San Francisco, 7/6-2004

Hello all

 

    If I remember correctly (and I do! I know since I checked my outbox), I wrote you last before going to Grand Canyon.

 

    Grand Canyon… What can I say. It’s pretty big, it’s pretty hot and it’s very impressive but it’s very hard to describe it in a way that explains why it is so mind boggling. After all there are other canyons crisscrossing the deserts, and this is just one of many, although it’s larger. Perhaps the most impressive bit is when you look at the puny little river running through the canyon at the very bottom, and it strikes you that this little thing shaped the entire landscape around you. Then you realize just how long time it must have taken, carrying away all those little bits of stone, dust, and mud while digging into the rock. The hikes are not that strenuous in themselves, but the heat does make it a harder climb. We chose a trail that was mostly in the shade, a choice my bald head was grateful for, and still we consumed a great deal of water. Unfortunately we were unable to rent horses that day, but we made up for that in Zion National Park.

 

    Zion is smaller that Grand Canyon, but no less beautiful, and there were less tourists. Determined not to be thwarted in our horse riding aspirations, we made straight for the coral and booked a guided tour. I was given a mighty steed, a king among horses, named “Buttercup”... Certain envious and petty minded individuals whispered among themselves that this magnificent beast had a dubious ancestry and that one of his parents had indeed been a donkey, making Buttercup a mule… Obviously this rumor had no truth to it whatsoever, it was a MIGHTY horse (so what if he had big ears), one that Clint Eastwood himself would have been proud to ride! Anyways, the Zion experience was in many ways equal to that of Grand Canyon. Zion is smaller, but more intimate and more actively changing. There were warnings everywhere telling people not to start rockslides, and we heard stories of a rockslide a few years back that washed the road away, stranding the people in the canyon who had to be flown out. Nothing quite that dramatic happened while we were there, but the park if definitely worth a visit. Having thus experienced the natural wonders of the desert, we went to pay the man-made wonders a visit.

 

    Viva Las Vegas! Damn… Vegas is not of this world… In fact I’m reasonably sure that when the UFOs crashed in Roswell, the American government offered the surviving aliens sanctuary on earth and gave them a patch of land in the Nevada desert. First of all it is hot, hot, HOT!!! This is a desert for crying out loud! Who builds a city in a desert?!? Second, it is spectacular. I won’t go so far as to call it beautiful since most of the lavish casinos are unbelievably cheesy, but it is certainly unique. We stayed at Hotel New Frontier on The Strip™. They were most generous at their roulette tables and found it in their hearts to give me a tidy sum in dollars, as well as a free night in the hotel at a later date of my choosing. I hope I will get a chance to use it ;) Apart from the temperature, the neon extravaganza and the free money, the thing I will remember most when thinking back to Vegas is the card boys. On every corner you see 3-5 young men (kids many of them), slapping decks of cards against their hands in a sort of pseudo rhythm. Then whenever a guy walks past, they attempt to give you as many of these card as possible (bypassing women are carefully ignored). The cards are advertisements for the many strip clubs and feature pictures of the dancers in the different establishments. This gets old very rapidly, and you quickly learn to send the card boys an I-do-not-want-your-damn-cards-look whenever you approach a corner.

 

    Leaving the intolerable heat of the desert we headed west once more, into California. Destination: Los Angeles. And what a change it was. The temperature was still high, but the breeze from the Pacific was soothing and the pace of life much less hectic than in Vegas. It seems like a city where it is easy to spend weeks, but as it was we had only a couple of days and so settled for a shopping spree down Venice Beach and 3rd street, followed by a tour of Universal Studios (A lot more interesting that it sounds). Sadly, this was the end of Henrik and Marlene’s vacation, they went home Friday, and are, as far as I have heard, back in Denmark working hard once again ;)

 

     This left me to my own devises once more, and since I now have a car to myself I was able to start saving some money on living expenses. I figure that as long as I’m not in the big cities, there’s really no reason for me to spend money on accommodations. I sleep fine in the back seat of the car, although I have to bend myself in strange and unnatural ways to stretch my legs. I spent one more day in LA after the others left, thinking I’d like a day to just do nothing and soak up the sun on the beach. This was all well and good, and I was contemplating another such day when I woke up to a thick fog and a chill wind. Having recently adopted a life philosophy of always walking in the sun, this was unacceptable, so I checked out and headed north in search of better weather. And sure enough, it got warmer...

 

    Looking at the map I had resolved to go to San Francisco via the “Pacific Coast Highway” (PCH). This is a scenic route that runs parallel to the coast, unlike its evil brother the Interstate Highway, a 6 lanes super highway, racing through the land at 75 mph. As some of you know I have, through bitter experience, learned to distrust the word “scenic” whenever it appears in a map manufactured in the USA, but I still thought the PCH might be worth the 2 or 3 hours that it would add to my travel time. I was thus driving along the road, quite content with the fact that the fog seemed to be behind me, and even more content when I noticed I was driving into the sunset. Then three thoughts occurred to me in rapid succession.

 

  1. Hmm, that’s a nice sunset…

  2. Hmm, it’s only 4 PM…

  3. Hmm, why am I the only car on the road? 

 

    It was then I realized that this particular sunset occurred in the north, rather than the more traditional west… and it came complete with an ever expanding smoke cloud. As the more attentive of you have gathered I was driving into a bush fire, a fact that the roadblock a mile further on soon conveyed to me as well. The traffic was being directed back the way I had come, and I a little later I learned from the radio, that the road to which we were being re-routed was jammed. I wasn’t unduly worried however as I figured that if I pulled over by the road side and waited a couple of hours, the much celebrated firefighters would take care of the flames and have the road open in no time, especially since they had help from no less than two helicopters, and one airplane, spraying the fire with water from the Pacific. Unfortunately the national guardsmen, who arrived shortly, were less than impressed with my cavalier attitude towards the flames and so they kindly offered to escort me and my vehicle back to the designated detour. Shoot! As it turned out the fire was not as easily put out as I had imagined. In fact the highway was still closed down for miles when I woke up next morning, and I had no choice but to take the blasted detour and attempt to pick up the trail on the other side of this most inconvenient bushfire.

 

    Finally finding the right route, I started my drive down the scenic route. This stretch of road from LA to San Francisco is one that might be traveled in 4-5 hours. It took me 3 days! This is without a doubt the most fascinating stretch of road I have ever had the fortune to drive. One spectacular view after another display the Pacific Ocean at its best. In the beginning, sandy beaches, where there was nothing to do, but stop and take a swim in the cold, refreshing waves. Later, trails heading away from the highway, and into the hillside, rewarding the hikers with panoramic views of the Pacific, but also of the heavily forested valleys of Southern California. And finally, the sharp cliff-faces of the Big Sur, replacing the sandy beaches with a rugged shoreline and accompanied by huge crashing waves punishing the coastline and, according to several guidebooks, sometimes washing away the highway itself. I stopped everywhere I found something even remotely interesting, drove until the sun set (in the west), and then started out again early next morning after a morning shower in the Pacific. One could get used to this.

 

    On a side note let me just say this. The Pacific Ocean is grossly misnamed! It is not pacifist at all… Apparently the surfers come here for a reason. Reason being that that the waves can be quite calm, allowing for easy access to the water, but then every 5 or ten minutes a MOTHERF***** of a wave will come crashing in, and sweep away anything in its past. Like someone enjoying a morning shower and not being entirely awake yet for instance… After being beaten up like that, there’s noting left to do but skulk away from the scene with a bruised ego and bend ribs while the local BASTARDS snicker from the safe distance of the beaches…

 

    ANYWAYS, I made it to San Francisco this evening and will spend a couple of days here before heading north once more. SF certainly has more sights to see than can be managed in two days, but I plan on returning here later and so I can afford to take my time. The hostel is placed centrally, and the city thus far agrees with me, though I was slightly startled when two prostitutes who STRONGLY resembled women greeted me with suspiciously dark voices and an offer of a special tour… I’m pretty sure at least one of them was named Bob or something like that, and I’m sorry but I’m just not that open-minded…

 

    Hope you all remain well and I apologize in advance for my long-winded letters,

 

Martin