She did, but that is no boast really.

Still enough about the tour guides. The place itself was interesting, as were the other members of the tour group. Our small party was dripping with cynicism as it consisted of three scientists and me, but lacking the actual skill to tell you why it was obvious that this was visual trickery, I won't. Simple as that. It was cleverly done and interesting whether you 'believed' or not. We were told that some of us may experience feelings of dizziness and nausea when inside the hut and whether it is because I am entirely suggestible, or that the claustrophobia and lack of a horizon simulated travel type sickness where my brain tried and failed to adapt to the tilt, or a bit of both, I did feel sick and had to leave the hut.

According to the spot's website, some of the speculations include there is a UFO / UFO parts buried underneath, or there is a hole in the ozone layer directly above the spot, which obviously explains everything.

The whole 45 minute tour is engineered well and at the end you get a free bright yellow bumper sticker, which is worth the $5 entrance fee alone. Sadly, we had to return the hire car and were running very late so whizzed right through to the end as quickly as we could. I actually know exactly what people must have thought of us, as they were embracing the spot and trying to work out how it works (or in some cases worrying about UFOs), as I went to the Falstaff Experience in Stratford Upon Avon once only to watch with amusement and some derision a group of people clutching their McDonald's Value Meals to their breasts and walking by every single exhibit at some speed. I now know that they had to return their hire car in time, or catch a bus, rather than as I had assumed at the time they had no interest whatsoever in Tudor England.

The bright yellow leaflet I picked up at some point during our almost an hour long wait for our Mystery Spot tour, after exhausting the gift shop wares, had many strap lines, from"It's crazy. It's Perplexing. It's Nature's Magic. That's why it's called The Mystery Spot" to my favourite "It's Unusual. It's Amazing. It's Wholesome, Interesting Entertainment!" which as it turns out was true, and apparently some promotional literature written in the 1950s never has to be updated again, which is somewhat more impressive.

The City of Cheesesteaks and Confinement

Philadelphia as far as I am concerned is famous for cream cheese, Bruce Springsteen and that film with Tom Hanks. I felt they played these down a little.

As well as the whole giving birth to American independence thing, the city proudly proclaimed itself to be home of the cheesesteak, a steak and cheese sandwich with a frankly ingenious name. Every sandwich store screamed that they were the best in the city, street or area or even less confidently, just the shop. Created in 1930, by a man called Pat, they are still going strong today. In one street in South Philadelphia, just past the wonderful Italian market, the two most famous cheesesteak suppliers are Pat's (the creator) and Geno's (the neon light adorned, and clearly Vegas inspired store.) Take a guess where we went. Go on. I can wait.








Yes, it was Pat's of course. We've already been to Vegas. We were greeted by a gimmicky sign which told you how to order, which I ignored as my accent still leads to confusion enough. As all the cheese is exactly the same, bland and melty, I bit the bullet and got my cheesesteak wit whiz; for British readers that is heavily processed, garishly coloured 'cheese' from a can or jar...named well. It was good, but I wouldn't have another one.

Another thing which Philadelphia is famous for is a system of incarceration emphasising solitary confinement as a means of rehabilitation. Who knew? My visit to the Eastern State Penitentiary was both interesting and a little horrifying. The Gothic castle-like walls and vastness of the place lent a spooky air, and the Steve Buscemi narrated audio tour added to the drama. The most famous prisoner was Al Capone, the Paris Hilton of his day, treated to a comfortable cell and numerous other privileges. Crazy.

All in all I saw a lot of what Philadelphia had to offer, and what I saw I liked. I also managed to do a tour of all the places which you are allowed to sit down for free, having over exerted myself on the first day. You can tell a lot about a city from it's sitting down facilities I always find, and Philly rose to the challenge admirably.

Go, Go, Go: A Whistlestop Tour of New York

While we were in Philadelphia, we took the opportunity to go for a day trip to New York, a mere 2 hour bus ride away for a bargain $12 return. The coach journey there was great and we arrived into the bustling metropolis at around 10.30, ready for a coffee. We actually met up with a local, a friend of Mike's who was kind enough to point out some of the sights and help us get our bearings in the hustle and bustle of the city in the muggy heat.

Within the first hour or so we had ticked off the Empire State Building, Chrysler Building, Grand Central Station, and Times Square. A quick photo opportunity for each and we were off to the next thing, conscious that one day was nowhere near long enough to spend in this marvellous place.

A lunch date with another local and we were off to briefly see Central Park, the size of which was almost unfathomable. I think you could have fitted the city of London in about 3 times over or something ridiculous. Apart from food and a day pass for the subway, which was incredibly similar to the Tube, we spent no money at all there. The afternoon free return ferry ride to Statten Island which afforded wonderful views of that iconic skyline and the Statue of Liberty was the best bargain of the whole week.

After a lightening speed dash around town, we got a pizza in Little Italy, saw the very edge of SoHo, and Chinatown and then had to find where we were meant to be to catch the coach back. There were no signs to tell us that we were in the right place and after asking several unhelpful people, one of which tried to convince us to take her coach for $10, (er, no) we were pointed in the direction of the woman who was 'running' the show. She spoke very little English and had even less patience. After ignoring me twice, I asked her whether this was the right place to wait for the Philadelphia bus and was answered with yes, yes, yes. It seemed she had an affliction which meant she could only say one word at a time and had to repeat it three times. Maybe it was for good luck. After witnessing the shambles that was the coach to Washington DC, involving pointing to a bus across the street and shouting DC, DC, DC; to which numerous people were then expected to run across two busy roads with their luggage lest they got left behind and had to spend more time with the crazy coach woman; she, and us, needed luck.

Our turn finally came - we knew that as she shouted Phil-delph and then stood at the doorway checking tickets, which she couldn't appear to read or fathom. Still, we made it on to the coach and when everyone had eventually piled on, she shouted at the driver, GO, GO, GO and we were off. The coach, which smelt strongly of chemical toilets and made a sharp bleeping noise every minute, somehow made it's way through the rush hour streets and we watched the sun set over New York, happy to have crammed in so much, and yet again, unable to believe our luck that we had finally got to visit.

A Lesson in US History; or Bad Brits and God Bless America

My first episode of solo tourism left me with a much better understanding of American history, as well as a collection of photos with red and blue stars and stripes. In terms of the main historical sights in the 'old town' part of Philadelphia, a common theme emerged; that of a strong patriotic atmosphere teemed with a considerable amount of Brit-bashing. The main attractions seemed to me to be geared towards US tourists rather than international, and there was a great deal of self congratulatory implicit and explicit propaganda.

The security system to get in to see the Liberty Bell was hard core. My bag was thoroughly searched; the inside of my camera case was checked as part of the general delve. I suspected the guard would have liked to rifle through my wallet, closely examine my tissues in case they had been used, read my notebook, and perhaps send away a piece of apple to be checked for poison, but instead she grudgingly let me through, along with hordes of other people so we could all stand in the way of each other's photos.

Independence Hall and Congress Hall were really interesting and I gained most of my knowledge from the different talks here. When it was revealed that I was from the UK, after the guide had been talking about the evil British oppressors (all true I know) other people couldn't help subconsciously (I hope) moving away from me, which was nice. That usually only happens when I haven't washed. I'm not sure my base knowledge of the political system was strong enough for when they compared the systems now and then, so I supplemented my knowledge with one of the free films at the excellent Visitor Centre.

The Constitution Centre though won the propaganda prize with it's multi-media show called Freedom Rising. With the rousing music, images of worldwide moments of liberty, and stirring words telling an audience of mostly school children how amazing the nation is, you could be forgiven for believing that the fall of the Berlin Wall and end of the South African apartheid had also been US victories. American independence and the rise of a great nation is a history which the US should be rightly proud of, however, was over stated here and large aspects of people who were not granted liberty were totally ignored. Although I can take a more considered outlook to what I am presented with, a seven year old fed a diet of hype may not be able to as easily.

On the other hand, the National Liberty Museum, was excellent. It was comprehensive, fair, thought provoking, and in places a very touching series of exhibits about the struggle for various freedoms across the world. For half the price of the flashy Constitution Center, I spent double the time and learnt about four times as much.

Another powerful symbol of America in the form of Hollywood was the Rocky Statue. Having walked the breadth of the city to get here to take a photo, and gaining a rather impressive blister in the process, I have inserted this paragraph and picture here, even though it doesn't quite fit in. Also, it makes a welcome relief from my honesty / rudeness (delete as appropriate) and a more fitting way to end this post.

Bad Tourists

We did some other stuff rather than eat on our recent trip to Seattle. Here are some photos to prove it.

View from ferry looking back at the Seattle skyline before the rain fell.


Look - it's a mountain ( and also an active volcano)

The outside of the Sci Fi Museum with the start of the monorail track which goes through it. We also rode the Monorail like any self respecting tourist should, paid our $2 and exited about a minute later having gone a mile. Still, at least it was dry.

We were pretty tired and wet by this point and desperate to record anything on our new camera. This is one of the better results, but all in all, we have a pretty bad set of photos to add insult to injury.

Next month we are going to Vegas. I'll try harder for you I promise.

Challenge!

I like a good challenge. Many times I have indulged in the 'buy the worst gift possible for a fiver' game. When I lived in Leamington Spa (Warwickshire, UK), this pastime was made a whole lot easier because there was a Mosely Warehouse (the lack of punctuation here is deliberate - that costs extra). This sold the best worst-stuff in the world. I am still trying to find somewhere to better it. My best/worst gift so far has to be the English bulldog figurine, leg cocked, licking its doghood, which had been tastefully varnished, to suggest saliva.

Anyway, in the tradition of a nice good challenge, followed by a nice cup of tea and a sit down, I have decided to see how much touristy stuff I can stuff into this weekend for the minimum amount of money. Bear in mind, this city is expensive, and also bear in mind we have no furniture and are crying out for a nice sit down. Crying, literally.

I have this evening to plan and the weekend to execute. Cue more bad pictures.