So I left San Cristóbal earlyish tuesday morning, taking the winding road through the mountains to Palenque. As I reached the outskirts of the town, it began to rain, and with the window down and the damp lush jungle rain smell wafting in, I actually felt a sort of nostalgia for England and rainy winters! The road was fairly empty and in good condition, and it swept back and forth between beautiful jungled mountains, with small villages dotted along the way. The major thing of note to happen on the journey was the indigenous people trying to sell some kind of fruit to passers-by. in one village, small children were rushing into the path of oncoming traffic in order to try to force it to stop, while their father looked on critically. Presumably he would beat them if they didn't reach their quota. A little further along, a Mayan woman and a small girl had actually erected a rope-and-flag barrier across the road on a blind mountainside bend. I did the only thing I could do in the circumstances: hit the gas. Presumably the contraption fell to the road, and didn't wrap itself around the rear axle of the ´burban (possibly with Maya family still attached).
When I arrived at Palenque, it was still raining. I began to get the first feelings that maybe actually rain wasn't all that cool. I had never noticed it before, but in England when it's raining, that usually means it's going to stop sometime soon. So I had a sort of subconscious expectation that kept being denied, which was unsettling. I decided not to go up to the ruins but to stay at El Panchan, a sort of grotto in the jungle, and hope the rain might have stopped in the morning.
I met Haken a Swede (who I'd first met in Oaxaca) in the bar whilst I was wandering around unsuccessfully trying to find a bed. His roommates of the previous night were leaving so we decided to try going halves on a cabaña: it only came to US$5 each. The only one she had left was on the first floor, so we left our bags and went back to the bar to eat drink and socialise. I met a Canadian family of two teachers and three children aged probably 6 to 12 who had bought an A-Team style van, and taken a year off travelling down through the US and Mexico. How totally inspirational. It became clear in conversation that having kids is the best ice-breaker and cultural ambassador you can have!
The next morning I went to see the ruins, and the rain mercifully held out for the four hours I was there. Back at the hostel, the rain began again, so I abandoned plans to visit Agua Azul
and we instead went into town on a supplies mission. The following morning, we would leave to drive to Chetumal with Veronika, an Austrian girl.
As we sat in the bar that night, eating, drinking, and watching first a fairly appalling harpist, then an amazing fire dancer (and I have seen quite a few), the rain just kept on coming. I began to wish I had driven the few hundred yards from the cabaña to the restaurant. At about 1am, we finally decided it just wasn't going to stop, and as we planned to wake up and leave early the next day, we made a run for it.
I arrived a little after Haken, to the first surprise of many that night. He was butt naked (Swedes eh). He explained, between slightly hysterical laughter, that he had decided to run back with the room key in his mouth, as he was using both his hands to hold a plastic bar chair he had stolen above his head as a makeshift umbrella. As he reached the top of the iron spiral-staircase to our room, the key had fallen from his mouth, dropping straight into the growing muddy puddles below. Being one to confront unpleasant situations head-on, he quickly realised that his only option was to strip naked and swim around in the mud looking for the key. Absolutely incredibly, 15 minutes later he actually found it, and ran naked and mud-coated to the shower blocks to clean off. Needless to say there was no hot water. I can't imagine what other people must have thought if they saw him.
Anyway, relatively unfazeable, I just (after laughing quite a bit) put out the light, and got into my bed. The rain was still torrential, and it was so loud, sleep was slow in coming. In fact before it did, we heard a commotion outside: the American girls from the neighbouring cabaña were screaming into the night: "Don't do it! It's too dangerous! Muy peligroso! Come back!". Kneeling up to see what was going on, I couldn't believe what I saw. The river had risen so high with the rain that it had burst it's banks entirely. Our bridge back to the main area was underwater except in the middle, with a fierce-looking current rushing all around it. The entire cabaña area was at least a metre deep in water. And it was still raining like it would never stop.
The five guys whose (ground-floor) cabaña had been flooded, and who had been considering attempting a swim to higher ground, became the first of many refugees in our first-floor cabaña building. As more and more came, lured upward by the sight of others, each had a crazy story to tell. Some poor fools had camped, and had simply abandoned tents full of possessions to the rising water. Some had been fast asleep and only awakened when the water rose above their mattress. A Canadian couple were in a very bad way: the girl was suffering from shock and was shovering uncontrollably and vomiting off the blacony. Another Canadian girl had left her bike, which she'd ridden all the way down from Toronto, chained to a tree. It was anybody's guess whether tree or bike would be there come morning.
The girls next door got the iPod going, and made everyone cups of mushroom tea. Soggy rizla came out, and joints started to circulate. Our room became a sort of changing-room and chillout room, with Haken, incredibly, still trying to sleep through everything. I had gotten up, and whilst I was chatting to some people, a wet Quebecois guy and a wet Mexican guy decided to occupy my bed. At 4am, the rain continued unabated. I had had quite bad diarrhoea that day, but since we were effectively ship-wrecked, I just clenched butt-cheeks harder and grimly held on. At this point, there were about 10 people passed out on beds and floor and packs in the girls' two-bed room. The Canadian couple were sharing the end of Haken's single bed; myself and Erica from Michigan joined Francois and Gaika on my bed. Then, whilst trying desperately to keep my sphincter closed, a feat which took almost all my attention, and yet also having to fight the growing need to just shut my eyes and sleep, I lay and listened to Erica (a recent Biochemistry graduate, it transpired) from Michigan talk for three hours about how life on this planet originated, how life can be detected on other planets, what dengue fever is, and other topics that are now lost forever to me.
At 0630, when I was feeling horribly bloated and uncomfortable, and really thinking I could no longer control my body, a guy appeared in the doorway looking grim. "I've been," he said. I thought he meant he had finally given in and relieved himself in the raging waters. Feeling slightly better for not having to be the first, I decided I had no option but to do likewise. But it turned out that in fact, in those fews hours, with the slackening rain, the water level had falled dramatically. It was now possible to squelch barefoot through marsh to the toilet block where, incredibly, the tide-marks indicated that the water had stopped rising just before overflowing into the toilet bowl. Ah unalloyed delight. Ah blessed relief. An eruption fit to wake a campsite, but I didn't care. And somehow, my emergency toilet paper had survived dry through everything. Never was a man happier. When I returned to my wet, already-full bed, I pulled a bit of damp unused cover over my head, and within minutes was asleep. Sorry Erica: I must have seemed terribly rude.
In the morning (well, later that morning), we were made aware that the following night's stay would be free. But what with a guy coming in with a bleeding ankle, saying on of the El Panchan dogs had bitten him, and the whole place being a marsh, and the rain restarting again, we all were very keen to leave as soon as humanly possible, even though it meant fording the river with the ´burban. But it started and forded like a trooper, and we were on our way without a backward glance.
Three minutes down the road, the rain suddenly, and completely, stopped. Was it just one raincloud, with a Mayan-cursed vengeance against hippy campers, that had caused all that destruction? Difficult to know. But as the sun came out, and the car and ourselves began to dry out, I decided that perhaps I didn't really miss the rain, after all.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
miscellanea
Get hold of some of this. Oaxaca has the most amazing hot chocolate i have ever tasted. I guess you'd expect it from the land of chocolate! And, as usual, google, the net, and american commerce conspire to make it available to anyone with a credit card. I bought some to send home, but I lost it. It may be hiding somewhere in the suburban, its hard to be sure.
Also there are some pictures of New Year on the net now. Thanks Maaike :)!
Wow amazing jungle-surrounded mist-wreathed rain-drenched maya ruins here at palenque. Tomorrow early taking the never-taken road cutting across the Yucatan peninsular through hopefully tourist-free ruin sites to Chetumal where I make only my third international border-crossing of the trip, into Belize. Tips Graham? Thinking of going to Orange Walk and Belize City, then taking the road to Tikal in Guatemala.
Also there are some pictures of New Year on the net now. Thanks Maaike :)!
Wow amazing jungle-surrounded mist-wreathed rain-drenched maya ruins here at palenque. Tomorrow early taking the never-taken road cutting across the Yucatan peninsular through hopefully tourist-free ruin sites to Chetumal where I make only my third international border-crossing of the trip, into Belize. Tips Graham? Thinking of going to Orange Walk and Belize City, then taking the road to Tikal in Guatemala.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
christmas pictures
Relaxing over christmas on the beach at maruata.
And at one in the morning, watching a sea turtle lay her eggs.
(Pics courtesy of Mahi, ta!)
And now I'm off to Palenque to view some ruins! I decided to go into Guatemala via Belize in the end, so that is my next border crossing in a few days probably!
Sunday, January 22, 2006
photographs
i spent yesterday at an indigenous village fiesta at zincanatán with an israeli couple. the guy was really into photography: he took about 70 pictures in a few hours. i preferred to just watch and experience than try to record, but looking at
his website i can't deny that he has got some amazing pictures in the past.
the pictures of yesterday are not there yet, but there's some great ones of central america, particularly "people". i'd highly recommend a quick browse, especially on work time. and check back later for the ones of yesterday.
his website i can't deny that he has got some amazing pictures in the past.
the pictures of yesterday are not there yet, but there's some great ones of central america, particularly "people". i'd highly recommend a quick browse, especially on work time. and check back later for the ones of yesterday.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
tourist or traveller
i think i have finally hit upon the distinction. unfortunately i have to report that i am (i could optimistically add "as yet") by this definition firmly in the "tourist" camp.
you can recognise tourists, because they lack a role. they are observers. when you watch a TV documentary about aztec ruins, you see only the ruins themselves. never the cameraman, the sound guy, the mic and the camera. you have the impression of a single subjective experience. it is as if you are a ghost in the scene. if the camera spun round and showed you the process of making the programme you are watching, you would get an unpleasant shock.
when a tourist encounters other tourists, he gets a similar feeling. the tourist wishes, ghostlike, to observe without participating. when it is just you, you can make believe that you don't exist. but when you are forced to confront other tourists, the truth of your own role-less presence is forced upon you.
a traveller, by contrast, i believe, has a role. he really engages in the situation. perhaps he stays in one village for three weeks, makes some friends, learns how to make tostadas, and teaches some english. since he has a role, he is not a ghost and does not have the same crisis of self. even though his presence also is transitory, it is concrete.
actually i doubt whether i myself will ever achieve "travellerhood". part of the fun of travelling for me, is being sometimes the only person of my own culture. you can make believe you are anyone, and place any interpretation you please on what you see. it's so much more diverting than at home, when through long familiarity you know always what people are thinking and why they are acting the way they are, and you know that everyone else understands you in the same way.
you can recognise tourists, because they lack a role. they are observers. when you watch a TV documentary about aztec ruins, you see only the ruins themselves. never the cameraman, the sound guy, the mic and the camera. you have the impression of a single subjective experience. it is as if you are a ghost in the scene. if the camera spun round and showed you the process of making the programme you are watching, you would get an unpleasant shock.
when a tourist encounters other tourists, he gets a similar feeling. the tourist wishes, ghostlike, to observe without participating. when it is just you, you can make believe that you don't exist. but when you are forced to confront other tourists, the truth of your own role-less presence is forced upon you.
a traveller, by contrast, i believe, has a role. he really engages in the situation. perhaps he stays in one village for three weeks, makes some friends, learns how to make tostadas, and teaches some english. since he has a role, he is not a ghost and does not have the same crisis of self. even though his presence also is transitory, it is concrete.
actually i doubt whether i myself will ever achieve "travellerhood". part of the fun of travelling for me, is being sometimes the only person of my own culture. you can make believe you are anyone, and place any interpretation you please on what you see. it's so much more diverting than at home, when through long familiarity you know always what people are thinking and why they are acting the way they are, and you know that everyone else understands you in the same way.
Friday, January 13, 2006
De Monteczuma y gringos
Well, finally after 6 weeks it happened. Monteczuma, in the form of two Zapoteca girls serving us tacos at the side of the Puebla-Oaxaca Expressway in between laughing at our Spanish, took his revenge. I woke up at 5am in general discomfort, and spent the morning issuing forth from various orifices. Unpleasant.
Actually, although I felt generally pretty grim, and didn't get out of bed much for a couple of days, really I had it pretty mild. I'm not sure whether the lesson is not to buy street-food from laughing Zapotecas, or just not to care too much about getting ill. tbh, getting ill for two days in what is now four months of travel is probably better than i average at home, over the winter months.
So yesterday I finally got to see more of Oaxaca than the inside of a hostel. It is totally unlike everywhere else i've been: it's "Gringolandia" as somebody said. Full of american seniors in luminous orange shorts and Europeans in ridiculous holiday-chic "indigenous" clothing sipping lattes in absurdly overpriced restaurants. pretty funny really, a good diversion from the rest of my trip. There are about 10 hostels here at least, and the HI one is huge and as clean and organised as any I saw in the US. So there are a lot of travellers here too, so plenty of interesting inter-beer international chat.
Tourists piss me off though. Blundering about, looking at stuff even though they don't know why, just to fill up their day. And make no mistake, I include so-called "travellers" in this too. What the futtock are they doing? Don't they have homes to go to, jobs to do, like normal people? What do they expect to find inside a 17th century cathedral, at an indigenous market, or among pre-Hispanic ruins? I mean, if you're really interested in some subject, sure, read books about it, study it properly from home, see photographs, and perhaps culminate many years of study with visits to specific sights. But coming to a country, following a set path through a set of historically and culturally unrelated "sights" which just happen to be within bussing distance of one another, loitering aimlessly in the streets and squares of some poor town, spending absurd amounts of money buying rubbish that you will only use to clutter your stupid homes, using people's genuine poverty and culture ancestry as a backdrop for your idiotic notion of the perfect holiday. Bleugh. You all make me sick. And what the hell will you do with all those photographs of the inside of churches and ruins and buildings? You're not a professional photographer: your pictures will be rubbish. A church is the house of God. It is a sacred building where people go to pray. Ruins are just old things that haven't been used for a while. Buildings... are buildings! Where people live, or work. They are not freaking tourist attractions! Go home, I say, go home!
Somehow, I manage not to include myself in this group. Just because the stupid tourist clothes I wear don't happen to be luminous orange, or because I speak a few words of broken Spanish, or because I look at things instead of buying or photographing them. Interesting hypocrisy.
Actually, although I felt generally pretty grim, and didn't get out of bed much for a couple of days, really I had it pretty mild. I'm not sure whether the lesson is not to buy street-food from laughing Zapotecas, or just not to care too much about getting ill. tbh, getting ill for two days in what is now four months of travel is probably better than i average at home, over the winter months.
So yesterday I finally got to see more of Oaxaca than the inside of a hostel. It is totally unlike everywhere else i've been: it's "Gringolandia" as somebody said. Full of american seniors in luminous orange shorts and Europeans in ridiculous holiday-chic "indigenous" clothing sipping lattes in absurdly overpriced restaurants. pretty funny really, a good diversion from the rest of my trip. There are about 10 hostels here at least, and the HI one is huge and as clean and organised as any I saw in the US. So there are a lot of travellers here too, so plenty of interesting inter-beer international chat.
Tourists piss me off though. Blundering about, looking at stuff even though they don't know why, just to fill up their day. And make no mistake, I include so-called "travellers" in this too. What the futtock are they doing? Don't they have homes to go to, jobs to do, like normal people? What do they expect to find inside a 17th century cathedral, at an indigenous market, or among pre-Hispanic ruins? I mean, if you're really interested in some subject, sure, read books about it, study it properly from home, see photographs, and perhaps culminate many years of study with visits to specific sights. But coming to a country, following a set path through a set of historically and culturally unrelated "sights" which just happen to be within bussing distance of one another, loitering aimlessly in the streets and squares of some poor town, spending absurd amounts of money buying rubbish that you will only use to clutter your stupid homes, using people's genuine poverty and culture ancestry as a backdrop for your idiotic notion of the perfect holiday. Bleugh. You all make me sick. And what the hell will you do with all those photographs of the inside of churches and ruins and buildings? You're not a professional photographer: your pictures will be rubbish. A church is the house of God. It is a sacred building where people go to pray. Ruins are just old things that haven't been used for a while. Buildings... are buildings! Where people live, or work. They are not freaking tourist attractions! Go home, I say, go home!
Somehow, I manage not to include myself in this group. Just because the stupid tourist clothes I wear don't happen to be luminous orange, or because I speak a few words of broken Spanish, or because I look at things instead of buying or photographing them. Interesting hypocrisy.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
bad day turned good
Two bad things happened today: I lost my money belt (with passport, tourist permit, credit card and traveller's cheques), and somebody crashed into my car.
I left Cholula yesterday morning for Puebla, got into town to find the hostel full, so booked into a grim but cheap hotel. Using the baños in a restaurant at lunchtime, I realised I wasn't wearing my money belt. Yes, I had put it in my pillow case in the Cholula hostel so it was safe overnight, then had left without it. Wag point. I frantically called them, but the person answering didn't speak english or understand my spanish, so I just drove over there, narrowly avoiding running over a man, sideswiping a taxi, and being run into by a bus -- all this on a 30 minute journey :/. When I arrived the guy from the previous night was nowhere to be found, and the new guy in charge had no idea. The bed had been stripped: no sign of money or belt.
I was told the original guy would be back the next day, so I figured all I could do was return to Puebla. This morning, I called Cholula again, and -- thank god -- original guy says yes, he has the money belt. So I drive over there yet again (incident-free -- on the weekend all the mentalists (mostly bus drivers) stay off the roads, apparently), and with much gratefullness, pick up the goods. I incidentally offer the others a lift to Puebla -- and, randomly, they all accept. So eight of us pile into the truck and I make the Cholula-Puebla trip for what feels like the 100th time. Just on the outskirts of Puebla, I pull up at some traffic lights: unfortunately, what I don't spot is the guy in the 'parked cars' lane to my right, who is reversing into a spot. He is obviously looking back and not forward, and as he reverses in manages to swipe me with his front wing. I am not too bothered, given that I am driving a tank, although my passengers are a little taken aback by my sangfroid. When the lights go green, I pull away, but apparently the guy hasn't bothered to move back out of my way, because as I do my rear bumper catches his front bumper, and rips it half off. All of this relayed to me after the fact by my passenger watching in the wing-mirror. I drive on: when in Mexico, etc. When I drop the others off, I check the truck but it hasn't suffered a bruise. American overengineering: one point.
. . .
Yes, the Dutch girls, plus a Mexican-French couple, and some Mexicans, helped me share the Tequila. I found out afterwards that cheap tequila gives bad hangovers. I finally got over the headache 2 days later. But we had fun, randomly crashing the party of the Mexican girl's family. Thanks, Elisabeth and Carlos (who I think was her uncle.)
. . .
Actually, today, I'm bored of travelling. I'm sick of the neverending change, the impermanence of anything of value. And there's a lot to confront, all by yourself. Well I kind of was, but then I met some Swiss-Germans and they invited me to join them for a beer -- and I forgot about all that again.
I left Cholula yesterday morning for Puebla, got into town to find the hostel full, so booked into a grim but cheap hotel. Using the baños in a restaurant at lunchtime, I realised I wasn't wearing my money belt. Yes, I had put it in my pillow case in the Cholula hostel so it was safe overnight, then had left without it. Wag point. I frantically called them, but the person answering didn't speak english or understand my spanish, so I just drove over there, narrowly avoiding running over a man, sideswiping a taxi, and being run into by a bus -- all this on a 30 minute journey :/. When I arrived the guy from the previous night was nowhere to be found, and the new guy in charge had no idea. The bed had been stripped: no sign of money or belt.
I was told the original guy would be back the next day, so I figured all I could do was return to Puebla. This morning, I called Cholula again, and -- thank god -- original guy says yes, he has the money belt. So I drive over there yet again (incident-free -- on the weekend all the mentalists (mostly bus drivers) stay off the roads, apparently), and with much gratefullness, pick up the goods. I incidentally offer the others a lift to Puebla -- and, randomly, they all accept. So eight of us pile into the truck and I make the Cholula-Puebla trip for what feels like the 100th time. Just on the outskirts of Puebla, I pull up at some traffic lights: unfortunately, what I don't spot is the guy in the 'parked cars' lane to my right, who is reversing into a spot. He is obviously looking back and not forward, and as he reverses in manages to swipe me with his front wing. I am not too bothered, given that I am driving a tank, although my passengers are a little taken aback by my sangfroid. When the lights go green, I pull away, but apparently the guy hasn't bothered to move back out of my way, because as I do my rear bumper catches his front bumper, and rips it half off. All of this relayed to me after the fact by my passenger watching in the wing-mirror. I drive on: when in Mexico, etc. When I drop the others off, I check the truck but it hasn't suffered a bruise. American overengineering: one point.
Yes, the Dutch girls, plus a Mexican-French couple, and some Mexicans, helped me share the Tequila. I found out afterwards that cheap tequila gives bad hangovers. I finally got over the headache 2 days later. But we had fun, randomly crashing the party of the Mexican girl's family. Thanks, Elisabeth and Carlos (who I think was her uncle.)
Actually, today, I'm bored of travelling. I'm sick of the neverending change, the impermanence of anything of value. And there's a lot to confront, all by yourself. Well I kind of was, but then I met some Swiss-Germans and they invited me to join them for a beer -- and I forgot about all that again.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Saturday, December 31, 2005
¿what's the spanish for wavicle?
OK. Still no word from yahoo about my email. I have started using my gmail account instead. Actually it is much better (yes i realise i am somewhat behind the curve only realising that now.) pmg102@gmail.com it is, pmg101 was already taken.
So, not having email meant i missed all your christmas wishes, or perhaps you're all just cabrones and you didn't send me any. I'm joking! Actually, what it did do is totally scupper my plans to meet up with les françaises in puebla for new year's, since i only heard from them today, and it's already the 31st! However, the flipside of that is that I therefore stayed in Morelia a little longer, and had the pleasure yesterday to spend the day discussing philosophy of physics, among many other things, with a charming local girl! But i get ahead of myself.
I had a good time in Guadalajara. I left my car parked in the street, just outside the parking meters zone. After four days, I thought I should check on it, for peace of mind, so I walked up there, to find the driver's window smashed! On closer inspection, I realised that actually it was just open -- in my half-asleep idiocy on Monday morning when I moved it, I had left the window open. Nothing had been touched -- there wasn't even a homeless man asleep in it. So take what lesson you like about crime versus fear-of-crime. I did shut the window though, before I left it again.
It was also the festival of the Virgen de Guadalupe whilst I was there, so with a few others from the hostel we went and consumed remarkably unhealthy mexican street food, consisting mainly of deep fried things with sugar, whilst not buying things from the many artisan stalls. And we saw some Aztec dancing! Apparently they dance for days on end.
The hostel is dead cool, they hook you up with fun local things each night. Guadalajara has a big art scene, so a couple of times there were trips to galleries and things like that. One girl from the States was staying at the hostel, but had been working in a local community for the previous six months, and she took us to meet her host family for a birthday party. It was great to leave the centre and go out into the real Mexican suburbs, even if they did take advantage of our offer to buy beer and tricked us into buying 50 bottles.
I missed the opportunity to see more french films (seems to be a theme) and/or a bullfight by deciding after a week to leave, for the pretty towns of Colima and Ciudad Guzman, on the way to Maruata's empty beaches for Christmas week. That was amazing. Especially creeping around the beach at one in the morning looking for turtles laying eggs! They are a 400-million-year-old species, and it is amazing to watch them. That was where I met the turtle girl and her boyfriend, Canadians, who (since there were so few people staying) I saw every day. When the time came for leaving, it turned out we were all headed to Morelia, so I offered them a lift, and was then invited to dinner with her family, which was where I met her sister the quantum physicist. Hopefully I will be able to put some of the pictures that they took up here.
Both of my cameras are now used up: I am trying to decide whether to develop them here to paper, or CD, or send the films home, or what. I also have realised (OK, it was obvious to everyone else) that not having a digital camera was a mistake. I am thinking about buying one, but it's pretty galling when they're more expensive here even than home, and certainly than the States.
On the way into Morelia, for a joke but not really, we stopped at a Burger King. You have to marvel at the fact that they can make a Whopper taste identical in Morelia, Mexico, Great Bend, Kansas, and Brighton, England. Or you might think it is a bit sinister. Apart from that, its been tacos, quesadillas, and comida corrida all the way! Oh, and fish, at the beach. Mmmmm.
So, I hope everyone else had pleasant Christmases, and a Feliz Año Nuevo to you all. I have tequila and limes: hopefully I will be able to persuade the Dutch girls at the hostel to share them with me. Apart from that, I had my hair cut. The poor man was very mystified that I wanted those clippers for cutting the side and back pushed all over my head. But he came through bravely. And all for GBP 1.75. I love this country!
So, not having email meant i missed all your christmas wishes, or perhaps you're all just cabrones and you didn't send me any. I'm joking! Actually, what it did do is totally scupper my plans to meet up with les françaises in puebla for new year's, since i only heard from them today, and it's already the 31st! However, the flipside of that is that I therefore stayed in Morelia a little longer, and had the pleasure yesterday to spend the day discussing philosophy of physics, among many other things, with a charming local girl! But i get ahead of myself.
I had a good time in Guadalajara. I left my car parked in the street, just outside the parking meters zone. After four days, I thought I should check on it, for peace of mind, so I walked up there, to find the driver's window smashed! On closer inspection, I realised that actually it was just open -- in my half-asleep idiocy on Monday morning when I moved it, I had left the window open. Nothing had been touched -- there wasn't even a homeless man asleep in it. So take what lesson you like about crime versus fear-of-crime. I did shut the window though, before I left it again.
It was also the festival of the Virgen de Guadalupe whilst I was there, so with a few others from the hostel we went and consumed remarkably unhealthy mexican street food, consisting mainly of deep fried things with sugar, whilst not buying things from the many artisan stalls. And we saw some Aztec dancing! Apparently they dance for days on end.
The hostel is dead cool, they hook you up with fun local things each night. Guadalajara has a big art scene, so a couple of times there were trips to galleries and things like that. One girl from the States was staying at the hostel, but had been working in a local community for the previous six months, and she took us to meet her host family for a birthday party. It was great to leave the centre and go out into the real Mexican suburbs, even if they did take advantage of our offer to buy beer and tricked us into buying 50 bottles.
I missed the opportunity to see more french films (seems to be a theme) and/or a bullfight by deciding after a week to leave, for the pretty towns of Colima and Ciudad Guzman, on the way to Maruata's empty beaches for Christmas week. That was amazing. Especially creeping around the beach at one in the morning looking for turtles laying eggs! They are a 400-million-year-old species, and it is amazing to watch them. That was where I met the turtle girl and her boyfriend, Canadians, who (since there were so few people staying) I saw every day. When the time came for leaving, it turned out we were all headed to Morelia, so I offered them a lift, and was then invited to dinner with her family, which was where I met her sister the quantum physicist. Hopefully I will be able to put some of the pictures that they took up here.
Both of my cameras are now used up: I am trying to decide whether to develop them here to paper, or CD, or send the films home, or what. I also have realised (OK, it was obvious to everyone else) that not having a digital camera was a mistake. I am thinking about buying one, but it's pretty galling when they're more expensive here even than home, and certainly than the States.
On the way into Morelia, for a joke but not really, we stopped at a Burger King. You have to marvel at the fact that they can make a Whopper taste identical in Morelia, Mexico, Great Bend, Kansas, and Brighton, England. Or you might think it is a bit sinister. Apart from that, its been tacos, quesadillas, and comida corrida all the way! Oh, and fish, at the beach. Mmmmm.
So, I hope everyone else had pleasant Christmases, and a Feliz Año Nuevo to you all. I have tequila and limes: hopefully I will be able to persuade the Dutch girls at the hostel to share them with me. Apart from that, I had my hair cut. The poor man was very mystified that I wanted those clippers for cutting the side and back pushed all over my head. But he came through bravely. And all for GBP 1.75. I love this country!
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
no email :(
if anyone has tried to email me, i am not receiving emails at the moment. thanks, yahoo. i have contacted them to ask what is going on. i have had that account for over 5 years and never had a problem, and now that i need it it goes pear-shaped!
had a very relaxing xmas getting a tan, swimming with turtles, drinking coconuts and sleeping under palm palapas on the beach at maruata. hoping to make it to puebla for new year!
happy holidays a todo :)
had a very relaxing xmas getting a tan, swimming with turtles, drinking coconuts and sleeping under palm palapas on the beach at maruata. hoping to make it to puebla for new year!
happy holidays a todo :)
Friday, December 16, 2005
¡viva mexico!
the cadence of my journey has changed somewhat now
that i am across the border. i have slowed down quite
a bit. partly this is because the US being in many
ways culturally similar to home meant that i could do
a sort of high-speed trip. actually i covered over
10,000 miles in the two months i was there. and partly
it is because driving in mexico is a rather different
proposition than driving in the US. i think this is a
trend which will only continue...
so, first i spent one week in monterrey, as it turned
out, staying with a family which was pretty cool.
except that she wanted to practise her english on me
so i didnt really get much of a chance to practise my
spanish! but i got by, during the day when she was at
work, in my conversations with shopkeepers and museum
attendants, so was kind of chuffed. middle-class
monterrejians aspire to be USAian. it seemed a shame,
but i suppose inevitable.
i started off being very circumspect with respect to
food and water. however nothing went wrong so i became
more and more adventurous. now i pretty much eat
everything, yes including salad, and i clean my teeth
under the tap, and i am pleased to report i have had
no ill-effects as yet!
so after a lovely week in monterrey, i drove down to
zacatecas, a lovely colonial town in the middle of
mexico, where i liked the hostel so much i stayed a
week. i decided to take spanish lessons there too,
since a teacher at the university language centre
would do 1-on-1 for 4 GBP an hour. i tried to speak
spanish in the hostel as much as possible too, as some
of the other guests were trying to improve their
spanish, and i bought (randomly) an agatha christie
book in spanish and a diccionario, the former i have
conquered the first two chapters of with the aid of
the latter.
and yesterday, i finally left and drove down here to
guadalajara, mexico's second biggest city (mexico city
the first, monterrey is the third), with two absurdly
beautiful french-canadian girls whose university has
an exchange program with the university in puebla.
both, alas, have mexican boyfriends... during the
journey, we conversed in a melange of french, spanish,
and english. the early stages of learning a language
are really fun and rewarding, as you pick up new
vocabulary daily.
the city is, well, big, (7mi ppl i think). the hostel
seems to be a little too anglophone for me. i have
already met two people who had been at zacatecas --
i'm not sure i like the 'gringo trail' factor too
much. i will probably stay here a few days (perhaps a
week, true to form), then swing by morelia to see the
monarch butterfly migration, whence to the michoacan
coast to find a playa for christmas :).
nada mas, hasta la proxima!
that i am across the border. i have slowed down quite
a bit. partly this is because the US being in many
ways culturally similar to home meant that i could do
a sort of high-speed trip. actually i covered over
10,000 miles in the two months i was there. and partly
it is because driving in mexico is a rather different
proposition than driving in the US. i think this is a
trend which will only continue...
so, first i spent one week in monterrey, as it turned
out, staying with a family which was pretty cool.
except that she wanted to practise her english on me
so i didnt really get much of a chance to practise my
spanish! but i got by, during the day when she was at
work, in my conversations with shopkeepers and museum
attendants, so was kind of chuffed. middle-class
monterrejians aspire to be USAian. it seemed a shame,
but i suppose inevitable.
i started off being very circumspect with respect to
food and water. however nothing went wrong so i became
more and more adventurous. now i pretty much eat
everything, yes including salad, and i clean my teeth
under the tap, and i am pleased to report i have had
no ill-effects as yet!
so after a lovely week in monterrey, i drove down to
zacatecas, a lovely colonial town in the middle of
mexico, where i liked the hostel so much i stayed a
week. i decided to take spanish lessons there too,
since a teacher at the university language centre
would do 1-on-1 for 4 GBP an hour. i tried to speak
spanish in the hostel as much as possible too, as some
of the other guests were trying to improve their
spanish, and i bought (randomly) an agatha christie
book in spanish and a diccionario, the former i have
conquered the first two chapters of with the aid of
the latter.
and yesterday, i finally left and drove down here to
guadalajara, mexico's second biggest city (mexico city
the first, monterrey is the third), with two absurdly
beautiful french-canadian girls whose university has
an exchange program with the university in puebla.
both, alas, have mexican boyfriends... during the
journey, we conversed in a melange of french, spanish,
and english. the early stages of learning a language
are really fun and rewarding, as you pick up new
vocabulary daily.
the city is, well, big, (7mi ppl i think). the hostel
seems to be a little too anglophone for me. i have
already met two people who had been at zacatecas --
i'm not sure i like the 'gringo trail' factor too
much. i will probably stay here a few days (perhaps a
week, true to form), then swing by morelia to see the
monarch butterfly migration, whence to the michoacan
coast to find a playa for christmas :).
nada mas, hasta la proxima!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
updatelet
right, i have 18 minutes of internet time left in san antonio public library in texas until the town shuts down for thanksgiving, so let me do a quick summary of the last few weeks.
well, i am now gearing up to cross into mexico, and i bought this book in austin which has scared me stupid. i bought some chloraquine in a wal-mart, and it cost $98!!
after charleston i teamed up with a fat swiss girl for a few days and we dropped by savannah and then stayed a couple of nights in the tree houses at the hostel in the forest which was amazing! i left her there, as far as i know she's still there :).
then i sped by st augustine florida which is the oldest town in the US, and feels like it. its just like the mediterranean, tho a bit tourist-heavy.
i tried to drive through biloxi mississippi: the highway just stopped though, with the bridge ahead only half standing. on the opposite shore you could clearly see skyscrapers half subsided, and junk everywhere. i did actually drive through new orleans, tho i didn't stop. it is a mess. you all saw it on the news anyway, so you know how it is -- but it's pretty bizarre to pass through. oh i forgot mobile alabama where i had some amazing oysters, and dothan alabama where i didnt bother to attend the national peanut festival. i spent a few days in lafayette louisiana, the heart of cajun country, with lots of good food (crawfish, gumbo, etc) and tried to track down some french speakers which is hard. learned some interesting history of the place too. its certainly a long way from the McDs wal-mart strip-malled USA of stereotype.
i stayed in austin texas a long weekend: there is an incredible live music scene there. every night of the week, every bar in town has some form of live music. and often free! and $2 budweiser -- even i'll drink it at that price. its a cool city too, a little liberal dot in an otherwise conservative republican state. oh and props to the girls in southside bbq in elgin who were the first people i met who actually laughed at my accent. "wow, you're actually from england? that's so amazing!" ;)
a guy at austin hostel tipped me off to global freeloaders. its wicked -- way to get free accomodation! so i'm trying to use it to arrange my first nights in mexico, with some woman who wants to practise her french, bizarrely enough! and she offered me a cup of proper english tea that her english friend sent from leicestershire -- how can i resist that. i'm getting a bit US culture-tired actually. miss home! ;)
the moustachioed lady tells me i have five minutes remaining. hope everyone's well, think i better sign off, wish me luck in crazy mexico, not too sure when i'll next get to the net to update!
well, i am now gearing up to cross into mexico, and i bought this book in austin which has scared me stupid. i bought some chloraquine in a wal-mart, and it cost $98!!
after charleston i teamed up with a fat swiss girl for a few days and we dropped by savannah and then stayed a couple of nights in the tree houses at the hostel in the forest which was amazing! i left her there, as far as i know she's still there :).
then i sped by st augustine florida which is the oldest town in the US, and feels like it. its just like the mediterranean, tho a bit tourist-heavy.
i tried to drive through biloxi mississippi: the highway just stopped though, with the bridge ahead only half standing. on the opposite shore you could clearly see skyscrapers half subsided, and junk everywhere. i did actually drive through new orleans, tho i didn't stop. it is a mess. you all saw it on the news anyway, so you know how it is -- but it's pretty bizarre to pass through. oh i forgot mobile alabama where i had some amazing oysters, and dothan alabama where i didnt bother to attend the national peanut festival. i spent a few days in lafayette louisiana, the heart of cajun country, with lots of good food (crawfish, gumbo, etc) and tried to track down some french speakers which is hard. learned some interesting history of the place too. its certainly a long way from the McDs wal-mart strip-malled USA of stereotype.
i stayed in austin texas a long weekend: there is an incredible live music scene there. every night of the week, every bar in town has some form of live music. and often free! and $2 budweiser -- even i'll drink it at that price. its a cool city too, a little liberal dot in an otherwise conservative republican state. oh and props to the girls in southside bbq in elgin who were the first people i met who actually laughed at my accent. "wow, you're actually from england? that's so amazing!" ;)
a guy at austin hostel tipped me off to global freeloaders. its wicked -- way to get free accomodation! so i'm trying to use it to arrange my first nights in mexico, with some woman who wants to practise her french, bizarrely enough! and she offered me a cup of proper english tea that her english friend sent from leicestershire -- how can i resist that. i'm getting a bit US culture-tired actually. miss home! ;)
the moustachioed lady tells me i have five minutes remaining. hope everyone's well, think i better sign off, wish me luck in crazy mexico, not too sure when i'll next get to the net to update!
Sunday, November 06, 2005
night night sleep tight
well i suppose it had to happen eventually. bedbugs. saturday morning i woke up with bites all across my shoulders and arms. in the early hours of sunday morning i actually felt the biting and put the light on to find two or three of these little blighters happily cavorting on my pillow and in the bedclothes, after a tasty supper of me. wide awake now, frantic searching revealed four or five more including some babies. cute eh. i gave them all a good blast of insect repellant and watched with a sort of horrified glee as they slowly curled up, then stretched out, and then died.
i have bites on my hands, face, neck and feet now too. also they are probably living in my luggage. i put it all through the tumble dryer set to very hot for half an hour -- but i wouldn't be surprised if they somehow lived through it. apparently they can live for up to *a year* then come out and get right back into sucking blood.
in other news, i was shocked to read today that 22 people were killed in a tornado in kentucky and indiana on sunday. it seems nearby (although it's not: 500 miles or thereabouts) because we *weren't* that far from there, only a couple of weeks ago. travelling has made the world smaller already.
also, i'm starting to get heartily sick of rich white self-obsessed shallow privileged college kids. charleston is definitely a beautiful town. but the 'college town' thing is even more sickening here, in a place with a lot of poverty, and a very blatant black/white divide. it appears to me, against my expectations, that america has bigger class divides than britain. perhaps because i'm confusing wealth with class.
i have bites on my hands, face, neck and feet now too. also they are probably living in my luggage. i put it all through the tumble dryer set to very hot for half an hour -- but i wouldn't be surprised if they somehow lived through it. apparently they can live for up to *a year* then come out and get right back into sucking blood.
in other news, i was shocked to read today that 22 people were killed in a tornado in kentucky and indiana on sunday. it seems nearby (although it's not: 500 miles or thereabouts) because we *weren't* that far from there, only a couple of weeks ago. travelling has made the world smaller already.
also, i'm starting to get heartily sick of rich white self-obsessed shallow privileged college kids. charleston is definitely a beautiful town. but the 'college town' thing is even more sickening here, in a place with a lot of poverty, and a very blatant black/white divide. it appears to me, against my expectations, that america has bigger class divides than britain. perhaps because i'm confusing wealth with class.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
and everybody's having a remarkable time
Readers of taste will remember today's title from a DJ Shadow album. It is sampled from a recording of a gentleman who went to Memphis, Tennessee "in order to purchase some automobiles". Leaving Memphis yesterday I decided DJ Shadow suited the mood -- and then he went and name-dropped the very "sun-deck of the Peabody Plaza Hotel" that I had just been in!
Well OK, I didn't actually stay at the Peabody: at $200 a room it is a bit beyond my budget. I *did* however see NIN among others at the Voodoo music festival in the baseball arena opposite, and afterward hung out with some Chicagoans who *were* staying there. And I used the phone in their lobby. So it was a rather strange coincidence to have it name-checked the following day on an album I'd had for years...
After crossing Kansas, which wasn't really as big as I'd expected, in St Louis I met up with my former schoolfriend Paul Seet who now lives in Chicago. We hung out for a week, taking in Anna, Illinois (home of Bunny Bread), Paducah, Kentucky (home of nothing in particular), and Nashville and Memphis, Tennessee. People started talking funny nearly as soon as we hit Kentucky.
It turns out that although Paul and I have a lot in common (like our names, and our school years), he is an American in ways that I am not. I see eating out as an opportunity to relax, enjoy good conversation, soak in local atmosphere, and sample interesting local cuisine. Paul sees it as a necessary evil with the aim of consuming as quickly as possible food the quality of which, from the brand name posted outside, can be predicted with complete accuracy. I see sleeping as a necessary evil which must be done to make the next day pleasant, and should cost as little time and money as possible. For Paul it is the key part of the day, where he can relax in the personal space which is for a short time his and his alone, safe from the marauders and risks of the outside world. I find Interstates boring and depressing, unlike their ever-interesting and more leisurely cousins, the state and county roads. Paul prefers the Interstates for their efficiency to the ever-stressful twists and turns of the back-roads.
So just these three differences: and apart from that we agreed that it was nice to see each other. I characterise him as 'American' in these preferences (predictable food, comfortable beds, efficient transport) because it seems that America tends to agree with him in these respects. Hence the rise of the Brand, favourite antihero of the lazy liberal. I prefer the unexpected, the unusual, the interesting. So do some other people.
I can't think of any kind of useful conclusion however. And although it is the first rainy day in a week of hot sunshine (I got sunburned Sunday at the show!), hence stopping by the library to update y'all, I should really get out and see something of Chattanooga. Perhaps the Choo Choo (although I favour the Civil Rights/Trail of Tears museum). So how about you, gentle reader, putting your own conclusion in the comments?
Well OK, I didn't actually stay at the Peabody: at $200 a room it is a bit beyond my budget. I *did* however see NIN among others at the Voodoo music festival in the baseball arena opposite, and afterward hung out with some Chicagoans who *were* staying there. And I used the phone in their lobby. So it was a rather strange coincidence to have it name-checked the following day on an album I'd had for years...
After crossing Kansas, which wasn't really as big as I'd expected, in St Louis I met up with my former schoolfriend Paul Seet who now lives in Chicago. We hung out for a week, taking in Anna, Illinois (home of Bunny Bread), Paducah, Kentucky (home of nothing in particular), and Nashville and Memphis, Tennessee. People started talking funny nearly as soon as we hit Kentucky.
It turns out that although Paul and I have a lot in common (like our names, and our school years), he is an American in ways that I am not. I see eating out as an opportunity to relax, enjoy good conversation, soak in local atmosphere, and sample interesting local cuisine. Paul sees it as a necessary evil with the aim of consuming as quickly as possible food the quality of which, from the brand name posted outside, can be predicted with complete accuracy. I see sleeping as a necessary evil which must be done to make the next day pleasant, and should cost as little time and money as possible. For Paul it is the key part of the day, where he can relax in the personal space which is for a short time his and his alone, safe from the marauders and risks of the outside world. I find Interstates boring and depressing, unlike their ever-interesting and more leisurely cousins, the state and county roads. Paul prefers the Interstates for their efficiency to the ever-stressful twists and turns of the back-roads.
So just these three differences: and apart from that we agreed that it was nice to see each other. I characterise him as 'American' in these preferences (predictable food, comfortable beds, efficient transport) because it seems that America tends to agree with him in these respects. Hence the rise of the Brand, favourite antihero of the lazy liberal. I prefer the unexpected, the unusual, the interesting. So do some other people.
I can't think of any kind of useful conclusion however. And although it is the first rainy day in a week of hot sunshine (I got sunburned Sunday at the show!), hence stopping by the library to update y'all, I should really get out and see something of Chattanooga. Perhaps the Choo Choo (although I favour the Civil Rights/Trail of Tears museum). So how about you, gentle reader, putting your own conclusion in the comments?
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Staying just one night
Driving across Southern Utah was an incredible experience. From Grand Canyon, I came through Red Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Grand Staircase (Escalante), Dixie National Forest, Arches National Park, Colorado National Monument, Rocky National Park, and of course all the land in between. Google image search for any of those names to get a feeling for what it's been like: my photos are probably rubbish, and won't get developed or scanned for months anyway.
Grand Canyon's chief virtue is its size, almost to the exclusion of anything else. I managed to find a rock to perch on, and read my book, occasionally looking up and going, "Wow, that sure is a long way away." The other Canyons are more comprehensible, and therefore to some degree more attractive. I did a few hours' hiking in Arches which is just like walking in a petrified shipyard -- or spaceshipyard. These enormous red rocks, lined up in rows and rows.
At a certain height, pines are replaced and joined by "aspens", a gorgeous tree with delicate silver-white branches, and translucent leaves which are yellow-to-red now, in their fall colouring. With the sun shining through them, and the leaves trembling in the wind, almost every turn in the road presents new photogenia. I got a great view of the full moon rising above mountains, while the last of the evening sun lit them up fiery red. I couldn't stop to photograph it, but I didn't need to.
In the Rockies I reached 11,000 feet at a pass at the Continental Divide, as it's called, and it was snowy all around! From there I descended into Boulder, where I've spent a couple of days hanging out because all the continuous onward movement had started to become unsettling. It is a wonderful town to have stopped in, too -- its main features are lots of trees (in autumn colour), a pedestrianised Main Street chock full of independant coffee places and used book stores, and a huge and gorgeous campus (the University of Colorado) and its attendant 30,000 students. A girl posting posters told me that it has the highest concentration of PhDs of any town in the US, and that it has 300 days of sunshine a year. An odd man from Georgia reading David Icke in Moab Hostel had commented on the beauty of Boulder's girls: he was right. Last night, I went to see open mic poetry at a co-operatively run food store and cafe. And it has a great Public Library with free internet access! But today I leave, for Denver, and then to start the long lonely crossing of the Great Plains, leaving the South-West for the South-East.
Before I go though, I wanted to say something about this whole National Park deal. I picked up a book in here by Henry David Thoreau, about walking, wherein he made the distinction between Nature as primary actor, with Man hosted in it, as against Nature contained and managed merely as a pleasant diversion among Man's many available pleasant diversions. He was writing in the 1800s: he was a part of only the sixth party of white men to climb Mt Kerridge in Maine, and soon the whole of the Eastern seaboard was to be logged for arable farming. Now, whenever I visit these great beautiful wild places of America, I can never wholly shake the feeling of being package-touristed, with "marked trail" this, "entrance fee" that, and "visitor centre" the other. It's a shame: it spoils the trip. In an odd way I look forward to entering the wholly unremarked Great Plains region, where the beauty is hard to define, package up and name -- and for that reason goes generally unrecognized. Finally perhaps there I will be able to feel more like Man within Nature, than experiencing Nature as a construct of Man.
NB: Dom, you may be interested to know that I went through Dolores, Colorado. Those who haven't read Lolita will be uninterested to hear this. On a side note, in Oregon I actually saw a town called "Loleta" in Humboldt County, which seemed a large coincidence.
Grand Canyon's chief virtue is its size, almost to the exclusion of anything else. I managed to find a rock to perch on, and read my book, occasionally looking up and going, "Wow, that sure is a long way away." The other Canyons are more comprehensible, and therefore to some degree more attractive. I did a few hours' hiking in Arches which is just like walking in a petrified shipyard -- or spaceshipyard. These enormous red rocks, lined up in rows and rows.
At a certain height, pines are replaced and joined by "aspens", a gorgeous tree with delicate silver-white branches, and translucent leaves which are yellow-to-red now, in their fall colouring. With the sun shining through them, and the leaves trembling in the wind, almost every turn in the road presents new photogenia. I got a great view of the full moon rising above mountains, while the last of the evening sun lit them up fiery red. I couldn't stop to photograph it, but I didn't need to.
In the Rockies I reached 11,000 feet at a pass at the Continental Divide, as it's called, and it was snowy all around! From there I descended into Boulder, where I've spent a couple of days hanging out because all the continuous onward movement had started to become unsettling. It is a wonderful town to have stopped in, too -- its main features are lots of trees (in autumn colour), a pedestrianised Main Street chock full of independant coffee places and used book stores, and a huge and gorgeous campus (the University of Colorado) and its attendant 30,000 students. A girl posting posters told me that it has the highest concentration of PhDs of any town in the US, and that it has 300 days of sunshine a year. An odd man from Georgia reading David Icke in Moab Hostel had commented on the beauty of Boulder's girls: he was right. Last night, I went to see open mic poetry at a co-operatively run food store and cafe. And it has a great Public Library with free internet access! But today I leave, for Denver, and then to start the long lonely crossing of the Great Plains, leaving the South-West for the South-East.
Before I go though, I wanted to say something about this whole National Park deal. I picked up a book in here by Henry David Thoreau, about walking, wherein he made the distinction between Nature as primary actor, with Man hosted in it, as against Nature contained and managed merely as a pleasant diversion among Man's many available pleasant diversions. He was writing in the 1800s: he was a part of only the sixth party of white men to climb Mt Kerridge in Maine, and soon the whole of the Eastern seaboard was to be logged for arable farming. Now, whenever I visit these great beautiful wild places of America, I can never wholly shake the feeling of being package-touristed, with "marked trail" this, "entrance fee" that, and "visitor centre" the other. It's a shame: it spoils the trip. In an odd way I look forward to entering the wholly unremarked Great Plains region, where the beauty is hard to define, package up and name -- and for that reason goes generally unrecognized. Finally perhaps there I will be able to feel more like Man within Nature, than experiencing Nature as a construct of Man.
NB: Dom, you may be interested to know that I went through Dolores, Colorado. Those who haven't read Lolita will be uninterested to hear this. On a side note, in Oregon I actually saw a town called "Loleta" in Humboldt County, which seemed a large coincidence.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
sick
damn i caught some silly american cold. i thought i'd shook it then camped out in sequoia national forest and the temp dropped to like -10deg during the night. i woke up freezing cold and just jumped into the driver's seat and drove with the heating on max, until my feet had thawed out. so i don't feel sociable and i feel all sleepy and just snotty. grrr.
since SF its just been mostly a sort of inadvertant national parks tour -- yosemite, sequoias, death valley, zion, and grand canyon. i made a detour via grass valley to try and find ed buryn, the guy who wrote the inspirational "vagabonding in the USA" in 1975 or summat. it was pretty cool managing to meet up with him. however, horribly, his daughter had died in an auto accident only the month before. i just hoped that half an hour talking to me about travelling might help ease his pain. made me ratchet down my speed a notch too -- tho 60 in the burban feels like about the most it'll do anyway.
most amazing day must have been in lone pine, where i was stranded one day waiting for the truck to get fixed after it overheated in the desert (not my fault! the radiator was cracked!). i went into the chamber of commerce asking if there was anything to do in town for one day, seeing as i didnt have a vehicle (they just looked confused). when i came out this lady got into some crazy electric car, i go "wow what a cool ride" and she's like "want a lift?" so i followed her round her hilarious small-town organising day. linda snell USA.
most amazing night was last night. stayed in tecopa hostel in death valley. there's no clouds, and its absolutely silent, and the ex-hippie that built the hostel built a tower u can climb up and watch the stars, and talk for hours setting the world to rights with some random literature major grad from seattle on his own trip, the only other guest in the hostel (and human for hundreds of miles, it seemed!). saw some shooting stars and definite UFOs over nevada desert too...
right goin to bed. try and get rid of this stoopid cold.
since SF its just been mostly a sort of inadvertant national parks tour -- yosemite, sequoias, death valley, zion, and grand canyon. i made a detour via grass valley to try and find ed buryn, the guy who wrote the inspirational "vagabonding in the USA" in 1975 or summat. it was pretty cool managing to meet up with him. however, horribly, his daughter had died in an auto accident only the month before. i just hoped that half an hour talking to me about travelling might help ease his pain. made me ratchet down my speed a notch too -- tho 60 in the burban feels like about the most it'll do anyway.
most amazing day must have been in lone pine, where i was stranded one day waiting for the truck to get fixed after it overheated in the desert (not my fault! the radiator was cracked!). i went into the chamber of commerce asking if there was anything to do in town for one day, seeing as i didnt have a vehicle (they just looked confused). when i came out this lady got into some crazy electric car, i go "wow what a cool ride" and she's like "want a lift?" so i followed her round her hilarious small-town organising day. linda snell USA.
most amazing night was last night. stayed in tecopa hostel in death valley. there's no clouds, and its absolutely silent, and the ex-hippie that built the hostel built a tower u can climb up and watch the stars, and talk for hours setting the world to rights with some random literature major grad from seattle on his own trip, the only other guest in the hostel (and human for hundreds of miles, it seemed!). saw some shooting stars and definite UFOs over nevada desert too...
right goin to bed. try and get rid of this stoopid cold.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
town country town country
Entered the US to little fanfare, except for the payment of $6 for the pleasure of giving the federal government my fingerprints and a mugshot. Easier than I had expected. First hurdle overcome.
Three nights in a hotel while I acclimatised and recovered from jetlag, then three in the friendly if slightly chaotic Green Tortoise (above the needle exchange -- playing good block/ bad block to get to the mini mart for beers in the evenings), one in almost complete isolation on Vashon Island, a 10 minute ferry ride, across the Puget Sound, and then, after a slightly fraught but eventually victorious day used-car shopping, the beginning of a slow crawl down highway 101 and the west coast of washington, oregon, and northern california. Met too many crazy people to list, and nearly stacked the truck on many occasions from the sheer draw-jopping beauty of the coastline vistas. Even if things are slightly spoiled by the surfeit of seniors in RVs and official "vista point"s.
After six days driving, including 2 nights sleeping in the back of the truck (ouch, it actually gets pretty cold at night, even despite those walmart-purchased $4 fleece throws lining my three-season sleeping bag), I am now happy to be cooling my heels in San Fran -- altho I am already on my second hostel. There's about 7 in town, each with different qualities, and in different areas. Or perhaps I just can't get out of the habit of continual onward movement.
The map is indeed not the territory: I have found it almost impossible to estimate driving times from looking at the trusty rand mcnally (last year's issue (that's the '05 one, go figure) can be bought at a 60% discount from walmart, hoo-yah for corporate destruction of downtown shopping districts). An hour's hiking in the redwood forests of NorCal became 3 when I seriously underestimated the scale of the map, and I had to accept a lift from a couple of liberal seniors the last part. They were not impressed to find that despite my cute english accent I was destroying planet hourly with my 15mpg Suburban. That bothers me somewhat too. Not enough though.
Enough for now. San Fran rocks tho. Apart from all the homeless people, rudies, and crackheads. But hey, It's America Stupid.
Till the next hostel with free internet...
Three nights in a hotel while I acclimatised and recovered from jetlag, then three in the friendly if slightly chaotic Green Tortoise (above the needle exchange -- playing good block/ bad block to get to the mini mart for beers in the evenings), one in almost complete isolation on Vashon Island, a 10 minute ferry ride, across the Puget Sound, and then, after a slightly fraught but eventually victorious day used-car shopping, the beginning of a slow crawl down highway 101 and the west coast of washington, oregon, and northern california. Met too many crazy people to list, and nearly stacked the truck on many occasions from the sheer draw-jopping beauty of the coastline vistas. Even if things are slightly spoiled by the surfeit of seniors in RVs and official "vista point"s.
After six days driving, including 2 nights sleeping in the back of the truck (ouch, it actually gets pretty cold at night, even despite those walmart-purchased $4 fleece throws lining my three-season sleeping bag), I am now happy to be cooling my heels in San Fran -- altho I am already on my second hostel. There's about 7 in town, each with different qualities, and in different areas. Or perhaps I just can't get out of the habit of continual onward movement.
The map is indeed not the territory: I have found it almost impossible to estimate driving times from looking at the trusty rand mcnally (last year's issue (that's the '05 one, go figure) can be bought at a 60% discount from walmart, hoo-yah for corporate destruction of downtown shopping districts). An hour's hiking in the redwood forests of NorCal became 3 when I seriously underestimated the scale of the map, and I had to accept a lift from a couple of liberal seniors the last part. They were not impressed to find that despite my cute english accent I was destroying planet hourly with my 15mpg Suburban. That bothers me somewhat too. Not enough though.
Enough for now. San Fran rocks tho. Apart from all the homeless people, rudies, and crackheads. But hey, It's America Stupid.
Till the next hostel with free internet...
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