San Francisco is a fantastic city, but what was a bit weird for me was recognising little snippets from when I came here on holiday with my mum and sister about 20 years ago. Things like the curved escalators in the Nordstrom department store in the Westfield mall on Market St (where I picked up a small bag to sling across my back thanks to kilts not having many pockets), the arch at Fisherman’s Wharf, Pier 39, the streetcars and, of course, Alcatraz.

The hostel was excellent – in a top location too.. As I mentioned in a previous post, Fort Mason is an ex forces headquarters right on the bay and within spitting distance of Fisherman’s Wharf. The latter being the home of the most hilariously bad waxworks I have ever seen. I really can’t do it justice in words but, suffice to say, whoever decided to put Steve Irwin and Rambo in the same diorama is either a genius or a deranged lunatic. It’s one of those fine lines.

I might have accidentally visited a strip joint too. Which holds its own tale about being let in or not whilst wearing a kilt – easy access apparently.

Oh, it turns out that one doesn’t need much to open a bank account here. I figured it was sensible to do so given that dollars are more universally accepted, since I was going to be going to South America. It was surprisingly easy – I only needed my passport and gave them the hostel address (telling them that it was a hostel and that I wouldn’t be there long). ATM card turned up 2 days later.

Chinatown was quite impressive, as was Union Square (another vague recollection from the past).

Unfortunately, since I’ve been remiss in writing, and I can’t recall much more. Suffice to say, I had a great time.

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Rather than drive straight to LA, I wanted to visit Yosemite, since I was going to be in the area. Unfortunately, the day of my flight to Melbourne was fast approaching so I only had a morning to see it.

I drove to the Yosemite Bug hostel on Sunday evening, then visited the park on Monday morning before heading off to LA late lunchtime.

I could have spent days there – Vic was right, it’s stunning. Didn’t see any bears though – boo

So then it was a zombied drive south for 6 hours to LA. Or, more specifically, Santa Monica.

The speed limit on the highway appears to become voluntary once you get close to LA – total mentalists. Still, I did see an honest to goodness, real CHiP! They still wear the ridiculous jodhpurs, it seems.

—

So, today, I wandered Santa Monica. Blazing sun, great beach, a pier, plus a promenade of shops and that’s about all I’ve found thus far.

My Oz flight isn’t until 9pm tomorrow so I’ll drive up to Hollywood tomorrow once I check out of the hostel. LA is *huge* – you really need a car to get around.

So now it’s time for a pizza and a, frankly, large beer (I think it’s a litre) and watching the world go by on 3rd street. Which, given that it’s SoCal and a pleasant early evening, is a very blonde and pneumatic world. Woe is me.

I’ve already encountered a mad, grumbling vagrant woman; Foul Ole Ron would have been proud. I also discovered a local nutter. Sadly, I didn’t have my camera with me. He was a huge black guy dressed in US Navy whites, complete with captain’s hat, and sunglasses shaped in the number 2008. Even Elton John would have thought twice about these bad boys.

I have NO idea what he was asking me.

Having just watched some street sweepers in action, I’ve just realised that the streets are more or less spotless. I’d noticed signs on the highway warning of $1000 fines for littering – I wonder if the same is true of pedestrians. It’s certainly a credit to whatever the US equivalent of a town council is.

Something else I just remembered – driving into LA, it was rather cool to see street names like Sunset Boulevard, Mulholland Drive etc. While trying to avoid being sideswiped, of course.

I’ve moved to the bar after my pizza and the wanker magnet is in full effect. Looks like he’s going though. God no,don’t buy him a drink…phew, blokey refrained.  Not only is wanker a, well, wanker, he is camp as fuck.  I’m not even remotely homophobic, but camp gets on my tits, so to speak.  Ah shit, he’s having another.  Although, to be fair,he has just come out with “I just lost my erection for life”, which is a phrase that I might have to steal.

The tipping thing gets more complicated.  I had 4 one dollar bills on the bar but rather than give me loada more 1s in my change for the next one, Amanda (for tis her name) gave me a 5 instead. Clever girl [/J Park].

———-

The next day. My flight isn’t until mid afternoon, but obviously I had to check out of the hostel and recover my car from the parking garage opposite (above Santa Monica PD, no less, and having been without insurance since I bought it – my cockup, didn’t realise my own insurance wouldn’t be sufficient. I now have proper US insurance. Just as well, it’ll be left in LAX carpark for a fortnight while I go to Oz).

So time for a bit of an explore of LA.

It’s a hole, frankly. I drove down Hollywood, and Sunset, and never felt the slightest inclination to park up and look around. So I aimlessly carried on driving, round the back of the Warner Brothers lots, and eventually up to Griffith Observatory up in the hills, next to the Hollywood sign.

I’m sure the gag has been done before, but the comparison to Mos Eisley is definitely warranted…

So…westward, over the dateline, and the Pacific for the first, but not the last, time.

I got into the hostel in the Marin Headlands yesterday evening after an epic drive down from the redwoods, having said goodbye to another Hostel Dog : Carver.

Some of the scenery on the way down was stunning.

Once I arrived, I didn’t do much except have some dinner and read.

Today, however, I wandered up to Point Bonita lighthouse, where I more or less shat myself walking across a wooden bridge to the lighthouse island. That said, the views of the bay, bridge and city were awesome (in a californian accent).

The ranger tasked with looking after the Point Bonita area has to be the campest guy I’ve ever met – if you’ve seen Family Guy, think Brian’s cousin. But then crossed with my dad. Which was a bit bizarre for me. His partner, when he turned up, was distinctly Uncle Albert too.

That’s San Francisco for you. Amusing, yet heartwarming at the same time. Heartwarming in that these guys are completely comfortable being open about themselves, amusing in that both of them look like Santa Claus. But that’s my own preconceptions coming into play there.

While up at Point Bonita, I hunted down one of the few remaining preserved harbour seal haul out points on the West Coast. You can’t actually get down there, but one of the paths near the lighthouse has a good view of them lounging about in the sun.

Next, I wandered up to one of the lookout points on this side of the Golden Gate Bridge – quite a vantage point. Some stunning views of the bridge and bay area. It gets fog bound quite a bit too.

It’s also one of the many old coastal battery positions scattered around the bay. The first big emplacements were constructed at the end of the 19th century but several more were built during WW2. These later batteries tended to be built right into the bedrock to protection them from the heavier calibre shells enemy ships had at this point.

There are even older facilities on the south side of the bay, dating back to the Civil War (the bridge didn’t exist yet, of course). From Fort Point right under where the bridge now “lands”, through Fort Mason (where I would spend a few nights once I moved on into the city) and all the way up the shoreline with solitary cannon positions, there is evidence of a long military history.

When I got back to the hostel, I discovered that the room I was swapping to (I knew I was changing), was actually around the park slightly, in an old colonial building. So I’m writing this sat on a veranda as the sun sets. Hard life innit.

By the way, by “park”, I don’t mean a manicured lawn and fountains type city park, but more a preserved area. It is huge and forms part of the Golden Gate National Park.

I finally ate a proper brekkie today and then set off for some hiking and exploring.

The local “Elk Meadow” is aptly named – there’s faasands of ‘em.

A two hour hike through the Redwood groves proved fun too, as well as demonstrating a welcome return to strength, thankfully.

Finally, I wandered down to Gold Bluff Beach and Fern Canyon.  Both lovely places, and the elk put in another appearance by the sea as I was leaving.

More of a photo post this one, than wordy.  Off to San Francisco tomorrow!

Oh yeah, and I drove my car through a tree :

At 10pm that night, my stomach rebelled.  Sat on the bog for an hour doing a fine impression of the proverbial shitting dog, then managed to get 4 hours of fitful sleep before waking up suddenly, stumbling to the loo and giving Linda Blair a run for her money.  Marvellous.

I spent the next day confined to the hotel room barely able to keep even water down or shooting through me in seconds before, finally, the next day, getting hold of some immodium and some kid’s salt/rehydration stuff.  Sorted me right out.

I could also get to the car lot and buy the car.  So on Friday (today is Monday), I finally left Seattle in my “new” beater.

The coast road was a nice bit of driving and I had a cracking day for it. I even found what appeared to be a typical example of small town America. Plus the world’s lowest expectation :

.

However, I made a bit of a cock-up on the route, so completely missed Mt St Helens and pitched up in Portland, Oregon only to find that all the hostels were full.  

It was suggested that I head slightly out of town to a place called Edgefield where I would definitely be able to find a room.

At this point, I would have happily slept in the car, but I gave it a whirl.  When I arrived, my wallet shrank back into my pocket.  Turns out that Edgefield was a converted “something”.  I’m sure I’ll find out what when I look it up later, but it included an old power station turned into a bar, with rooms above, a spa, several more bars, restaurants, rooms etc in the main building and all very, very swish.  I even saw an AC Cobra turn up.

As it turned out, the room was only 60 bucks.  Bargain.  All the other facilities might as well have not existed, though, as I was definitely ready for bed.

[G-2011: turns out it's a "resort". http://www.mcmenamins.com/edgefield . Having looked at that link properly now, I realise that I missed out quite a bit by just going to bed and leaving first thing]

Feeling my old Geography teacher admonishing me across 20 years the next morning, I decided to double back north and check out Mt St Helens.  I’d briefly studied it at school for my GCSEs and still find the scale of the explosion astonishing.  I had to see it.

However, the previous few days’ calorific intake, or rather the lack of it, were going to make me a rather embarassing spectacle.

Picture the scene…

A burly bloke in a kilt parks up in the Mt St Helens visitor centre and leaps gracefully out of his car.  He starts striding purposefully (and manfully, of course) across the carpark. 

Half way to the centre’s doors, a puzzled expression appears on his face, swiftly followed by one of mild confusion, then panic, and, finally, somewhat distant determination.

He changes course, heading, peculiarly, toward a flowerbed.  A flowerbed that is bounded on one side by a waist high stone wall.  A stone wall that is topped, unbeknownst to our hero, by flint.

Upon reaching said wall, his legs finally collapse underneath him and he gratefully (and decidedly ungracefully) falls toward the structure assuming some means to halt his inexorable descent.  Which the wall provides.  With rather sharper emphasis than he was anticipating.

An onlooker might have wondered why this kilted individual appeared to repeatedly smash his face into a flint topped wall a total of four times.  And there were onlookers.  Quite a few of them, in fact.  Maybe they thought it was a Scottish tradition on arriving somewhere new.

Turns out that not eating for 3 days and driving for 3 hours in 80 degrees doesn’t have a very positive effect on the ability to stay conscious. Until face meets flint.  That brings you round.  Then you pass out again.  Rinse and repeat. Whoops.

The highlight (in retrospect) of the whole debacle was an elderly couple seeing my bleeding, vacant face, shredded elbows and knees covered in mud and asking if I was “ok”.  If I’d been capable, I would have probably laughed.

Still, all credit to them, the gent rushed off and found the chap who ran the centre and they returned with a wheelchair. I was bundled into it and taken to the toilets where I sat for ten minutes and cleaned myself up. Then back to the centre where I was plyed with salt crisps and sugary drinks. 

After that, I felt as right as rain.  Thank you, anonymous retirees and Mt St Helens Visitor Centre chap

I didn’t want to waste all that effort, so I, (maybe inadvisedly), got back in the car and carried on up the mountain.  Every turn was met with stunning scenery, and every vantage point has a rest stop with little boards showing how the eruption affected the area that you could see.

Some of the stats are incredible. As usual, Wiki has the details (I’m lazy).

Once I’d had my fill of vulcan destruction I decided to start heading back south.  Then my sensible head spoke up, and, rather than get back on the freeway, I pulled in at a motel at Castle Rock, decimated the drive thru Burger King stock levels, and collapsed into bed.

The next day (yesterday), saw me down the interstates – I-5 then I-99 – through Oregon and into North California.  I was surprised how small Oregon was, at least north to south.  Portland definitely bares further investigation, it’s a shame I didn’t get to explore it.

As a registered driving God (i used to own a car that could apparently kill you, yet I never had an issue), the 101 onto California was, frankly, fucking fantastic.  Twisty, wide, tree-lined, changing gradients…the lot.  The beater performed admirably.  A bit wallowy, granted, but once that was taken into account and anticipated, I found it could carry speed through the bends with surprising grace.

So much so, that I developed “Beardie-itis” when I came up behind a pair of couples on touring bikes.  I might have hounded them a bit – they seemed to stop rather enthusiastically at the next gas stop so I could get ahead of them.

My destination, the HI Redwood Hostel just outside Klamath, was a welcome sight, however, and I checked in tonight with a sense of satisfaction that I’d survived the worst that this travelling lark could throw at me.

[G-2011: I was wrong, of course, but it would be a few months, and a few thousand miles, before I re-evaluated that assumption]

The test drive consisted of a very un- thorough drive around the block.  All of 5 minutes.  No wobblyness, the steering wheel and brakes worked, job’s a good’un. 

More importantly, the air con was up to snuff.  Aesthetics really aren’t a concern in this type of endeavour, but the prospect of driving across Death Valley with no aircon is not one that appeals [G-2011: And boy, was I appreciative of it when I did]

Here it is a couple of days later :

Everything you’ve heard about second hand car lots in the states is absolutely true, by the way. Loads of sheds, bloke working out of a portacabin, very little info about the cars, you name it.

Of course, my debit card didn’t bloody work, did it.  So, after much faffing, I’ve had to stay another night so I can make 2 max ATM daily withdrawals. 

In case you were wondering, thus us what two grand looks like in ATM chunks :

I’m also taking the opportunity to process the last of my Canadian photos.

But first, back to the Hurricane Cafe for one of their tasty cheeseburgers.  Nom.

I took a long walk around the town and, as much as I enjoyed it, I didn’t feel that there was a huge amount to see.  That said, Pike’s Place Market was very impressive.  A more “shopping inclined” person than I could easily spend a couple of days wandering around.

And Space Needle Park was interesting too.

One thing I did find was a Golden Age Collectibles comic shop buried in the depths.  Having one rucksack filled to the brim already can really put a crimp on your day.

I’ve just seen something to chill the heart of any decent barperson.  Bloke orders a Guiness.  Barmaid pours the first 2/3 as per.  Then, rather than wait for it to settle, she tips it and spoons out the excess head before carrying on to the top.  Yikes.Still, what do I care.  Can’t stand the stuff.

Aha…bloke I’ve been talking to just had a top idea.  Rather than buy a car later, do it up here, where the cost of living is cheaper and save on transport costs going south plus have more freedom. Win.

(judging by the state of my handwriting at this point, it’s time to call a halt….)

Time to leave Canada.  It’s a real shame as I’ve enjoyed it massively.   Still, onwards etc.

Just bought my Amtrak ticket for Vancouver – Seattle.  The grand total was a whopping, huge, extortionate…wait for it…$43.  On the day.  Take note Great Western, Virgin et al.

A few pics from yesterday including a couple of the Whiskey Dicks

—

It’s also a rather cool classic double decker train.  With power sockets and WiFi.  These guys really know how to do train travel, despite being the continent of the car.Unfortunately I feel like shite.  A cold with gastric overtones is to blame.  My appetite is through the floor, so naturally also a bit light headed, particularly when lugging all my kit around.

I’ve got in at 10 pm, so sod the hostel, time to use my Best Western points for a hotel and get some room service.

Bah.  Found the BW hotel but no room service.  Still, there’s a diner next door that is artery-clogging fantastic.  Just what the doctor ordered.  [G-2011: remember this post...in a few entries time, it becomes amazingly ironic]

I haven’t written anything since arriving in Vancouver – I just haven’t had the time or inclination to be honest.  I’m not sure how sporadic I’ll become…we shall see.

There’s been plenty to see and do here, without a doubt, and the first couple of days were blessed with lovely weather.  Apparently the view from Stanley Park taking in the mountains is very rare due to rain, fog etc.

The park itself is great, too, particularly the aquarium in the center – no Orca, sadly, but got some great shots.

One mildly annoying aspect of this travelling lark is mapping out a city in your head and, just as you’re getting it nailed, you leave!  From what I’ve seen of Vancouver, though, I wouldn’t be at all averse to living here.

I need to get my shots tomorrow for Central and South America.  Joy.  Nearly $200 for the privilege of having someone stick a needle in me.  Twice. Typhoid / Yellow Fever and Hep B to be precise.  Lovely.  [G-2011: as it happens, I didn't bother in the end.  Living dangerously, eh?]

The city is a bit subdued today as the Canucks lost badly last night.  It seems to have affected the mood of the whole place – although all the bars seem to have live music, which helps lift things a bit.

My Wanker Magnet powers struck again today – some cock in a pickup driving through China Town shouted, “Nice fucking kilt…you loser!”. Apropos of nothing, like.

Quick as a flash, I shouted back, “Your mum liked it too!”

In my head.  15 minutes later.

I couldn’t help but think of Eddie Izzard’s routine about catcalling builders : “I’m a wanker, I’m a wanker, hahaha.”

Oops, this house band don’t know their lyrics…murdering ‘Pretty Woman’.

Ouch – nasty NASCAR crash on the telly.  Bloke miraculously walked away, thankfully.  The house band have finished for now, so its on with the stock music.  And it one of those chuffingly annoying songs that is following me around the world from bar to bar.  I think it’s called “Piece of me”, judging by the imaginative lyrics.

Oh, the bonce is shaved.  I bought a bandana prior to doing it but it’s not really big enough.  So in Chinatown today I bought a silk scarf that should do the trick – protect my bonce from the sun I mean.

A wide brimmed hat will be required in hotter climes, but this will do for now [G-2011: still got that scarf.  It's had quite a few varied uses since ]

Ha, magic!  Some bloke who really fancies himself has started chatting up a girl at the bar.  What he can’t see is her girlfriend’s hand carressing her lower back.  This is going to be entertaining.

Now girlfriend’s arm is around the waist and hand resting on hip.  Surely he can’t miss that?

Nope, he’s chosen to ignore it and has now driven her away after girlfriend recruited a male friend to pull the “target” away on some pretext or other.  At which point God’s gift starts hitting on the girlfriend.   She turns away, finally putting an end to the farce, and he wanders off to look for fresh meat.

Interesting.  Random bloke in his 50s invited me to join his group of mates.  All seem like nice guys until all but one disappear outside for a smoke.  At which point the only guy left informs me that I’m ‘full of shit’.  Ookaaay…

Tab paid, relocation.

All to the good, though, laughing boy from earlier is on the dance floor, sidling up behind women and doing the snake hips thing.

Laugh? I nearly shat.

I’m knackered this morning.  Ah well. I had to change beds too as I extended my stay by one night but my existing bed had already been booked. Bit of a pain, but them’s the breaks.

I investigated the whale watching but I’m not sure the time of year is right to guarantee it.  So I’ll wait until I’m further south.

I also had a wander around the Royal British Columbia Museum – pretty good and varied stuff.  Clearly some thought has gone into a lot of the exhibits and the way that they are presented.

Time for some lunch.

I’ve just overheard a conversation about a girl getting a flat here.  Downtown. On the waterfront.  CAD$675 a month.   Wow.

This pub has WiFi so time to catch up on emails and shiznit.

[G-2011: the night turned rather extravagant...]

I went for a wander around town, to see what I could see.  The Underwater Gardens was a bit mediocre but Miniature World was rather enjoyable in a twee way.

I spent ages trying to find somewhere selling bandanas (I need to shave my head and it needs some protection while it recovers the first day after I take the razor to it).  I found some basic ones in a dollar store in the end but I might head back up to Chinatown in search of something bigger.

For a change, I haven’t gone out tonight – I’m spending too much money.  That said, it is 1:30 as I’ve stayed up late reading a Dean Koontz book, so I’ll probably still feel a bit crap tomorrow.