I'll let Ani Difranco tie things up here:
Thankyou for letting me stay here; Thankyou for taking me in; Thankyou for the beer and the food. Thankyou for loaning me bus fare; Thankyou for showing me round; that was a very kind thing to do. Thankyou for the use of the clean towel; thankyou for half of your bed...
Tuesday 11 September 2007
Monday 20 August 2007
Omaha I, Chicago I
Excuse the silence. The internet has seemed to become increasingly less worth the effort of leaving the hostel, roaming the streets, finding a place with computers, buying (more) coffee etc.
Anyway, I'm in an internet cafe at last and it's raining heavily outside (finally! feel like home) and thus I'm luxuriating in unneccesary writing because I have time. I have no plans for today, and I am justified in this by my not having got much sleep last night (greyhound greyhound greyhound) and therefore it's Understandable if I laze today. That plus rain, glorious rain. I might go to the baseball, though, the Chicago Whitesox (really. the 'cks' would be far too much effort), since the football (american) game I was promised turned out to be in Atlanta. Curse you, John. (excuse also all the brackets and all the meaningless waffling - I have no excuse nor need none).
So after the events incredibly briefly described in the last post which now seem too much sunk in the dank mud of time (who needs to remember what happened two days ago? The future stretches like a glorious golden slinky jigging down the red-carpeted steps of time) to bear recapping properly, I went to Omaha.
This took exactly overnight, and in fact I arrived well before sunup. After a little while sitting in greyhound station I set off bravely into the morning to find the visitors centre, and thence somewhere cheap to stay, hopefully. But oof, the visitors centre is shut, even though it should have opened at nine ay-emm. Nevermind, I'll sit in this pretty little park thing just down the road for half an hour. Still shut though - okay, I needed breakfast anyway. A bagel (I love bagels. They are little circular Gods with Cream Cheese) later and maybe the visitors centre isn't going to open because it's already 11 and Still No Sign. A little later, I gave the place one last chance before going to $100/night place cheapest in guidebook, and it's open, and the guy there says i can stay with him (in his 9th floor luxury penthouse suite) for free. I am, being naturally paranoid, wary, but he knows everybody and tells them all I'm staying with him so the chance of him killing me in my sleep seems much less. Also he is quite old. I assure him I am not 'into drugs and things' and he gets me a key to let myself in and out, offers run of the fridge, my own bathroom, pool on rooftop above, etc! etc!
He really is very kind and I cannot thank him enough, and, to move back to the appropriate tense, I settled in nicely here and everything I did in Omaha was covered over with the feeling that I'd managed to get to somewhere after a long journey. Of course this was literally true, but I didn't feel it anywhere else so much as here, and the various activities, seemingly boring to mortals like you, were really... good. So I won't explain them, except to say I went to a few gigs (including a free riverfront gig with the yardbirds, bizarrely enough. You have heard of them, it's Eric Clapton's old band. There, I thought that'd jog your memory), saw a few Omaha/Saddle Creek landmarks, talked to a few people, ate some beef, and so on.
Then next I got another overnight greyhound to Chicago, where I am now. I did go to the baseball in the end, it was good. Jenks failed to take the world record of retiring 42 batters in a row, but one can't have everything. I got back to the hostel, and, I think this deserves a new paragraph,
ran into John Emberey! A ping-pong ball is now far too big an object to describe the world. A marble may be fast becoming more accurate. Drinks were procured and a good time was had by all, until we got told off for singing The Redemption Song too loud. I think it was that, anyway.
And then yesterday i went + looked round chicago, the downtown of which is what I imagined New York to be like (and the rest of which is really really like london. Ask anyone), and saw the beach on lake michigan, the millenium park with the bean (wicked cool mirror bean) and the Sears tower. Which is the tallest building in America. Didn't know that, did you? You thought it was the Empire State building. Idiotic child.
Anyway, I'm in an internet cafe at last and it's raining heavily outside (finally! feel like home) and thus I'm luxuriating in unneccesary writing because I have time. I have no plans for today, and I am justified in this by my not having got much sleep last night (greyhound greyhound greyhound) and therefore it's Understandable if I laze today. That plus rain, glorious rain. I might go to the baseball, though, the Chicago Whitesox (really. the 'cks' would be far too much effort), since the football (american) game I was promised turned out to be in Atlanta. Curse you, John. (excuse also all the brackets and all the meaningless waffling - I have no excuse nor need none).
So after the events incredibly briefly described in the last post which now seem too much sunk in the dank mud of time (who needs to remember what happened two days ago? The future stretches like a glorious golden slinky jigging down the red-carpeted steps of time) to bear recapping properly, I went to Omaha.
This took exactly overnight, and in fact I arrived well before sunup. After a little while sitting in greyhound station I set off bravely into the morning to find the visitors centre, and thence somewhere cheap to stay, hopefully. But oof, the visitors centre is shut, even though it should have opened at nine ay-emm. Nevermind, I'll sit in this pretty little park thing just down the road for half an hour. Still shut though - okay, I needed breakfast anyway. A bagel (I love bagels. They are little circular Gods with Cream Cheese) later and maybe the visitors centre isn't going to open because it's already 11 and Still No Sign. A little later, I gave the place one last chance before going to $100/night place cheapest in guidebook, and it's open, and the guy there says i can stay with him (in his 9th floor luxury penthouse suite) for free. I am, being naturally paranoid, wary, but he knows everybody and tells them all I'm staying with him so the chance of him killing me in my sleep seems much less. Also he is quite old. I assure him I am not 'into drugs and things' and he gets me a key to let myself in and out, offers run of the fridge, my own bathroom, pool on rooftop above, etc! etc!
He really is very kind and I cannot thank him enough, and, to move back to the appropriate tense, I settled in nicely here and everything I did in Omaha was covered over with the feeling that I'd managed to get to somewhere after a long journey. Of course this was literally true, but I didn't feel it anywhere else so much as here, and the various activities, seemingly boring to mortals like you, were really... good. So I won't explain them, except to say I went to a few gigs (including a free riverfront gig with the yardbirds, bizarrely enough. You have heard of them, it's Eric Clapton's old band. There, I thought that'd jog your memory), saw a few Omaha/Saddle Creek landmarks, talked to a few people, ate some beef, and so on.
Then next I got another overnight greyhound to Chicago, where I am now. I did go to the baseball in the end, it was good. Jenks failed to take the world record of retiring 42 batters in a row, but one can't have everything. I got back to the hostel, and, I think this deserves a new paragraph,
ran into John Emberey! A ping-pong ball is now far too big an object to describe the world. A marble may be fast becoming more accurate. Drinks were procured and a good time was had by all, until we got told off for singing The Redemption Song too loud. I think it was that, anyway.
And then yesterday i went + looked round chicago, the downtown of which is what I imagined New York to be like (and the rest of which is really really like london. Ask anyone), and saw the beach on lake michigan, the millenium park with the bean (wicked cool mirror bean) and the Sears tower. Which is the tallest building in America. Didn't know that, did you? You thought it was the Empire State building. Idiotic child.
Wednesday 15 August 2007
Salt Lake City III, Boulder I, Denver I
Crazy catchup. This post will not be proper but this is the only brief moment in which I've come into contact with the internet in a while and probably last time for a while so here goes:
Got up at Salt Lake City; took bags etc to greyhound station; more street adventures with guitar+shouting with Emiko; library; shop called 'free speech zone - finally Joe Hill represented by huge banner 'Don't Mourn, Organise'; temple square and long winding good talk with two missionary sisters - mormons haven't practiced polygamy since 1890; beautiful tabernacle; greyhound station to discover had left my bag in an unlocked and indeed slighty ajar locker for five hours; untouched some reason; bus to boulder; three days in boulder consisting many many coffee at beautiful coffeeshop decortaed with typewriters and eerielovely music; poetry readings; free shakespeare (saved $34) - very good actually; 'harry and the potters'; cat riding on the back of a dog; teaching guitar to melanie from germany; what have I missed almost certainly something; pity to skimp on so much; now in denver where i'm held up all busses to omaha full until tomorrow; sorry excuse ranting rambling mess here pehaps I'll explain it to you someday properly - thankyou for your patience.
Got up at Salt Lake City; took bags etc to greyhound station; more street adventures with guitar+shouting with Emiko; library; shop called 'free speech zone - finally Joe Hill represented by huge banner 'Don't Mourn, Organise'; temple square and long winding good talk with two missionary sisters - mormons haven't practiced polygamy since 1890; beautiful tabernacle; greyhound station to discover had left my bag in an unlocked and indeed slighty ajar locker for five hours; untouched some reason; bus to boulder; three days in boulder consisting many many coffee at beautiful coffeeshop decortaed with typewriters and eerielovely music; poetry readings; free shakespeare (saved $34) - very good actually; 'harry and the potters'; cat riding on the back of a dog; teaching guitar to melanie from germany; what have I missed almost certainly something; pity to skimp on so much; now in denver where i'm held up all busses to omaha full until tomorrow; sorry excuse ranting rambling mess here pehaps I'll explain it to you someday properly - thankyou for your patience.
Saturday 11 August 2007
Salt Lake City II
After getting a lift to the hostel by (oddly) enough, one of the guys on the bus' mum (mom) it was about 10 in the evening and too late to do anything. Next day a different story, I walked downtown to the visitors centre to see if they had any information about Joe Hill; see if the city remembered him in any way. The city did not remember him; hadn't even heard of him, apparently. So I just found the courthouse and went and sat outside for a while a left a tiny tribute to my namesake.
After this I headed back toward downtown but feeling tired (it is hot Hot HOT down here) I stopped at a coffee shop a few blocks before my destination, Temple Square - this the biggest attraction in the area, the place with all the mormon stuff. Anyhow in the coffee shop I got talking to a young lady named Emiko, and consequently became distracted from Temple Square and instead roamed the steets until 10, occasionally with friend Cutler, more often with crazy million-mile-an-hour conversation.
So that accounts for yesterday, and today... I think I'll go see some gardens recommended to me, and then temple sq. and finally catch my greyhound to boulder, where the hostel may or may not be fully booked...
After this I headed back toward downtown but feeling tired (it is hot Hot HOT down here) I stopped at a coffee shop a few blocks before my destination, Temple Square - this the biggest attraction in the area, the place with all the mormon stuff. Anyhow in the coffee shop I got talking to a young lady named Emiko, and consequently became distracted from Temple Square and instead roamed the steets until 10, occasionally with friend Cutler, more often with crazy million-mile-an-hour conversation.
So that accounts for yesterday, and today... I think I'll go see some gardens recommended to me, and then temple sq. and finally catch my greyhound to boulder, where the hostel may or may not be fully booked...
Thursday 9 August 2007
Vancouver I, Salt Lake City I
Vancouver and by some miracle correctly found the hostel by just getting off at a random busstop (happening to be the closest) and asking random people (happened to have a map with my hostel marked on). The hostel, the Samesun, was big and lively and so I bought pizza and then went and sat on the balcony and read a little and then talked to some people, including the woman I met in Portland. Did I mention her on the blog? Can't remember. Could I find out? Yes, easily. And will I? No. You will have to supply imaginary details if I did not.
Then I went to my bed and slept and then the next day I spent a good portion of on the phone to Orbitz trying to rearrange my flights and then rearranging my flights. My Only free time was spent hunting for a place to eat (no burger places! literally couldn't find one for half an hour. This is clearly not america) and then in the evening, visiting the free section ($8.50? you must be out of your incredibly sagacious minds) of the chinese garden and staring for ages at a hypnotic pond full of lillies underneath a willow tree. There was a little turtle swimming about - I was thrilled by this, enormously. AND THEN later later on there was an Open-mic night and I played a little guitar and earned a free beer. I talked to some excellent austalians all evening, and we sang along to big hits positively racously.
Okay and then the next day (this the third) I decided to move on due to time restrictions and money coming from my english account and lots of the money being spent on too-tempting beer and also Vancouver wasn't blowing me away. So actually the day became incredibly stressful when it turned out there was only one bus a day and that in less than three hours, I still needing to find somewhere to stay, check out, and my having no canadian money left (in order to de-stress I went book shopping but there were so many and so cheap I bought four more books and this became an additional cause of stress and self-reproach) eventually remedied by the hostel changing an american $5 kindly. Anyway it all somehow came together and I got the bus with about 90 seconds to spare and without leaving anything behind.
You do not need to hear the details of the 29 hour bus-journey I just enjoyed (I actually did. I read all of Naked Lunch by William Burroughs and watched a blossoming romance between two strangers, one of whom I knew had a boyfriend... this pretty exciting). Anyway I'm now in a small and tidy but unfun hostel in Salt Lake City (this is the world capital of Mormonism, as I've heard a hundred times already (I also have learned (against my will, courtesy of an old man on the bus who actually wept with passion during his explanations) Mormonism is more properly called 'the church of the latter day saints' and was founded when a boy (14) called Joseph Smith saw what is referred to as 'the first vision' in what is referred to as 'the sacred grove' in 1820. I did not wikipedia this, it is genuinely and worryingly stuck in my head) - noone seems to have mentioned the two things I know about Salt Lake: that Joe Hill lived and died here, and the world record for surviving underwater without breathing was set here by a baby).
There, that crazy parenthetic rant should keep you all occupied until I get round to blogging again.
Then I went to my bed and slept and then the next day I spent a good portion of on the phone to Orbitz trying to rearrange my flights and then rearranging my flights. My Only free time was spent hunting for a place to eat (no burger places! literally couldn't find one for half an hour. This is clearly not america) and then in the evening, visiting the free section ($8.50? you must be out of your incredibly sagacious minds) of the chinese garden and staring for ages at a hypnotic pond full of lillies underneath a willow tree. There was a little turtle swimming about - I was thrilled by this, enormously. AND THEN later later on there was an Open-mic night and I played a little guitar and earned a free beer. I talked to some excellent austalians all evening, and we sang along to big hits positively racously.
Okay and then the next day (this the third) I decided to move on due to time restrictions and money coming from my english account and lots of the money being spent on too-tempting beer and also Vancouver wasn't blowing me away. So actually the day became incredibly stressful when it turned out there was only one bus a day and that in less than three hours, I still needing to find somewhere to stay, check out, and my having no canadian money left (in order to de-stress I went book shopping but there were so many and so cheap I bought four more books and this became an additional cause of stress and self-reproach) eventually remedied by the hostel changing an american $5 kindly. Anyway it all somehow came together and I got the bus with about 90 seconds to spare and without leaving anything behind.
You do not need to hear the details of the 29 hour bus-journey I just enjoyed (I actually did. I read all of Naked Lunch by William Burroughs and watched a blossoming romance between two strangers, one of whom I knew had a boyfriend... this pretty exciting). Anyway I'm now in a small and tidy but unfun hostel in Salt Lake City (this is the world capital of Mormonism, as I've heard a hundred times already (I also have learned (against my will, courtesy of an old man on the bus who actually wept with passion during his explanations) Mormonism is more properly called 'the church of the latter day saints' and was founded when a boy (14) called Joseph Smith saw what is referred to as 'the first vision' in what is referred to as 'the sacred grove' in 1820. I did not wikipedia this, it is genuinely and worryingly stuck in my head) - noone seems to have mentioned the two things I know about Salt Lake: that Joe Hill lived and died here, and the world record for surviving underwater without breathing was set here by a baby).
There, that crazy parenthetic rant should keep you all occupied until I get round to blogging again.
Tuesday 7 August 2007
Victoria II
I walked to my hostel. It seemed nice, and had a bar, where I had my first legal drink for two months. Then I walked down to a 'electronic music' festival some guy on the street had told me about, which turned about to be packed and lively with a pretty-good DJ on. I couldn't hang around too long, though, because I had somewhere else to be, namely a gig called 'Rock Lottery' at Logan's Pub.
So I went there, to see the 'Rock Lottery' which was 21 musicians grouped into random bands and given 8 hours to write and rehearse four songs, and then perform them, which was what I was going to see. I got there early enough to not have to pay, which meant that I could buy a couple more beers, and me and my new friends Stirling (is this a name?) and Chris, who I met at the place, as well as three other girls and two boys, the names of whom I forget, and anyway we bought pitchers of beer and were merry, especially since the bands were really good especially the band with this girl (myspace.com/heartofadog). This place evidently has a music scene of real musicians, and the idea of sheffield's excuse-for-a-scene made me cough.
So rolled in late that night (music went on until two! Sheffield?) and next day decided to spend all day with a nice new book and a big park. I had a very happy time wandering and reading and followed my ears to a stage where one of those bands that dress in red-and-white pinstripe waistcoats and play honkytonk piano and banjo and brass, and playing 'scotland the brave' and Louis Armstrong 'wonderful world' song, and I really enjoyed it despite being the only person there younger than 90.
Next I found a bench to sit at and eventually had my attention directed, by a string of people with fancy camaras, to a 'great blue' heron perching happily and majestically on a little tree about five feet away. I felt honoured, especially since the Hordes of Canadian (where am I?) Geese were very disrespectful, pecking at my socks and honking.
Then I unexpectedly came across a cute pebbly little beach and seafront to walk along as the sun lowered, before coming across a little cafe for tea and ice-cream. Then back to the hostel, or so I thought. Firstly I came across a christian rock band with a guy singing 'jesus, isn't he beautiful' leading me at first to think they were a gay pride type band but the people standing around with their arms raised to heaven explained otherwise.
Victoria wasn't done, though, and further on the way back I stumbled across a fortythousand strong crowd gathered for the annual 'symphony splash' with an orchestra playing from a barge in the bay in front of the beautifully lit-up and aforementioned government buildings. Then absurdly talented young soloists including a 16 year opera singer in a turquoise dress which blew in the wind and made her look like the statue of liberty. Then fireworks! Whoosh!
I got talking to a woman who turned out to be married to the trombonist in the band I'd seen earlier. Wierd and small (pingpong ball) world. Speaking of which I also met somebody I'd met in memphis at the hostel. The woman that liked films. So anyway I went home after the fireworks and the woman married to the trombonist, and spent a nice evening at the bar with Man and Wife (...) from England and He played me a song he'd written 'about the missus' which was actualyl very good. He was really nice.
Anyway next day I suddenly somehow found a bed in vancouver and so set off there on a bus then ferry then bus then bus route which was half the price of the expensive just coach route and so felt justified in the inordinate amount of money i'd spent on beer over the last few days. And so I arrived in Vancouver...
So I went there, to see the 'Rock Lottery' which was 21 musicians grouped into random bands and given 8 hours to write and rehearse four songs, and then perform them, which was what I was going to see. I got there early enough to not have to pay, which meant that I could buy a couple more beers, and me and my new friends Stirling (is this a name?) and Chris, who I met at the place, as well as three other girls and two boys, the names of whom I forget, and anyway we bought pitchers of beer and were merry, especially since the bands were really good especially the band with this girl (myspace.com/heartofadog). This place evidently has a music scene of real musicians, and the idea of sheffield's excuse-for-a-scene made me cough.
So rolled in late that night (music went on until two! Sheffield?) and next day decided to spend all day with a nice new book and a big park. I had a very happy time wandering and reading and followed my ears to a stage where one of those bands that dress in red-and-white pinstripe waistcoats and play honkytonk piano and banjo and brass, and playing 'scotland the brave' and Louis Armstrong 'wonderful world' song, and I really enjoyed it despite being the only person there younger than 90.
Next I found a bench to sit at and eventually had my attention directed, by a string of people with fancy camaras, to a 'great blue' heron perching happily and majestically on a little tree about five feet away. I felt honoured, especially since the Hordes of Canadian (where am I?) Geese were very disrespectful, pecking at my socks and honking.
Then I unexpectedly came across a cute pebbly little beach and seafront to walk along as the sun lowered, before coming across a little cafe for tea and ice-cream. Then back to the hostel, or so I thought. Firstly I came across a christian rock band with a guy singing 'jesus, isn't he beautiful' leading me at first to think they were a gay pride type band but the people standing around with their arms raised to heaven explained otherwise.
Victoria wasn't done, though, and further on the way back I stumbled across a fortythousand strong crowd gathered for the annual 'symphony splash' with an orchestra playing from a barge in the bay in front of the beautifully lit-up and aforementioned government buildings. Then absurdly talented young soloists including a 16 year opera singer in a turquoise dress which blew in the wind and made her look like the statue of liberty. Then fireworks! Whoosh!
I got talking to a woman who turned out to be married to the trombonist in the band I'd seen earlier. Wierd and small (pingpong ball) world. Speaking of which I also met somebody I'd met in memphis at the hostel. The woman that liked films. So anyway I went home after the fireworks and the woman married to the trombonist, and spent a nice evening at the bar with Man and Wife (...) from England and He played me a song he'd written 'about the missus' which was actualyl very good. He was really nice.
Anyway next day I suddenly somehow found a bed in vancouver and so set off there on a bus then ferry then bus then bus route which was half the price of the expensive just coach route and so felt justified in the inordinate amount of money i'd spent on beer over the last few days. And so I arrived in Vancouver...
Monday 6 August 2007
Victoria I
And so I got the ferry, which was nice, and pulled up two hours and forty-five minutes later in Victoria, opposite some incredible and grandiose buildings, which turned out to be the govnerment buildings, for victoria is the capital of British Columbia. Hmm, I'd never heard of it before yesterday.
Anyhow, I looked around, got some canadian money, was shocked to see a familiar face staring back at me from it, found my hostel.
With excitement I declare this the shortest post ever, as I grow bored incredibly quickly, distracted as I am by the chaotic octopus of flights-denmark-cancellations-rowan-money-time-space-america havoc.
Anyhow, I looked around, got some canadian money, was shocked to see a familiar face staring back at me from it, found my hostel.
With excitement I declare this the shortest post ever, as I grow bored incredibly quickly, distracted as I am by the chaotic octopus of flights-denmark-cancellations-rowan-money-time-space-america havoc.
Saturday 4 August 2007
Portland II, Seattle I
My last day in Portland arrived, and my plans of staying until the hostel's open mic night finished then getting an overnight bus north were foiled by the journey to seattle only taking 4 hours, and therefore not suitable for an overnighter, and anywhow the last bus left at 8.30 - so I got the 5 15 which as of course an hour and a bit late and arrived in seattle at 11ish. A brief walk through the night and the hostel welcomed me with an open-mic night of it's own, mostly dominated by boys that could either play the guitar well, or sing well, but never both.
One girl could do both but wrote very long songs and played about a set's worth. A man read a funny story he'd written in a totally monotone voice, and some guy from england just off the greyhound played a guitar piece. He was, at least, relaxed. I went to bed.
Next day I wandered the streets of seattle, and it seemed that at all times there was a queue of events or prettinesses waiting to work to persuade me that the world hasn't gone terribly wrong, but is a lovely beautiful place peopled by kindly, insightful species', working together toward a golden utopia. However, in hindsight, these were tiny things that wouldn't make any sense from a computer screen - just trust I had a real good time amongst the statues and people and music (and waterfall gardens and ivy'd buildings) of seattle downtown.
The evening was 'first-thursday-of-the-month-museums-are-free-day', or, as seattle has more catchily put it: 'all-access day'. So I went for free into the usually $20 music museum which for some reason made me run about like a child in a candy (sweety) store (shop), looking at each exhibit for 30 seconds maximum and then running off again. I felt innocently happy and enjoyed it, even though there was nothing of particular interest there (more aimed at non-musicians and jimi hendrix obsessives). Then i took the monorail (seattle, seattle...) to the big bookshop to see a reading of some guy's new book, which was actually very very good.
Thence back to hostel and a shockingly well-cooked and bountiful meal, and an evening of free beer, guitar playing and (un)witty banter with people I didn't Like, as such, but were interesting in their misguided and transparent pettinesses.
Another day another gig in seattle's central square, this time an excellent bluegrass/old-time american band, all crowding round one microphone to amplify their voices and instruments. This trick they'd got to a fine art, moving closer to or further away to the mic depending on what levels they wanted, and were deeply entertaining, for 90 minutes. However, the day wasn't going to match up to yesterday and a malaise (malazyness) spread across the sky, due to a mix of -this-weather-and-place-is-similar-to-england, tiredness, and such minor factors. So Hostelday, and then evening on a 'beat-walk' in he north of the city.
This was good. $5 'cover' and entry into six or seven venues (coffee shops or booksops or bars of art galleries) each with a band or singer playing. I ran from place to place and was surprised by the quality of the music (even the relaxed old man in the coffeeshop wrote fascinating songs - "he went home and called the cops/you don't meet nice girls in - coffee shops" amused me) but the best was a band consiting of that classic bouzouki/double-bass/electric guitar combination, doing Zorba the Greek & Folsom Prison Blues medleys and things much much better than that sounds.
Then today I settled on going to Canada, said goodbye to my friends Paul and Martian from Dronfield who had crashed their van, and booked my Ferry up to Victoria. Hooray. On the way from the ferryport I found the most perfect beautiful tiny urban garden. This was possibly the prettiest and most wonderful place I've seen so far. It's on Vine Street, if you're ever in Seattle.
One girl could do both but wrote very long songs and played about a set's worth. A man read a funny story he'd written in a totally monotone voice, and some guy from england just off the greyhound played a guitar piece. He was, at least, relaxed. I went to bed.
Next day I wandered the streets of seattle, and it seemed that at all times there was a queue of events or prettinesses waiting to work to persuade me that the world hasn't gone terribly wrong, but is a lovely beautiful place peopled by kindly, insightful species', working together toward a golden utopia. However, in hindsight, these were tiny things that wouldn't make any sense from a computer screen - just trust I had a real good time amongst the statues and people and music (and waterfall gardens and ivy'd buildings) of seattle downtown.
The evening was 'first-thursday-of-the-month-museums-are-free-day', or, as seattle has more catchily put it: 'all-access day'. So I went for free into the usually $20 music museum which for some reason made me run about like a child in a candy (sweety) store (shop), looking at each exhibit for 30 seconds maximum and then running off again. I felt innocently happy and enjoyed it, even though there was nothing of particular interest there (more aimed at non-musicians and jimi hendrix obsessives). Then i took the monorail (seattle, seattle...) to the big bookshop to see a reading of some guy's new book, which was actually very very good.
Thence back to hostel and a shockingly well-cooked and bountiful meal, and an evening of free beer, guitar playing and (un)witty banter with people I didn't Like, as such, but were interesting in their misguided and transparent pettinesses.
Another day another gig in seattle's central square, this time an excellent bluegrass/old-time american band, all crowding round one microphone to amplify their voices and instruments. This trick they'd got to a fine art, moving closer to or further away to the mic depending on what levels they wanted, and were deeply entertaining, for 90 minutes. However, the day wasn't going to match up to yesterday and a malaise (malazyness) spread across the sky, due to a mix of -this-weather-and-place-is-similar-to-england, tiredness, and such minor factors. So Hostelday, and then evening on a 'beat-walk' in he north of the city.
This was good. $5 'cover' and entry into six or seven venues (coffee shops or booksops or bars of art galleries) each with a band or singer playing. I ran from place to place and was surprised by the quality of the music (even the relaxed old man in the coffeeshop wrote fascinating songs - "he went home and called the cops/you don't meet nice girls in - coffee shops" amused me) but the best was a band consiting of that classic bouzouki/double-bass/electric guitar combination, doing Zorba the Greek & Folsom Prison Blues medleys and things much much better than that sounds.
Then today I settled on going to Canada, said goodbye to my friends Paul and Martian from Dronfield who had crashed their van, and booked my Ferry up to Victoria. Hooray. On the way from the ferryport I found the most perfect beautiful tiny urban garden. This was possibly the prettiest and most wonderful place I've seen so far. It's on Vine Street, if you're ever in Seattle.
Thursday 2 August 2007
San Francisco IV, Portland I
So um where was I? Tum teee tum okay leaving off immediatly after last entry we see me leaving cafe, finding wallace and jackie for classy pizza, then music festival on lovely washington square and confiscation of our precious wine, and meeting there a poet I'd earlier met (these things happen in San Francisco), watching fun band then to greyhound and a 16 hour greyhound that went by bizarrely quickly, possibly to due my relenting and allowing myself to sleep (missing lovely romantic barrelling across the highways of america etc plus sore neck) and i arrived in Portland.
And breathe. (Portland has blurred slightly so events may not have actually taken place at the times suggested)
Due to everything being suprisingly busy in what I thought was a pretty low-profile city, I was staying in a 'more adult-friendly' hostel, which either meant swingers-den-bondage-palace or quiet homely little place And it was the latter. So a shopping at Trader Joe's later and a cooking tuna pasta and a conversationing with intelligent interesting Political Types later, and I feel quite at home. It's late and I can't remember what I did that first day - I must have... looked around the city, been turned away from the $2 eatery place due to being 20 not 21 (my first rage at being underage), then spent the evening at Powells bookstore (which takes up an entire block and has four stories and used and new books mixed together and - I couldn't buy any books because no money and already carrying 14 (FOURTEEN I miscounted last time) around with me) watching a reading which was suprisingly good from a book of short stories about The Apocolypse.
So next day I look round further and found Pioneer Square, which they said was good for people watching and was, then had a nice time at the Rose Garden - I genuinely never realised how beautiful roses were until that day. I think that sums that day up, and an evening in conversation with my incredibly literary room-mates. I feel I've forgotten something in these first two days, in which case I'll remedy when I make another attempt to bring y'all up to date.
If you notice a lack of commitment to this blog on the keeping up/writing coherently /spelling fronts, it's because you have shown a correlatative (?) trend of not commenting. The idea the relationship could be inverse is laughable. Oh yes.
And breathe. (Portland has blurred slightly so events may not have actually taken place at the times suggested)
Due to everything being suprisingly busy in what I thought was a pretty low-profile city, I was staying in a 'more adult-friendly' hostel, which either meant swingers-den-bondage-palace or quiet homely little place And it was the latter. So a shopping at Trader Joe's later and a cooking tuna pasta and a conversationing with intelligent interesting Political Types later, and I feel quite at home. It's late and I can't remember what I did that first day - I must have... looked around the city, been turned away from the $2 eatery place due to being 20 not 21 (my first rage at being underage), then spent the evening at Powells bookstore (which takes up an entire block and has four stories and used and new books mixed together and - I couldn't buy any books because no money and already carrying 14 (FOURTEEN I miscounted last time) around with me) watching a reading which was suprisingly good from a book of short stories about The Apocolypse.
So next day I look round further and found Pioneer Square, which they said was good for people watching and was, then had a nice time at the Rose Garden - I genuinely never realised how beautiful roses were until that day. I think that sums that day up, and an evening in conversation with my incredibly literary room-mates. I feel I've forgotten something in these first two days, in which case I'll remedy when I make another attempt to bring y'all up to date.
If you notice a lack of commitment to this blog on the keeping up/writing coherently /spelling fronts, it's because you have shown a correlatative (?) trend of not commenting. The idea the relationship could be inverse is laughable. Oh yes.
Sunday 29 July 2007
San Francisco III
My last night, hah. San Francisco excersised it's (un)holy hold over me and I stayed two more days. The day following the previous entry was eaten quickly in the visiting the Golden Gate Bridge (which wins the prize for Most Foggiest Tourist Attraction, and actually the fog was the most amazing thing about it - Downtown Frisco was sunny but two miles away the fog and wind waas so intense, at no point was it possible to see the top of the bridge - suspension wires stretching from apparently nowhere. From the middle of the bridge neither end could be seen, and even the waves breaking hundreds of feet below were pretty dim. It was pretty exultant, I'd say).
Afterwards I found my way to the 'Palace Of The Fine Arts' (awesome name, awesome idea, and it really is a palace) for the poetry reading of aforementioned International Poetry Festival. After sitting down (theatre like setting) and appreciating totally the little poems left on every arm-rest, I happened to glance down the row I was sitting on and, staggeringly, five seats down were Wallace and Jacky (See Asheville III in case youdon't remember. Which you won't). This was a wonderful suprise and we watched the poetry together and wined and had good times, before making our way to their flat in Oakland, singing along the streets (not drunkenly, we had a guitar and everything) and Jacky read me her poetry (beautiful), Walt Whitman's poetry (stunning), and and I returned some Ginsberg laaate into the night. Everybody in San Francisco is a poet or an artist of some kind. Wallace demonstrated this the next morning by playing me some actually erally good songs of his, then we returned into Frisco for mooore poetry.
We crammed into Cafe Trieste (beat hangout) but at some point Wallace left to make a phonecall, and then Jacky to see where he was. I, with my guitar and backpack and stuff actually couldn't leave, due to overcrowding. It became clear W+J weren't coming back, but some kind woman said I could come and sit with her, so I followed her through the throng irritating people with all my stuff. Then she discovered someone had taken her seats - anyway blah blah long story but I somehow ended up sitting with the poets, a yard from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Jack Hirschmann asked me about Sheffield... crazy stuff. Anyhow running out of internet time so more later...
Afterwards I found my way to the 'Palace Of The Fine Arts' (awesome name, awesome idea, and it really is a palace) for the poetry reading of aforementioned International Poetry Festival. After sitting down (theatre like setting) and appreciating totally the little poems left on every arm-rest, I happened to glance down the row I was sitting on and, staggeringly, five seats down were Wallace and Jacky (See Asheville III in case youdon't remember. Which you won't). This was a wonderful suprise and we watched the poetry together and wined and had good times, before making our way to their flat in Oakland, singing along the streets (not drunkenly, we had a guitar and everything) and Jacky read me her poetry (beautiful), Walt Whitman's poetry (stunning), and and I returned some Ginsberg laaate into the night. Everybody in San Francisco is a poet or an artist of some kind. Wallace demonstrated this the next morning by playing me some actually erally good songs of his, then we returned into Frisco for mooore poetry.
We crammed into Cafe Trieste (beat hangout) but at some point Wallace left to make a phonecall, and then Jacky to see where he was. I, with my guitar and backpack and stuff actually couldn't leave, due to overcrowding. It became clear W+J weren't coming back, but some kind woman said I could come and sit with her, so I followed her through the throng irritating people with all my stuff. Then she discovered someone had taken her seats - anyway blah blah long story but I somehow ended up sitting with the poets, a yard from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Jack Hirschmann asked me about Sheffield... crazy stuff. Anyhow running out of internet time so more later...
Thursday 26 July 2007
San Francisco II
Okay, okay. Yesterday I went to Berkeley, and today I looked around more San Francisco. Is that alright? YOU WANT MORE?!~
Hmm, after writing the other night a large group of hostellers emigrated to a karaoke bar and we had fun with Bohemian Rhapsody etc. Then the next day I went to berkeley, which is mainly a 'collage' (university) but also where Mr. Ginsberg (holy) grew up and wrote. I found places he'd written about, had coffee in the jazz cafe basement, read poems they have on the pavement there, read 'time' magazine in berkerley public library (massive joeypoints for anyone that can figure out why I did that...), ate my hummous and bread, went to Cody's books and couldn't resist more books (I now have eleven. ELEVEN. Tell me that isn't ridiculous for a traveller. I'm dangerous). Anyway then I came back to Frisco (beat) and checked out the following areas: Mission (grey lines); Castro (the gay quarter. The gay quarter of SAN FRANCISCO. Awesome, all businesses called 'gay cleaning' and such, and more rainbow flags than the eyes could digest); and Haight Ashbury (awesome-also. I bet guidebooks describe it as 'bohemian' or 'altrnative', and it is. So much painting on walls, so much singing in the streets, so much justification for the quote 'there are more buddhists in [san francisco] than tibet).
Then I came back to the hostel and spent one of the pleasentest evenings in good conversation over wine (two buck chuck - c'mon) with Chloe and her Mum and Leigham, who from giving the impression of being a football hooligan turned out to be a poet. You had to be there, really.
So I went to bed and after waking up at a few times (bunkmate irish girl, derrrunk: 'hey i need you to set an alarm to get me up, i need to wake at 4.30 for a flght' - me, bleary: it's '4 10 now' - bunkmate: 'set it for five then' - the alarm goes off for ten minutes and she still don't wake up so I get dressed climb down, shake her, still not waking, in the end i pour water on her face, she wakes up then but still doesn't get out of bed, so I give up and retire to my bunk (top bunk) and periodically shake her duvet from above until 5 30 when I go to sleep. anyway, she misses her flight. haffharf) I wake up finally and set off for another day of exploration, go to the beat museum (discoveries: william burroughs shot his wife in the head; allen ginsberg was in a gap advert; there are no heroes) and more of Frisco then head at 6 30 to 'jack kerouac' alley for the opening ceremoney of the International Poetry Festival. Lawrence Ferlinghetti read and walked within inches of me. That was cool. He said 'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by boredom, at poetry readings'.
There was also a stunning jazz band, and now Im back at the hostel for my last night here. Cool.
Hmm, after writing the other night a large group of hostellers emigrated to a karaoke bar and we had fun with Bohemian Rhapsody etc. Then the next day I went to berkeley, which is mainly a 'collage' (university) but also where Mr. Ginsberg (holy) grew up and wrote. I found places he'd written about, had coffee in the jazz cafe basement, read poems they have on the pavement there, read 'time' magazine in berkerley public library (massive joeypoints for anyone that can figure out why I did that...), ate my hummous and bread, went to Cody's books and couldn't resist more books (I now have eleven. ELEVEN. Tell me that isn't ridiculous for a traveller. I'm dangerous). Anyway then I came back to Frisco (beat) and checked out the following areas: Mission (grey lines); Castro (the gay quarter. The gay quarter of SAN FRANCISCO. Awesome, all businesses called 'gay cleaning' and such, and more rainbow flags than the eyes could digest); and Haight Ashbury (awesome-also. I bet guidebooks describe it as 'bohemian' or 'altrnative', and it is. So much painting on walls, so much singing in the streets, so much justification for the quote 'there are more buddhists in [san francisco] than tibet).
Then I came back to the hostel and spent one of the pleasentest evenings in good conversation over wine (two buck chuck - c'mon) with Chloe and her Mum and Leigham, who from giving the impression of being a football hooligan turned out to be a poet. You had to be there, really.
So I went to bed and after waking up at a few times (bunkmate irish girl, derrrunk: 'hey i need you to set an alarm to get me up, i need to wake at 4.30 for a flght' - me, bleary: it's '4 10 now' - bunkmate: 'set it for five then' - the alarm goes off for ten minutes and she still don't wake up so I get dressed climb down, shake her, still not waking, in the end i pour water on her face, she wakes up then but still doesn't get out of bed, so I give up and retire to my bunk (top bunk) and periodically shake her duvet from above until 5 30 when I go to sleep. anyway, she misses her flight. haffharf) I wake up finally and set off for another day of exploration, go to the beat museum (discoveries: william burroughs shot his wife in the head; allen ginsberg was in a gap advert; there are no heroes) and more of Frisco then head at 6 30 to 'jack kerouac' alley for the opening ceremoney of the International Poetry Festival. Lawrence Ferlinghetti read and walked within inches of me. That was cool. He said 'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by boredom, at poetry readings'.
There was also a stunning jazz band, and now Im back at the hostel for my last night here. Cool.
Tuesday 24 July 2007
Calabasas III, Monterey I, Big Sur I, San Francisco I
Okay so finally free internet and free time have collided, and though I am aware I am hopelessly behind, I will try to bring you up to date without missing anything vital.
So Calabasas remained beautiful, and, due to circumstances kind of out of my control, I was unable to leave when I planned to, which meant missing Ani Difranco which was a stab in the leg, but it did mean that I got to stay what felt more like a reasonable amount of time. But eventually and with regret I set off for Monterey.
Train journey (san luis obispo), bus journey (salinas), another bus (monterey), then a final bus (to hostel) and I was there. Monterey, supposedly a quiet pretty coastal town, was absolutely thronged with people, and not just any people - bikers. Motorbikers. With Beards! This crowdedness and everything being booked was what had kept me and calabasas those excellent last two days, and can be explained by the Moto GP race at Laguna Seca just outside monterey - 170 000 motorbike racing fans were in the area.
So much to my suprise Laura and Lindsey- the scots from the Grand Canyon - were at the hostel, and also planning to head down to Big Sur the next day. I hadn't really talked to them at flagstaff but over the course of the evening they proved to be superlative company, and, unlike everyone else I'd spoken to, not obsessed with motor-racing, which improved the conversation considerably.
So the next morning hit, and I got up early to prepare for my time at Big Sur (the hostel had no beds for the coming night, so I was staying down there - somewhere). A nice british girl called Chrissie was renting a car and driving down through Big Sur and kindly offered the three of us a lift down. So our rush to catch the first bus (there were only three a day) was unnecessary, and we hung around cooking pancakes and waiting for her car to be delivered. Chrissie had warned us that she had asked for the smallest car they had, so we might have to squash up. However, the rental company took her excellently at her word and turned up in a tiny two-seater convertible sportscar. Which was pretty funny but meant we'd missed our first bus and three hours until the next stretched out.
But we were opportunistic and took a different bus to picturesque Carmel, half-way to Big Sur, and while there realised we were only 10 minutes from the northermost state park of BigSur (hereafter known as BS) and so took a cab. We burned a happy couple of hours watching cute seals and cuter deers (deer? deers?) and whale-bones (not cute). We arrived at the bus-stop in time for the bus passing in the other direction to stop, and its driver to tell us that the bus (that we would have been on if it wasn't for the sportscar debacle haroo hooray) had broken down and was an hour late. So back on the return bus to Carmel, where we planned to wait in style with Ice-Cream. This led to the discovery that I had no money left on my card, and needed my debit card, back in Monterey, to top it up.
This meant I would undoubtedly starve to death and all kinds of terrible things, from which Laura saved me with $20, which was incredibly kind of her, in case she's reading, and even if not.
Anyway time passed and we finally got the bus, which moved us down to Pfeiffer state park (via Nepenthe where someone had lost his dog joey amongst the posion-oak) which had some lovely trails, such as 'pfeiffer waterfall trail' which led us to a waterfall, and 'valley view', which supplied a gorgeous view of, shockingly, the valley, which carried our eyes out to the beautiful azure sea.
Lindsey and Laura and I took the last bus (we were now pretty good friends with this bus driver) and bid one another a fond farewell when I got off at Andrew Molera, another statepark. [at this point the author becomes bored and the rest of the post is abbreviated] Here I spent a beautiful night beneath the stars and then rose early and walked up the too-pretty-for-words coast all day - one of the happiest days of my trip so far or maybe ever.
However, due to my using a not-to-scale busmap as my guide (long story), I ended up walking 9 hours and being exhausted by the end, as well as not being able to afford anything to eat. So I burned back to monterey, and decided to stay another night due to really not being in any state to travel to San Francisco that night and arrive at 11 o clock and find somewhere to stay.
So I did that the next day instead and it was fine. Then I spent yesterday looking around North Beach (city lights bookstore! Washington Sqare! Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac etc) and Chinatown. I really like this city a lot. I love it's bizarre mixing. I love that on one side of the road a guy is being sick by a postbox and on the other a crowd is watching a film being shot with loads of camaras and massive lights and red sportscars and such. I love that upon entry from Oakland an enormous impressive bridge (not even the golden gate) speeds you into a huge fogbank from which the hugest towers unexpected suddenly loom prettily. There are poetry readings everynight, in alleyways.
So anyway, I'm going to go out at look at it.
So Calabasas remained beautiful, and, due to circumstances kind of out of my control, I was unable to leave when I planned to, which meant missing Ani Difranco which was a stab in the leg, but it did mean that I got to stay what felt more like a reasonable amount of time. But eventually and with regret I set off for Monterey.
Train journey (san luis obispo), bus journey (salinas), another bus (monterey), then a final bus (to hostel) and I was there. Monterey, supposedly a quiet pretty coastal town, was absolutely thronged with people, and not just any people - bikers. Motorbikers. With Beards! This crowdedness and everything being booked was what had kept me and calabasas those excellent last two days, and can be explained by the Moto GP race at Laguna Seca just outside monterey - 170 000 motorbike racing fans were in the area.
So much to my suprise Laura and Lindsey- the scots from the Grand Canyon - were at the hostel, and also planning to head down to Big Sur the next day. I hadn't really talked to them at flagstaff but over the course of the evening they proved to be superlative company, and, unlike everyone else I'd spoken to, not obsessed with motor-racing, which improved the conversation considerably.
So the next morning hit, and I got up early to prepare for my time at Big Sur (the hostel had no beds for the coming night, so I was staying down there - somewhere). A nice british girl called Chrissie was renting a car and driving down through Big Sur and kindly offered the three of us a lift down. So our rush to catch the first bus (there were only three a day) was unnecessary, and we hung around cooking pancakes and waiting for her car to be delivered. Chrissie had warned us that she had asked for the smallest car they had, so we might have to squash up. However, the rental company took her excellently at her word and turned up in a tiny two-seater convertible sportscar. Which was pretty funny but meant we'd missed our first bus and three hours until the next stretched out.
But we were opportunistic and took a different bus to picturesque Carmel, half-way to Big Sur, and while there realised we were only 10 minutes from the northermost state park of BigSur (hereafter known as BS) and so took a cab. We burned a happy couple of hours watching cute seals and cuter deers (deer? deers?) and whale-bones (not cute). We arrived at the bus-stop in time for the bus passing in the other direction to stop, and its driver to tell us that the bus (that we would have been on if it wasn't for the sportscar debacle haroo hooray) had broken down and was an hour late. So back on the return bus to Carmel, where we planned to wait in style with Ice-Cream. This led to the discovery that I had no money left on my card, and needed my debit card, back in Monterey, to top it up.
This meant I would undoubtedly starve to death and all kinds of terrible things, from which Laura saved me with $20, which was incredibly kind of her, in case she's reading, and even if not.
Anyway time passed and we finally got the bus, which moved us down to Pfeiffer state park (via Nepenthe where someone had lost his dog joey amongst the posion-oak) which had some lovely trails, such as 'pfeiffer waterfall trail' which led us to a waterfall, and 'valley view', which supplied a gorgeous view of, shockingly, the valley, which carried our eyes out to the beautiful azure sea.
Lindsey and Laura and I took the last bus (we were now pretty good friends with this bus driver) and bid one another a fond farewell when I got off at Andrew Molera, another statepark. [at this point the author becomes bored and the rest of the post is abbreviated] Here I spent a beautiful night beneath the stars and then rose early and walked up the too-pretty-for-words coast all day - one of the happiest days of my trip so far or maybe ever.
However, due to my using a not-to-scale busmap as my guide (long story), I ended up walking 9 hours and being exhausted by the end, as well as not being able to afford anything to eat. So I burned back to monterey, and decided to stay another night due to really not being in any state to travel to San Francisco that night and arrive at 11 o clock and find somewhere to stay.
So I did that the next day instead and it was fine. Then I spent yesterday looking around North Beach (city lights bookstore! Washington Sqare! Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac etc) and Chinatown. I really like this city a lot. I love it's bizarre mixing. I love that on one side of the road a guy is being sick by a postbox and on the other a crowd is watching a film being shot with loads of camaras and massive lights and red sportscars and such. I love that upon entry from Oakland an enormous impressive bridge (not even the golden gate) speeds you into a huge fogbank from which the hugest towers unexpected suddenly loom prettily. There are poetry readings everynight, in alleyways.
So anyway, I'm going to go out at look at it.
Saturday 14 July 2007
My First Novel
Ft. Lauderdale
Look at all the blue! That's the sky, you know.
Paaalllllllllmmmmm Trrreeeeeeess
This is experimental shell-art. It is called 'thought bubble' and is shown here on the canvas of my knee, on the beach.
More beachart.
Spaceship-looking controls of Mike's Boat.
Pretty tree. Ft Lauderdale is full of things like this.
More controls
More! Unfortunatly I just deleted the best picture, which was an action shot of me (my disembodied hand) pretending to press a button.
On the train journey away, I took some photos of SWAMP (trees)
And MARSH (no trees. That's the difference)
This is a road which for some reason caught my attention
Here are some people in the sun. The train carried me to...New Orleans
There was some poignant slogan somewhere in this picture, but it is irritatingly unseeable here and I can't remember what it was. Still, illumnating of New Orleans halfdestruction.
Same ting.
What kind of animal is this? I don't know!
Memphis
(in no particular order...)
Beale Street. I'm annoyed you can't see the throngs of people on the street - the whole thing was as crowded outside as the bars were inside. All the bars. Count the neons.
This is where Gibson guitars are born.
This is an early stage in the process, before the guitars are made less fuzzy and grainy, and before they're rotated 90 degrees, so they're upright.
This photo is of guitars hanging upside-down so their paint can dry.
See that label 'scrap'? These guitars, because of minor faults such as one fret being slanted, or even 'visual imperfections', will be put through the shredding machine. They are worth around three thousand pounds each. ALL OF THEM! Argh.
I did not write Joey, someone else did. This is ART. It is called 'portrait of the artist as a young graffitti artist'.
This is the MISSISSIPPI. Even cooler, it is where JEFF BUCKLEY drowned. Sweet.
More Mississippi action.
I think this photo, taken at 3AM, nicely captures the feeling of the greyhound journey which took me to...
Austin
Congress ave. Below my feet, unbeknowst to me at the time of this picture being taken, is the largest urban bat colony in the world. In the far distance is the Austin Capitol. Which is in the next picture.
Oh No! Austin Capitol has fallen over, and Joey doesn't understand this photo downloading program enough to do anything about it.
This illustrates america's long, straight, vertical streets.
This monument, proving Texans are lovely people, was hidden behind the capitol building and shielding from view by hedges. Still there though.
A greyhound bus through the night took me to...
Flagstaff+The Grand Canyon
This pretty flower in a beer bottle welcomed me.
This photo is boring, but this post needs some padding out.
Trees and cloud.
That tattered and yellow paper reads 'Enjoying the Grand Canyon'. If i had looked up and taken another photo you would have seen 27 miles of drops up to 5000 feet; mountains and rivers of breathtaking beauty spread like a dried eden below me in a phantasmagorical panorama of biblical proportions. I didn't, though.
Here is our tour guide sitting on the edge. It gives you a vague idea of grand canyonish scenery.
If you want to know what the Grand Canyon was like, put 'Grand Canyon' into google pictures.
Friday 13 July 2007
Calabasas II
Wearily I am updating my 'weblog' - it's so much effort to do anything here where it is so pleasurable to do nothing. Sun, Beach/Poolside, Cooling Breeze, Plums/Nectarines, Book: difficult to be less than relaxed utterly.
Yesterday I was kindly driven by Alice, only present cousin and my guide and companion throughout the evenings of LA, into Hollywood. We saw the stars, and footprints and handprints, the chinese-man theatre, and maybe more interestingly, the collection of people come to see the stars, and footprints and handprints, the chinese-man theatre. We made up some backgrounds for them and drank a little coffee, then moved on to a Downtown Artwalk which provided me with a glimpse into LA's contradictions - cracking and falling buildings and 'spare a quarter buddy?'s mixing with the smart and the hip trailing contemporary trendy gallery to gallery with wine and some interesting art.
Afterwhich we found The Cathedral Of Mary Of The Angels and after some canned-food donating, watched an actually-rather-good jazz version of a midsummer night's dream, complete with jazz standards and suits sharp as icecles. On the part of the actors, not us.
Today I went to a georgeous beach.
I seem to have conveniently forgotten the circumstances of my going to see the Harry Potter film, but I guess you should know that it happened. It was pretty fun, I enjoyed the screaming and clapping US audience.
Yesterday I was kindly driven by Alice, only present cousin and my guide and companion throughout the evenings of LA, into Hollywood. We saw the stars, and footprints and handprints, the chinese-man theatre, and maybe more interestingly, the collection of people come to see the stars, and footprints and handprints, the chinese-man theatre. We made up some backgrounds for them and drank a little coffee, then moved on to a Downtown Artwalk which provided me with a glimpse into LA's contradictions - cracking and falling buildings and 'spare a quarter buddy?'s mixing with the smart and the hip trailing contemporary trendy gallery to gallery with wine and some interesting art.
Afterwhich we found The Cathedral Of Mary Of The Angels and after some canned-food donating, watched an actually-rather-good jazz version of a midsummer night's dream, complete with jazz standards and suits sharp as icecles. On the part of the actors, not us.
Today I went to a georgeous beach.
I seem to have conveniently forgotten the circumstances of my going to see the Harry Potter film, but I guess you should know that it happened. It was pretty fun, I enjoyed the screaming and clapping US audience.
Wednesday 11 July 2007
Flagstaff II, Calabasas I
My last post was the 8th. Today is the 11th. So the end-half of the 8th was filled with buying Pizza.
The 9th was filled, in a serious fashion, by the Gerraannndd Cannyooonnnn. Do you want details and pictures? Probably you do. However, I figured no picture I took would be as good as pictures professional artists took, so just put 'grand canyon' in google and you can see for yourself. Although even being there it doesn't look real, not in the slightest in fact, so that it took me HOURS to start appreciating it, due to the fact that I just couldn't take it seriously for aages. Eventually, after our first view, and then a satisfying and powerfully dehydrating hike down inside the canyon, we visited a point called 'Desert View', which featured a hidden little path our guide (I paid $60 for a budget tour from the hostel), but seemingly no-one else, knew about. I took the opportunity to run down there ('run', that is: fastish walking slowing to an agonising crawl as the path became thinner and eventually just a rock with drops making my hands shake and sweat right now, genuinely, on three sides) before anyone else, and so was alone for five minutes - and suddenly all the beauty of the whole thing finally got through to me, after a dayful of 'this is okay but touristy and overrated'. And it is so far beyond description I'd feel dirty trying to put it into words.
After a short while some people came and talked loudly and took photos which would mean they'd forget the real views and look at photos not a billionth as impressive or expressive or whatever. They concentrated on exxpressing their amazement in loud voices and camara-clicking rather than actually looking at the damn thing. I left in disssgust.
So then we went back and I got a train overnight (the 10th, the first few hours of which were spent trying to sleep but getting terrible vertigo attacks every time I closed my eyes, a remnant of the, obviously very impressed upon me, Grand Canyon experience) to LOS ANGELES, where I was picked up by my AUNTIE PETA, and driven to CALABASAS, where COUSIN ALICE was, and met - is uncle the right word, or half-uncle or uncle-in-law? - I'm not sure, but one of these PAUL for the first time. It's so nice to see them and this house and place after so many years of invitations. Other notable features of this house is THE MOST COMFORTABLE BED IN THE WORLD and a POOL and RELAXATION.
So I did above then me and Alice and Emma went to see tchaikovsky (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky himself, live in concert, rocking out, resurrected especially for this show) which was accompanied by the LA Philamonic and Fireworks. Actually some spectacular fireworks in time which the music, and synching with the vast crowd and the cool night air and the H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D lettersign in the background, aswell as strawberry/nectarine/wine picnic, all coming together to create 'an experience'. Excellent.
Then today I'm updating blog and lazing, I think, lazily. Excuse me.
The 9th was filled, in a serious fashion, by the Gerraannndd Cannyooonnnn. Do you want details and pictures? Probably you do. However, I figured no picture I took would be as good as pictures professional artists took, so just put 'grand canyon' in google and you can see for yourself. Although even being there it doesn't look real, not in the slightest in fact, so that it took me HOURS to start appreciating it, due to the fact that I just couldn't take it seriously for aages. Eventually, after our first view, and then a satisfying and powerfully dehydrating hike down inside the canyon, we visited a point called 'Desert View', which featured a hidden little path our guide (I paid $60 for a budget tour from the hostel), but seemingly no-one else, knew about. I took the opportunity to run down there ('run', that is: fastish walking slowing to an agonising crawl as the path became thinner and eventually just a rock with drops making my hands shake and sweat right now, genuinely, on three sides) before anyone else, and so was alone for five minutes - and suddenly all the beauty of the whole thing finally got through to me, after a dayful of 'this is okay but touristy and overrated'. And it is so far beyond description I'd feel dirty trying to put it into words.
After a short while some people came and talked loudly and took photos which would mean they'd forget the real views and look at photos not a billionth as impressive or expressive or whatever. They concentrated on exxpressing their amazement in loud voices and camara-clicking rather than actually looking at the damn thing. I left in disssgust.
So then we went back and I got a train overnight (the 10th, the first few hours of which were spent trying to sleep but getting terrible vertigo attacks every time I closed my eyes, a remnant of the, obviously very impressed upon me, Grand Canyon experience) to LOS ANGELES, where I was picked up by my AUNTIE PETA, and driven to CALABASAS, where COUSIN ALICE was, and met - is uncle the right word, or half-uncle or uncle-in-law? - I'm not sure, but one of these PAUL for the first time. It's so nice to see them and this house and place after so many years of invitations. Other notable features of this house is THE MOST COMFORTABLE BED IN THE WORLD and a POOL and RELAXATION.
So I did above then me and Alice and Emma went to see tchaikovsky (Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky himself, live in concert, rocking out, resurrected especially for this show) which was accompanied by the LA Philamonic and Fireworks. Actually some spectacular fireworks in time which the music, and synching with the vast crowd and the cool night air and the H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D lettersign in the background, aswell as strawberry/nectarine/wine picnic, all coming together to create 'an experience'. Excellent.
Then today I'm updating blog and lazing, I think, lazily. Excuse me.
Sunday 8 July 2007
Flagstaff III
A blog entry not beginning 'so...'! I've lost my mind.
The bookstore was fantastic! I had determined not to buy anymore books, but I couldn't quite resist and bought three. The plan was to read at least one of them before I left and sell it back to the same place. Luckily, I've already almost finished one so hopefully that'll dull the $20 I couldn't afford. I'm about $100 over-budget for the first half of my travelling (I'm assuming now until the 16th will be cheap because of sponging (if peta, paul, rebecca, alice, tamsin, columbine, or anyone that knows them is reading this: I meant sponging as in helping to clean the house, with sponges) off relatives). Anyway, that's not bad because I've been learning to budget a bit better recently (except on the book front), so maybe all will be okay.
so (ha-ha) I bought the books, found a nice coffee-shop, ate a bagel, read them a bit, lounged, talked to my new friends Mim, Rosie, and [oarrgg my name-forgetting abilities no know bounds but also four others, all British, we're setting up quite a clique], then I did something else, I know , i went to the supermarket, bought supplies, then we went down the road for vegetarian dinner at the other hostel, got into a 'our country is better than your country' debate in which I remained impartial and a voice of intellectual rigour, then we went to some bars and played pool and saw a rock band but mainly focussed around the organ (they were called 'the big organ band', aha, aha), and I showed my ID proving I'm 20 numerous times and was accepted therein as being 21, came home, went to bed, got up, spoke to my rowan on the phone for a glorious little while the first time in ages, then went on a big hike through the sun and the fir trees, drank 2.2 litres of water in a shockingly short amount of time, but rehydrated safely with Strawberry milkshake watching the Flagstaff Community Band, who were entertainingly bad, bless 'em, and the whole scene, the sky having clouded over, was very like being at the seaside in Skegness or something.
I'm economi'z'ing on full-stops; they're expensive over here>
The bookstore was fantastic! I had determined not to buy anymore books, but I couldn't quite resist and bought three. The plan was to read at least one of them before I left and sell it back to the same place. Luckily, I've already almost finished one so hopefully that'll dull the $20 I couldn't afford. I'm about $100 over-budget for the first half of my travelling (I'm assuming now until the 16th will be cheap because of sponging (if peta, paul, rebecca, alice, tamsin, columbine, or anyone that knows them is reading this: I meant sponging as in helping to clean the house, with sponges) off relatives). Anyway, that's not bad because I've been learning to budget a bit better recently (except on the book front), so maybe all will be okay.
so (ha-ha) I bought the books, found a nice coffee-shop, ate a bagel, read them a bit, lounged, talked to my new friends Mim, Rosie, and [oarrgg my name-forgetting abilities no know bounds but also four others, all British, we're setting up quite a clique], then I did something else, I know , i went to the supermarket, bought supplies, then we went down the road for vegetarian dinner at the other hostel, got into a 'our country is better than your country' debate in which I remained impartial and a voice of intellectual rigour, then we went to some bars and played pool and saw a rock band but mainly focussed around the organ (they were called 'the big organ band', aha, aha), and I showed my ID proving I'm 20 numerous times and was accepted therein as being 21, came home, went to bed, got up, spoke to my rowan on the phone for a glorious little while the first time in ages, then went on a big hike through the sun and the fir trees, drank 2.2 litres of water in a shockingly short amount of time, but rehydrated safely with Strawberry milkshake watching the Flagstaff Community Band, who were entertainingly bad, bless 'em, and the whole scene, the sky having clouded over, was very like being at the seaside in Skegness or something.
I'm economi'z'ing on full-stops; they're expensive over here>
Saturday 7 July 2007
Flagstaff II
Quick tiny update - got my bag back intact.
My travel plans have suddenly exploded in a tangle of grand canyon tour schedules, all-night vegas possibilites, dirty hostels there, trains, santa monica being busless, trying to see relatives for more time than the world wants to allow me, ani difranco gigs, big sur, and such considerations.
The only other thing that happened is that, as a result of above, I had to cancel one tour I'd arranged. The guy on the phone became a 2-year old and kept interrupting me with things like "you do know we're the best tour company in the world?!" and "I suppose you've found someone else you'd rather do it with". That was pretty entertaining.
I now must away to the local used-bookstore. hur hur.
My travel plans have suddenly exploded in a tangle of grand canyon tour schedules, all-night vegas possibilites, dirty hostels there, trains, santa monica being busless, trying to see relatives for more time than the world wants to allow me, ani difranco gigs, big sur, and such considerations.
The only other thing that happened is that, as a result of above, I had to cancel one tour I'd arranged. The guy on the phone became a 2-year old and kept interrupting me with things like "you do know we're the best tour company in the world?!" and "I suppose you've found someone else you'd rather do it with". That was pretty entertaining.
I now must away to the local used-bookstore. hur hur.
Friday 6 July 2007
Flagstaff I
So I've only just got to flagstaff, but I figure the bus-journey alone is worth an entry, because it lasted 27 hours and 20 minutes, which is more than most entries would cover.
So it was all routine and boring, overnight, i even slept for maybe two hours collectively, until morning came and we got to phoenix. Phoenix, Arizona, where it was hat. That is to say - hot. 110 farenheight. All I can really compare it to is the feeling of bright hot sun shining on already sunburned skin. Imagine that feeling but on normal skin, in the shade. Yowee, even with full air-conditioning the bus got warm.
So we set off from there about 2ish, I think. It was just beginning to get really boooorring (finished my book by accident, other bag had been loaded up for me on to next coach without me being able to get anything) when providence came to the rescue, in the form of a man so desperate for the toilet he tried to pee in a bottle. Luckily the toilet-user emerged just in time to prevent aforesaid peeing, but not before the man had - how to put this tactfully... got his penis out, and pointed it vaguely in the direction of an enormous frowning guy, who luckily was incredibly humorous funny and kept the back half of the bus laughing for a good hour or so. So that pretty much all worked out.
We stopped and I was forced to eat a big mac and fries. I secretly enjoyed it, since there was no choice - having already exhausted my bread and cheese packed dinner/breakfast/lunch/another dinner.
So we got into El Paso at probably 5 30ish. El Paso was arizona proper, and tailed off into a hillside displaying what I could have believed was an African shanty-town, presumably housing these Mexican immigrants people won't shut up about over here (american news coverage, as you know, not being top-quality. As for england, as far as I can make about, someone called Henry Thierry has left his post as President of England - or Arsenal Rangers as it is also known - and been replaced by central defender or Quarter-Back Gordon Brown. This is in spite of Gordon's recent attempt to blow up Glass-Gowwwww airport.) Anyhow, the cactusses and desert stretched infinitely away as we started climbing.
Suddenly our shining highway turned a corner and we met what I could have believed was the hills of South America - those raggedy mountains that look like a one beautiful but now tattered blanket of greens and yellows and browns thrown over piles of bric-a-brac, but a million billion times bigger. We drove up through a passage in these and reached some kind of plateau and suddenly again plains stretched away for miles, dropping off on one side, enough so that it was like seeing a map, towns and rivers and lots and lots of cactii. Signs here said things like "land for sale - With Water!!". The sun got behind a cloud so it looked like the cloud was exploding.
This is, you understand, taking a fair while, and the screaming baby in the seat behind has been kept at bay by my Mp3 player, which was been stubbornly displaying three bars of battery - usually an indication of 5 minutes of musictime left - for the last 10 hours or so. An old lady with a pacemaker and hacking cough had earlier beaten me up and taken my bottle of water, so I was drying out. The pretty scenery, though, mixing nicely with my sleep-deprived derived poetical mindset, kept things ticking along nicely. I read 'howl' by allen ginsberg about 50 times. It's good though.
So we next drove into a big valley, which the now disentangled but lowering sun separated into two halves - one ash-coloured and the other incredibly rich golden. The sky here looked like a vividly eccentric watercolour.
Anyhow, we got into Flagstaff at 9 30, and my bag - containing all my clothes, books, spongebag, passport and debit card, wasn't on the bus. Greyhound people said it must have been loaded onto a different bus, and I must call back at midnight. I am half-nervous, half-worried, half-looking-forward-to-the-adventure-of-my-journey-being-ruined. I am one-and-a-half emotion beings.
Although maybe it'll turn up.
So it was all routine and boring, overnight, i even slept for maybe two hours collectively, until morning came and we got to phoenix. Phoenix, Arizona, where it was hat. That is to say - hot. 110 farenheight. All I can really compare it to is the feeling of bright hot sun shining on already sunburned skin. Imagine that feeling but on normal skin, in the shade. Yowee, even with full air-conditioning the bus got warm.
So we set off from there about 2ish, I think. It was just beginning to get really boooorring (finished my book by accident, other bag had been loaded up for me on to next coach without me being able to get anything) when providence came to the rescue, in the form of a man so desperate for the toilet he tried to pee in a bottle. Luckily the toilet-user emerged just in time to prevent aforesaid peeing, but not before the man had - how to put this tactfully... got his penis out, and pointed it vaguely in the direction of an enormous frowning guy, who luckily was incredibly humorous funny and kept the back half of the bus laughing for a good hour or so. So that pretty much all worked out.
We stopped and I was forced to eat a big mac and fries. I secretly enjoyed it, since there was no choice - having already exhausted my bread and cheese packed dinner/breakfast/lunch/another dinner.
So we got into El Paso at probably 5 30ish. El Paso was arizona proper, and tailed off into a hillside displaying what I could have believed was an African shanty-town, presumably housing these Mexican immigrants people won't shut up about over here (american news coverage, as you know, not being top-quality. As for england, as far as I can make about, someone called Henry Thierry has left his post as President of England - or Arsenal Rangers as it is also known - and been replaced by central defender or Quarter-Back Gordon Brown. This is in spite of Gordon's recent attempt to blow up Glass-Gowwwww airport.) Anyhow, the cactusses and desert stretched infinitely away as we started climbing.
Suddenly our shining highway turned a corner and we met what I could have believed was the hills of South America - those raggedy mountains that look like a one beautiful but now tattered blanket of greens and yellows and browns thrown over piles of bric-a-brac, but a million billion times bigger. We drove up through a passage in these and reached some kind of plateau and suddenly again plains stretched away for miles, dropping off on one side, enough so that it was like seeing a map, towns and rivers and lots and lots of cactii. Signs here said things like "land for sale - With Water!!". The sun got behind a cloud so it looked like the cloud was exploding.
This is, you understand, taking a fair while, and the screaming baby in the seat behind has been kept at bay by my Mp3 player, which was been stubbornly displaying three bars of battery - usually an indication of 5 minutes of musictime left - for the last 10 hours or so. An old lady with a pacemaker and hacking cough had earlier beaten me up and taken my bottle of water, so I was drying out. The pretty scenery, though, mixing nicely with my sleep-deprived derived poetical mindset, kept things ticking along nicely. I read 'howl' by allen ginsberg about 50 times. It's good though.
So we next drove into a big valley, which the now disentangled but lowering sun separated into two halves - one ash-coloured and the other incredibly rich golden. The sky here looked like a vividly eccentric watercolour.
Anyhow, we got into Flagstaff at 9 30, and my bag - containing all my clothes, books, spongebag, passport and debit card, wasn't on the bus. Greyhound people said it must have been loaded onto a different bus, and I must call back at midnight. I am half-nervous, half-worried, half-looking-forward-to-the-adventure-of-my-journey-being-ruined. I am one-and-a-half emotion beings.
Although maybe it'll turn up.
Wednesday 4 July 2007
Austin II
So I spent a whole day lounging, talking about, finishing, and then giving away my book (not my book; the book i was reading, silly). I also fell asleep on the picnic table outside under an awning amidst the pittering rain. I went to bed with, for the first time, I realised, a room-mate snoring. Impressive run so far, but all good things.
Today I committed aforementioned first-day-in-city routine: walked downtown; found a bookshop; bought a book; put book on coffee shop table; went to buy coffee; came back to find someone waiting at my table; listened to his explanation that the book I'd just bought was his favourite, had inspired him to go travelling, and had taken it everywhere with him for twelve years; had conversation with said person - Will; enjoyed conversation greatly; accepted gratefully invitation to play cards in a different coffee shop that evening; then left into the rain; took shelter in innocuous-looking 'whole food shop', which turned out to be enormous and amazing, which fresh chocolatiers, salad bars, coffee grinding, bread-baking and a variety of amazing looking and smelling foods, all organic and that kind of thing people like us vaguely approve of; totally forgot all laws of syntax and grammar.
Anyway, the rain finished and I checked out Texas capitol builing, which as far as I could make out was identical to the Washington DC one but 15ft taller. There was a man in an army uniform holding a sign reading "freedom is not free" outside, and, seperately, some rainbow coloured umberellas laid on the steps, which in my imagination were a statement about the hail of homophobic legislature coming from the texan local government.
I walked then foolishly back to the hostel, ate, and then walked back downtown (mistiming enough to entirely miss Will's card game) to see the bats coming out to feed from under The World's Largest Urban Bat Colony (tm) below an ordinary, dirty-looking bridge. Neither me nor the hundreds of other people had cottoned on to the fact that bats come out after nightfall, and, being black, aren't easy to see in the dark. Although there was something poetic or profound in the result - that the bats could only been seen by the flashes of the tourist's camaras.
I had been watching from under the bridge (dum dum dum de Dah dah, dadadada dum dum dum de Dahh dah) but wandered to the top to see if the bats were clearer from above. They were slightly, and there were lots of those mothers (not colloquially: they'd all just got pregnant, according to a sign), but more importantly I had unintentionally placed myself perfectly to observe, five minutes later, the Yanks expressing joy, or patriotism or something, at their independence which a typically Yankish (although admittedly amazing) firework display in Red, White, and Blue. The ascent of every firework illuminated the Sideshow Bob smoke trails left by the descent of the fragments of the one before.
Suddenly the bats decided to contribute lovelily, by exodussing enmassishly through the bit of sky illuminated cromulently by the fireworks. It was most wondertasticaltronic, and I was left embiggened. I walked home through the smell of gun-powder. Whoopee for independance day.
Today I committed aforementioned first-day-in-city routine: walked downtown; found a bookshop; bought a book; put book on coffee shop table; went to buy coffee; came back to find someone waiting at my table; listened to his explanation that the book I'd just bought was his favourite, had inspired him to go travelling, and had taken it everywhere with him for twelve years; had conversation with said person - Will; enjoyed conversation greatly; accepted gratefully invitation to play cards in a different coffee shop that evening; then left into the rain; took shelter in innocuous-looking 'whole food shop', which turned out to be enormous and amazing, which fresh chocolatiers, salad bars, coffee grinding, bread-baking and a variety of amazing looking and smelling foods, all organic and that kind of thing people like us vaguely approve of; totally forgot all laws of syntax and grammar.
Anyway, the rain finished and I checked out Texas capitol builing, which as far as I could make out was identical to the Washington DC one but 15ft taller. There was a man in an army uniform holding a sign reading "freedom is not free" outside, and, seperately, some rainbow coloured umberellas laid on the steps, which in my imagination were a statement about the hail of homophobic legislature coming from the texan local government.
I walked then foolishly back to the hostel, ate, and then walked back downtown (mistiming enough to entirely miss Will's card game) to see the bats coming out to feed from under The World's Largest Urban Bat Colony (tm) below an ordinary, dirty-looking bridge. Neither me nor the hundreds of other people had cottoned on to the fact that bats come out after nightfall, and, being black, aren't easy to see in the dark. Although there was something poetic or profound in the result - that the bats could only been seen by the flashes of the tourist's camaras.
I had been watching from under the bridge (dum dum dum de Dah dah, dadadada dum dum dum de Dahh dah) but wandered to the top to see if the bats were clearer from above. They were slightly, and there were lots of those mothers (not colloquially: they'd all just got pregnant, according to a sign), but more importantly I had unintentionally placed myself perfectly to observe, five minutes later, the Yanks expressing joy, or patriotism or something, at their independence which a typically Yankish (although admittedly amazing) firework display in Red, White, and Blue. The ascent of every firework illuminated the Sideshow Bob smoke trails left by the descent of the fragments of the one before.
Suddenly the bats decided to contribute lovelily, by exodussing enmassishly through the bit of sky illuminated cromulently by the fireworks. It was most wondertasticaltronic, and I was left embiggened. I walked home through the smell of gun-powder. Whoopee for independance day.
Tuesday 3 July 2007
New Orleans II, Memphis II, Austin I
So the excellent new hostel I found in New Orleans came with, amongst other things, a swimming pool and a gang. The gang (JK, Julian, Lucy, Anastacia and Troels, from Bermuda, New Zealand, Manchester, Pennsylvania and Denmark respectively) explored the french quarter, pretty, and then regrouped in the cool of the evening and led the assault on the jazz-bars of Bourbon and Frenchman Streets. We saw some music, and drank some beers, and lost some people (like became seperated, they didn't die, although one person foolishly walked home and was mugged TWICE on the way, impressively, only losing $4 in the process) and a CLICHE good time was had by all CLICHE.
The next day I rushed around independently and really enjoyed the oddness of New Orleans, the derelicts with rusted fire escapes just hanging on pressed up between shining glass buildings, the ancient french and spanish lamp posts mixing with neon signs, the dingy bar with a John Cleese quote on the window and friendly people that boasted about their bands. I said goodbye to all I met and left on the AMTRAK.
Which is a hundred times nicer than greyhound - more legroom than first-class english trains, faster, more punctual and cheaper than bus, etc. So that was pretty nice, and also came with a hilarious new scheme by which a commentary was given out over the loudspeakers in the 'lounge car' concerning the scenery we were passing. The enthusiastically false-sounding woman said things like "and to our left, is marsh land. Look carefully, and you may see alligator tracks, or ever a tortoise sitting on an old log... or maybe, it's not a log, but actually... an alligator!"
In this manner I achieved Memphis, at 10.30 in the evening. The hostel I was due at usually closed for the night at 8pm, but luckily I had the foresight to phone ahead to make sure I could get in. Unluckily, that had absolutely no effect - the door was locked and the phone was on answering machine. So after calling other hotels listed in my guidebook and finding them booked-up, and in a gathering rage in the gutter outside the hostel, I came to the conclusion I'd have to spend the night at the greyhound station, which, not only would be crap, would also cost, for cab-fare there and back, more than actually staying in a hostel. Hmph.
But Hooray! I called a taxi and after half-an-hour of waiting gave up hope and asked the first set of passers-by where I could get a cab from. By some typical miracle they were good friends with someone that worked at the hostel I was supposed to be staying at, who they phoned and got the door-code from. SO not only did I get into the hostel, I made a set of lovely shiny local friends: Bet, Maggie and Sharon.
The next day was filled up with my usual first-day-in-a-new-city activity, which consists of walking into town (which is always 'too far to walk' in american eyes, but actually roughly an educational hours walk) and then finding coffee shops, bookshops and parks, and relaxing appropriately. Memphis proved and admirable place to partake of these activities and a brilliant blues band (see Memphis I) kept me entertained for what actually became two and a half hours. Then a walk back via Shnucks (really called Shnucks) supermarket for the Hummus, French Loaf and bag of carrots that would feed me for the next day and half.
Back at the hostel (Pilgrim house, linked to a church dedicated to Gay+Lesbian inclusion in the Christian Faith) I met two swedish guitar players and a san-franciscoan mandolin player and their useful car, which transported back to Beale Street for the actually craaaazy street party - you need to be 21 to even get onto this street, but after presenting my ID the security guard: "does this make you 21?" - Me: "yes, oh yes" - Guard: "Uhh, I can't do that date shit" - Me: "polite chuckle, as if to excuse his ignorance".
We took a few beers, and saw an awesome one-man-band, who was, despite his brilliant, upstaged by Ed Watts, the human slug and most vile depiction of human-condition failure imaginable. His sleazy after-effect was cured by an Outkast cover band further up the road.
So next day me and mandolin+car guy (sorry Ben, that defines you perfectly) got up early and put on our shirts to go to CHURCH. The CHURCH of Al Green, furthermore, but sadly Al Green was stuck in London, despite God's best efforts, but that was okay because his dad was there (really! Ninetyfive and still preaching) and also a fantastic band and gospel-choir and dancing congregation. We then drove back (past Graceland, but sadly the house was obscured by a set of Aeroplanes out front..) and checked out the factory where Gibson guitars were made, all very touristy but we are none of us perfect so I sneaked an enjoyable afternoon out of it all. Then an evening with Bet+Maggie and free flat beer and a set of the best conversation I've had since I got to the states and Memphis was made complete.
I set off yesterday for Texas, booking the bus that arrived at 6am, because the busses are Always late. I met some staggeringly american people ("so what language d'y'all speak over there in england? French, or... is it english?" THIS TRULY HAPPENED WOOOARRRRR I BROKE MY SOUL CONTAINING MY LAUGHTER but managed and the poor fat man waddled away without any serious offensive mocking).
Anyway, in true greyhound style, a set of circumstances conspired to bring me AN HOUR EARLY into Austin, Texas, so I sat from 5am to 7 in the station, and watched american news, fairly educationally. Then I found the hostel successfully and against great odds, and from thence I wrote this enormous blog-entry and am staring morosely at the great rainstorm consuming the area and filling the lake out the back of the hostel, which is nice.
Y'all email me or write or leave comments or something, y'hear?
The next day I rushed around independently and really enjoyed the oddness of New Orleans, the derelicts with rusted fire escapes just hanging on pressed up between shining glass buildings, the ancient french and spanish lamp posts mixing with neon signs, the dingy bar with a John Cleese quote on the window and friendly people that boasted about their bands. I said goodbye to all I met and left on the AMTRAK.
Which is a hundred times nicer than greyhound - more legroom than first-class english trains, faster, more punctual and cheaper than bus, etc. So that was pretty nice, and also came with a hilarious new scheme by which a commentary was given out over the loudspeakers in the 'lounge car' concerning the scenery we were passing. The enthusiastically false-sounding woman said things like "and to our left, is marsh land. Look carefully, and you may see alligator tracks, or ever a tortoise sitting on an old log... or maybe, it's not a log, but actually... an alligator!"
In this manner I achieved Memphis, at 10.30 in the evening. The hostel I was due at usually closed for the night at 8pm, but luckily I had the foresight to phone ahead to make sure I could get in. Unluckily, that had absolutely no effect - the door was locked and the phone was on answering machine. So after calling other hotels listed in my guidebook and finding them booked-up, and in a gathering rage in the gutter outside the hostel, I came to the conclusion I'd have to spend the night at the greyhound station, which, not only would be crap, would also cost, for cab-fare there and back, more than actually staying in a hostel. Hmph.
But Hooray! I called a taxi and after half-an-hour of waiting gave up hope and asked the first set of passers-by where I could get a cab from. By some typical miracle they were good friends with someone that worked at the hostel I was supposed to be staying at, who they phoned and got the door-code from. SO not only did I get into the hostel, I made a set of lovely shiny local friends: Bet, Maggie and Sharon.
The next day was filled up with my usual first-day-in-a-new-city activity, which consists of walking into town (which is always 'too far to walk' in american eyes, but actually roughly an educational hours walk) and then finding coffee shops, bookshops and parks, and relaxing appropriately. Memphis proved and admirable place to partake of these activities and a brilliant blues band (see Memphis I) kept me entertained for what actually became two and a half hours. Then a walk back via Shnucks (really called Shnucks) supermarket for the Hummus, French Loaf and bag of carrots that would feed me for the next day and half.
Back at the hostel (Pilgrim house, linked to a church dedicated to Gay+Lesbian inclusion in the Christian Faith) I met two swedish guitar players and a san-franciscoan mandolin player and their useful car, which transported back to Beale Street for the actually craaaazy street party - you need to be 21 to even get onto this street, but after presenting my ID the security guard: "does this make you 21?" - Me: "yes, oh yes" - Guard: "Uhh, I can't do that date shit" - Me: "polite chuckle, as if to excuse his ignorance".
We took a few beers, and saw an awesome one-man-band, who was, despite his brilliant, upstaged by Ed Watts, the human slug and most vile depiction of human-condition failure imaginable. His sleazy after-effect was cured by an Outkast cover band further up the road.
So next day me and mandolin+car guy (sorry Ben, that defines you perfectly) got up early and put on our shirts to go to CHURCH. The CHURCH of Al Green, furthermore, but sadly Al Green was stuck in London, despite God's best efforts, but that was okay because his dad was there (really! Ninetyfive and still preaching) and also a fantastic band and gospel-choir and dancing congregation. We then drove back (past Graceland, but sadly the house was obscured by a set of Aeroplanes out front..) and checked out the factory where Gibson guitars were made, all very touristy but we are none of us perfect so I sneaked an enjoyable afternoon out of it all. Then an evening with Bet+Maggie and free flat beer and a set of the best conversation I've had since I got to the states and Memphis was made complete.
I set off yesterday for Texas, booking the bus that arrived at 6am, because the busses are Always late. I met some staggeringly american people ("so what language d'y'all speak over there in england? French, or... is it english?" THIS TRULY HAPPENED WOOOARRRRR I BROKE MY SOUL CONTAINING MY LAUGHTER but managed and the poor fat man waddled away without any serious offensive mocking).
Anyway, in true greyhound style, a set of circumstances conspired to bring me AN HOUR EARLY into Austin, Texas, so I sat from 5am to 7 in the station, and watched american news, fairly educationally. Then I found the hostel successfully and against great odds, and from thence I wrote this enormous blog-entry and am staring morosely at the great rainstorm consuming the area and filling the lake out the back of the hostel, which is nice.
Y'all email me or write or leave comments or something, y'hear?
Monday 2 July 2007
Memphis I
Yaw go back to where-ever y'all sleepin' tonigh - and you tellumm I's was playin' the harmonica - they warn't believe yaw - they tell you I was playin' the MissisSIPPI SaxoPHONE:
HaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooOOOOOWaaahhh.
HaaaaaaaooooooooooooooooooOOOOOWaaahhh.
Wednesday 27 June 2007
Florida City II, New Orleans I
And relax I did, well and truly. The people were excellent, especially Sweet River Revolver, who I later accompanied back to Miami to get my bus out. Got on the bus (on time! On Time! ON TIME!) and set off amidst a hail (have I used that quirky statement yet?) of worrying text messages: Teri told me Sheffield was flooded and they had no electricity and furthermore her phone was just running out of battery so I wouldn't be able to find more; and Rowan saying "I've just got out of hospital but don't worry and I'm not telling you why". I finally wrung an explanation out of her (also available at rowanwithafiddle.blogspot.com).
ANYHOW after a truly long bus Journey (27 hours hostel to hostel) I got to New Orleans which is very cool although I'm only just about to go and explore properly because I was looking up Sheffield and Rowan on the net first after changing hostels because the first one was horrrrrible although there was a nice guy who was trying to rebuild NewOrleans (it's funny having a city with the initials 'NO' - makes acronyms funny - NO police force, NO-Bank etc) but could only find companies making profit by building houses in the front yards of people's destroyed property. 120,000 people are still displaced after Katrina, by the way, but all the big companies etc are shining fine already.
Was that all boring? I can't tell - I think sleeplessness still affecting me. Pretty sparse of details, maybe I'll put another entry about the same time with more actual stuff on.
ANYHOW after a truly long bus Journey (27 hours hostel to hostel) I got to New Orleans which is very cool although I'm only just about to go and explore properly because I was looking up Sheffield and Rowan on the net first after changing hostels because the first one was horrrrrible although there was a nice guy who was trying to rebuild NewOrleans (it's funny having a city with the initials 'NO' - makes acronyms funny - NO police force, NO-Bank etc) but could only find companies making profit by building houses in the front yards of people's destroyed property. 120,000 people are still displaced after Katrina, by the way, but all the big companies etc are shining fine already.
Was that all boring? I can't tell - I think sleeplessness still affecting me. Pretty sparse of details, maybe I'll put another entry about the same time with more actual stuff on.
Sunday 24 June 2007
Miami III, Florida City I
I'm alive, still, by the way; I haven't yet been killed, but not for lack of trying on the part of the mosquitos down here. I'm staying in the everglades hostel, florida city, which is south of miami and near the everglades (suprisingly) which is a reciepe for insect attack extreme. I just bought some nasty chemical spray, though, so should be alright.
The hostel is fantastic, again, lots of nice people etc musicians (a duo influenced mots by Ani Difranco - hooray) to play the guitars and drums in the lovely gazeboey (best word in this blog so far) thing outside, skydivers, and just down the road from ROBERT IS HERE, the greatest farm shop ever, filled with fruits i'd never heard of and still don't quite believe - dragon fruit?
The last day in Miami was spent examining the hopelessly trendy hordes skating by, then going to a jazz club with Luke the Australian. We saw a pretty odd act (a massive scatting-filled monster-bassy version of 'Fever' complete with some kind of scary erotic dancing) and had a drink - a bottle of beer for $6 - which scared us off until the main act came on -$6 for 6 beers in the supermarket across the street - then returned to dance to the excellent south american band now playing - we bought whiskey, which we figured would be cheaper, but actually cost $10 a go - an entire day's food budget, pretty much. Strong though and the next day travelling by bus, monorail, more bus and foot was pretty much hangover filled. It was worth it though as this is a good place for relaxing. Speaking of which...
The hostel is fantastic, again, lots of nice people etc musicians (a duo influenced mots by Ani Difranco - hooray) to play the guitars and drums in the lovely gazeboey (best word in this blog so far) thing outside, skydivers, and just down the road from ROBERT IS HERE, the greatest farm shop ever, filled with fruits i'd never heard of and still don't quite believe - dragon fruit?
The last day in Miami was spent examining the hopelessly trendy hordes skating by, then going to a jazz club with Luke the Australian. We saw a pretty odd act (a massive scatting-filled monster-bassy version of 'Fever' complete with some kind of scary erotic dancing) and had a drink - a bottle of beer for $6 - which scared us off until the main act came on -$6 for 6 beers in the supermarket across the street - then returned to dance to the excellent south american band now playing - we bought whiskey, which we figured would be cheaper, but actually cost $10 a go - an entire day's food budget, pretty much. Strong though and the next day travelling by bus, monorail, more bus and foot was pretty much hangover filled. It was worth it though as this is a good place for relaxing. Speaking of which...
Friday 22 June 2007
Miami II
Two posts in one day? You lucky scoundrels. But I'm in an internet cafe (I bought a radiohead cd earlier - I know I'm bad, but it was only released in America - and I'm putting it onto my mp3 player and 'm also looking up live music in Miami (near the new hostel I moved to this morning which is miles nicer and only worse than the other one by a single count - the beautiful playful kittens that lived at cockroach hostel), and, for reasons too tedious to explain, looking on wikipedia for the history of motorcycles. Really) so I thought I might as well.
I met some nice people (the classic way of meeting people and getting into conversation; they asked me how to pronouce 'tzatziki'. We were in a pita shop, I suppose. Naturally I set them straight) earlier called Mike and something possibly Kate I can't remember. They invited me to their house for a jewish celebration of some kind tonight. I think. Anyway, I'm awaiting a text message. And if I dissapear forever tonight, it's because Mike and maybe Kate kidnapped and ate me. Just so you know.
I met some nice people (the classic way of meeting people and getting into conversation; they asked me how to pronouce 'tzatziki'. We were in a pita shop, I suppose. Naturally I set them straight) earlier called Mike and something possibly Kate I can't remember. They invited me to their house for a jewish celebration of some kind tonight. I think. Anyway, I'm awaiting a text message. And if I dissapear forever tonight, it's because Mike and maybe Kate kidnapped and ate me. Just so you know.
Fort Lauderdale III, Miami I
I finally made a move. To bring you up to date on the last few days;
I went to the beach. I lay in the sun for about half an hour - my legs shone like pearls studded with the rubies of mosquito bites. I had 'sunblock' on, but pathetic english stuff is no match for mighty floridian sun, and after only 30 minutes some locals came and told me I looked like a lobster, so I retreated into the shade. I had a good time looking at the sky and the pretty beach.
Another day lazing around after that - Blondie gig on TV and a classic game of american football - American-style TV sloth is a part of the experience - I even ate some 'chips'.
Then I scored a lift down here to Miami with Uncy Mike, and returned to hostel-life. This hostel -The South Beach - is the deep end of the hostelling experience (im writing from the front parlour thing so I don't know how nasty I can be in case some of the staff see, but briefly it's dirty and cockroachy and loud and unfriendly and smeeellllyyy boohooo but cheeeaaap)
So I spent the morning walking down the beach here (turn a corner and see a massive postcard with white sand curving into flawless sky sided by a sea which is that shade of blue we all know to mean 'perfect for paddling and for swimming and for frolicking. FROLICK IN ME.'.
I didn't have my camara, but if I did, I would have taken photos of:
-my feet stepping out through inches of perfectly clear water.
-tiny greywhite fish that swam in even the shallowest waves around people's feet.
-topless sunbathers.
-naw, not that last one really.
Anyhow, you'll just have to look up Miami South Beach on the internet - it's pretty pretty though, but with a crazy violent diamond sun to threaten my neck. I'm checking out and moving to another hostel now - Adios.
I went to the beach. I lay in the sun for about half an hour - my legs shone like pearls studded with the rubies of mosquito bites. I had 'sunblock' on, but pathetic english stuff is no match for mighty floridian sun, and after only 30 minutes some locals came and told me I looked like a lobster, so I retreated into the shade. I had a good time looking at the sky and the pretty beach.
Another day lazing around after that - Blondie gig on TV and a classic game of american football - American-style TV sloth is a part of the experience - I even ate some 'chips'.
Then I scored a lift down here to Miami with Uncy Mike, and returned to hostel-life. This hostel -The South Beach - is the deep end of the hostelling experience (im writing from the front parlour thing so I don't know how nasty I can be in case some of the staff see, but briefly it's dirty and cockroachy and loud and unfriendly and smeeellllyyy boohooo but cheeeaaap)
So I spent the morning walking down the beach here (turn a corner and see a massive postcard with white sand curving into flawless sky sided by a sea which is that shade of blue we all know to mean 'perfect for paddling and for swimming and for frolicking. FROLICK IN ME.'.
I didn't have my camara, but if I did, I would have taken photos of:
-my feet stepping out through inches of perfectly clear water.
-tiny greywhite fish that swam in even the shallowest waves around people's feet.
-topless sunbathers.
-naw, not that last one really.
Anyhow, you'll just have to look up Miami South Beach on the internet - it's pretty pretty though, but with a crazy violent diamond sun to threaten my neck. I'm checking out and moving to another hostel now - Adios.
Tuesday 19 June 2007
Fort Lauderdale II
Yo um.
I've pretty much been relaxing amongst the glorious home comforts here. I must apologise to the great number of you who still harbour the illusion that I'm a hard bitten beatnik-bum travelling the highways and gutters of america.
17th I went for pizza on the beach, then got caught in the most enormous thunderstorm with lightning, which was accompanied by a fair amount of rain causing me (Me! An Englishman!) to take shelter in a bus-stop. Apparently I should have done that anyway because of the lightning, apparently, actually being a threat (apparently). Then I looked around the trendy area, saw the art musem closed for renovations and discovered, via the back roads on the way home, that Ft. Lauderdale is secretly like lots of other cities.
Yesterday I went for a swim.
I've pretty much been relaxing amongst the glorious home comforts here. I must apologise to the great number of you who still harbour the illusion that I'm a hard bitten beatnik-bum travelling the highways and gutters of america.
17th I went for pizza on the beach, then got caught in the most enormous thunderstorm with lightning, which was accompanied by a fair amount of rain causing me (Me! An Englishman!) to take shelter in a bus-stop. Apparently I should have done that anyway because of the lightning, apparently, actually being a threat (apparently). Then I looked around the trendy area, saw the art musem closed for renovations and discovered, via the back roads on the way home, that Ft. Lauderdale is secretly like lots of other cities.
Yesterday I went for a swim.
Saturday 16 June 2007
Thirty-Eight Thousand Words
the boat
My cabin on the boat - #1
My nailed down CD player
My tied down TV
My nightime view of liverpool docks.
Oil rig with fire!
My boaty bedroom
My boating bathroom
Alarming sign on my door.
The actual boat, from Philadelphia docks
My cabin on the boat - #1
My nailed down CD player
My tied down TV
My nightime view of liverpool docks.
Oil rig with fire!
My boaty bedroom
My boating bathroom
Alarming sign on my door.
The actual boat, from Philadelphia docksdc
My bed for the night all the beds were full
The view from said bed
Not the view from said bed
For a moment, I could see this in one direction...
...and this in the other
Tourism
etc
Dubious statement on WWII monument
The lake I boated and felt at homecharlotte, showing off
asheville
Miriam smoking something
My precious hard-won walk
atlanta
Same zen leaf with flash
and without
Where God (jesuslordoflordskingofkings) and I fell in love
Look at the people for Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid
I actually just wanted the abandoned baby shoe, but mother turned up
Flowers I liked
Friendly frog on bench
Crazy glass sculpture
Fat bird, reminded me of Sonic. Hello, Sonic.
Close geese
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