Las Vegas - Flagstaff - 20/1/13

Up at 8.30, out of the door ~10, on the road heading for the south rim of the Grand Canyon and then onto Flagstaff, Arizona.

We decided to travel down some of Route 66, just to say that we had, but it turned out that there wasn't much to see there apart from desert, desert. And some more desert, with a bit more desert thrown in for good measure. It was exceedingly beautiful, at least at first, but after a while the brain stops noticing things that don't change so much - and you do get used to it after a few hours of seeing nothing but the road stretching out in front of you in a straight line to the horizon with huge expanses of brown dirt and/or grass in every direction.

Route 66 is famous because it was one of the original trans-American highways and originally ran from Chicago due south before bending towards the west coast in the midwest and then pretty much arrow straight towards Los Angeles and the Pacific coast covering a total of 2,448 miles. Good ol' wikipedia.

We were hoping to see some of the old towns that used to be vibrant and no longer - so called Ghost Towns - but there was nothing completely derelict. This may seem a peverse wish, but there is something fascinating about it - there are a lost of great resources on the intertubes with superb photos of these ghost towns and simply looking at photos is really eerie. Actually being there would be something else! Some towns did seem half dead - as you drove through them there were many many buildings un-lived in and businesses closed, but there were still people living there at the other end of town; these tended to be Indian towns in the main (in reservation areas) and it was sad to see the living that some people were only just scratching out.

It was reasonably warm when we left Vegas (~14-16C), but the further and higher towards the GC that we traveled, the colder it became.

First stop was the Hoover Dam - an incredible structure that was almost overshadowed (in my mind) by the interstate bridge which was ginormous. The concrete support arches for the bridge were as wide as a car is long and about as thick. The Dam itself however, lived up to expectations. It had looked tiny from the air, but was fully 800-odd feet high, with either end in a different timezone as the site chosen was more or less on the border of Nevada and Arizona, the latter being in the amusingly (to my mind) named 'Mountain time' zone. The overflows of the dam were gigantic. Hard to describe the size of them - perhaps twice the length of a football field and as deep as a 30+ storey building. Looking down that famous curved face of it was great experience. Aware that time was pressing (and the up until now completely neglected time zone meaning we effectively 'lost' an hour), we jumped in the monster and zoomed up the highway.

We arrived at the GC national park at about 5pm, just as the sun was starting to sink to get some pictures and check out the monstrous gash in the planet's surface, although we definitely thought that it was a shame that we hadn't managed to get there earlier - even 30 minutes would have been better; however on the plus side to see the shadows cast across the ravines and the sun setting behind us lent the visuals something that we otherwise maybe wouldn't have seen. It was really *really* cold up there, snow and ice everywhere, especially when the wind blew hard. It went right through you - rather like when we get the wind from Siberia coming across the UK.

The cost of getting into the park was $25, and lasted for 7 days - shame we only had about 45 minutes before the sun set. It was just getting dark as we left the rim and to drive to Flagstaff. The roads were a little icy in places, and in one place in particular, the ice covered the road for a metre or so. This was a pretty weird experience, considering that a mere 3-4 hours previously had been driving across a baking desert.

We were both flagging badly at this point and didn't arrive at Flagstaff until around 8.30 - part of the reason for misjudging the time so badly was aforesaid timezone issue as well as the large detour that we made to the south rim of the GC.

We stayed in an local hostel, which was fine for the night at $44 for a private room. Pretty much crashed out as soon as we arrived and fell asleep shortly afterwards around 10.30.


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Santa Barbara - San Diego - 16/1/13

We were up by 8 to find that Arlene had set breakfast out for us. This was a delicious array of cereals, pastries, croissants and fruit. Drinks were fresh coffee, tea and fresh Californian oranges picked from her neighbour's garden. Neither of us had ever tasted orange juice like it - naturally sweet, orangey and fresh. Exactly how it should be. Southern Californians probably drink this all the time and look at you sideways if you admit to drinking concentrate - that's what I like to think anyway.

We chatted to Arlene for an hour or two about her life and adventures until a friend of hers called Larry arrived to help Arlene in the garden. Larry was of similar indeterminate age as Arlene, tanned, healthy etc. Clearly southern Californian life suited them both. Larry was telling us that he'd been watching a flock of Pelicans and a pod of Dolphins having a 'feeding frenzy' (his words) as a school of sardines were gradually reduced in numbers. Time was getting on and we were looking to leave, so we said our goodbyes, got ready and drove to the bay that Larry had said that the event was happening to see if it was still going on - Larry said that he'd never seen anything like it in all the 30 years that he'd lived in Santa Barbara. Unfortunately the sardines had managed to escape or had all been eaten by the time we'd arrived, but we got to see Santa Barbara which was a lovely looking town, but what do you expect when the rich and famous have holiday homes there? Would definitely be worth another visit!

About 12.30 we set off again on Highway 1 to San Diego. We drove through Malibu (predicatably posh) and then unfortunately hit Los Angeles about 2-2.30. The traffic was appalling. It was a good 2 1/2 hours (and 1 Taco Bell stop) later that we finally saw the back of LA. Which was nice. The plus side to this was that we ended up on Sunset beach just as the sun was setting - there's a reason they call it that.

Night seems to fall more quickly than you may expect on the west coast; as we left Orange County it had started to get dark and we finally arrived at Rebecca's house in San Diego at 7pm. Another 6 1/2 hours of driving and 219 miles.

B did all the driving that day and by the time we'd disembarked, her body and brain were more scrambled than usual. (She's just hit me).

Rebecca arrived home at 7.30 and she was lovely and friendly. She lives in an area of San Diego called Ocean Beach, only a short walk to the beach itself - so no car needed!

We were starving, so were advised of good Mexican food at a place called 'Rancho's'. Lovely, fresh, healthy and tasty. Can't beat fresh Guac!

On the way home, we stopped by at a liquor store and B was pleasantly surprised to find that they had cider (of the local kind), called 'Angry Orchard'. Not too sure what to think about the connotations of that name. A slow meander back up to Rebecca's house due to food and sat chatting with her and her friend Ory until around 11. Great end to the day.


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San Francisco - 14/1/13

From the Alacatraz boat looking back towards Fisherman's Wharf and the city

This morning we were up early (7.30) so that we could get the first boat to Alcatraz. That was amazing. Approaching it across the water was definitely foreboding. It was really interesting, with a superb audio tour to accompany you and guide you round. Fab views of SF bay and Golden Gate bridge. The whole place is just fascinating - especially with so much popular history and legend attached to it. Certain places inside the jailhouse were certainly eerie, particularly the solitary confinement cells; both of us had strange chills while standing in one, and I remember feeling relieved when I noticed that the barred doors had chains on them to keep them open. The audio tour mentioned above really enhanced the atmosphere, as it was narrated by ex-prison officers and reformed prisoners (after the experience of Alcatraz!), had recordings of interviews with inmates and also had background recordings of the cells doors shutting, of riots and clattering mugs as new prisoners were brought in. It also got pretty cold while standing outside on the bluffs - the wind really iced you up inside, and looking down at the rocks, and sea currents (which you could see in the patterns on the water's surface) really brought it home how desperate some prisoners must have felt to attempt the 1 1/2 mile swim to the shore. Some of the more poignant recordings of the cons were related to SF directly - saying that if the wind was in the right direction on big 'party days' (for instance New Year's eve) they could hear the sounds of merriment and voices. The recreation yard was fairly small although was probably a bit of a sun trap at certain times of the year, giving the prisoners some welcome respite from the cold, damp and draft of the prison itself; even inside the main block there seemed to be very little protection from the Bay winds, giving you the impression that it was a thoroughly miserable place to be and not just because your freedoms were suppressed. 

After lunch (at a restaurant called Scoma's) we hired 2 bikes to go from Fisherman's Wharf to the Golden Gate bridge itself, cycle across it and into Sausalito on the other side and get the ferry back. The ride was around 8 miles, completed in 2 hours or so. The winds whipping across the bridge made it slightly more taxing than both of us thought necessary but it was well worth it. Fantastic to actually be there and so close to such a world-renowned landmark, but sadly I imagine that your average San Franciscan barely sees it any more. People tend to tune out things that are familiar, but as a visitor, it really is impressive. Much longer than it looks too. As we came down the other side, we'd been told that it was all downhill to Sausalito. While this was true initially, it quickly became apparent that this was as big a fib as it was perhaps possible to be, making it necessary to go up a hill almost as large as the one on the other side to get to the bridge proper. Despite this, we made it to the ferry with 5 minutes to spare - otherwise would have had to have waited around another 90 minutes for the next one as well as missing an easy bike return. The sun was setting over the bridge on the ferry back which was absolutely glorious and profiling Alcatraz in shadow. You can see why people rave about SF bay. 

Another relatively minor point that San Franciscans perhaps don't notice any more, was the experience of travelling on their trams, confusingly called cable cars. (When I first heard this, I could have sworn I hadn't noticed any large towers suspending cables and it took me a while to associate that that's what they meant). This was great fun, and when busy, the drivers encouraged punters (i.e. B and I) to hang off the running boards holding on while it rattled and clanked up and down those famous hills. Not a health and safety officer in sight.

The lunch that day, incidentally, was distinctly average. As we've got further into the interior of the States, more and more we have been thinking that it was worse than average. A lunch we had a Denny's (on 21/1/12) on the road was better than that lunch, and at roughly a tenth of the cost. Scoma's, alternately christened Scummo's, Scammo's or Smuggo's, depending on the time of day and depth of feeling, has certainly been on the receiving end of some pretty strong language.