Freakin' Idiot

After leaving Las Vegas we visited Hoover Dam. Being too chatty to pay for an undercover park near the visitors centre we found free parking on the Arizonian side of the river, a little up the hill. We walked in the sun and heat partway across the engineering marvel, Kat complaining all the way. On we drove to charming Flagstaff to spend the night. The nearby university injects the otherwise stolid place with an appropriate amount of pseudo bohemian presence to give it a funky old-town complete with microbrewery, hostel, European coffee shop and boutique thrift stores. We made good use of Macey's coffeehouse and Vegan cafe in the evening then competed with the freight trains for sleep.



From flagstaff we visited the Grand Canyon. As I'm sure most people say, it was much, much bigger than I'd expected and a sight everyone should see in their lifetime. We were lucky enough to arrive on National Lands Day or something so the twenty five dollar entrance fee was waived. Tops.


We drove through Navajo country at sunset. Quite a few hours later we stopped for the night at Cedar City, a nondescript highway town in the middle of Mormon country.


Driving from Cedar City to Idaho Falls Kat made me take a hundred k sidestep from the I-15 to make a pilgrimage to Preston, the town made famous in Napoleon Dynamite. After driving around the town for a while we stopped at a Gas station to ask directions to the High School. "Oh, you mean the tether-ball scene? That movie was so long ago, we haven't been asked about that for ages." Kat was thrilled.


Highway 91 leads back to the I-15 and it seemed like a backroad, only used for local traffic. Everyone in America speeds and I was pushing it a little when we rose over a crest and I saw the white car facing me, radar a-blazing. Before I could even react to brake I glanced down at the speedo then to the rear mirror where I saw the car pull a u-turn and start the sheriff's blue 'n' red disco revue. I immediately pulled over and waited while he halted behind us and radioed our number plate in. Then I watched the young khaki cop stroll up to my window.

"How are you going?" Officer Husson asked friendly enough.
"Ok," I nervously reply while my mind churning.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"I think I was doing about five over the limit."
"You were doing seventy seven miles in a sixty five zone."
Silence
"Can I see some ID?"

He thankfully accepted my decaying drivers license that had been refused at two Californian bars and checked over the rego. He asked us a few questions about where we were going and where we had come from. Then he let us go with a warning. My heart rate drops and I breathe deep. Kat and I just look at each other and let out a nervous laugh as he returns to his vehicle. Too much paperwork I guess.

Sin City

Vegas was awesome. We had so much fun even though we only passed about five dollars through the one armed bandits. On our second day we walked downtown in the blistering heat. Downtown Vegas is pretty much the slum of the city. We passed many pawn shops, strip clubs and wedding chapels. Freemont st has some of the oldest casino's in town. The area was recently given an injection of life when they made the road pedestrian only and installed a curved roof, like an inverted half pipe. The roof is a shade giver during the day and lcd screen at night. We went back on our last night and caught a Queen show, which concluded with "We are the Champions" complete with pictures of everyday Americans superimposed over the Star-Spangled Banner.


We discovered the place to find cheap show tickets and decided to see Folies Beregere on our second night. It was a good introduction to the Vegas entertainment. Tacky and topless the girls pranced around the stage in sequins and feathers, eighties suits and hippie headbands. The show even came with a Chinese twins circus act and a comedy routine. It was eye candy almost in poor taste, objectifying and overstated; but if you let your guard down, lots of fun. Very Vegas.

The next morning I managed to secure cheap seats for Cirque du Soleil's Mystere. This show couldn't have been further from the previous night's entertainment. Mystere was captivating and astounding. The costuming and movements organic. The show opened up my imagination and stirred a fascination for the obtuse world that's out there.

Vegas simply has to be seen to be appreciated. It is an amazing place. It is non stop and consumerist and lacking grace but oh so much fun. I almost hate to admit that. You can smoke anywhere you want and walk outside the casino or bar down the street with your two dollar, unimpeded. And it all runs twenty four hours a day. It will take a few weeks for my dilated eyes to return to normal.

Ensenada to Vegas

Mexican road safety is second to none. Driving back to Ensenada we again passed the military checkpoint. We were much more at ease this time. It almost felt routine to to exit the vehicle and let a young soldier ruffle around. We took the Mex 1D North, the "scenic" toll road this time. It offered some fantastic coastal views but we had to pass through four toll booths. At least the road had two lanes, a crash barrier and a shoulder, features that were missing from the Mex 1 we took on the way south.


On the way we decided to take a detour to visit an isolated fishing village whose name escapes me. Parker endured twenty seven k's on one of the worst dirt roads I have ever driven on. The result, we got to see some cows lounging in the sand and a Mexican family swimming in the lagoon. Even the grocery store was shut or closed down (its difficult to tell sometimes) so I couldn't get a beer to ease my nerves for the shaky ride back.


Returned to practically civil Ensenada and hungry, I wandered to the fish market where you find a kaleidoscopic array of tiny colourful taquerias, each with a woman yelling at you to eat. Order your fish tacos for a dollars each, wait as they are cooked in front of you and slop in condiments offered in a line glass jars and wash it all down with a Corona. Many of these taquerias have only space for four people to sit at eat at the bar. Later that evening Kat and I went to Hussongs Catina, a classic bar in Ensenada. It was packed but we managed to find some room to sit at the bar. Mariachi Bands play amongst the crowd, amplified. Occasionally someone will stand sing a song with them. Drinks are cheap, there is no air conditioning and the clientele is eclectic and you can smoke inside. This place delivered the goods, the kind of cantina I had been looking for all over Mexico. And I wasn't even afraid for my life.

Intending to let leave Mexico the next morning, we continued north on the Scenic highway, driving through the clusterfuck of Tijuana into Highway 2, to Tecate. Tecate is about thirty minutes east of TJ and the wait times at the US boarder are far shorter. We wandered into the plazza and I drank a beer on the shady outside tables while roaming trios entertained with Mexican ballads. We were so impressed with the town that we decided to stay the night and cross the boarder the next morning. I made the mistake of eating a bean taco at the Taqueria de Los amigos, which compared poorly to the fish maket in Ensenada. Then a few hours later my bowls put in there own two cents of complaint. We took at room at the best hotel in town, which was still pretty much a piece of shit. The hot water didn't work, then the toilet blocked up. When I complained the guy at the front desk just gave me a plunger. I hated Mexico.

We crossed the boarder the next morning without any hassle. It feels so good to back in America. You don't have to double think everything you put in your body and look twice at the people around you. Driving through the surreal Mojave dessert gave us time to clear out minds before we hit Las Vegas. The roads are straight and fast, some stretches are so long I could get through a third of a CD without turning the wheel. What a day. The contrast of Mexico to the bright plastic lights of Vegas was astounding. They compare like Kraft Mac and Cheese dinner to a fine pasta cabonara, though I'm not sure which it which. We found The Stratosphere, our hotel, and checked in. We got our first taste of the strip that night, walking under the electric moon through crowds of polo shirts and flip flops. We played carnie games in the Circus Circus casino ala Fear and Loathing sans hallucinagetics. We even won three stuffed toys that Kat plans to give to her Kats.

Ensenada

We left Tijuana the next day and drove south, settling at Ensenada for the night. Motel America, a typical, old American styled motel offers rooms for only thirty dollars one block from the tourist strip of Ensenada. After depositing Kat on the bed, cranking the fan in the non air conditioned rooms, I went to el supermercado to buy some supplies for dinner. After cooking and dolling out the pasta I realised that eating the Caesar salad earlier in the day probably wasn't the best idea as I rushed for the motel toilet. The next twenty four hours consisted of me lying in bed clutching my twisting intestines then moving to the toilet every so often when I got bored of that. Woo Hoo. I love Mexico.

I awoke feverish the next morning and was still regularly running for the bathroom. I managed only to go for a short walk in the afternoon. There I visited the pharmacy who gave me some medicine. By the next morning Montezuma's revenge had stopped but my guts still felt like a knife was occasionally being twisted in them. We saw a little more of Ensenada, and got our tourist Cards from the department of immigration. We were supposed to get them at the US/Mexican border but crossing it was so easy we were in downtown Tijuana before we even saw where to stop to get them.


The tourist district of Ensenada has more pharmacies per block than it knows what to do with. Yes, the hawkers are again outside the pharmacies trying to lure you in. The number of pharmacies equals bars and taco stands, and that's saying something. And the one drug they all advertise more than any other is Viagra. They actually have Viagra Man, who promotes the drug.



We checked out of Hotel America the next day and attempted to drive south. But I had somehow managed to lock the car keys in the boot, after I had unlocked the car doors. Fuck. There is no way to open the boot from the inside and there is no access portal from the back seat. Fuck. Think, think. I left Kat in the car and walked to a Taxi rank and found a driver who could habla ingleis. He drove me to a locksmith and explained my predicament. I caught a lift back to the hotel with the Locksmith. He took one look at the car and said one word, "difficult". The only way he could get in was to tear out the back seat, undo some bolts, knock out some carpeting then start blindly reaching around with his arm. Slowly our boot was being emptied from the dog-door sized hole he had created. Kat asked if she could have a look and the little champion found the keys in about thirty seconds. Tops. Good ending I reckon.

Somewhere down Mex 1 highway we saw some signs saying '(something we cant read) stop in 1500 meters'. Then came these painted wooden cutouts on the side of the road of military men with guns a blazing. Next was the sign in English reading "this is a routine military checkpoint". From where I'm from a routine military checkpoint doesn't include a bunch of eighteen year old guys holding assault rifles in full combat gear watching you while another dude rummages through your car, but this is Mexico. I wish I had some pictures but a voice in the back of my mind went something like this, "camera's make people nervous, pointing an SLR at a man with a gun and authority to use it like I'm some sort of journo might make him nervous. Do I want to make the military nervous? No". So we stepped out of the vehicle like we were told and tried to answer the questions in Spanish and English. After they had poked around they simply let us go on our way.



El Rosario is A tiny village nestled in a bend on the Mex 1 highway. We took a room at the Baja Cactus for thirty five dollars. It was luxurious. This kind of room would cost hundreds in the US or Australia. In the car-park I met a man, Tim, who lives in Los Cabos, on the southern tip of Baja California. He has driven across the peninsula fifty four times. Talking to him I discovered that his father was a famous builder in Santa Barbara. His fathers house was somewhat of a magnet for celebrities at the time and Tim was friends with David Cosby. He once had a conversation with Neil Young. For those of you unfamiliar with Neil 'Shakey' Young's character I'll try to explain why this is a big deal. David Cosby himself came up to Tim later that night after the conversation and said, "That's weird, you were talking with Neil, Neil never talks to anybody". It's coincidental because that day I got an email from The Captain saying he had secured Kat and I Neil Young tickets for when he tours Sydney (thanks fella).

We ate at the only, yet supposedly famous (Steve McQueen used to eat there), restaurant in town, Mama Espinoasa's. The food was crap. The only thing Kat could eat was a Vegetable soup (watery cabbage and carrot dishwater). We went to pay the bill and discovered we didn't have enough pesos. And there wasn't an ATM in town. The closest was in San Quintin about an hour away back the way we had come. Great. I managed to scrape just enough together from the change in my car and an American dollar bill to pay for dinner. Completely cashless we decided to start heading north in the morning.

Tijuana

Tijuana is wild. We navigated to our chosen hotel, Spanish phrases prepared, but the man behind the counter spoke English. We reserved our room for the night and ate our first real Mexican food in the attached restaurant. The waitresses didn't speak any English so much fun was had ordering. We were hungry and the food was simple but good. Our entertainment was provided by a group of men who walked down the street with a tethered blimp sporting the name of the hotel and the weekday rate. They raised the thing as we were eating and we had no fear of losing the place after that. We could see the blimp from all over the city.

Wandering downtown we noticed, as expected, that Kat is quite the head turner. There aren't so many pale, red-haired girls wandering the streets.

Ave Revoloution is the tourist artery of downtown TJ. Hawkers stand outside every store, restaurant and bar demanding your entry. "Hey Amigo, It's so cheap it's almost free". "Come inside friend, buy your lady some silver". "Two for the price of one Margaritas, and I'll give you free tequila all day". Ok, that one got my attention. We wandered through a seedy concrete bunker, an empty late night dance-hall, and up a flight of stairs to the balcony above, where we ordered. A few minutes later there came a tray with four margaritas and two shots of tequila, a little container of lime and some salt packets. The drinks were weak, I suspect the Tequila watered town but the view was pleasent and we were out of the sun, so no one was complaining. Here we found out that we had arrived on the eve of a public holiday, Día de Independencia (independence day). The bartender assured me that the party would begin at midnight tonight and continue into the next day. Even on the balcony of the bar we were not escaped from people trying to sell us jewelry and flowers. A stern no gracias sent all but the most invasive seller wandering away.

Later that evening we left the air conditioned sanctuary of the hotel room to look for dinner. Somehow found ourselves at a sketchy looking diner, devoid of people with framed pictures of Marilyn Monroe all over the walls. The place looked like it belonged in a Tarrantino film, what was I thinking? Kat eventually explained that she was a vegan (no leche, no queso, no mantequilla) and we waited while they got our drinks, I suspect from a nearby grocery store judging by how long they took to arrive. Kat went to use their bathroom and came back with a horrified look on her face. I'll spare you the details except to say that the bathroom belonged in an sickening indie film. We managed to eat a only a little of the food before Kat felt ill and we fled the place. We were kept up most of the night by cars driving around, honking their horns, patriotic Mexicans hanging out the windows with massive flags.



Next morning we checked out of our hotel and I walked us to the cultural center, a concrete sphere. I'm still not sure why. The taxi's in Tijuana honk their horns as they pass gringos, indicating they are free and want a fare. That and you get attacked by the pastel yellow shirt army on the street, with their taxi's parked nearby, asking if you need a ride. But do you think we could find a taxi back into town? No, we had to walk for around fifteen minutes before finding one. We asked to be taken to Caesars, the birthplace of the original Caesar salad back in 1924. We ordered a few drinks and watched the waiter make the dressing from scratch, beside our table.

Here I am enjoying the salad.


Here is Kat enjoying smoking in a restaurant.


Viva Mexico.

Baja Bound

CC put us up for two days. We had a great time sharing her mini mansion with her son, mother and three corgis (Mica, Liam and Rio). CC showed us around Capistrano Beach, OC. With her we visited our first Spanish Mission, San Juan Capistrano. It was fascinating. The remains of these missions dot the Californian coast, all one days horse ride from each other. She took us to lunch at a restaurant overlooking Laguna Beach. I took my first west coast swim in the afternoon and we ate supper with her son at his favorite sushi restaurant where they serve Coke in bowls.

We left the next morning for San Diego where we had a quiet night wandering around the harbour, seeing from the shore many old ships and a US aircraft carrier. We spent the night in a private room in a funky downtown hostel. It had no windows and was stifling.

Today, Mexico. I had the sense to get an oil change done on Parker in Chula Vista. The mechanic also changed the air filter, it was filthy. I had visions of us being stranded in the middle of the desert and decided upon preventative maintenance. As the miles counted down to the Mexico we were a little nervous as anyone is when crossing an international border. But out Lonely Planet guide was right, entering Mexico was no harder than navigating a fast food drive through. In fact, it was easier. We didn't even stop. Before we knew what didn't hit us we were in the Zona Norte, Tijuana, dodging taxis and pedestrians, trying to find a hotel. Driving is an experience in itself, the road rules in TJ are a little looser than in the US.

Santa Monica Carpark

LA was fun. We arrived in South Venice mid afternoon, skipping the freeways. Instead we traveled along the coast road again, Highway 1. We were trying to meet up with my friend Anna who has an apartment she is restoring on Venice beach. Unfortunately I couldn't find her (I might have forgotten what apartment she was in, but there were only four. I found out later that she opened the upstairs door in response to my yelling but didn't see me so she closed it again). We had nowhere to stay so I started calling hostels in my outdated Lonely Planet guide. I found us a room at the Orbit Hostel, Hollywood and asked them to hold the room. Hollywood is only 14 miles (23k) from Venice but as we didn't have a map we decided to take Santa Monica blvd as it was the only way we knew. Lonely planet provides maps of Venice and Hollywood and Santa Monica Blvd appears on both of them so we thought we couldn't go wrong. The only problem was the Santa Monica Blvd turns into a parking lot during rush hour. So it took us two hours to crawl the 14 miles to get there. By the time we arrived they had given away the room (it was their only one left). Kat was ready to spontaneously combust but I wouldn't let her talk to the woman in reception. The worker suggested that there were rooms available at the Beverly Inn, only a few blocks away and she would call and reserve one. I thanked her and we drove to the new hotel. Kat let her mouth run unimpeded on the walk back to the car and the short drive; I wisely let her vent (hell, she wasn't pissed at me for a change). It turns out the new room was the same price, was larger, had air con, and wasn't in a hostel. So miss 'give away our room' inadvertently did us a favor. I didn't press the point on Kat though.

We went vintage clothes shopping on Melrose Blvd in the morning and drove down to meet Anna for lunch. The engagement was interesting...I'll leave it at that. We left Venice and drove around aimlessly until we found the 405 highway and drove down to the OC where we were meeting one of Kat's friends, CC for a place to crash.

Golden Alternator

We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge again, this time skipping downtown and joining highway 1 to leave the city. Our intended destination, Big Sur. Soon after leaving San Francisco I noticed that the Buick's volt gauge was down from its usual solid seventeen volts. It kept yo-yoing all over the shop, red lights blinking on the dash like an a epileptic Amsterdam entrance. I optimistically thought it might be an instrument problem, but then the power windows stopped working. We were driving by the foggy cliffs of Big Sur, the stereo shut off to conserve power and hoping for a garage. It was six pm and things were a little tense. I found a garage in Cambria and fearing Parker wouldn't start in the morning I checked us into The Bluebird without shutting off the engine then drove back to the shop and parked it there.

Nine AM the next morning I walked to the garaged and chatted to the attendant with a name patch and a Mexican accent. He told me that a mechanic would take a look at it within the next few hours. I was right, the alternator needed replacing. A new part had to come from a nearby town. Even so were back on the road by three.

We drove for a few hours to Santa Barbara arriving near sunset for dinner and to check out the town. We decided to stay and bunked up in a cheap hotel just outside of downtown. We went exploring again in the morning then left for LA.

Sausalito Fog

Farewell San Fransisco. After my day of recovery I got back on the horse with Rob and Kat for a Japanese dinner at Sushi Ran. We ate at the bar with running commentary by Christian, a bartender. Rob, our couchsurfing host has been coming here for thirteen years and is known by all the staff. We ended up drinking two kinds of sake, unfiltered nigori and top shelf Onikaroshi Black. The food was excellent. Rob was generous beyond comment and picked up the bill. At the bar we met another Sushi Ran regular, friend of Rob and owner of The Plant recording studio. We were promised a tour the next day. Then it was back to the home theatre for port and an Australian film featuring a young Russel Crowe titled Proof.

We left for The Plant in the morning and were lucky enough to arrived during down time. We were given a tour of studio's A and B, the later virtually untouched since the seventies. It features psychedelic tapestries and mirrors on its walls and a beautiful old Neve console. Fleetwood Mack, The Grateful Dead, Stevie Wonder, Dave Matthews, Little Feat, Metallica and New Riders of the Purple Sage have all recorded there.


Rob lent me his GPS to wander around with. It's Fun.

We Boarded the Ferry to San Fransisco soon after, floating past Alcatraz, and arrived at the wharf around midday. I dragged Kat to the Frida Kahlo retrospective at The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and she actually enjoyed it.

This is a street performer/artist who works near the Sausalito Ferry Wharf. He balances stones without any glue or support.

Sausalito Wine

Yesterday I woke with one of my top-ten all-time greatest hangovers. I put five calls through to Rodger on the big white telephone before before managing to down a bottle of Jamaican ginger ale and a bagel.

At around 4pm the the 5th we drove over the Golden Gate bridge and into San Francisco. I was a little nervous as I always am when driving into a big foreign city. We found our hotel then walked to Chinatown for dinner. The next morning we set off down Lombard to see the crookedest street in the world. Next stop was Fisherman's Wharf where we went to Hooters, as I'd never been and Kat is a fan, for elevensees. Peir 39 at Fisherman's Wharf is populated with a horde of loud, stinking Sea Lions. Watching them was fascinating and reminiscent of any episode of Big Brother. The afternoon was spent vintage shopping in the Haight/Ashbury area. We even visited a house where the Grateful Dead lived in their early years.



We crossed the Golden Gate bridge again to Sausalito where we met Rob, our Couchsurfing host on his way to the party next door. We settled in to our room, showered, then joined the party. The soiree was an annual bash held by a wine merchant. I drank some of the best wines I think I ever will including a 1975 bordello and a 1979 pinot but I don't think a single bottle drank was worth under eighty dollars. Although it was a wine party there was no pretension, only connoisseurs imbibing until the cops turned up at 3am. I know this is an exclusive neighbourhood but there were only four of us drinking on the porch, no music.

I paid for it the next day.

20' Dance floor

We took the old road down the coast. Us highway 101. After about a one hundred k bum steer from Dedvidas we arrived on the coast...north of Portland. We spent most of the day driving through poor towns, full of character but obviously drained by the Interstate 5. Camp was set a few miles north of Florence. We made it to the Oregon sand dunes for a sunset over the Pacific.


Early the next day we hit the hazy Californian coast, the 101 offering spectacular coastal views. An argument started over Ben Folds culminated in Kat punching me in the mouth and a few minutes later pouring half a can of coke over me. Oh the bliss. After a change at a rest stop, girl tears and hugs we were back on the road. We drove along the Redwood Highway through, obviously, Redwood forests. We stopped in the Prairie Creek National Park for a short walk. These ancient beasts of trees demand a kind of quiet respect from their spectators. Their limbs would classify as trees in the own right in most people books. We had a conversation with a giant lumberjack at the 'Trees of Mystery'. In typical American fashion they were asking fourteen dollars to view 'their' particular Redwoods and for a ride on a gondola. They didn't seem to find it ironic to use a man with a axe as their mascot.

Bollywood Dreams

Farewell Portland, today we leave for the coast. What a time we have had. We have been staying with Devidas, a friend we met on couchsurfing. He owns a McMansion in a classy suburb of Portland. The neighborhood is the type you see in a model railroad. Everything is perfect, so immaculate you wonder if people actually live here. I made sure to park on street this time. As soon as we arrived Devidas offered us real chai tea and asked if we had already eaten. He is from Bombay and proceded to make us a vegan cauliflower curry and dahl effortlessly and from memory with the kind of attention I would pay to making a grilled cheese sandwich. No curry powder or measuring here, just pinches of spice from his stainless steel container and a feel that defines cultures. I hesitate to say it cannot be learned but it would require many years of steeping to obtain that kind of intuition.

We spent the next day wandering through the Alberta district past organic coffe shops, vintage boutiques and music stores. Later we went to the Lucky Labradoor Brewing Co. intending to drink with the cousurfing community who meet weekly for 'Tightwad Tuesdays'. Two pints later they are nowhere to be found. It turns out there are three Lucky Labs in Portland, and I was in the wrong one. Not that I was overly concerned, we were really just wasting time till Devidas got back from work. Back at the estate we all sat to watch Guru together. It was my first Bollywood film and I can honestly say I thougherly enjoyed it. I also enjoyed the six pack of pint sized cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon I got at the grocery on the way for only $4.57.