My classes started on Thursday and so far they've been a very mixed bag. My first ever American lecture felt much more like a sixth form class than a lecture - there are only 35 people in the class and the lecturer expects us to constantly ask questions. It was an introductory lecture and so I learnt nothing besides the syllabus. The first thing he actually taught us was that the plural of syllabus was not syllabi because putting an "i" on the end of a word to pluralise it was a Latin thing and syllabus was originally Greek, and this was a Religious Studies class. Another interesting but largely useless fact to add to my collection.
My second lecture was no where near as fun as my first, instead of learning irrelevent facts I was learning Arabic (which you could argue for most people is irrelevent) and they went straight into it, no introductory lecture. I walked in on time but the class had already started and there were no seats left, in fact several people were already standing up. I had to stand too close to the board and at a bad angle so I could see very little of what he was writing, and I was expected to copy it. Again it was more like a class than a lecture, he asked us all random questions and so we were expected to be on the ball all the time, no chance for a sneaky nap in this class. I actually learnt how to daydream first in French class, but I must fight the impulse in Arabic. I'm used to finding classes quite easy and this blows me away, it is so difficult, but it is good to really struggle at times and so I shall persevere. Incidently having done some of the homework (all lectures have given me homework already) I can now spell and pronounce my first word - door, which I'm sure will prove really useful. "Shut that baab!"
Yesterday I had what I would describe as my first real lecture, Introduction to Cultural Anthroplogy, with 900 other students! I got in a few minutes early (I'm learning quickly that spaces fill up fast and lectures start early) to a v.large and fairly packed lecture theatre. I actually heard someone complain that all the seats at the front are taken! I'm used to hearing the opposite. I found a seat fairly easily next to some freshman girl who seemed adverse to any form of conversation, but a lot of other people weren't as lucky as I was and had to spend quite a while walking around looking in vain for a single seat by itself and if they found one they had to squeeze past lots of people to get there. I felt particularly sorry for one guy who clearly had problems socialising (you can often just tell by how they look - how they hold themselves, the clothes they where, etc, this guy had a really bad mullet which is saying something) and it took him ages to find a seat, but at least he got one, not everyone was so lucky. The lecture started with a clip of Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street which is usually a good omen, however not in this case, it was a really tedious introductory lecture and I was surrounded by freshmen and felt old (which incedently made a nice change - being under 21 I'm constantly made to feel young). I was very glad to get out of there. Hopefully it will improve soon.
After all that hardwork some extracurricular activities were in order and at a boring coffee afternoon with other international students I got invited to a birthday party and how could I refuse? But I didn't go straight to the party, I went to an amateur improvisation comedy club first, it was really funny, after an hour and a half of comedy that included a guy appearing from between some poor girls legs, horror stories from a political rally and racoons the show ended and I went to the party.
None of my close friends were there when I arrived and I ended up talking to an Aussie bloke for ages, I'd met him a few times before and knew he was a nice guy but somehow he morphed in front of my eyes into a hot nice guy, which is always appreciated and I'm pleased to say (particularly to my concerned gran) that it wasn't alcohol making that happen, I only had a single beer. The party ended when the host decided she wanted to go down to DP (the main party street) and crash a party so we were kicked out of the apartment. Oz and I ended up going with a big group to DP but felt awkward about the crashing, so we ended up walking down to the beach (I love living so close to the ocean!) and paddling before stargazing. It is concerning that Oz, who was brought up in the southern hemisphere was able to recognise constellations that I couldn't. I think I need to do some more stargazing, preferably with a book to guide me. Eventually we wandered back to mine, arranged to meet again the next day and said goodbye. Somehow it was 1.30am, last thing I knew it was 11pm.
After not getting nearly enough sleep I awoke at the bright and early time of 9am and got ready to go cycling in the mountains with Oz. Having just got a bike (with gears!) I was dying to try it out and Oz happens to be a keen cyclist. When we got to the foothills I quickly realised that my gears were useless, the hills weren't that steep but it was really hard work. I'm used to having a cog that goes lower than my new bike and it was nightmareish. There was Oz with his flash mountain bike showing off and there I was red in the face and struggling for breath, which was attractive! Our map was fairly useless, it was free and so there were ads covering the mountains. The first road we tried turned out to be a dead end at the foothills, but going down I learned a valuable lesson about my bike - the breaks were too loose. I jammed my breaks on full but the bike would not stop so I yelled "shit!shit!shit!shit!" in an attempt to warn Oz but he didn't understand what I was saying and it was only when the road went uphill slightly and I came to a halt that he understood and was able to tell me exactly what was wrong, which was useful but did not fix them.
We decided to go on up the mountains regardless and eventually found the right path but I gave up pushed my bike fairly quickly - I felt it was better than being sick. We didn't make it even that close to the real mountains but found a beautiful view, sat down and chatted. It was really nice, and once again time elapsed very quickly. I was not overly excited to get back on the bikes and return when we decided to, more because I was saddle sore than anything else, I need a new saddle if I intend to do anymore real cycling. When we eventually got back to his to have lunch I was very grateful to disembark.
I had planned to do lots of homework, but I'm too tired after the ride and so have been wasting away the rest of my afternoon on the internet. Arabic can always wait another day.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
American morning chatshows - a hotbed of right-wing views?
When I've just woken up of a morning my brain function is minimal and my sociability level even lower so instead of attempting to make polite conversation with my flat mates I put on the TV and after a failed search for any news I give up and watch one of the many morning chat shows that are on American cable.
This morning after being rudely awoken by an overly loud dustbin lorry I gave up any further hopes of sleeping and ate breakfast with the TV on, what I found kind of shocked me. At about 8am they were discussing the use of taser guns (just in case you don't know a taser gun fires something like 50,000 volts of electricity at someone) and the atypical dumb blonde presenter was entirely defending their use, despite the fact that someone very high up in Amnesty International was telling her that he knew of at least 270 taser related deaths and about 3 that have conclusive coroners reports that prove the tasers killed people. The blonde even replied, "How many times have they been used? Over 700,000? Well its not that high a risk," dear God woman people have been killed - doesn't matter what the percentage is the risk is there!
Even worse that this was the case of a student getting tasered for asking a few too many questions at a political rally - he isn't being violent but the police go in to arrest him anyway, when he understandably resists arrest and the 19 police officers around fail to be able to cuff him they taser him. It was widely covered on the news and you can actually hear his screams of pain. Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCBcOQkUNjI to see one of the news reports. Dumb blonde continues to support the use of tasers even after they feature two women who have been affected by them - one who was mistakenly identified as a suspect and tasered 3 times another whose brother dies after being tasered 9 times. And yet dumb blonde continues with her opinion and helpfully comments, "well its better than being shot."
As well as Amnesty guy and dumb blonde there was also a male presenter who was wisely taking the middle ground, the inventor (who just happened to be wearing a stars and stripes tie) and a police trainer. The inventor, trainer and blonde failed to realise that force is not necessary in arresting people, that there are far better ways to do it. They also failed to accept that 5000 volts going through someones body is getting to leave some sort of damage, how could it not? As you can tell this rather riled my liberal feathers.
A few days previously I had seen a TV advert (in the morning) that was anti-immigration that blamed all of California's problems (lack of schools, too many cars, overcrowding, etc) on immigration - which basically boils down to Mexicans. What they failed to mention was that Mexicans do all the jobs that Californians do not want to do - cleaning, waitressing, bus driving, taxi drivers, bin men and any other job you can think of that does not require qualifications. There is a very big Mexican population in Southern California, on the bus most signs and adverts are translated into Spanish and Mexican restaurants are everywhere, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. If you fancy making your blood boil go to http://www.cap-s.org/newsroom/recent_advertising.html and watch the cute child spout right wing propaganda.
Seeing as whilst I am on a non-immigrant visa I may as well be an immigrant I'll have to keep a look out for locals with pitchforks (and possibly taser guns!) and keep an eye on the police because I am a student who likes to ask awkward questions and we know they don't like them.
This morning after being rudely awoken by an overly loud dustbin lorry I gave up any further hopes of sleeping and ate breakfast with the TV on, what I found kind of shocked me. At about 8am they were discussing the use of taser guns (just in case you don't know a taser gun fires something like 50,000 volts of electricity at someone) and the atypical dumb blonde presenter was entirely defending their use, despite the fact that someone very high up in Amnesty International was telling her that he knew of at least 270 taser related deaths and about 3 that have conclusive coroners reports that prove the tasers killed people. The blonde even replied, "How many times have they been used? Over 700,000? Well its not that high a risk," dear God woman people have been killed - doesn't matter what the percentage is the risk is there!
Even worse that this was the case of a student getting tasered for asking a few too many questions at a political rally - he isn't being violent but the police go in to arrest him anyway, when he understandably resists arrest and the 19 police officers around fail to be able to cuff him they taser him. It was widely covered on the news and you can actually hear his screams of pain. Go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCBcOQkUNjI to see one of the news reports. Dumb blonde continues to support the use of tasers even after they feature two women who have been affected by them - one who was mistakenly identified as a suspect and tasered 3 times another whose brother dies after being tasered 9 times. And yet dumb blonde continues with her opinion and helpfully comments, "well its better than being shot."
As well as Amnesty guy and dumb blonde there was also a male presenter who was wisely taking the middle ground, the inventor (who just happened to be wearing a stars and stripes tie) and a police trainer. The inventor, trainer and blonde failed to realise that force is not necessary in arresting people, that there are far better ways to do it. They also failed to accept that 5000 volts going through someones body is getting to leave some sort of damage, how could it not? As you can tell this rather riled my liberal feathers.
A few days previously I had seen a TV advert (in the morning) that was anti-immigration that blamed all of California's problems (lack of schools, too many cars, overcrowding, etc) on immigration - which basically boils down to Mexicans. What they failed to mention was that Mexicans do all the jobs that Californians do not want to do - cleaning, waitressing, bus driving, taxi drivers, bin men and any other job you can think of that does not require qualifications. There is a very big Mexican population in Southern California, on the bus most signs and adverts are translated into Spanish and Mexican restaurants are everywhere, but this is not necessarily a bad thing. If you fancy making your blood boil go to http://www.cap-s.org/newsroom/recent_advertising.html and watch the cute child spout right wing propaganda.
Seeing as whilst I am on a non-immigrant visa I may as well be an immigrant I'll have to keep a look out for locals with pitchforks (and possibly taser guns!) and keep an eye on the police because I am a student who likes to ask awkward questions and we know they don't like them.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Do Alpha Chi Omega!"
Perhaps against my better judgement (and certainly my bank balance) I signed up for sorority Rush (Recruitment) week. I was compelled to do so by a mixture of Anthropological curiosity for the very American stereotypical oddity, an idea that there are religious sororities that I could join to do my dissertation on and boredom. So I signed up and paid the $50 which I thought might at least get me a reasonable amount of food (but oh no, all I got was a very small BBQ burger and a tote bag - the money really goes on hotel rooms for the over 50 girls who've disaffiliated themselves from their sororities so they can help us find the right sorority for us, apparently this means they can't go home - bloody ridiculous). As you can tell I'm now having second thoughts but the thrifty side of me wants to get as much use out of that $50 as possible.
The week started at 10am with a "Meet and Greek" (yes the puns are that bad) where big groups of girls who presumably went to high school together chatted whilst those who knew no one walked around uncomfortably looking for others in the same situation to chat with. Eventually we made it into a big lecture theatre where we were informed of the rules for this week (the more ridiculous ones included not taking anything from sorority house - including napkins -, no alcohol to be consumed for the entire week, and no talking to any fraternity boys) and shown a crap video highlighting all these ("America's next top potential new member" - they copied America's Next Top Model). I have already broken these rules, but I'll leave you to decide which of the heinous crimes it was.
After this we went to have a BBQ that somehow lacked an actual BBQ - the food had been delivered in metal trays. There were some guys DJing (were they frat boys - did someone already break their own ridiculous rules?) and little burgers bun about half the size they should be with pieces of pork instead of actual burgers. Two Aussie girls that I apparently know (I met far too many people last week and my memory is crap) came up and said hi to me and an American girl I was hanging around with, and so we passed a little time before quickly disappearing.
That was not enough for one day as far as the sororities were concerned - they wanted to take up our evening as well. We met up again at 6.30 and were given our tote bags (which are quite cute - if only they didn't say "Be you. Be Greek." on them. We were put into groups of about 10 and given a recruitment counsellor to guide us through the week. We went to 4 sorority houses yesterday night and they were all very scary. To intimidate us they made us stand outside for a good 15 minutes prior to letting us in and it was a cold night with some of the potential new members (such a long winded name) wearing only shorts and a top. After our recruitment counsellors showed us the house's "burst" which is a little song and dance telling us how wonderful the sorority is (one of the lines was really "Do Alpha Chi Omega!" - which to me sounds rude) that really just scared me. Some of our contingent (mainly the ex-cheerleaders) loved it though.
Worse was to come. When the doors finally opened we were greeted with a highly choreographed greeting routine that would not have looked out of place in the Sound of Music. All the girls had big false grins and were stood on the steps of the stairs in matching outfits (either a bright white miniskirt or hotpants and white shoes with their sororities coloured t-shirt). It was sick making, particularly when the president and recruitment chair greeted us by finishing off each others sentence. They shook our hands as we walked in in two lines and were introduced to someone who was basically interviewed us. They led us off into a room (I was taken to the date room - yes that's right, they have a whole room dedicated to keeping their dates comfortable when they keep them waiting) and we sat down had had a nice chat with someone wearing far too much makeup. After a while one of the people who had been walking around like a teacher on a power trip (standing straight up, hand behind back) touched the person I was chatting to, kneeled down next to us and took over from the original interrogator. After a few switch arounds about 20 minutes after we had come in a little bell was tinkled and the interrogators led us out. This happened in a very similar fashion in almost every house. We had to write our name on little bits of paper and give them interrogator number 1 who was bound to mark on them whether we'd be allowed in or not.
Thankfully as I didn't give two hoots about whether I'd get in or not the whole thing was a lot less nerve wracking for me than in was for others, they were getting really quite scared. I tried talking to the other recruits in my group, but didn't really get anywhere and soon enough they were all paired up except me, which is another reason that I'm really unsure about going back.
One of the major reasons why I'm 99% sure that I won't be joining is the cost, make sure you're sitting down when you read this because it is ridiculous - the lowest cost sorority per quarter (term) for a new member is $700 and the highest is $1220. What do they spend the money on I hear you cry - well from the looks of it interior decoration (all the rooms that I saw looked v.expensive - marble floors for instance) and hired help - Gardner's (they have the best grass in the whole of the area), cleaners and last but by no means least chefs (yes some sororities have their own personal chefs)! I didn't see a Butler, but one wouldn't be surprised.
I am meant to be seeing the six remaining houses today but don't know if I can stomach it or not, but this is my only opportunity to really find out what goes on is sororities. It starts in 45 minutes time - will I be there? Who knows...?
The week started at 10am with a "Meet and Greek" (yes the puns are that bad) where big groups of girls who presumably went to high school together chatted whilst those who knew no one walked around uncomfortably looking for others in the same situation to chat with. Eventually we made it into a big lecture theatre where we were informed of the rules for this week (the more ridiculous ones included not taking anything from sorority house - including napkins -, no alcohol to be consumed for the entire week, and no talking to any fraternity boys) and shown a crap video highlighting all these ("America's next top potential new member" - they copied America's Next Top Model). I have already broken these rules, but I'll leave you to decide which of the heinous crimes it was.
After this we went to have a BBQ that somehow lacked an actual BBQ - the food had been delivered in metal trays. There were some guys DJing (were they frat boys - did someone already break their own ridiculous rules?) and little burgers bun about half the size they should be with pieces of pork instead of actual burgers. Two Aussie girls that I apparently know (I met far too many people last week and my memory is crap) came up and said hi to me and an American girl I was hanging around with, and so we passed a little time before quickly disappearing.
That was not enough for one day as far as the sororities were concerned - they wanted to take up our evening as well. We met up again at 6.30 and were given our tote bags (which are quite cute - if only they didn't say "Be you. Be Greek." on them. We were put into groups of about 10 and given a recruitment counsellor to guide us through the week. We went to 4 sorority houses yesterday night and they were all very scary. To intimidate us they made us stand outside for a good 15 minutes prior to letting us in and it was a cold night with some of the potential new members (such a long winded name) wearing only shorts and a top. After our recruitment counsellors showed us the house's "burst" which is a little song and dance telling us how wonderful the sorority is (one of the lines was really "Do Alpha Chi Omega!" - which to me sounds rude) that really just scared me. Some of our contingent (mainly the ex-cheerleaders) loved it though.
Worse was to come. When the doors finally opened we were greeted with a highly choreographed greeting routine that would not have looked out of place in the Sound of Music. All the girls had big false grins and were stood on the steps of the stairs in matching outfits (either a bright white miniskirt or hotpants and white shoes with their sororities coloured t-shirt). It was sick making, particularly when the president and recruitment chair greeted us by finishing off each others sentence. They shook our hands as we walked in in two lines and were introduced to someone who was basically interviewed us. They led us off into a room (I was taken to the date room - yes that's right, they have a whole room dedicated to keeping their dates comfortable when they keep them waiting) and we sat down had had a nice chat with someone wearing far too much makeup. After a while one of the people who had been walking around like a teacher on a power trip (standing straight up, hand behind back) touched the person I was chatting to, kneeled down next to us and took over from the original interrogator. After a few switch arounds about 20 minutes after we had come in a little bell was tinkled and the interrogators led us out. This happened in a very similar fashion in almost every house. We had to write our name on little bits of paper and give them interrogator number 1 who was bound to mark on them whether we'd be allowed in or not.
Thankfully as I didn't give two hoots about whether I'd get in or not the whole thing was a lot less nerve wracking for me than in was for others, they were getting really quite scared. I tried talking to the other recruits in my group, but didn't really get anywhere and soon enough they were all paired up except me, which is another reason that I'm really unsure about going back.
One of the major reasons why I'm 99% sure that I won't be joining is the cost, make sure you're sitting down when you read this because it is ridiculous - the lowest cost sorority per quarter (term) for a new member is $700 and the highest is $1220. What do they spend the money on I hear you cry - well from the looks of it interior decoration (all the rooms that I saw looked v.expensive - marble floors for instance) and hired help - Gardner's (they have the best grass in the whole of the area), cleaners and last but by no means least chefs (yes some sororities have their own personal chefs)! I didn't see a Butler, but one wouldn't be surprised.
I am meant to be seeing the six remaining houses today but don't know if I can stomach it or not, but this is my only opportunity to really find out what goes on is sororities. It starts in 45 minutes time - will I be there? Who knows...?
Friday, September 21, 2007
How to host an excellent party for new international students
1. Meet up with someother new international students and have a few beers.
2. Chat about how boring the introduction days are going to be.
3. Jokingly discuss how good a social lubricant alcohol is.
4. Drunken brainwave - "Let's hold a party!"
5. Volunteer to hold it at your place without even considering the implications.
6. On the day of the induction (and party) write down the details of the party (not forgetting the all important "Bring beer" line) lots of times and go around inviting too many people.
7. Discover that everyone you're inviting already knows about the party and realise that it is going to be very big and your apartment is small.
8. At lunchbreak persuade a few burly male friends to help you move anything breakable out of the living areas and push all furniture back as far as possible.
9. Look around at your handiwork and optomistically think that the apartment can fit far more people than previously expected.
10. In the afternoon session of the tedious introduction sit through a talk from the police about how they deal with parties.
11. Realise that you are holding an illegal party in your house and consider whether it is possible to call things off.
12. Cancelling is impossible so party must continue despite the pessimistic murmurings of flatmate.
13. Inform your flatmate that you will take full responsibility for everything (gulp!) as it was your (bad) idea. Find someone over 21 who is willing to pretend they live there should any policeman ask. Promise to drink very little.
14. Clean house, tidy away any breakable item, sort out the music (a mixture of international music ranging from Korean hip-hop to Mexican dance) and buy some alcohol to start the party off. Enlist a small group of helpers who are bound to get too drunk to take any responsibility or do anything you ask.
15. Put signs up around the place informing people that should the police ask Salvador lives there (if there are lots of people who don't know the host the police view the apartment as a public place, where it is illegal to have parties - if most people know the host then it is a private party as far as the police are concerned).
16. Pray that the cops don't come.
17. Greet your guests that come slowly at first but before long fill your apartment.
18. Suddenly discover that the party has become so full that it is continuing outside. Which is most definately illegal and highlights that there is a party going on (that happens to have a lot of under 21s at it).
19. Try to get people inside.
20. Fail.
21. See the police drive past once.
22. Twice.
23. Three times.
24. Crap. They know that there is a party going on. Try harder to get everyone in and inform them of the police's new found knowledge.
25. Ask your friend to tell people and then return outside to push people in.
26. Hear a yell from inside followed by a strange silence.
27. Look inside to find your friend standing on a chair telling the masses about the police situation.
28. The party goes on regardless, the music (which couldn't be heard over the talking anyway) gets turned off.
29. Get slightly stressed. A criminal record would not be the best way to start a new school year.
30. Go outside again to encourage people to go in. Fail but end up talking to a nice scottish bloke who reassures you that there are bigger parties happening elsewhere.
31. Feel more relaxed, go in for a drink and come across someone opening a $50 bottle of Moet and Chandon. Introduce yourself to Champagne guy (English - who else could be so sophisticated?) and get a glass of pure heaven. Feel even happier.
32. Start to enjoy the party more.
33. A few people leave and there is suddenly space to breathe and it becomes slightly cooler (60 people in a fairly small room with a window that can't be opened for fear of noise levels and no air conditioning does not make for a comfortable temperature).
34. Talk to some very drunk people.
35. The party quickly gets smaller and before you know it the only people who are left are about 7 brits and an Irish guy left. Feel proud at the staying power of your nation.
36. Discover that The Shins are playing in Santa Barbara next week and invite yourself along with them.
37. Help yourself to a few well deserved beers.
38. When everyone has left realise you are now quite drunk but try and help your friends to tidy up the empties anyway.
39. Fall into a dunken sleep the moment your head its the bed.
40. Inspect the damage the next day and discover beer split on the floor, v.dirty floors, bottles evrywhere and your flatmate vacumming.
41. Groan and begin the clean up safe in the knowledge that everyone had a great time and you're now the most popular girl of the international students!
2. Chat about how boring the introduction days are going to be.
3. Jokingly discuss how good a social lubricant alcohol is.
4. Drunken brainwave - "Let's hold a party!"
5. Volunteer to hold it at your place without even considering the implications.
6. On the day of the induction (and party) write down the details of the party (not forgetting the all important "Bring beer" line) lots of times and go around inviting too many people.
7. Discover that everyone you're inviting already knows about the party and realise that it is going to be very big and your apartment is small.
8. At lunchbreak persuade a few burly male friends to help you move anything breakable out of the living areas and push all furniture back as far as possible.
9. Look around at your handiwork and optomistically think that the apartment can fit far more people than previously expected.
10. In the afternoon session of the tedious introduction sit through a talk from the police about how they deal with parties.
11. Realise that you are holding an illegal party in your house and consider whether it is possible to call things off.
12. Cancelling is impossible so party must continue despite the pessimistic murmurings of flatmate.
13. Inform your flatmate that you will take full responsibility for everything (gulp!) as it was your (bad) idea. Find someone over 21 who is willing to pretend they live there should any policeman ask. Promise to drink very little.
14. Clean house, tidy away any breakable item, sort out the music (a mixture of international music ranging from Korean hip-hop to Mexican dance) and buy some alcohol to start the party off. Enlist a small group of helpers who are bound to get too drunk to take any responsibility or do anything you ask.
15. Put signs up around the place informing people that should the police ask Salvador lives there (if there are lots of people who don't know the host the police view the apartment as a public place, where it is illegal to have parties - if most people know the host then it is a private party as far as the police are concerned).
16. Pray that the cops don't come.
17. Greet your guests that come slowly at first but before long fill your apartment.
18. Suddenly discover that the party has become so full that it is continuing outside. Which is most definately illegal and highlights that there is a party going on (that happens to have a lot of under 21s at it).
19. Try to get people inside.
20. Fail.
21. See the police drive past once.
22. Twice.
23. Three times.
24. Crap. They know that there is a party going on. Try harder to get everyone in and inform them of the police's new found knowledge.
25. Ask your friend to tell people and then return outside to push people in.
26. Hear a yell from inside followed by a strange silence.
27. Look inside to find your friend standing on a chair telling the masses about the police situation.
28. The party goes on regardless, the music (which couldn't be heard over the talking anyway) gets turned off.
29. Get slightly stressed. A criminal record would not be the best way to start a new school year.
30. Go outside again to encourage people to go in. Fail but end up talking to a nice scottish bloke who reassures you that there are bigger parties happening elsewhere.
31. Feel more relaxed, go in for a drink and come across someone opening a $50 bottle of Moet and Chandon. Introduce yourself to Champagne guy (English - who else could be so sophisticated?) and get a glass of pure heaven. Feel even happier.
32. Start to enjoy the party more.
33. A few people leave and there is suddenly space to breathe and it becomes slightly cooler (60 people in a fairly small room with a window that can't be opened for fear of noise levels and no air conditioning does not make for a comfortable temperature).
34. Talk to some very drunk people.
35. The party quickly gets smaller and before you know it the only people who are left are about 7 brits and an Irish guy left. Feel proud at the staying power of your nation.
36. Discover that The Shins are playing in Santa Barbara next week and invite yourself along with them.
37. Help yourself to a few well deserved beers.
38. When everyone has left realise you are now quite drunk but try and help your friends to tidy up the empties anyway.
39. Fall into a dunken sleep the moment your head its the bed.
40. Inspect the damage the next day and discover beer split on the floor, v.dirty floors, bottles evrywhere and your flatmate vacumming.
41. Groan and begin the clean up safe in the knowledge that everyone had a great time and you're now the most popular girl of the international students!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
San Diego, the Grand Canyon with a Mexican and Japanese twist
Since writing last I've been on a five day trip to San Diego and the Grand Canyon with Claudia (who I mentioned last time) and Hanayo (another exchange student, this time from Japan). At first things were a little bit difficult, although there English was good it took them a little while to get used to me (I must learn to speak slower!) and there were lots of words I used but by the end of the trip their English had improved loads and we had gotten to know each other really well. Its great having another cultures viewpoint on things, you learn lots of strange things (the Japanese have a different counting system for different things - the way they count birds is quite different to the way they count pencils).
We first went to San Diego because Hanayo wanted to go, we had left the organisation till very late but managed to get beds in what a good friend of mine described as a party hostel where an awful lot of drinking goes on, so we thought we'd be right at home! It was also just off the beach. We spent the later part of the afternoon body boarding and then watched the sunset before heading off to buy alcohol (the most important part of the early evening). The three of us quickly got through a bottle of red before a guy came round wanting to see who would put $7 down for a share of a beer keg (which you can buy in supermarkets!), by this time I was just drunk enough to agree quickly (the other 2 declined just as quickly!). The keg arrived an hour later and the drinking games began in earnest started off by the traditional game of flip cup followed by a nation vs nation beer pong tournament. Thankfully there were already 2 other Brits because I'm crap, was already quite drunk and would let my country down, so I was a cheerleader.
When I eventually stumbled into bed I found the large room pitch black with a single central light and my stuff spread all over my bed. Trying to sort that out whilst sober is difficult enough, imagine trying to do it inebriated. I couldn't find my sheet and was very grateful that I happened to have a sleeping bag with me because it was surprisingly cold. Naturally I woke up the next day with a slight hangover, but was proud to be able to send a postcard to my friend half jokingly, half proudly blaming her for my hangover.
I recovered quickly and once we had checked out we decided to leave our bags in the lockers at the Greyhound bus station and then go on to the Old Town area of San Diego. We quickly realised that Old Town is understood entirely differently in American English to how it is understood in British English. I would assume that the buildings themselves would be old, but oh no, this is America - nothing is old. Old Town does rest upon the oldest part of town, but it consists entirely of replicas of the original buildings, it is one fat tourist trap. They proudly claim that there is over 800 years of history on this site, that Native Americans once inhabited it, but that is all they can tell you about them, ask anything more and the tour guide looks blank. We took a tour (complete with actors in original clothing - Hollywood rejects), went to a dull museum about stagecoaches, checked out the overpriced shops full of Mexican tat ("In Mexico things would be a third of these prices!" cried Claudia) and ate an overpriced Mexican meal (we were starving). The Old Town was keen to stress their Mexican heritage, just not the Native American part.
We then wondered around Gaslamp quarter (v.pretty and at night bustling with people and street performers) and the harbour area before falling tired into cinema seats. After a bit of shopping we headed back to the bus station and caught our overnight bus to Flagstaff, Arizona.
During the trip we had to stop at an immigration check point (we were only a few miles from Mexico) and were told that if we weren't American citizens we should get our papers out. I got really concerned, I had left my visa and passport at home thinking them far too valuable and unnecessary to bring. I hastily got out my provisional drivers license and my UCSB student card and hoped they wouldn't kick me out of the country (Hanayo was fast asleep and blissfully ignorant of all the goings on). When the officials boarded the bus they told us to get documents out and then repeated it in Spanish, they walked quickly down the bus asking anyone who looked Mexican for their papers (which they all had) - except thankfully Claudia, who despite looking Mexican was ignored and so we were allowed to stay due to government over site.
We eventually got into Flagstaff (the nearest town to the Grand Canyon - a mere 80 miles away!) just before lunch and made our way to the tourist information centre. We had assumed that we'd be able to get hold of a camping spot easily and the bus to the Grand Canyon would have plenty of space. After many phone calls I was proved wrong on both counts. We had no way of getting there (besides hitching) and no where to stay when we were there. Eventually we discovered we could hire a car and planned to drive it up that day and sleep in it overnight. Again this proved to be too easy and we were told we had to get it the next morning so we spent the night in a local hostel (a really cool 1920s motel just off of Route 66!).
Knowing that food would be expensive in the Grand Canyon we set off for the nearest supermarket about a mile down the road and set off for supplies. We ended up buying 2 x 2.5 gallon containers of water because the bumpf we'd been given about the Grand Canyon encouraged people to drink as much as possible. Setting off we quickly realised they were far too heavy to carry and so decided to hitch hike. Fairly soon a man and a woman in a pick up truck picked us up and we got to hitch hike down Route 66 in the back of a truck. It was so cool! Definitely something to drunkenly boast about!
During our afternoon it rained and I mean really rained, as bad as it has done in England over the last summer. I had mistakenly believed that Arizona would be all dry desert, but apparently not, we were 7000ft up in the mountains and they had monsoons every summer. I thought monsoons belonged to the area around India, but apparently not. Being English I didn't mind the rain too much and happily jumped in the large puddles that had formed.
The next morning we packed up and went to breakfast, we were all set for hiring our car when we started chatting to a couple who were about to head off to the Grand Canyon and come back that evening, out of the blue they offered us a lift and so instead of hiring the car and sleeping in it overnight we booked and extra night at the hostel and piled into the back of their tiny car. They were lovely and refused to let us pay for either some off the gas or the park entrance fee ($25 per car), so we ended up getting to and from the Grand Canyon for nothing.
When we drove down I was expecting to see the lush mountainous forest landscape change into a desert and the pine trees did get smaller and it got a bit drier but the desert wilderness I had been expecting never appeared, instead the Grand Canyon is in the middle of a forest, it just suddenly appears, this great abyss. We spent our morning and early afternoon walking around the rim taking lots of photos and marvelling at the remarkably varied landscape. Later we went to a talk about the geology (as the ranger put it - "its all down to DUDE!", a wonderfully patronising acronym for the stages of the creation of the Canyon) before realising we were knackered and getting some food.
After recovering slightly from the ridiculously tiring walk we went souvenir shopping, somehow I managed to resist buying the Grand Canyon coasters that fit inside most cup holders in vehicles (what more could you want?) but did buy a postcard and native American ghost beads - meant to protect against bad dreams, a good addition I feel to my religious paraphernalia collection. Later on I also brought a book on the lives of native American women which had proved to be fascinating.
After our little spending spree we went to a talk that "Ranger Bob" (what a great name!) put on just prior to sunset about how the Grand Canyon has inspired people throughout the ages. He had poetry, paintings, music and short readings. He got really into the music and he stood there hugging his little portable hi-fi chest puffed out, eyes closed and lips pursed. He got people to do some of the readings (good thing too - he rushes through poetry and removes most of the beauty of it) and I volunteered. Apparently I was really good and I was asked to do it again later on and later people came up to me and told me I was good and should do it for a living! I was surprised to say the least, but it could be a good little earner and I am living near Hollywood. For doing the readings he gave everyone a fake tattoo that said the "Grand Canyon" and had a picture of the California Condor on it. I got 2 and gave Hanayo one. We decided to place them in tacky "sexy" places just to bewilder people and so I had mine on my lower back, just above my bottom (where lots of people have those horrible Celtic style tattoos) and Hanayo had hers on her leg. Unfortunately I spotted no surprised looking pervy old men.
Anyway back to the sunset - when Ranger Bob had finally stopped massacring poetry we got to sit, watch and take photos of the sunset, it was beautiful. Strangely you could actually see more of the canyon when the sun had set that when it was up. After this we met up with the couple who had given us the lift and we piled in the car again. By the time we had gotten into the car (no more that 45 minutes after sunset) it was pitch black and I was grateful that we weren't spending the night in the car.
On the way back I could see some amazing stars, they were so big and there was so many, it was stunning. If Claudia had been driving I'd have asked her to pull over and would have gotten out but all I could do was look through the glass. When we got back to Flagstaff we discovered that the stars were prominent here too so went for a walk to a place with fewer lights and looked up. I swear we could see the milky was, there were a couple of slightly lighter patched in the sky, almost like thin clouds, but not. I'm fairly sure they were made up of distant stars. It was stunning. The stars seemed so close that the constellations were too big to recognise easily. I now really want to go camping in the middle of nowhere and star gaze properly.
After getting a lot of sleep we woke up refreshed and did a bit of exploration of downtown flagstaff which turned out to be a cool spiritual place. They seem to be very proud of their native American heritage and there were lots of shops selling native American wares. There are also apparently Shamans on top of the nearest mountain who prevent anyone from climbing it and cast spells over the area, Hanayo loved this idea and couldn't find out enough about them.
Soon enough it was time to leave, but when we got to the bus station we were informed that the bus was running over an hour late so we went to a nearby fast food restaurant (if they really deserve that definition!), had some lunch and whiled away our time. Hanayo taught us some Japanese and showed us how to write our names. We were by far the liveliest people in a place otherwise full of unhappy, overweight people.
The bus seemed to take forever, we finally reached our apartments at 7am. I met my flat mate Lieke for the first time when I had to ring the doorbell because I didn't think I had the key for the security latch (turned out it was the same one as the normal key). Thankfully she is jet lagged and was awake anyway. I was getting quite concerned about the introduction, she wasn't aware that I was arriving so early and might think she was being burgled or something. In the end it was a congenial meeting that quickly involved tea. She seems nice.
And so Claudia, Hanayo and my adventure ended as quickly as it had started. Tomorrow there is the introduction for international students which will inevitably prove to be unbelievably boring, but will at least be a chance to meet new people and afterwards I'm hosting a party!
We first went to San Diego because Hanayo wanted to go, we had left the organisation till very late but managed to get beds in what a good friend of mine described as a party hostel where an awful lot of drinking goes on, so we thought we'd be right at home! It was also just off the beach. We spent the later part of the afternoon body boarding and then watched the sunset before heading off to buy alcohol (the most important part of the early evening). The three of us quickly got through a bottle of red before a guy came round wanting to see who would put $7 down for a share of a beer keg (which you can buy in supermarkets!), by this time I was just drunk enough to agree quickly (the other 2 declined just as quickly!). The keg arrived an hour later and the drinking games began in earnest started off by the traditional game of flip cup followed by a nation vs nation beer pong tournament. Thankfully there were already 2 other Brits because I'm crap, was already quite drunk and would let my country down, so I was a cheerleader.
When I eventually stumbled into bed I found the large room pitch black with a single central light and my stuff spread all over my bed. Trying to sort that out whilst sober is difficult enough, imagine trying to do it inebriated. I couldn't find my sheet and was very grateful that I happened to have a sleeping bag with me because it was surprisingly cold. Naturally I woke up the next day with a slight hangover, but was proud to be able to send a postcard to my friend half jokingly, half proudly blaming her for my hangover.
I recovered quickly and once we had checked out we decided to leave our bags in the lockers at the Greyhound bus station and then go on to the Old Town area of San Diego. We quickly realised that Old Town is understood entirely differently in American English to how it is understood in British English. I would assume that the buildings themselves would be old, but oh no, this is America - nothing is old. Old Town does rest upon the oldest part of town, but it consists entirely of replicas of the original buildings, it is one fat tourist trap. They proudly claim that there is over 800 years of history on this site, that Native Americans once inhabited it, but that is all they can tell you about them, ask anything more and the tour guide looks blank. We took a tour (complete with actors in original clothing - Hollywood rejects), went to a dull museum about stagecoaches, checked out the overpriced shops full of Mexican tat ("In Mexico things would be a third of these prices!" cried Claudia) and ate an overpriced Mexican meal (we were starving). The Old Town was keen to stress their Mexican heritage, just not the Native American part.
We then wondered around Gaslamp quarter (v.pretty and at night bustling with people and street performers) and the harbour area before falling tired into cinema seats. After a bit of shopping we headed back to the bus station and caught our overnight bus to Flagstaff, Arizona.
During the trip we had to stop at an immigration check point (we were only a few miles from Mexico) and were told that if we weren't American citizens we should get our papers out. I got really concerned, I had left my visa and passport at home thinking them far too valuable and unnecessary to bring. I hastily got out my provisional drivers license and my UCSB student card and hoped they wouldn't kick me out of the country (Hanayo was fast asleep and blissfully ignorant of all the goings on). When the officials boarded the bus they told us to get documents out and then repeated it in Spanish, they walked quickly down the bus asking anyone who looked Mexican for their papers (which they all had) - except thankfully Claudia, who despite looking Mexican was ignored and so we were allowed to stay due to government over site.
We eventually got into Flagstaff (the nearest town to the Grand Canyon - a mere 80 miles away!) just before lunch and made our way to the tourist information centre. We had assumed that we'd be able to get hold of a camping spot easily and the bus to the Grand Canyon would have plenty of space. After many phone calls I was proved wrong on both counts. We had no way of getting there (besides hitching) and no where to stay when we were there. Eventually we discovered we could hire a car and planned to drive it up that day and sleep in it overnight. Again this proved to be too easy and we were told we had to get it the next morning so we spent the night in a local hostel (a really cool 1920s motel just off of Route 66!).
Knowing that food would be expensive in the Grand Canyon we set off for the nearest supermarket about a mile down the road and set off for supplies. We ended up buying 2 x 2.5 gallon containers of water because the bumpf we'd been given about the Grand Canyon encouraged people to drink as much as possible. Setting off we quickly realised they were far too heavy to carry and so decided to hitch hike. Fairly soon a man and a woman in a pick up truck picked us up and we got to hitch hike down Route 66 in the back of a truck. It was so cool! Definitely something to drunkenly boast about!
During our afternoon it rained and I mean really rained, as bad as it has done in England over the last summer. I had mistakenly believed that Arizona would be all dry desert, but apparently not, we were 7000ft up in the mountains and they had monsoons every summer. I thought monsoons belonged to the area around India, but apparently not. Being English I didn't mind the rain too much and happily jumped in the large puddles that had formed.
The next morning we packed up and went to breakfast, we were all set for hiring our car when we started chatting to a couple who were about to head off to the Grand Canyon and come back that evening, out of the blue they offered us a lift and so instead of hiring the car and sleeping in it overnight we booked and extra night at the hostel and piled into the back of their tiny car. They were lovely and refused to let us pay for either some off the gas or the park entrance fee ($25 per car), so we ended up getting to and from the Grand Canyon for nothing.
When we drove down I was expecting to see the lush mountainous forest landscape change into a desert and the pine trees did get smaller and it got a bit drier but the desert wilderness I had been expecting never appeared, instead the Grand Canyon is in the middle of a forest, it just suddenly appears, this great abyss. We spent our morning and early afternoon walking around the rim taking lots of photos and marvelling at the remarkably varied landscape. Later we went to a talk about the geology (as the ranger put it - "its all down to DUDE!", a wonderfully patronising acronym for the stages of the creation of the Canyon) before realising we were knackered and getting some food.
After recovering slightly from the ridiculously tiring walk we went souvenir shopping, somehow I managed to resist buying the Grand Canyon coasters that fit inside most cup holders in vehicles (what more could you want?) but did buy a postcard and native American ghost beads - meant to protect against bad dreams, a good addition I feel to my religious paraphernalia collection. Later on I also brought a book on the lives of native American women which had proved to be fascinating.
After our little spending spree we went to a talk that "Ranger Bob" (what a great name!) put on just prior to sunset about how the Grand Canyon has inspired people throughout the ages. He had poetry, paintings, music and short readings. He got really into the music and he stood there hugging his little portable hi-fi chest puffed out, eyes closed and lips pursed. He got people to do some of the readings (good thing too - he rushes through poetry and removes most of the beauty of it) and I volunteered. Apparently I was really good and I was asked to do it again later on and later people came up to me and told me I was good and should do it for a living! I was surprised to say the least, but it could be a good little earner and I am living near Hollywood. For doing the readings he gave everyone a fake tattoo that said the "Grand Canyon" and had a picture of the California Condor on it. I got 2 and gave Hanayo one. We decided to place them in tacky "sexy" places just to bewilder people and so I had mine on my lower back, just above my bottom (where lots of people have those horrible Celtic style tattoos) and Hanayo had hers on her leg. Unfortunately I spotted no surprised looking pervy old men.
Anyway back to the sunset - when Ranger Bob had finally stopped massacring poetry we got to sit, watch and take photos of the sunset, it was beautiful. Strangely you could actually see more of the canyon when the sun had set that when it was up. After this we met up with the couple who had given us the lift and we piled in the car again. By the time we had gotten into the car (no more that 45 minutes after sunset) it was pitch black and I was grateful that we weren't spending the night in the car.
On the way back I could see some amazing stars, they were so big and there was so many, it was stunning. If Claudia had been driving I'd have asked her to pull over and would have gotten out but all I could do was look through the glass. When we got back to Flagstaff we discovered that the stars were prominent here too so went for a walk to a place with fewer lights and looked up. I swear we could see the milky was, there were a couple of slightly lighter patched in the sky, almost like thin clouds, but not. I'm fairly sure they were made up of distant stars. It was stunning. The stars seemed so close that the constellations were too big to recognise easily. I now really want to go camping in the middle of nowhere and star gaze properly.
After getting a lot of sleep we woke up refreshed and did a bit of exploration of downtown flagstaff which turned out to be a cool spiritual place. They seem to be very proud of their native American heritage and there were lots of shops selling native American wares. There are also apparently Shamans on top of the nearest mountain who prevent anyone from climbing it and cast spells over the area, Hanayo loved this idea and couldn't find out enough about them.
Soon enough it was time to leave, but when we got to the bus station we were informed that the bus was running over an hour late so we went to a nearby fast food restaurant (if they really deserve that definition!), had some lunch and whiled away our time. Hanayo taught us some Japanese and showed us how to write our names. We were by far the liveliest people in a place otherwise full of unhappy, overweight people.
The bus seemed to take forever, we finally reached our apartments at 7am. I met my flat mate Lieke for the first time when I had to ring the doorbell because I didn't think I had the key for the security latch (turned out it was the same one as the normal key). Thankfully she is jet lagged and was awake anyway. I was getting quite concerned about the introduction, she wasn't aware that I was arriving so early and might think she was being burgled or something. In the end it was a congenial meeting that quickly involved tea. She seems nice.
And so Claudia, Hanayo and my adventure ended as quickly as it had started. Tomorrow there is the introduction for international students which will inevitably prove to be unbelievably boring, but will at least be a chance to meet new people and afterwards I'm hosting a party!
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Room mate + Alcohol = Fun
Straight after I wrote to you last my room mate and I (already slightly sloshed from the wine and some cheap beer) went out so she could introduce me to some of her mates. I learnt about any timeless American drinking games such as Beer Pong and Flip cup, ahhh the wonders. I am entirely crap at both seeing how they rely on ability to aim (which I can't do well when sober!) or a light tap to flip a plastic cup. I may well be found one of these days practicing in my kitchen. It was really good fun, a bonding experience with Lisa (is there a better way to get to know your room mate other than getting pissed together?) and was nice to meet some other people, although I think I left my cardigan there. I have also learned the vital lesson that American beer is vile, it tastes more like Soda water than beer, but that does not matter because it fulfils two vital criteria for American students - it gets you pissed and its cheap. In England we just go for cheap vodka mixed with coke, but apparently that's too sophisticated for most American palates!
We stumbled into our beds happily steamingly drunk. Good times.
Yesterday I had my first real taste at how ridiculously expensive American health care is. I went to Student Health to register and was told I had to pay $27 for a TB skin test despite the fact I have had a BCG and therefore know I can't have TB. Its something they require me to do and yet despite paying around $400 a semester for health insurance I still have to pay the extortionate price. Even worse than that was when I asked if I could see a doctor or nurse whilst I was there because the night before I had slipped over and hit my knee really hard on concrete and it was now stiff and swollen, I was told that it would be $54! I know fully well they'd look at it for two minutes, tell me it was fine but might give me some anti-inflammatory's (which I'd also have to pay for), possibly sending me for an x-ray (kerching!) to make sure there is no hair line fracture. So am I going to pay that or am I going to wait and see if it gets better? What do you think - I'm a skint student! Thankfully it appears to have paid off, not hurting nearly as much today and I think the swelling is going down. I also discovered that when my next door neighbour cut her food really badly in a nightclub she had to pay $1200 (and that's with medical insurance!) just for an ambulance! If I ever get hurt I hope someone sticks me in a taxi instead of calling 911 - much cheaper.
Having got myself an iron and ironed all my clothes (worryingly I enjoyed that a lot) yesterday I was at long last able to wear what I wanted to and went out in a nice 50s style skirt. However I quickly realised just how stereotypically English I looked - everyone else was wondering around in shorts and even though I know I don't fit in style wise with England I fit in even less in America. I love these clothes, but I'm not sure whether I feel comfortable wearing them. I'm going to give it a bit longer and then hopefully I won't care and I'll happily go around as "the English one".
We stumbled into our beds happily steamingly drunk. Good times.
Yesterday I had my first real taste at how ridiculously expensive American health care is. I went to Student Health to register and was told I had to pay $27 for a TB skin test despite the fact I have had a BCG and therefore know I can't have TB. Its something they require me to do and yet despite paying around $400 a semester for health insurance I still have to pay the extortionate price. Even worse than that was when I asked if I could see a doctor or nurse whilst I was there because the night before I had slipped over and hit my knee really hard on concrete and it was now stiff and swollen, I was told that it would be $54! I know fully well they'd look at it for two minutes, tell me it was fine but might give me some anti-inflammatory's (which I'd also have to pay for), possibly sending me for an x-ray (kerching!) to make sure there is no hair line fracture. So am I going to pay that or am I going to wait and see if it gets better? What do you think - I'm a skint student! Thankfully it appears to have paid off, not hurting nearly as much today and I think the swelling is going down. I also discovered that when my next door neighbour cut her food really badly in a nightclub she had to pay $1200 (and that's with medical insurance!) just for an ambulance! If I ever get hurt I hope someone sticks me in a taxi instead of calling 911 - much cheaper.
Having got myself an iron and ironed all my clothes (worryingly I enjoyed that a lot) yesterday I was at long last able to wear what I wanted to and went out in a nice 50s style skirt. However I quickly realised just how stereotypically English I looked - everyone else was wondering around in shorts and even though I know I don't fit in style wise with England I fit in even less in America. I love these clothes, but I'm not sure whether I feel comfortable wearing them. I'm going to give it a bit longer and then hopefully I won't care and I'll happily go around as "the English one".
Monday, September 10, 2007
Back to Goleta after a long Greyhound bus with yet another weirdo..
Do I have a sign on my forehead that says "Strange men please talk me!" because I seem to attract them, I guess I should be pleased, at least men are! This particular weirdo was a poor helpless 54 year old divorcee who appeared to be drug addled and entirely dependent on other people. I initially got whiff of it because he had to have a woman help him onto the bus, seriously. Despite the fact he could walk perfectly adequately he needed someone to hold his hand. He spent a good part of the journey with a phone attached to his ear discussing ridiculous bits of the journey and his emotions with 3 poor women - Anne, Diane and his 80 year old mother - I felt so sorry for them. He kept asking whether this was the bus for Santa Barbara ("yes."), did he need to get off here? ("No. You stay put for the 10 hour journey.") Where are we? ("Bloody well listen to the driver, he just told you, or look out the damn window, its written just there!" Or politer words to that effect) Can he have a cigarette here? ("Yes, the driver just told you that you could. Use your ears man!"). He also kindly woke me up when I had just managed to doze off. Bastard. He was such a strange man that he told me Jesus had some to his front door and he had met him (no joke, he honestly told me this and this is a man who is so messed up that lying would stretch his mentally capacities to their limit) and that he could immediately trust me because I study religion (no mate, its because you are a needy sap who requires a mother figure to tell you what to do). He admitted that he had got married at 19 and his wife was more like a mother. At one point his stupid ex-wife was typing a love email for him as he dictated it - I mean good God! I was so pleased to get off the bus and be shot of him.
This afternoon I met some Mexican students, on of whom I'm travelling with. The girl (Claudia) who I'm travelling with has been in the US for 2 weeks but hadn't really spoken English until she met me. There is clearly a cliquey thing going on there, but it was really nice to make some new friends. We went to the thrift store - a second hand shop that doesn't give its profits to charity. I had hoped to buy an electric kettle (they are rare in America), a teapot (how can I cope without one?) and a clothes horse. I failed on 2 of 3, but I did manage to get hold of a teapot and so was able to have a good brew later.
We also went to a supermarket and I finally got hold of some good fruit and veg! After travelling for a week and a half I was gagging for some fruit and veg, my body was crying out for healthy food. So I spoilt myself - nectarines, melon, avocado, bananas, apples, tomatoes, courgettes (in American - Zucchini), lettuce, green peppers, chilli's, so nice! It was an absolute bargain too - I only spent $20 but I also got 2lbs of pork and some rice. I can be healthy again!
When I got back laden with shopping (I also brought back an iron of mine that UPS were holding hostage) I met my room mate for the first time. Lisa is lovely, we seem to get on well although there are a fair few cultural differences! We made a curry together (the first she'd ever had!) and it was really nice. More important than the curry she brought a bottle of red wine with her and I got the first wine I've had since I've been here and its so good! I've really missed full bodied red wine! We might go out and meet some of her friends and continue the drinking. The more people I can meet the merrier.
After a shaky first few days in Goleta I seem to be steadying out, I'm meeting lots of people and I haven't got to worry about buying lots of things because I've done it already, things can only get better! (Now there's an opening line for a horror story...)
This afternoon I met some Mexican students, on of whom I'm travelling with. The girl (Claudia) who I'm travelling with has been in the US for 2 weeks but hadn't really spoken English until she met me. There is clearly a cliquey thing going on there, but it was really nice to make some new friends. We went to the thrift store - a second hand shop that doesn't give its profits to charity. I had hoped to buy an electric kettle (they are rare in America), a teapot (how can I cope without one?) and a clothes horse. I failed on 2 of 3, but I did manage to get hold of a teapot and so was able to have a good brew later.
We also went to a supermarket and I finally got hold of some good fruit and veg! After travelling for a week and a half I was gagging for some fruit and veg, my body was crying out for healthy food. So I spoilt myself - nectarines, melon, avocado, bananas, apples, tomatoes, courgettes (in American - Zucchini), lettuce, green peppers, chilli's, so nice! It was an absolute bargain too - I only spent $20 but I also got 2lbs of pork and some rice. I can be healthy again!
When I got back laden with shopping (I also brought back an iron of mine that UPS were holding hostage) I met my room mate for the first time. Lisa is lovely, we seem to get on well although there are a fair few cultural differences! We made a curry together (the first she'd ever had!) and it was really nice. More important than the curry she brought a bottle of red wine with her and I got the first wine I've had since I've been here and its so good! I've really missed full bodied red wine! We might go out and meet some of her friends and continue the drinking. The more people I can meet the merrier.
After a shaky first few days in Goleta I seem to be steadying out, I'm meeting lots of people and I haven't got to worry about buying lots of things because I've done it already, things can only get better! (Now there's an opening line for a horror story...)
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Tree hugging and strange magicians in Klamath
Sorry I haven't blogged for a few days but my hostel was officially in the middle of nowhere. By officially I mean that the only means of communication with the outside world (short of heading to the nearest town) was a payphone. Somehow I coped for 3 days with no Internet and no cellphone. Admittedly I have no one to contact via my cellphone, but that is irrelevant.
Anyway I'm back in civilization now (San Francisco) for one night before I go back to Santa Barbara for a few days.
When I got on my bus and headed up north to a place called Arcata (pronounced Arcade-a) I hadn't actually booked anywhere to stay despite the fact that my bus was supposed to get in at 9.50pm in the evening (in actual fact it was closer to 11.15) because there are only motels in Arcata and the cheapest was $60 per night. The accommodation for my hostel up north for 3 nights cost that much! I had deliberately put off booking in the hope of finding somewhere cheaper. Luck was on my side and when I asked a girl from Arcata where the cheapest place to spend the night was she offered me a bed (or more accurately floor and sleeping bag) for the night. It was so sweet of her, this is the king of thing that just wouldn't happen in England, you don't open your house to strangers, but this 17 year old University student did. So instead of spending $60 I spent $0, bargain!
The only downside (and considering I got free accommodation I can't really complain) was that I had to leave when she did - 7.30am (classes start far too early over here). My bus didn't leave till 10.10am so I had 2 and a half hours to fill. Thankfully on the way to the bus station I found a Safeway and was able to occupy myself for a while. The actual shopping part was dull but trying to communicate with the shop assistant certainly wasn't. I realised I had no cash and so tried to get money out of an ATM but it didn't like my British card. This got me understandably scared, this was the first time I'd tried to use my card and it hadn't worked, I could well be without cash till my American bank card came through. I asked the cashier if there was another ATM near by and she told me to try the "bake", it honestly sounded like "bake" and I was wandering whether Bake sales in America had advanced so far as to give cash back. The lack of understanding on my part continued for quiet a while until I suddenly understood her, she meant "bank". She looked at her co-worker and said, "She's from England," as if it explained everything, which unfortunately it did.
After finding a "bake" and successfully retrieving money I then made my way to the bus station and sat and waited for two uneventful hours.
Finally my bus arrived and I discovered that I was the only passenger. My bus driver acted like my personal tour guide, pointing out 3 lagoons, an Elk and a section of a trunk of a tree that was felled to make way for the highway when it was 1000 years old. Eventually more passengers jumped on and it got so full that my backpack had to be placed on my lap and someone had to sit on someone else's lap. I was quite grateful when my bus dropped me off outside my hostel.
When I got inside the quaint looking hostel I was informed that I was a whole 4 hours early and would have to leave. I was allowed to leave my bags, make myself lunch and was given directions of a short hike. After crossing a dried up creek and walking half a mile north I found nothing to see so walked south down the highway to the front of the hostel where I crossed over and found possibly the most beautiful coastline I have ever seen, just in front of the hostel. The sand was grey and the surf battered the coast line and some of the rocks that were arrayed close to the shore. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I looked at the map and saw that I had to follow the coastal trail and was grateful to be able to continue looking at the sea. I had to scramble over at least a mile of rocks because I was so transfixed by the sea that I missed the trail that I was supposed to be walking on. I almost sprained my ankle too many times to count, thank God I'm young and limber because I did not see a soul for my entire rock scramble, a good hour and a half (I sat down and took in the surroundings a lot).
I eventually reached my destination - hidden beach a lovely beach hidden from any view but the sea. I watched cormorants and what I thought were seagulls (in fact Willets) for quite a while. When I tried to find the path that I should have been on I couldn't see it at all - there seemed to be no let up in the foliage that surrounds the beach. Eventually I saw what could be construed as a path and clambered over a couple of metres of driftwood (seriously, there was an awful lot of driftwood, or to be precise - drift-trees). The trail that I should have originally followed hid most of the views of the sea, which was very sad but I eventually found a bench where I could see the sea and sat down and read to use up the rest of the time before I was allowed to get into the hostel.
The evening was fairly uneventful, the hostel seemed to be mostly full of middle aged women who went to bed really early and got up really early. There were a few people to talk to - a Self-published author called Jai and a night owl called Elliot. I went to bed at what I consider to be a fairly early hour (11.30am), but the other two talked to the early hours.
The next day after being the last to wake up (9.30am - my longest lie-in in the US yet!) Jai and I headed in her car to the Redwood national park to try and see some REALLY BIG trees. Seriously, the redwood firs are huge, the tallest is about 380ft and they have been known to live 3700 years. We didn't see any that big, but they were still crane-your-neck-and-you still-can't-see-the-top-of-them big. I was disturbed to see that the visitors centre offered a nature drive - why yes you can spend a leisurely Sunday morning driving behind the rangers. Why would you want to go around in a car? You can't touch them, you can't see the top of them, you can't pose for silly photos next to them. Strange Americans.
Earlier in the day I had felt "the call of nature" in the middle of the forest, no restrooms nearby, so what can a girl do except squat? S I did this and after all was said and done realised I'd managed to pee down my leg, despite best efforts otherwise. Thankfully it dried quickly and humans couldn't smell it. Notice the word humans - dogs could, in the statutory gift shop I had a dog follow me around, wonder if the same works for men? Pee on yourself and adoring men will follow you everywhere. Don't think I'll be trying it anytime soon.
When we got back to the hostel we met a an Aussie who spent the early evening entertaining us disbelievers with magic tricks. We did not believe that his cards were unmarked (we were correct) and so found him a pack of cards from the games cabinet. Unfortunately he was still able to do the trick. He was very good at patter and was most amusing. By far his most impressive trick however was his ability to play dead, for some unknown reason he had taught himself to remain perfectly still and could hold a pose for apparently up to one and a half hours at a time, before suddenly unfreezing and shouting "Bwahh!" at us.
There were some little (but as we later discovered quite terrifying) kids staying at the hostel and he took it upon himself to amuse them (and us) with magic trick such as multiplying balls, balls moving hands, etc. He also decided to play dead and for over an hour they abused him, they pulled him off the chair, stood on his bottom and most terrifyingly pulled his legs up to 90 degrees (he was on his back) and rode them. It looked most dodgy but none of us adults could think of a way to easily stop them and anyway, we were too busy laughing. Eventually the kids went to bed and we ignored the magician, he got bored of the fact that he was no longer the centre of attention and soon reanimated. Soon after this I went to bed, and yet again lots of middle aged ladies were snoring at an early hour.
Yesterday was my last full day and I decided to go for a long (10 mile) hike by myself. I left before 9am and a thick fog was covering the ground, this is a regular occurence in California and I assumed it would clear quickly enough, unfortunately it didn't and after hiking the steep 4 miles to Klamath overlook (the view over the estuary of the second biggest river in California) I could hardly see a bloody thing. I could just make out some boats that I think may have been Native American (I was in serious Native American territory, most people I talked to informed me they were a Yurok Indian), but I couldn't tell. So I ended up walking back. I did however see lots of little snakes disappearing into grass at my approach and I heard some Sea Lions, but no, didn't see them either.
On my way back I made a detour to a roadside attraction called "Trees of Mystery" outside there was a big fibreglass lumberjack that talked and a big blue bull (that was disappointingly silent). For a mere $13.50 I could go and see their private redwoods and take a cable car ride above them, or for free I could go to their museum and gift shop, guess what I chose to do! The museum had loads of Native American artifacts but didn't explain much about them, if I was lucky they told me what they were, but not what they did. Most disappointing. The gift shop was even worse, loads of horrible ornaments and boxes made of redwood but no Religious Artifacts or something I might actually want. I walked back to the hostel most disappointed, a day with no view or tacky momento.
Throughout my time at the Redwood hostel I saw a scary number of RVs (or motor home to us English) and they are huge, all your creature comforts come along with you, no need to rough it without a hairdryer or dishwasher. Some even tow big pickup trucks (and boats!) behind them. They frequently pull over to pretty spots such as the beach in front of my hostel and sit inside the RV and take in the view, lots don't even get out unless its for a roadside attraction (there are plenty outside Trees of Mystery). Or take the necessary photo and then leave, they rarely seem to bother actually looking around properly. Its very sad, not the way to see the country at all.
This morning I left very early (7.40am), but almost did not. Magician guy and I phoned the bus company as they requested to tell them to request a pick up and then stood by the side of the highway awaiting the bus. Despite knowing that all we really needed to do was stand there I hailed it, just in case it didn't realise we wanted it. Unfortunately it didn't break and wasn't until I waved my arms madly and jumped up and down that it slammed the breaks on and came to a halt 10 meters from where we were. If we'd have missed that bus we'd have missed the greyhound, which is the only one everyday. Thankfully we were soon seated and went off, elk spotting along the way. The rest of the journey to San Francisco was uneventful, but long. I made the mistake of wearing my new shoes on the journey in an attempt to wear them in and for my troubles managed to earn two big rubs on the back of my feet, which if there was any skin left would turn into lovely big blisters. Flip flops for the next few days for me then.
Anyway I'm back in civilization now (San Francisco) for one night before I go back to Santa Barbara for a few days.
When I got on my bus and headed up north to a place called Arcata (pronounced Arcade-a) I hadn't actually booked anywhere to stay despite the fact that my bus was supposed to get in at 9.50pm in the evening (in actual fact it was closer to 11.15) because there are only motels in Arcata and the cheapest was $60 per night. The accommodation for my hostel up north for 3 nights cost that much! I had deliberately put off booking in the hope of finding somewhere cheaper. Luck was on my side and when I asked a girl from Arcata where the cheapest place to spend the night was she offered me a bed (or more accurately floor and sleeping bag) for the night. It was so sweet of her, this is the king of thing that just wouldn't happen in England, you don't open your house to strangers, but this 17 year old University student did. So instead of spending $60 I spent $0, bargain!
The only downside (and considering I got free accommodation I can't really complain) was that I had to leave when she did - 7.30am (classes start far too early over here). My bus didn't leave till 10.10am so I had 2 and a half hours to fill. Thankfully on the way to the bus station I found a Safeway and was able to occupy myself for a while. The actual shopping part was dull but trying to communicate with the shop assistant certainly wasn't. I realised I had no cash and so tried to get money out of an ATM but it didn't like my British card. This got me understandably scared, this was the first time I'd tried to use my card and it hadn't worked, I could well be without cash till my American bank card came through. I asked the cashier if there was another ATM near by and she told me to try the "bake", it honestly sounded like "bake" and I was wandering whether Bake sales in America had advanced so far as to give cash back. The lack of understanding on my part continued for quiet a while until I suddenly understood her, she meant "bank". She looked at her co-worker and said, "She's from England," as if it explained everything, which unfortunately it did.
After finding a "bake" and successfully retrieving money I then made my way to the bus station and sat and waited for two uneventful hours.
Finally my bus arrived and I discovered that I was the only passenger. My bus driver acted like my personal tour guide, pointing out 3 lagoons, an Elk and a section of a trunk of a tree that was felled to make way for the highway when it was 1000 years old. Eventually more passengers jumped on and it got so full that my backpack had to be placed on my lap and someone had to sit on someone else's lap. I was quite grateful when my bus dropped me off outside my hostel.
When I got inside the quaint looking hostel I was informed that I was a whole 4 hours early and would have to leave. I was allowed to leave my bags, make myself lunch and was given directions of a short hike. After crossing a dried up creek and walking half a mile north I found nothing to see so walked south down the highway to the front of the hostel where I crossed over and found possibly the most beautiful coastline I have ever seen, just in front of the hostel. The sand was grey and the surf battered the coast line and some of the rocks that were arrayed close to the shore. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I looked at the map and saw that I had to follow the coastal trail and was grateful to be able to continue looking at the sea. I had to scramble over at least a mile of rocks because I was so transfixed by the sea that I missed the trail that I was supposed to be walking on. I almost sprained my ankle too many times to count, thank God I'm young and limber because I did not see a soul for my entire rock scramble, a good hour and a half (I sat down and took in the surroundings a lot).
I eventually reached my destination - hidden beach a lovely beach hidden from any view but the sea. I watched cormorants and what I thought were seagulls (in fact Willets) for quite a while. When I tried to find the path that I should have been on I couldn't see it at all - there seemed to be no let up in the foliage that surrounds the beach. Eventually I saw what could be construed as a path and clambered over a couple of metres of driftwood (seriously, there was an awful lot of driftwood, or to be precise - drift-trees). The trail that I should have originally followed hid most of the views of the sea, which was very sad but I eventually found a bench where I could see the sea and sat down and read to use up the rest of the time before I was allowed to get into the hostel.
The evening was fairly uneventful, the hostel seemed to be mostly full of middle aged women who went to bed really early and got up really early. There were a few people to talk to - a Self-published author called Jai and a night owl called Elliot. I went to bed at what I consider to be a fairly early hour (11.30am), but the other two talked to the early hours.
The next day after being the last to wake up (9.30am - my longest lie-in in the US yet!) Jai and I headed in her car to the Redwood national park to try and see some REALLY BIG trees. Seriously, the redwood firs are huge, the tallest is about 380ft and they have been known to live 3700 years. We didn't see any that big, but they were still crane-your-neck-and-you still-can't-see-the-top-of-them big. I was disturbed to see that the visitors centre offered a nature drive - why yes you can spend a leisurely Sunday morning driving behind the rangers. Why would you want to go around in a car? You can't touch them, you can't see the top of them, you can't pose for silly photos next to them. Strange Americans.
Earlier in the day I had felt "the call of nature" in the middle of the forest, no restrooms nearby, so what can a girl do except squat? S I did this and after all was said and done realised I'd managed to pee down my leg, despite best efforts otherwise. Thankfully it dried quickly and humans couldn't smell it. Notice the word humans - dogs could, in the statutory gift shop I had a dog follow me around, wonder if the same works for men? Pee on yourself and adoring men will follow you everywhere. Don't think I'll be trying it anytime soon.
When we got back to the hostel we met a an Aussie who spent the early evening entertaining us disbelievers with magic tricks. We did not believe that his cards were unmarked (we were correct) and so found him a pack of cards from the games cabinet. Unfortunately he was still able to do the trick. He was very good at patter and was most amusing. By far his most impressive trick however was his ability to play dead, for some unknown reason he had taught himself to remain perfectly still and could hold a pose for apparently up to one and a half hours at a time, before suddenly unfreezing and shouting "Bwahh!" at us.
There were some little (but as we later discovered quite terrifying) kids staying at the hostel and he took it upon himself to amuse them (and us) with magic trick such as multiplying balls, balls moving hands, etc. He also decided to play dead and for over an hour they abused him, they pulled him off the chair, stood on his bottom and most terrifyingly pulled his legs up to 90 degrees (he was on his back) and rode them. It looked most dodgy but none of us adults could think of a way to easily stop them and anyway, we were too busy laughing. Eventually the kids went to bed and we ignored the magician, he got bored of the fact that he was no longer the centre of attention and soon reanimated. Soon after this I went to bed, and yet again lots of middle aged ladies were snoring at an early hour.
Yesterday was my last full day and I decided to go for a long (10 mile) hike by myself. I left before 9am and a thick fog was covering the ground, this is a regular occurence in California and I assumed it would clear quickly enough, unfortunately it didn't and after hiking the steep 4 miles to Klamath overlook (the view over the estuary of the second biggest river in California) I could hardly see a bloody thing. I could just make out some boats that I think may have been Native American (I was in serious Native American territory, most people I talked to informed me they were a Yurok Indian), but I couldn't tell. So I ended up walking back. I did however see lots of little snakes disappearing into grass at my approach and I heard some Sea Lions, but no, didn't see them either.
On my way back I made a detour to a roadside attraction called "Trees of Mystery" outside there was a big fibreglass lumberjack that talked and a big blue bull (that was disappointingly silent). For a mere $13.50 I could go and see their private redwoods and take a cable car ride above them, or for free I could go to their museum and gift shop, guess what I chose to do! The museum had loads of Native American artifacts but didn't explain much about them, if I was lucky they told me what they were, but not what they did. Most disappointing. The gift shop was even worse, loads of horrible ornaments and boxes made of redwood but no Religious Artifacts or something I might actually want. I walked back to the hostel most disappointed, a day with no view or tacky momento.
Throughout my time at the Redwood hostel I saw a scary number of RVs (or motor home to us English) and they are huge, all your creature comforts come along with you, no need to rough it without a hairdryer or dishwasher. Some even tow big pickup trucks (and boats!) behind them. They frequently pull over to pretty spots such as the beach in front of my hostel and sit inside the RV and take in the view, lots don't even get out unless its for a roadside attraction (there are plenty outside Trees of Mystery). Or take the necessary photo and then leave, they rarely seem to bother actually looking around properly. Its very sad, not the way to see the country at all.
This morning I left very early (7.40am), but almost did not. Magician guy and I phoned the bus company as they requested to tell them to request a pick up and then stood by the side of the highway awaiting the bus. Despite knowing that all we really needed to do was stand there I hailed it, just in case it didn't realise we wanted it. Unfortunately it didn't break and wasn't until I waved my arms madly and jumped up and down that it slammed the breaks on and came to a halt 10 meters from where we were. If we'd have missed that bus we'd have missed the greyhound, which is the only one everyday. Thankfully we were soon seated and went off, elk spotting along the way. The rest of the journey to San Francisco was uneventful, but long. I made the mistake of wearing my new shoes on the journey in an attempt to wear them in and for my troubles managed to earn two big rubs on the back of my feet, which if there was any skin left would turn into lovely big blisters. Flip flops for the next few days for me then.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Mission and drunks
Yesterday I decided to go to an area of San Francisco that is known for its Roman Catholic roots and being a bit dodgy, but I decided that the RCism made it worth it and so went anyway. Lots of Californian cities were founded by RC missionaries, anywhere that is named after a Saint has a fairly good chance of being founded this way. The one in SF has a beautiful Basilica, far nicer than any of the other Cathedrals or Churches I'd come across, it was quite unusual in style, being Mexican influenced. I walked in on a mass and got to witness a very small group of good Catholics going to their daily mass. The priest seemed to know them all well and was laughing and joking with them afterwards which was really nice to see.
Naturally there was a gift shop and I was pleased to discover a range of nun figurines in different poses such as "laughing nun", similar to those hideous teddy bear things you get in England (the ones that come with S and M teddy!). Who buys this crap? Would you actually want a laughing nun in your living room? I sure as hell (or heaven!) wouldn't, I did however take a photo.
After living the actual Mission itself I made my way down to the centre of the area, to Mission St, unfortunately I came in at the dodgy end and had to walk several blocks before old men stopped making catcalls at me, I've found that happen a lot around here and I wish it wouldn't, particularly when I think they're being sarcastic. I'm looking crap at the moment, I left all my best clothes at my apartment and took what I assumed backpackers would wear, old T-shirts, scruffy trousers and trainers. Boy was I wrong, they're all walking around in designer clothes looking trendy. Anyway, I think its easier to take catcalls when you believe they are being serious and not just doing it because your shorts have ridden up and turned into hot pants.
I eventually passed the dodgy end unscathed and was disappointed to see very few shops selling the religious crap that my guidebook had promised. The one or two I did see were shut because it was Labor day (basically a bank holiday for no apparent reason). I then went onto find an alley mentioned in my guidebook that had murals painted on its walls. It was a back street in SF and there were loads, religious, political and just beautiful. There were murals everywhere, on the street, in the cafe where I had my ridiculously cheap lunch (when you're backpacking somewhere like here its often cheaper to eat out), in random places. It really brightens up the neighbourhood, we should do it in Britain, although they'd probably be graffitied by the time the paints dry.
After this I decided to go to Golden Gate bridge (well it had to be done) and so found a convenient bus route and walked to it. Just as I was getting close I saw the bus come and had to run to try and get, naturally I didn't make it, but some weird guy decided to come and lecture me about how you never run for buses, for about 5 minutes. Seriously. This guy came and told me to take life at it comes, that its my life and I can do as I please (so then why can't I run for the bus? I am British after all!). He then proceeded to show me a long scar running down his face and told me that that should teach me a lesson, he failed however to tell me how it related to running for buses. I wasn't given an opportunity to explain myself, to point out that I had no idea when the next bus would come and that I didn't want to be stuck in this neighbourhood for longer than absolutely necessary. Eventually he went away and I breathed a sigh of relief.
On the bus I had to sit next to another weirdo who talked to himself and wore a hard hat backwards. A woman actually moved to get away from him. I thought I'd had my fair share of weird old men for that day, but fate didn't seem to think so. After getting off at the end of the line and deciding that the Golden Gate bridge was too far away and it was too windy I decided to sit down by the marina and watch the boats for a bit. Unfortunately on the next bench along from me was a rather talkative tramp who told me that he hated racial labels, that he wasn't African American but Russian and then the conversation somehow moved on to spying and Gone with the Wind. I excused myself as soon as I could and walked towards the centre of the city.
I next decided to go to Lombard Street billed as the "worlds crookedest street!". After walking up some exceptionally steep hills I finally came to it, from the wrong direction (come from the east so you look up it, not down it). There were tourists everywhere and city workers had to direct the traffic. Heading down it struck me as not very impressive and I couldn't see why that when it was no steeper than other roads in the city they didn't just make it into a normal road, it was wide enough. Its probably because its a tourist trap, and they want to extract every cent from the tourist that they can, bastards.
After a long days walking a headed back to the hostel for an early night. I'm knackered at the moment, it doesn't seem like I can get enough sleep, although I sleep at least 8 hours a night and feel refreshed in the morning I have big bags under my eyes. I think it maybe that getting used to surroundings can be very difficult, like a baby needs to sleep 18 hours a day to take in all this new information perhaps I do to. I'm glad to be leaving SF today, its been fun but I need a more relaxing few days. Hopefully being in the middle of a national park will help do that, there is nothing to do but hike, sleep, hike and read. I can't wait.
Naturally there was a gift shop and I was pleased to discover a range of nun figurines in different poses such as "laughing nun", similar to those hideous teddy bear things you get in England (the ones that come with S and M teddy!). Who buys this crap? Would you actually want a laughing nun in your living room? I sure as hell (or heaven!) wouldn't, I did however take a photo.
After living the actual Mission itself I made my way down to the centre of the area, to Mission St, unfortunately I came in at the dodgy end and had to walk several blocks before old men stopped making catcalls at me, I've found that happen a lot around here and I wish it wouldn't, particularly when I think they're being sarcastic. I'm looking crap at the moment, I left all my best clothes at my apartment and took what I assumed backpackers would wear, old T-shirts, scruffy trousers and trainers. Boy was I wrong, they're all walking around in designer clothes looking trendy. Anyway, I think its easier to take catcalls when you believe they are being serious and not just doing it because your shorts have ridden up and turned into hot pants.
I eventually passed the dodgy end unscathed and was disappointed to see very few shops selling the religious crap that my guidebook had promised. The one or two I did see were shut because it was Labor day (basically a bank holiday for no apparent reason). I then went onto find an alley mentioned in my guidebook that had murals painted on its walls. It was a back street in SF and there were loads, religious, political and just beautiful. There were murals everywhere, on the street, in the cafe where I had my ridiculously cheap lunch (when you're backpacking somewhere like here its often cheaper to eat out), in random places. It really brightens up the neighbourhood, we should do it in Britain, although they'd probably be graffitied by the time the paints dry.
After this I decided to go to Golden Gate bridge (well it had to be done) and so found a convenient bus route and walked to it. Just as I was getting close I saw the bus come and had to run to try and get, naturally I didn't make it, but some weird guy decided to come and lecture me about how you never run for buses, for about 5 minutes. Seriously. This guy came and told me to take life at it comes, that its my life and I can do as I please (so then why can't I run for the bus? I am British after all!). He then proceeded to show me a long scar running down his face and told me that that should teach me a lesson, he failed however to tell me how it related to running for buses. I wasn't given an opportunity to explain myself, to point out that I had no idea when the next bus would come and that I didn't want to be stuck in this neighbourhood for longer than absolutely necessary. Eventually he went away and I breathed a sigh of relief.
On the bus I had to sit next to another weirdo who talked to himself and wore a hard hat backwards. A woman actually moved to get away from him. I thought I'd had my fair share of weird old men for that day, but fate didn't seem to think so. After getting off at the end of the line and deciding that the Golden Gate bridge was too far away and it was too windy I decided to sit down by the marina and watch the boats for a bit. Unfortunately on the next bench along from me was a rather talkative tramp who told me that he hated racial labels, that he wasn't African American but Russian and then the conversation somehow moved on to spying and Gone with the Wind. I excused myself as soon as I could and walked towards the centre of the city.
I next decided to go to Lombard Street billed as the "worlds crookedest street!". After walking up some exceptionally steep hills I finally came to it, from the wrong direction (come from the east so you look up it, not down it). There were tourists everywhere and city workers had to direct the traffic. Heading down it struck me as not very impressive and I couldn't see why that when it was no steeper than other roads in the city they didn't just make it into a normal road, it was wide enough. Its probably because its a tourist trap, and they want to extract every cent from the tourist that they can, bastards.
After a long days walking a headed back to the hostel for an early night. I'm knackered at the moment, it doesn't seem like I can get enough sleep, although I sleep at least 8 hours a night and feel refreshed in the morning I have big bags under my eyes. I think it maybe that getting used to surroundings can be very difficult, like a baby needs to sleep 18 hours a day to take in all this new information perhaps I do to. I'm glad to be leaving SF today, its been fun but I need a more relaxing few days. Hopefully being in the middle of a national park will help do that, there is nothing to do but hike, sleep, hike and read. I can't wait.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Summer of Love 40 years on
Yesterday a massive free concert/festival was put in San Francisco and ex-hippies flocked to it. In the center you could tell fairly easily who was going to the festival, there were plenty of ex-hippies wearing flowers in their hair who had dug out old frayed jeans and shorts that had patches on them, not forgetting the tie-dyed t-shirts. Some of the costumes were most impressive, one guy was dressed as Jimmy Hendrix and there was another in John Lennon glasses, black top hat and and tails, long hair and a stoned expression on his face. There were plenty of famous bands who had supposedly reformed for this event, but I knew none of them (Canned Heat anyone?). The music was good, but it was more the music to sit and get stoned to, not to dance to. Unfortunately a lot of people were dancing, very badly. I think that drugs had a lot to do with it, the scent of weed filled the air, it (and acid) was being sold openly. The attempt to recreate the summer of love was being carried through as far as possible (all be it with the grandkids in tow).
The only real difference was that they were handing out free condoms, the pill will no longer do. I decided to stay well clear of the bushes.
It was a great atmosphere, but I only stayed an hour or so, it was packed and not really my sort of thing. I'm glad I went though.
On the way there on a very crowded bus I witnessed my first Jerry Springer moment. It was caused by the bus driver asking everyone to move back down the bus and was initially a disagreement between passengers about whether there was enough space to do this. The loud argument between a young black girl and a white man got out of control when the black girls mother decided that he was disrespecting her daughter and all hell broke loose. She was the stereotypical angry black woman, repeating phrases loudly, "Who said that? Who said that? I'm coming up! I'm coming up!" They just couldn't let it drop and the white guy refused to apologise the whole bus witnessed their argument and some other people got involved as well. The guy who shouted "shut up!" at her was unfortunately stood by me, so I experienced her rage first hand, however the irritating girl who decided that it was helpful to shout "Jerry! Jerry!" was ignored, I could of bloody strangled her, talk about escalations. I felt so sorry for a tiny Chinese woman who came up my end of the bus to get away from the scary black woman only for the scary black woman to move up to the same end of the bus. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when it was their stop and the exited the bus.
People in America are a lot more confrontational, in England we don't air our grievances in public, just slag them off behind their back. For example at the festival there was very little space to sit down and some hula hoopers were taking up a lot of space, an (American) woman asked (politely) that one of the hula hoopers to move his bag so her family could sit down, however this guy was clearly off his face and rambled on about saving some space for his son. This wasn't a good enough excuse for this woman, "I've got three kids! We just need to sit down, can you please move your bags!" and she tried to forceably move the bag, at which point almost flung himself on it. I was with two other people and sat right next to this whole scene and we offered them our space and vacated it, not only did they not thank us (we were giving them more space than they would've had) they did not use it. I mean for goodness sake! You help someone out and they ignore it, but when it comes to a confrontational argument they leap at the chance. Give me England with our politeness and our not wanting to get in someones way. Actually the Scientologists asked me whether I talked behind people's back, to which I replied, "Of course, it makes life easier", he seemed dead against this idea, clearly it is not the American way.
I'm going to the Mission today, which is a Roman Catholic area of San Francisco, I'm hoping to see lots of weird religious stuff.
The only real difference was that they were handing out free condoms, the pill will no longer do. I decided to stay well clear of the bushes.
It was a great atmosphere, but I only stayed an hour or so, it was packed and not really my sort of thing. I'm glad I went though.
On the way there on a very crowded bus I witnessed my first Jerry Springer moment. It was caused by the bus driver asking everyone to move back down the bus and was initially a disagreement between passengers about whether there was enough space to do this. The loud argument between a young black girl and a white man got out of control when the black girls mother decided that he was disrespecting her daughter and all hell broke loose. She was the stereotypical angry black woman, repeating phrases loudly, "Who said that? Who said that? I'm coming up! I'm coming up!" They just couldn't let it drop and the white guy refused to apologise the whole bus witnessed their argument and some other people got involved as well. The guy who shouted "shut up!" at her was unfortunately stood by me, so I experienced her rage first hand, however the irritating girl who decided that it was helpful to shout "Jerry! Jerry!" was ignored, I could of bloody strangled her, talk about escalations. I felt so sorry for a tiny Chinese woman who came up my end of the bus to get away from the scary black woman only for the scary black woman to move up to the same end of the bus. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when it was their stop and the exited the bus.
People in America are a lot more confrontational, in England we don't air our grievances in public, just slag them off behind their back. For example at the festival there was very little space to sit down and some hula hoopers were taking up a lot of space, an (American) woman asked (politely) that one of the hula hoopers to move his bag so her family could sit down, however this guy was clearly off his face and rambled on about saving some space for his son. This wasn't a good enough excuse for this woman, "I've got three kids! We just need to sit down, can you please move your bags!" and she tried to forceably move the bag, at which point almost flung himself on it. I was with two other people and sat right next to this whole scene and we offered them our space and vacated it, not only did they not thank us (we were giving them more space than they would've had) they did not use it. I mean for goodness sake! You help someone out and they ignore it, but when it comes to a confrontational argument they leap at the chance. Give me England with our politeness and our not wanting to get in someones way. Actually the Scientologists asked me whether I talked behind people's back, to which I replied, "Of course, it makes life easier", he seemed dead against this idea, clearly it is not the American way.
I'm going to the Mission today, which is a Roman Catholic area of San Francisco, I'm hoping to see lots of weird religious stuff.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Religious Studies geek
I have to admit that whenever I do anywhere at the moment I'm centering it around religion and loving it, my being alone has allowed my true geek to emerge and I get to explore my interests with fear of boring anyone. I saw some amazing stuff on a walking tour I took yesterday.
My tour started in Union Square where there was a Christian band playing, preaching to the crowds. Every other song was secular and there were mini sermons in between. I can't imagine seeing that in the UK, let alone them being met with polite applause, people would either ignore them or hurl abuse, very few would pay any attention.
I then walked through Chinatown trying to buy birthday presents for some people as I went. The weight issue is really annoying, I keep finding things they'd love but that are really heavy. Anyway I was in one such store when I cam across a Magic 8-ball (the things you ask a question to, shake it up and they answer you) in the shape of both Buddha and Jesus! It probably wasn't serious, but i loved it anyway. Unfortunately they were slightly to expensive and really heavy, otherwise I'd have brought the Buddha one for Rhiannon immediately (on the understanding that I could benefit from his wisdom occasionally). Next to Buddha and Jesus was a toy action figure of Jesus that came complete with glow in the dark hands, 5 loaves and 2 fish (although, alas no 5000 to feed) and a jug of water/wine. That was very tempting to buy, he is so light, although I'm not sure he's worth the $10. This decision may well be reversed. I took photos of them, expect them to be added soon (provided I can work out how...).
Next I came to a square where instead of the old men gambling that my guidebook had told me to expect I came across a well organised protest against the Communist party. Apparently the Party are torturing people who practice Falun Gong, a secular practice that involves Tai chi style exercises, compassion, truthfulness and generally being nice. They remove their organs to sell whilst they are still alive and then cremate their bodies. Its horrific and I hadn't heard a single thing about it, despite being relatively good with current affairs. There were speeches in what I assume to be Chinese Mandarin going on and I was pretty much the only white person there. Then a protester came up to me and explained everything a bit better, I was being very supportive of their cause and he asked me if I could be interviewed on Chinese TV, I was a bit taken a back but agreed. They asked me how I'd come across it, what my feelings about it were and whether I thougth the West should get involved (only if the Falun Gong practitioners want our help, we shouldn't go sticking our nose in where it's not wanted, let the people try and sort themselves out first, we don't want a repeat of Iraq). Looks like my chances of getting a Chinese visa just decreased significantly...
I then found myself back near the Scientologists, so brought back my personality test for them to have a look at. According to them I am relatively irresponsible, emotionally withdrawn, aggressive and critical (read bitch), although I'm also fairly happy, active and some other nice traits to. They told me that they can help me fix these nasty traits, all I needed to do was buy their books and follow their teachings. It strikes me that they are a glorified self-help bookstore, they think everyone wants to be fixed and want to make a lot of money out of them whilst they do it. The place was obviously rolling in money, it was so posh and they represented a beautiful, polished veneer - become a Scientologist and you too can be this successful/rich/happy/beautiful/perfect (delete as appropriate). In my mind its everyone's faults and foibles that make them unique and whilst I accept that they were fairly accurate about me I won't accept that it makes them necessarily bad qualities. We're taught to be critically minded at University, to take nothing for granted. I would not call myself irresponsible at all, in fact I'm one of the most responsible people of my age group. Aggressive, yes, but that comes with standing up for your rights and opinions, as long as you're open to other people's views it needn't be a problem. The interview with the guy who did my test was exceptionally personal, "if you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?". "Have you ever done anything you know is wrong?" etc. But I found myself opening up to him (so perhaps I'm not emotionally withdrawn after all). Safe to say that I like myself the way I am and won't be joining the Scientoloists in the foreseeable future.
I stopped off in a few churches and Cathedrals along my walk and was most unimpressed at them, the Americans really need to take a few lessons on Cathedral building from the Europeans. Old Mary's was dark and small, not the glorious large open spaces and beautiful stain glass and artwork that I have come to expect. Although the gift shops were better.
My walk finished at Coit Tower, which is something like 500 ft above sea level and is supposed to afford great views over the city. I was most disappointed, there are only small windows allowing you to see out and there is glass covering them that is dirty, preventing the true colours from coming through. St Mary's tower in Oxford is so much nicer, relaxing with views unimpeded by glass.
Today San Francisco is celebrating the 40th anniversary of the summer of love with a big festival in a park, I'm going along and hope to see some really interesting New Religious Movements (cults) and hippy culture. We'll see.
My tour started in Union Square where there was a Christian band playing, preaching to the crowds. Every other song was secular and there were mini sermons in between. I can't imagine seeing that in the UK, let alone them being met with polite applause, people would either ignore them or hurl abuse, very few would pay any attention.
I then walked through Chinatown trying to buy birthday presents for some people as I went. The weight issue is really annoying, I keep finding things they'd love but that are really heavy. Anyway I was in one such store when I cam across a Magic 8-ball (the things you ask a question to, shake it up and they answer you) in the shape of both Buddha and Jesus! It probably wasn't serious, but i loved it anyway. Unfortunately they were slightly to expensive and really heavy, otherwise I'd have brought the Buddha one for Rhiannon immediately (on the understanding that I could benefit from his wisdom occasionally). Next to Buddha and Jesus was a toy action figure of Jesus that came complete with glow in the dark hands, 5 loaves and 2 fish (although, alas no 5000 to feed) and a jug of water/wine. That was very tempting to buy, he is so light, although I'm not sure he's worth the $10. This decision may well be reversed. I took photos of them, expect them to be added soon (provided I can work out how...).
Next I came to a square where instead of the old men gambling that my guidebook had told me to expect I came across a well organised protest against the Communist party. Apparently the Party are torturing people who practice Falun Gong, a secular practice that involves Tai chi style exercises, compassion, truthfulness and generally being nice. They remove their organs to sell whilst they are still alive and then cremate their bodies. Its horrific and I hadn't heard a single thing about it, despite being relatively good with current affairs. There were speeches in what I assume to be Chinese Mandarin going on and I was pretty much the only white person there. Then a protester came up to me and explained everything a bit better, I was being very supportive of their cause and he asked me if I could be interviewed on Chinese TV, I was a bit taken a back but agreed. They asked me how I'd come across it, what my feelings about it were and whether I thougth the West should get involved (only if the Falun Gong practitioners want our help, we shouldn't go sticking our nose in where it's not wanted, let the people try and sort themselves out first, we don't want a repeat of Iraq). Looks like my chances of getting a Chinese visa just decreased significantly...
I then found myself back near the Scientologists, so brought back my personality test for them to have a look at. According to them I am relatively irresponsible, emotionally withdrawn, aggressive and critical (read bitch), although I'm also fairly happy, active and some other nice traits to. They told me that they can help me fix these nasty traits, all I needed to do was buy their books and follow their teachings. It strikes me that they are a glorified self-help bookstore, they think everyone wants to be fixed and want to make a lot of money out of them whilst they do it. The place was obviously rolling in money, it was so posh and they represented a beautiful, polished veneer - become a Scientologist and you too can be this successful/rich/happy/beautiful/perfect (delete as appropriate). In my mind its everyone's faults and foibles that make them unique and whilst I accept that they were fairly accurate about me I won't accept that it makes them necessarily bad qualities. We're taught to be critically minded at University, to take nothing for granted. I would not call myself irresponsible at all, in fact I'm one of the most responsible people of my age group. Aggressive, yes, but that comes with standing up for your rights and opinions, as long as you're open to other people's views it needn't be a problem. The interview with the guy who did my test was exceptionally personal, "if you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?". "Have you ever done anything you know is wrong?" etc. But I found myself opening up to him (so perhaps I'm not emotionally withdrawn after all). Safe to say that I like myself the way I am and won't be joining the Scientoloists in the foreseeable future.
I stopped off in a few churches and Cathedrals along my walk and was most unimpressed at them, the Americans really need to take a few lessons on Cathedral building from the Europeans. Old Mary's was dark and small, not the glorious large open spaces and beautiful stain glass and artwork that I have come to expect. Although the gift shops were better.
My walk finished at Coit Tower, which is something like 500 ft above sea level and is supposed to afford great views over the city. I was most disappointed, there are only small windows allowing you to see out and there is glass covering them that is dirty, preventing the true colours from coming through. St Mary's tower in Oxford is so much nicer, relaxing with views unimpeded by glass.
Today San Francisco is celebrating the 40th anniversary of the summer of love with a big festival in a park, I'm going along and hope to see some really interesting New Religious Movements (cults) and hippy culture. We'll see.
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