29th November 2013

I'm back. Back in the city that feels most like home. It feels good to be here. I can appreciate what my home has to offer, and see where it might need a few tweaks. Something similar to the way I feel more generally about my life.

My last few days in the US were spent first in New York and then San Francisco – both now familiar climbs. My stay in New York was pretty much entirely confined to Brooklyn where Stacey, Martin (Bandguy) and their little boys Nolan and Cass live. No bad thing as I could happily roam the streets of Brooklyn in the shadows of the towers of Manhattan. My stay here only overlapped with Bandguy on the morning of my arrival and the evening of my departure; our time together was therefore restricted to a catch up on my arrival and a whisky session on the night of my departure. Judging by the nick of myself and Bandguy on my departure that was probably enough to be getting on with. This left time to spend in the company of Stacey and the kids who are wonderful to a last. And in between interviews my days seemed action packed between visits to the park, my friend's sunglass shop (Monocle Order), a rather lovely Turkish restaurant for eggs royale (I think that's the one with Salmon?), and a dinner in with Stacey, her friend and neighbour Vanessa and a whole bunch of kids accompanied by an unusual band who played gypsyesque jazz and featured a lady playing violin who wore a black lace cover over her face. Between all of this Stacey was holding down work and looking after two little children! I'm not sure how she does it but it certainly was an object lesson in how to manage your time effectively while maintaining an air of grace.

My interviews in New York were for the first time with people involved with different finance coops and funding-raising. An area where I could be considered to have some expertise and experience. Better yet the second of these meetings was the first time in all of the interviews and visits I've conducted to date that my introduction did not bring a look of bewilderment, consternation or outright panic when I divulge my past in banking. Instead I found myself sitting across the table looking at someone who walked away from the world of high finance and into the world of cooperatives! Better yet he loved my project and really felt it was worthwhile. I think I must have given up on meeting someone in the course of this project who I wouldn't have to carefully explain my story to. Maybe I'd never expected it? Regardless I know the meeting's timing was perfect. I know this because if I'm coming back from this trip with any one overriding thing it is a sense of self-belief, I really do feel like I'm a writer now, but more than that I feel as though the book I'm writing is going to be meaningful, at least to someone.

This recent arrival is I suppose perfectly understandable when the question that needed answering was: whether or not I'm capable of writing a book? And at that one which is going to be coherent and useful to someone? To my delight somewhere towards the end of this trip the answer changed from “I dunno” or “I guess” to “YES”. It really has sneaked up and engulfed me in its warm glow and had I not yet been an inhabitant of this newly found confidence I don't think the meeting would have felt like the final step of affirmation. Instead I'd probably still be feeling that slightly fraudulent vibe that stuck around in the early days of this venture, now lying cast off down the road that's led me here.

I think this blog post has now strayed into some pretty serious reflection and its probably incumbent upon me to shift it back to its more familiar territory. Still I guess a little reflection isn't a bad thing at the end of a journey? Leaving New York a day later than planned thanks to a missed flight caused by the long overrunning interview (as you'll know from reading above this was undoubtedly a price worth paying) San Francisco was my last taste of the USA for a while, and bathed in that glorious California sun I could think of no better. Once again my time was short and hinged upon a couple of interviews I'd been chasing for a while and missing the flight made everything a little more precarious. But any effort to maintain some semblance of urgency went straight out of the window as soon as I stepped off the plane and felt the pace of life slow. The sun no longer struggling to make its presence felt and the frantic pace of New York chatter slowed to the gentle Californian drawl.

I spent my first night back in town at the hostel where I'd spent most of my time back in September and took the opportunity to catch up with a few of the friends who were still here and their tales of those who'd moved on. Happily the general sentiment was positive, though I think it would take something pretty drastic to through many of them off their serene simplicity. My last port of call for the trip was Berkeley to stay with Oddy and Vanessa who I met first at Burning Man. They recently moved into a home in Berkeley on the other side of the Bay to San Francisco and home of the famous university. They were lovely as ever and made sure I felt looked after, their warmth and sense of fun is pretty infectious and I really can't imagine a better pair for parenthood (they are about to get in the family way for the first time). Aside from suggesting some outlandish baby names and enjoying a curry in Downtown Berkeley I didn't have all that much time to spend with them between interviews and a mission to retrieve a “lost” jacket. It all worked out well in any event as I was happy to leave them some time Oddy having just returned from a long trip to Australia I was pleased that I wouldn't be imposing for too long given the circumstances. Besides which Oddy had sent me a brief, succinct email a little while ago that said something like follows “sorry we didn't have time to properly catch up. I have a feeling out paths might not cross for a while but I know they will continue to do so for many years to come”. Its a sentiment I share and look forward to fulfilling, not just with Oddy but all of the great friends new and old I've spent time with on this trip.

18th November 2013

So here I am sitting in Cleveland, Ohio sheltering from the storm that's been taking out trees, lampposts and worst of all people over the last 24 hours across the mid-west. The finishing line for my trip is now in sight and that would be fine if it wasn't for the fact the cooperative I most wanted to visit on this trip are refusing to respond to any of my enquiries. They're called Evergreen and are based here in Cleveland. I even doorstepped them today, well at least tried to and didn't even manage to get them to answer the door. Still I can't get too hung up on it, my stay here has been excellent otherwise with my host David making sure I've been able to see all aspects of this somewhat paradoxical city.


Yesterday between finishing articles for my website that is almost ready for launch we visited the City Art Gallery here. We arrived via a park that was built around the same time by the guy who masterminded the design of this Central park in New York. The milder weather here than back west in Chicago meant the leaves still bore their autumnal canopy and as with central park the naturalistic contours draw the eye across green lawns garnished in the golden leaves, yet to mulch up and fade to brown. The gallery is one of the best I've ever visited and included a ton of my favourite artists work including some really great Picasso, Manet, Miro, Dali and many, many more. The gallery and the other museums in the area tells the story of this city. They were for the most part built when the town was rich with industry and tycoons saw fit to bequeath their wealth, at least part of it in the noble cause of the arts. Building a natural history museum, planetarium, botanical gardens and a few other palatial buildings of one sort or another. But rather than reflecting the city's more recent demise these buildings represent its response. The gallery we visited has been wrapped in a new building with a now vast atrium that housed some really cool Ai Weiwei sculptures of the zodiac animals and a sweeping glass ceiling. Its not entirely unreminiscent of the great courtyard in the british museum. There's also a nearby Frank Gehry building and a gallery of contemporary art called Mocca designed by Zia Habib. It all feels a long way from my first impression of the city on arrival a few days ago. The city's centre feels hollowed out and I suppose this is the same thing that's happened more infamously in Detroit, maybe just not quite so catastrophically.


Before my arrival here in Cleveland I spent a few days in Chicago and though I enjoyed my stay there wasn't a whole lot of time to adjust to the city's rhythm (I think it takes a more time the bigger the city) not helped by the schedule of work related stuff that ate up most of my time. Not that I should complain as the visits and interviews I conducted with New Era Window Coop were some of the best I've conducted to date. And I still managed to spend a day walking around the centre of town taking in the skyline and heading up Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) and enjoying its views across the city and east over lake Michigan. Wish I had more to say about Chicago but like I said I just didn't feel as though I had the time to properly absorb it.


Here in Cleveland another little revelation has been a couple of visits I've enjoyed to one of David's favourite hangouts his friend's bookshop and 'zine archive called The Guide to Kulchur. Its owned an operated by his friend and poet, novelist, artist and all-round creative RA Washington. He and David are the sort of friends who its nice to observe in full flow, they're both very different in may regards but share a deep sense of compassion for humanity and more importantly one another. Last night we attended a book, well two book launches in the basement of the store where there's a super cool performance space. One of the books was RA's latest novel which I think had a pretty auto-biographical streak and was read with a a great deal of gusto (good gusto before and definitely not the more pompous flavour). After a rather avant-garde local band performed a couple of songs the other launchee read a few of his short stories. They were like nothing I've known and a sufficient description evades me right now. I expect I'll have to buy his book and spend a little more time digesting them...



Anyway, next stop NYC and the smiling faces of Bandguy, Stacey and their brood. 

18th November 2013

Madison, Wisconsin is dominated by its university and state administration (its the state capital of Wisconsin – I recently figured out that state capitals far form being arbitrarily selected are in nearly every case chosen for their central location in their state). These two industries are symbolised by the two grandest buildings here: the Capitol building that rivals Washington's in scale and splendour and the university library; both are located on hills with buildings for government and university radiating around them. Though Wisconsin enjoys or should I say endures a Republican governor thanks in no small part to the rest of the state with the exception of Milwaukee. In fact its a hot bed of liberalism away from the Pacific and Atlantic coasts, serving as home to a bunch of housing co-ops and more famously the site of the occupation of the capitol building in response to the tragically named Rep governor Scott Walker (I'll never listen to the Old Man's Back Again in quite the same way) attempts to strip state employees of their collective bargaining rights. All in all I'm thinking this place sounds like my kind of town...


My friend and post-graduate researcher Elena who I first met in Bolivia works here and kindly offered to sort out accommodation for my stay here in one of housing coops I mentioned earlier. My expectation was that I'd be staying in a large shared apartment with maybe 6 or 7 residents, who'd all be students of one sort or another. This proved to be rather wide of the mark and after meeting Jeff (one of the co-op members) on the University campus a brief walk took us to the lakeside and the site of the co-operative. Its called Ambrosia and houses around 30 souls, including three kids, students, former students an apprentice welder and a couple of other folks who's profession and status was unclear to me. The building was an old Jewish women's home spread over five floors with shared spaces on ground and basement and people's bedrooms on the rest. Though a little ramshackle it was brimming with a character replete with squeaky floor boards, mid-20^th century pluming, residents both former and current;s artworks and bric-a-brac furniture. Before I settled in to my accommodation I successfully negotiated a specially arranged meeting where the residents would determine whether or not I would be welcomed as a “crasher” - a guest who stays for a few days as opposed to a full on member and resident. This meant sitting in front of a around 10 of the residents and explaining who I am and what I do. Fortunately the questions didn't seem to challenging and my status as a former banker may have caused and intake of breath initially but my writing project set any worries about a potential arch-capitalist in their midst at ease. Winning I think the first election I've ever stood in I took up residence on the fourth floor and set to work on a various strands of writing I'd been struggling to find time to finish. Feeling a little like a happier version of the man from the underground I enjoyed a very productive if somewhat solitary and rather spartan couple of days writing and taking walks around the windswept streets of Madison.


I wasn't a total recluse and bookended my stay with some more social endeavours... On the night of my arrival I joined some of the residents in visiting another co-op house where a story telling evening was being held. The theme was family and many interesting tales abound – though most described family dynamics I couldn't quite relate to; reminding me how different the american experience is to the UK. If anything it made me feel a little short changed by some of my favourite writers who are in the main north american writers of fiction who's stories now seemed a little more run of the mill given their similarity to some of the stories voiced here and perhaps my own increasing familiarity with this vast country. The last day of my stay I met with Elena who'd so kindly arranged for my stay. She'd been out of town up until then at a wedding in Toronto, thankfully we managed to spend some time before I left we meeting for coffee and a walk along the banks of the lake. It was exciting to see her and share news of our progress in our respective writings and research that seemed to be progressing for both of us. I expect next time we meet we'll have finished books to exchange – a tantalising thought if ever there was one.


I spent my last night sat around a fire with the other residents in the old living room. We'd all enjoyed the nightly meal of vegetarian delights that are served up everyday at 6pm (barring Sundays where a brunch is offered at 12 instead). The atmosphere was familial and though I'd been party to a few gripes that I guess are inevitable when you have 30 people trying to make democratic decisions on all aspects of day to day life (inevitably people in the minority at one point or another are bound to feel some frustration – its only human, I think?) much of what they do makes a huge amount of sense to me. Each resident has around 5 hours of jobs a week leaving time to live, learn, procrastinate or whatever. I made some good friends here and as with so many of my stops of late I felt short of time and would hurry back if given the opportunity. Still Chicago lay in wait and its bright lights and co-ops couldn't wait any longer...

15th November 2013

After leaving Neil and Joel heading in the opposite direction back to Canada I caught yet another greyhound bus to take me from Missoula to Billings to collect my hire car. This was a pretty long journey that took most of the day and by the time I got to Billings I was already pairing back my plans to push on to Wyoming that night. Things deteriorated when I discovered I'd actually booked my car for collection in Butte rather than Billings 200 miles back from where I'd come. Thankfully the girl at the desk was really kind and managed to arrange for me to hire a different car to drive back to Butte to collect the car I should've been driving without costing me too much. So back to Butte it was and ever farther from my planned destination.


By the time I got the actual car I'd be driving east, a rather sleek black Nissan Altima complete with cruise control and a booking stereo with bluetooth connection for my iphone it was almost 11pm. My original plan for Wyoming was now well and truly up the spout and the best I could hope for was to make it back to Billings and making the trip to Wyoming the next day. This would take a further three hours and was made all the more difficult with the conditions throwing up pretty much every shitty bit of weather you could name: freezing fog, snow and icy roads. Somehow I managed to hold it all together and by around 2am I stopped at a motel just about 60 miles short of Billings.


The next day I'd given up on cursing my stupidity and feeling frustrated about loosing time to enjoy the different stops I'd plotted along my route (its hard to stay pissed off (even at yourself) when you're confronted with Montana). A new plan in mind I set off for that day's new final destination: Rapid City, South Dakota. Along the way I'd visit Devil's Tower – a 300 and something metre rock formation in Wyoming, buoyed by the knowledge the drive itself would offer ample opportunity to reflect on my trip, the book that's becoming ever more coherent and listen to music – loud; all while soaking up the wondrous landscapes of Montana and Wyoming that lay in wait.


I'd made it to Billings an hour after breakfast and the fearsome weather of the previous night had given way to blue skies with high cirrus clouds streaked across its pale blue expanse. On turning towards the south soon after I left the by now familiar landscapes I'd enjoyed in Montana for the last few days and entered the county of Big Horn where that foolhardy killer of innocents and celebrated American Custer got his ass handed to him. I didn't feel much like stopping here regardless of schedule but the landscape with its baron simplicity and geological formations was instantly reminiscent of the westerns I'd watched as a boy and man. And as things would turn out this was to be the theme of the day as Big Horn gave way to Crow Country – a native america reservation where the countryside was pocked with some of the most dilapidated settlements I've ever seen. I found out later that its not a good idea to stop here if you're white as there is so much animosity about the Crow's plight. All I could think of at the time was the movie Jeremiah Johnstone where Robert Redford is pursued by the Crow through the mountains relentlessly to avenge the ancestors for his crime of walking through their sacred burial ground. Soon enough I was to see mountains such as those he was pursued through as I finally entered Wyoming. First through the Big Horn mountains, then high plains and desert. All with those majestic Rocky mountains making up the horizon to the south and west. I wondered how it must've felt for the first pioneers entering such unfamiliar lands, and the native americas finding these strangers with their guns and sense of entitlement but most of all I thought how I would have longed to be one of those people native or pioneer who was able to walk this land before roads and settlements of concrete and glass arrived...


I stopped in the little town of Sheridan, Wyoming for some lunch where the town is laid out along the same lines I imagine it was when originally settled with one long main street marking almost all of the settlement. It must've been the sight for at least a couple of duels and maybe even a heist of the Wells Fargo bank which completely authentic. I stopped in to a rather elegant restaurant and enjoyed friendly service from a wholesome Wyoming girl and stretched my legs a little before getting back on I-90 and making for Devil's Tower. I'd decided to visit Devil's Tower pretty late in the day but when you see a picture (I've included one below) of it you understand how otherworldly it is, and in my book that's a good enough reason to seek it out (you might also recognise it from the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind). By the time I arrived the sun was waning and cast its light across the fields of windswept wheat surrounding it a glistening blanket of gold against the imposing darkness of the leviathan. I was once more in a state of awe at the natural beauty here in the west. Back in the car I travelled onwards for another couple of hours coming down from the high plains past the historic town of Deadwood, arriving in Rapid City, South Dakota 600 miles under my belt for the day, craving for a deep restful sleep.

I got up early the next day and made my way to the Black Hills to visit Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse statues. Mount Rushmore was a little underwhelming, although it did peak my interest in the President I knew least about – Teddy Roosevelt. It inevitably suffered when held in comparison to the much grander albeit incomplete statue of Crazy Horse nearby that will when finished consume the entire mountain its cast from. Crazy Horse didn't win any prizes either when held in comparison to the Black Hills where both monuments lie. Forested and covered in snow these rolling hills were yet another inspirational aspect of the natural beauty in all its abundance that marks this part of the world.


By lunchtime I was on the road for my last stop of the day: the Badlands of South Dakota. These jagged rock formations are like nothing else and should be visited by everyone at least once if humanly possible. Their serrated forms rise out of the plains and have an ethereal feel that is quite unlike any other I've known. I know it seems strange to describe them as ethereal given their imposing nature and permanence but they felt like I'd dreamt or hallucinated their ghostly forms. Perhaps it was the blanket of snow that covered them or my own preconceptions I'm not sure? Either way it was definitely enhanced when a long eared owl flew in front of my windscreen no more than 2 feet away! After a couple of enchanted hours travelling this strange world I resumed my journey east and pushed on for Minneapolis arriving at midnight. This would give me the luxury of not driving the next day and 900 miles under my belt for the day on the straightest most uneventful roads I expect I'll ever see I was pleased of that.


The home of Prince didn't seem willing to give up any of its secrets to me in the day I had to explore so I decided to take a visit to the polar opposite of the co-operatives and wide open spaces that had dominated proceedings thus far and head to the biggest shopping mall in the northern hemisphere: The Mall of America. There's not much I can tell you about this place that you couldn't guess short of the fact it has a series of roller-coasters in the centre of the complex and is barring this bright spot marked by vast areas coloured grey, beige or magnolia. Feeling like I'd made a big mistake, especially as the only item on my shopping list (stamps) seemed to be the only thing they didn't sell in there I made my way to the cinema and was happily transported to a happier place watching the fabulous new movie by Alphonso Cuaron: Gravity. If you haven't seen it on the big screen please do so while you can its a thing of beauty.



The next day marked my last in the car which by now I'd grown rather fond of and only required a quick 4 hour drive to Madison, Wisconsin where I was scheduled to spend 4 days in a Housing Co-operative. I'll let you know about that in my next post...

13th November 2013

My last post left off just as Neil, Joel and I were leaving Nelson, British Columbia to head for a road trip to Yellowstone park in Wyoming. Leaving Friday afternoon we figured we'd be able to make it down as far as Yellowstone by around midnight. That was to prove a little ambitious, particularly given the inaccurate directions Google maps was to provide. The first event of note happened as we reached the sleepy border check-point around an hours drive south of Nelson.


The lone border officer was a friendly lady who somehow knew who Joel was but I suppose that's not too surprising when you consider he's the doctor in a pretty rural community. As it turns out her knowing Joel is probably the only reason we weren't detained... We were asked a number of pretty standard questions including whether we had any guns or knives. I chipped in that I had a small pen-knife which she was happy to confirm was perfectly acceptable, Neil however reported to having possession of a much larger hunting knife that he's bought in the US. On announcing this fact Neil rather naively produced the knife form his door pocket and unsheathed it no more than six inches from the officer's face! This definitely put a slightly more frosty complexion on things and as stated previously its my strong belief that our avoidance of detention was thanks to the good doctor's presence.


Our progress form there was relatively uneventful as we drove through first Washington, to Idaho and finally entering Montana. Driving in a large pick-up meant regular stops for gas punctuated our journey and the extent of my time in Idaho was a stop at a rundown garage where the locals had that classic boondocks appearance you'd expect (pot-bellies, flannel shirts, beards and caps). Just before entering Idaho we joined the I-90 (Interstate) that was to be the thoroughfare I'd follow pretty much all the way to Chicago over the next ten days.


Not long after passing the city of Butte Google advised us to make a turn towards the Mammoth, a small town at the north end of Yellowstone park. By now it was past midnight and Neil had been valiantly driving for almost eight hours. The road we followed become ever narrower and more remote and while ordinarily this may have rung alarm bells we were all tired and figured that Yellowstone was going to be pretty remote and rural but it was not to be, after 80kms we arrived in Mammoth but it turned out it was a private estate at the very end of the road we'd followed. The only thing for it was to turn back and retrace our steps. Eventually we got back on the I-90 but consulting a good old fashioned paper map we realised we'd only reach Yellowstone if we continued pretty much right through the night. Consensus was reached with little difficultly that we should take up a new plan and find lodgings in a motel as close to our current location as possible. That led to the village of Three Forks where we managed to wake the owner and secure a room complete with three double beds, leaving our final push to Yellowstone for the morning.


A goodnight's sleep, albeit short saw us all refreshed and raring to go, daylight also revealed a fresh fall of snow and the wide open expanses of Montana. Its called Big Sky Country and its for very good reason the drive down to Yellowstone took us down a wide open plain flanked by imposing snowy mountains to our left and right with azure skies and barely a soul to see. It was kind of like Scotland on very strong steroids. By early afternoon we reached the park and commenced a series of quick tours around various geyser basins, climaxing in most famous of them all old faithful. Though watching it blow was definitely a sight to see I think I was more struck by the alien landscape of [check map] that would be revealed as the wind would blow the steam to and fro.


As daylight shrank we got back in the pickup to make for the north-side of the park via Yellowstone lake that forms the centre of the park and roughly marks the caldera of the super volcano that created the otherworldly place. Ringed with mountains and filled with the bluest of blue water all enhanced by the setting sun. After the lake we made a quick pitstop at Yosemite Falls but by twilight had turned to very last vestige of dusk and we could make out no more that a silhouette of the falls. Leaving the park's north exit via the Rosevelt gate we arrived in the town of Gardiner where we found lodging in a very cosy little yellow wooden lodge. A few whiskies and a round or two of the Who Wants to be A Millionaire board game was about as much sa we could muster after a very unsatisfying deep fried meal in the only place in town that served food after 9pm.


The next day we returned to Yellowstone and went for a hike in the snow towards Electric peak a craggy mountain that marks the north-west corner of the park. Joel destroyed his feet with ill fitting shoes which curtailed out progress a little but kudos to him for soldiering through, his heals were literally right down to the flesh. On leaving the park we headed back towards the I-90 and Butte where a good nights rest would punctuate our parting.



I'm so pleased the guys joined me for the initial part of my larger trip road trip. Serving as a great way to get back into the rhythm of life on the road. Of course its also a great way to cement a new friendship and further cement an existing one and the trip fulfilled this role as well anyone could ever want.

11th November 2013

Its been a while since my last post in Vancouver. Since then I've travelled across the wide open spaces of Montana, Wyoming and South Dakota and find myself in a co-operative home in Madison, Wisconsin. Before embarking on this epic voyage I stopped in Nelson, British Columbia. Its a kind of sleepy little ski town nestled in the Kootenay mountains with a west coast vibe thanks to the influx of Vietnam draft dodgers who arrived in the late 60 and early 70.


This stop was a little different to most of my chosen destinations as the draw lay not in the co-operatives, landscapes or culture but three dear friends from my hometown of Penicuik who've moved here with their families over the course of the last 10 years or so. The draw for each of them is Nelson's situation – an eight hour drive inland from Vancouver it enjoys some of the most prodigious snow falls of anywhere in the world, not only that its all powder. I'm no skier but from what I gather this is pretty much as good as it can get. Furthermore its low profile compared to better know ski-destinations means the locals are able to enjoy the abundant fresh powder without having to compete with tourists. Unlike my friends the thought of all this snow doesn't fill me with the same kind of excitement and its arrival could've been a serious obstacle to the rest of my trip – thankfully it held off until just after I left.


Paul, Neil and Dave (my hometown friends) have built wonderful lives for themselves and their families out here. And after almost 4 years without seeing Neil and only a couple of fleeting meetings with Dave and Paul over the same time period back in the UK it was truly wonderful to spend 10 blissful days hanging out with them all.


Nelson itself lies at the foot of a tree covered valley where deep green pines and golden larch cover the steep slopes and mark autumn's slow progress towards winter. Neil has found gainful employment working for a local festival called Shambala and most days I'd drive round to meet him for lunch, sampling a different eatery on nearly every occasion. Finding a different place to lunch over the course of 10 days might seem surprising if you consider that Nelson's population is less than 10,000. However, the draft dodgers brought their very own industry with them from California and that industry is pot growing. I suppose it lies beneath the surface to some extent but one of the consequences of its existence is the relatively high disposable income the locals enjoy. This is of course usually cash that is best spent in restaurants, bars or stores. They also brought some other economic institutions with them one of which is the Kootenay Co-op where I was able to hold a wonderful interview with its marketing manager, Jocelyn.


All three of my friends own big pick-up trucks and they were kind enough to let me use them whenever I needed. And even though I'm not sure I really needed to use them, nor if I actually approve of these vast gas guzzling machines I cannot deny that I loved cruising around town in a Dodge Ram with a 5.8 litre V8 hemi. I'm a little unshaved right now even by my poorly groomed standards and in possession of a baseball cap so I'm pretty sure to any passers by I looked just like the real deal. It was a trip.


Short of spending time with my friends, their partners and wonderful kids I was able to do a little exploring outside of town. A particular highlight was a trip we all made to an old growth forest of fir trees and pines where I was assured there would be at least some chance of an encounter with a grizzly bear. Sadly (or perhaps not) we didn't find any bears but the forest was magical and if I was a bear I'd be pretty damn pleased to call it home. Afterwards I headed to a hot springs with Dave and his clan. Never having been to a hot springs I didn't really know what to expect and even though it wasn't what I pictured the reality was every bit as good as I could have wished for. The springs themselves were located in caves you could swim into and lie floating in a dark warm corner with the waters gently soothing and relaxing every last muscle, joint and ligament in your body. The effects were so profound two hours passed as if it was the a blink of an eye.


Paul – a civil engineer lives a little further out of town in a home he and his family moved to around a year ago. When I say home I'm neglecting to mention the 16 acres of forested land it sits within. His wife Jana is making use of the space by indulging her passion for horses and much of their time of late has been spent making provision for their four legged friends. However, winter is approaching and time is therefore running out to finish the various projects they've got going on, chief among them a huge carport – more of a bard to my mind that will accommodate the horse trailer. I'm no builder and was happy to leave this more technical work to Dave and Paul who are eminently more qualified than I. That said I've always enjoyed a spot of straight forward manual labour and made myself as helpful as I could by filling in a trench that was dug out to accommodate a power supply for the new hot-tub. There's something very satisfying and relaxing about simple manual labour and by the end of the day my back may have smarted a little but the cable was buried and the trench filled. Sadly the hot-tub wasn't quite ready to go before I departed but its one more reason to come back in the future.



I was really sad to leave Nelson, I could've quite happily stayed in its warm embrace for a long, long time but the plan is the plan and I still hadn't made too much of a dent in my traverse to the east coast. Happily I didn't leave empty handed as Neil and his friend Joel decided they'd come with me for a road trip to Yellowstone park. So Friday night after Neil finished work we loaded his pick up and the three of us set off south and east looking for adventure and some of the wonder that part of the world has always tantalised me with...

22nd October 2013

I arrived last night in the town Nelson, British Columbia around 400 miles inland from Vancouver after leaving Seattle on Thursday, heading north to Canada once more via Greyhound for three action packed days in Vancouver. As per usual I arrived at night, but for the first time in all my travels I'd managed to arrange to do a bit of couch surfing – for the uninitiated this is a website that lets you find people in different locations around the world who have a spare bed or sofa they are willing to have guests come and stay on. In my case Rey Torres who replied to my application as my focus on co-operatives peaked his interest being an employee of the biggest Credit Union (co-operative bank) in Canada.


On arrival I was warmly welcomed by Rey along with his friend Miguel and served my first home cooked meal of this trip; a rather delicious marinated pork chop and Chinese vegetables. After dinner we sat down and began to get to know one another and much to our shared delight we discovered a we were both burners! Granted Rey is a rather more seasoned burner than I having attended the last nine in a row but whether its one or nine it all still counts.


On Friday I got up and made a trip to downtown Vancouver where I found more helpful people than a worldwide convention of Samaritans. Whether it was to give directions, serve me a coffee, or sort out my laundry every single person I met here was warm, generous and only to happy to go the extra mile. The city reflects this with clean streets and lots of smiling faces despite the fog bound conditions that endured for pretty much my entire stay. Later I met with Roy Symonds and his wife Roy's an old friend who I haven't seen since we left school which makes it a cool eighteen years who's been living out here for the last four or five. He like most round these parts loves the outdoor life and took me for a hike up the Grouse Grind – a very steep climb up a mountainside that takes you up to the top of Grouse ski resort immediately north of the city. It climbs to around 3,500 ft in no time at all with most of the trail consisting of hefty stone steps sometimes as much as three foot high a time. Even before we'd started the climb we'd come high enough to get above the clouds, although no views were forthcoming until we reached the summit after 90 minutes of panting (on my part at any rate) and clambering thanks to the pine trees covering the steeply sloping face of the mountain. When we did make to the top the views across the cloud covered city to Vancouver island in the west and south towards the Rockies and in particular the snowy peak of Mount Baker back in Washington state were sensational. Appreciation all aided in no small part by the conveniently located lodge with bar serving up some fine BC beer. In the night I went to a burner party with Rey and met with my buddy Adrian who lives and works in Vancouver. He and I have now managed to meet three times on three separate continents (South Africa, Peru and now Canada) in the last year and it looks as though we'll meet again in India come next February!


Saturday morning marked the start of a conference on the New Economy. For those not in the know it can best be described as an ecosystem of institutions and business models that aim to democratise and empower all members of society, ensuring natural and human resources are deployed and consumed equitably and sustainably. If that still sounds a little nebulous, lets just say its there are lots of co-operatives engaged in this area and its therefore a great place to link up and learn about some really cool stuff for the book I'm currently researching / writing. The conference itself was located on Glanville island sitting under the main bridge that takes you downtown from southern Vancouver. Until its recent conversion the the island was the location for most of the fishing industry's processing plants (Much like Seattle this is a watery city and boats of all sorts be it container ships or pleasure cruisers line the bays and inlets around the city). Nowadays the old industrial buildings on the island are filled with farmers markets, hotels, restaurants and artisanal shops of all descriptions. Some remnants of its industrial part do remain intact with a working concrete plant tucked to one side of the island. I won't go into the details of the conference suffice it to say I learnt about a heck of a lot of cool and innovative stuff going on in Vancouver co-operatives and made a half dozen really good contacts (if you're really interested I've got an article on the conference I'll be putting up on a new website in the not too distant).


Saturday night Rey took me along to see a friend of his Jazz orchestra at SFU in Gastown, the oldest part of Vancouver. To my delight the band turned out to be comprised of some the best jazz musicians in Canada and their performance (a tribute to Kenny Wheeler – Canadian trumpet and composing jazz legend who lives in London) included a world premiere of a new Kenny Wheeler piece. The music as it has the potential to do transported me to a different world with its complex harmonics and pwerful horn section. And the flugel horn player who took up the lead more often than not played with a tone and control that was something you have to see and hear to believe.



Sunday was my last day in Vancouver and the conference. Rey who'd been so kind right through my trip and in three days become a good friend threw a little dinner party in the evening where he served up Lamb shanks, red wine and good company. And that was the end of my three action packed days in home of the Canucks. Not sure when I'll be back but I look forward to spending more time here, its got an easy charm all of its own and I can understand why everyone seems so damn happy to be there.

16th October 2013

I'm writing this blog sitting in the Twedes diner in North Bend perhaps better known as the RR diner in Twin Peaks. I guess this is as close to a pilgrimage as it comes for an atheist like me? While Twedes interior may not be quite as enchanting as it was on the show nor the waitress quite as sexy as Shelly Johnson I'm definitely feeling a little tingly. I travelled here by bus from Seattle this morning and my plan is to walk around and see the a few of the sites and sounds that are so familiar to a Twin Peaks fan like me.


Since my last post I've left Eugene behind and arrived in Seattle on route to Vancouver before I finally kiss the Pacific coast goodbye and start my journey across the continent to the bright lights of New York city. I spent my last couple of days in Eugene being a little more social than the earlier part of my stay and sampled a few of the local wares, not least of all the beer. Eugene and more generally the northwest (Oregon and Washington states) enjoy the perfect conditions to grow hops and there are more breweries operating in these parts than anywhere else in the world. Eugene a relatively small city has more than three breweries all offering a vast range of beers. Last Thursday I visited the Ninkasi brewery (apparently she was the Sumerian goddess of beer) where there is a shiny new tasting room attached to the brewery and its full range of regular and one off beers are available.


Eugene not only provided me with delicious beer it also perhaps more surprisingly served up some of the best pizza I've ever eaten in a restaurant called Sizzle Pie. Its located in the heart of downtown just opposite Ken Kessey of The Merry Pranksters fame (see Tom Wolfe's – Electric Kool Aid Acid Test if you're not sure who he or the Pranksters were). They offer slices, salads or entire pizzas who's proportions are on a par with the restaurant's tables. As well as pizza I enjoyed a visit to a Japanese cocktail bar and restaurant who served up great octopus and Japanese mules (not sure what goes into this cocktail but it was spicy, sharp and delicious).


I arrived in Seattle late Sunday night under cover of darkness which appears to be my default mode of entry into nearly every city I visit. Monday revealed a clean and spacious town with far fewer homeless than I'd grown accustomed to in San Francisco and Eugene. My hostel is close to the waterfront in the Belltown district (not saying much in such a watery city where the Puget sound and associated waterways weave between the city street). It feels like an industrious sort of place and is home to some of the biggest names in business, Boeing, Microsoft and Starbucks to name but a few. It also marks the base of operations for the USA's northern Pacific fishing fleet who can be assured of shelter from the stormy winters in the sound. This in turn explain the number of seafood restaurants I've spotted around here and the burly looking guys wearing flannel shirts who an American guy I was speaking with in a nearby dive bar explained were fisherman.


Yesterday I visited the EMP (Experience Music Project) – a huge museum for contemporary music that was paid for by Paul Allen of Microsoft fame (or is that infamy?) designed by Frank Geary (he of the Guggenheim in Bilbao). Its located just beneath the space needle so finding it wasn't a problem. I believe the exhibitions change around a little but happily the four on offer yesterday were all phenomenal. The first order of business was the Jimi Hendrix exhibit. I'd heard thorough the grapevine Allen had originally commissioned the museum to serve as a Hendrix museum but his family who control his estate refused. I'm not sure if this is myth or reality – either way I was happy they had an exhibit official or not. The exhibition basically told the story of Jimi's time in London where he first became a star. It succeeded in transporting me to the Swinging London with its mixture of artefacts (can I call a guitar form 1967 an artefact?) and interactive audio-visual pieces. There were of course the obligatory smashed guitars as well as a few in better repair and standing next to them you do feel a sense of being closer to Jimi. The same goes for Kurt Cobain who's biography was detailed in an even more comprehensive manner in the exhibition on grunge and the Seattle music scene that was in part curated by Chris Novacek formerly of Nirvana. I know both Kurt and Jimi are members of the 27 club but there was something much more somber about Cobain's history. Perhaps its just that stark reality of blowing your brains out with a shotgun as opposed to choking inadvertently on your own vomit? Or maybe its the music each made? I'm really not sure. The two remaining exhibitions – The Hall of Guitars and an area upstairs where you can play guitar, bass, drums and keyboards – scratch DJ or produce a Eurythmics track provided some lighter entertainment. All tolled I spent around four hours in there, a time I think bettered only by the Met in NYC in my history of museum going. And if you ever get to Seattle you have to check it out.



I'm going to have slice of cherry pie now before heading over to the Great Northern hotel and the location of the Twin Peaks title credits vista. Tomorrow its Vancouver where once again I'll arrive in the dark of night, unless of course Bob gets me (TP fans only)...

9th October 2013

I've been in Eugene, Oregon since leaving San Francisco on Sunday a week later than planned thanks to a bout of flu that knocked me out for a couple of days. My original plan on departing San Francisco was to visit Portland where there are a wealth of co-operatives. But having missed my original booking I decided it would be better to spend some time in a more tranquil environment where I could collect the abundance of thoughts floating around my head from the many interviews I'd conducted with co-operatives in the Bay area I'd visited, and write it all up without the distractions of hostel life. To that end I booked a week in an RV (recreational vehicle, motorhome, Winnebago or whatever other name you may choose) via the wonderful website that is AirBnB – if you're not aware of it check it out now (https://www.airbnb.com/).

The highlight of the last few days I spent in San Francisco following my recovery was The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival held in Golden Gate Park. I was hoping to hear the thrum of banjos, washboards and pedal steel but sadly our rather late arrival meant we only had time for a bite to eat at our friend Turtle Smasher's food truck: Me So Hungry (http://mesohungrytruck.com/) and a couple of bands. Happily this was ample compensation.

Me So Hungry serves up gourmet sliders (mini burgers for those not in the know). I opted for a couple of Cali sliders which consisted of burger, gorgonzola, balsamic sautéed onions and smoked applewood bacon. Delicious doesn't even begin to describe and the taste sensation and the sweet potato fries with spiced sour cream were on pretty much the same level. Of course it all tastes better when its free and thanks to Turtle Smasher's offer of trading Eva, Audrey and I food for beer our bill amounted to a little over two bucks each, which in my book is pretty close to free!

Once we'd finished with the sliders we headed to the stage Connor Oberst was curating and headlining. He also goes by the name of Bright Eyes and was at some point the latest “new Dylan”, I'm sure they've found someone else to hand that one of now. The stage was set in a beautiful tree lined dell with the stage nestled at the far end. I should quickly mention the festival was entirely free (see previous paragraph for my thoughts on free stuff). There's a pretty longstanding tradition of free music festivals in San Francisco and given the generally bohemian populous, clement weather and vibrant music scene here its easy to understand why. The first band to play were First Aid Kit, a Swedish folk duo who are apparently sisters. Their songs were sweet and pastoral not unlike the Fleet Foxes if a little more stripped back. I haven't been to many festivals where the tempo is quite so slow but on a day like that Friday it seemed entirely appropriate and its pretty great to watch the band lying on the grass without the usual obstructions (i.e. other festival goers jumping around boisterously). Sadly this didn't last as Mr Oberst's arrival on stage triggered what seemed like a couple of thousand young women's arrival, who were almost to the last one stood on tip-toes with tearful expressions on their faces. I resisted the temptation to join in with the waterworks but rose to my feet and enjoyed his brand of emotionally charged contemporary folk music, albeit not quite as much as the rest of the audience. Good times indeed.

I'm looking forward to returning to San Francisco later in November to see some of the friends I've made and hopefully discover a few more of the treasure trove of hidden gems this city has to offer. For now its onwards and northwards...

Eugene, is a smallish city that lies pretty much right in the middle of the Interstate 5 corridor. The road connects California to Portland in the very north of Oregon and is where most of the state's, well at least its more liberal members abide, running northwards, charting a course that runs parallel to the coast around 50 miles inland. The western half of the state is for the most part tree covered, with Sequoias, Douglas firs and all manner of pines covering its hillsides. Eugene keeps this theme going, although it has rather more deciduous trees than the conifers that dominated the landscape on the journey here. My timing weather-wise has been less than perfect (it rained pretty much all day the last two days) but these trees have put on a colourful display with pinks, auburn, gold and green that offer some compensation. Rain or shine each day I've bicycled into the centre of town along the banks of the Williamette river who's banks are lined with trees proudly displaying their colourful canopies. There's a pretty sleepy sort of feel here, although I'm sure if I was to venture towards the part of town where the University of Oregon resides I'd find a little more action. But I'm not, so I won't.

The RV is perfect for my needs, I have gas, electricity, wifi and running water. A comfortable bed and desk to write at and best of all peace and quiet. It really is blissful, especially now I've figured out how to fit in the shower. Perhaps I'll do a little more exploring here before I go but for now the best thing Eugene has to offer is the sanctuary that is my RV.

7th October 2013

I've finally left the Bay Area, all be it a little later than planned thanks to a bout of sickness and find myself in Eugene, Oregon. I've talked about the stoop by the hostel I stayed at in San Francisco in earlier blog posts and today's post goes back there... 

I met so many people there all with a different story to tell but as I reflect on the goings on I find myself thinking about a young Canadian man I met there from Saskatchewan, “right in the middle [of Canada]” as he so aptly described it. His name was Sterling, I found this out only after mistakenly suggesting he might have Scots or Irish roots (I suspect knowing his name would have done little to shake this misapprehension), it turned out he wasn't and was in fact a little Hungarian and the rest Cree Indian. A quick check on Wikipedia reveals the Cree are one of the largest remaining Native American tribe, at around 200,000 strong which seems like quite a few more than I'd guesstimated... He had strong features and dark auburn hair with freckled skin and noble green eyes. His voice, soft and scratchy was self deprecating and manner, almost old fashioned.


It turns out he's here to skate, not like the other “skaters” I've met on the stoop who are to be found across San Francisco and the state of California. Instead Sterling skates on ice, chasing a puck at breakneck speed in the game of ice hockey. He was visiting San Francisco to try out for a professional team. On hearing this news I naively asked if it was with the NHL (the main ice hockey league in North America). He looked a little embarrassed by my enquiry and named a different league that I hadn't heard of. Scrabbling to move onto more solid ground I suggested a parallel between the league he was joining and AAA baseball (the level beneath the major leagues in baseball), he agreed with this comparison and was assured by everyone around's insistence that this was still a big deal.


It turns out this was Sterling's second try out, coming to San Francisco by way of Miami. I asked how this had gone, to which he replied “pretty good”. Sounds promising thinks I and suggest he'll have less pressure on this time round given this would be his second try out and he'd have a better idea what to expect. He answered “sure, no pressure”. Now I was confused... This young man who seemed so humble just moments ago was equipped with vein filled with liquid nitrogen, “no pressure”? The slow, soothing cadence of Sterling's voice was interspersed with lengthy gaps and it is only now with hindsight I realise the pause that followed this latest uttering was one of them. After what seemed like minutes he went on... “I figured now I've seen Miami and they've offered me a contract I'd come here. The flight was paid so I thought I why not?” The light switched on... he was so understated the offer of a contract only merited “pretty good”!


This humble aspect of Sterling struck me (obviously - I'm writing about it in my blog), I think it reflected a very different perspective on life he has vs. most of the people I met in day to day life – accepting most of its been spent in cities. We talked for quite a while and he described life in northern Saskatchewan within Native American culture. He'd spent sometime working on the tar sands which were the first real employment opportunity that'd been available to him. But life without the tar sands growing up had been tough... He was raised with his siblings by his mum, a challenge in itself but Saskatchewan doesn't have many people, especially up north, the landscape is flat - covered in forests, lakes and tundra the winters are bitter and long. It was listening to this life I realised the reason I was so fascinated wasn't some romanticised notion of life in the wilderness, it was the way he reminded me of my father who's manner so similar. He too choses his words carefully and would wish no ill will on another sole but this quiet nature is underpinned with a steely will. It made sense to me that Saskatchewan, Canada and The Isle of Lewis, Scotland could produce two such similar souls, I suppose they're rare in the western world as there are fewer edges of real wilderness within our environs – perhaps none remain in Scotland? My father may have been the last of his kind, and Sterling for that matter too with the Tar Sands bringing money and people and change may be the last of his kind from Canada too?


Its interesting, the tar sands didn't really seem to trigger even a flicker in Sterling when he mentioned it. This in part might be a function of his own naivety or perhaps its simply the fact that a job that pays good money where opportunities are so scarce trumps everything? Certainly these played some part but the concerted efforts of the Canadian government to censure scientists rights of free speech. Via strict control of all research funding made available by government and private industry the Canadian government cherry picks projects that will support industrial interests (this isn't isolated to the Canadian government – take a look at George Monbiot's article on it http://www.monbiot.com/2013/09/30/age-of-unreason/). Over time the narrow band of opinion expressed by scientists that is broadly supportive of exploitation of the tar sands, arctic drilling, fracking or whatever else it may be seeps into public consciousness via whatever media channels they're plugged into. Its another case in point of how few of our opinions are formed in an unbiased environment. Science is so often reduced to a debating point in public debate hosted by the press that can stand or fall based on opinion as opposed to cold hard analysis of test results that must be comprehensive if they are to support anything pertaining to be science. We just get normalised to some much stuff, and ironically its perhaps most difficult to see in in ourselves...



Sterling's history reminded me of something that John Curl (the godfather of coops in the Bay Area and writer of one of the best books on coops and American history I've read: For All the People). When I asked him about why had the Bay Area had enjoyed a thriving ecosystem of coops in part of his answer (the answer consisting of a number of combinatory factors) he reminded me that the United States was populated with the descendants of pretty intrepid people who've been arriving in this vast nation for more than two hundred years. Only the most fearless members of communities in Europe and Asia travelled to the states and most African Americans had to survive the passage from Africa aboard slaver's vessels. This meant they one and all share some optimistic / survivalist component of their DNA / make-up. California is a microcosm of the US in this context and has over the last hundred or so years seen the arrival of frontiers people ready to work hard and innovate. Be it the gold rush, the summer of love, or silicon valley. Sterling had something of the frontiersman about him. And although his brand was perhaps more authentic I've met many others who like him share that intrepid nature here. Where his grandfather had traded in the deep interior of Canada with Cree Indian, and now he travelling down to San Francisco to play hockey... I'm beginning to understand why Americans don't hold passports. Why would you when a new life and a fresh start lies just one state away and there are 50 to choose from, all speak english and all accept dollars. Its easy, and I'm now here in Eugene, Oregon for my latest fresh start...

Sunday 22nd September

I've been in San Francisco for almost two weeks now, and find I've arrived in that sweet spot where you feel as though you know enough of the city to feel comfortable moving around it but still not too familiar so as to eliminate its potential to put a smile on your face. San Francisco feels like the end of the line for travellers making their way out west to find whatever it is they're looking for. I should make clear that for the most part these travellers are American kids who've come from the Midwest, Pennsylvania and South Carolina to California. The hostel I share with them does have the obligatory sprinkling of Aussies, Dutch and Germans but they're in the minority and in general they are somewhere in the midst of their travels rather than their end.


Life here when I'm not out wandering the streets and parks or visiting a co-op centres around the stoop next to the hostel. Here the day to day happening of the hostel's inhabitants are discussed and dreams shared. The inhabitants of the stoop include: Turtle Smasher, a young guy from South Carolina who skates and paints cubist art, Sean from Wisconsin, who's setting up a dispensary business, Benji from Philadelphia a young man who's lived more in his 20 years than most have in a life time - he's here to find work (anything will do) and add to his life experiences, and there's Eva from New York who's here to get away from the insanity of Gotham and work in PR. All seem to come from entirely different worlds yet find themselves here in San Francisco united in their desire to build a new reality for themselves. As you can imagine such a diverse cast of characters leads to many interesting tales of love, loss and life. Between the trips to eat a slice of pizza, writing in the quiet room or reading up on the next coop I'm due to visit I've sat and listened and learned a little more about how life in America. I think the single biggest thing I've learned is just how willing people are here to up sticks and move to another part of the country. The kids around me who are doing it now, simply mark the latest in a long line who have chased opportunity here, wherever it may be. This willingness to move around harks back to the founding of this country and its vast scale where settlers only finished claiming “new territories” at the very end of the 19^th century – which is really only around four or five generations ago. I appreciate that this “settlement' of the interior and west of the States was in many ways barbaric and I don't think people here appreciate just how savage these times were. However, the urge to chase the latest boom whether its the California gold rush or the more recent flight to Silicon Valley remains intact and in this day and age much more humane...



Today I'm going to meet up with Oddy and Vanessa who moved here from New York around the same sort of time I arrived. We met at Burning Man thanks once again to Alex and his happy knack of introducing me to wonderful people from all around the globe. We're going to visit an Urban Adamah, which as far as I can tell is a Jewish Harvest festival where with luck wine and pickled feeds will flow – and goats!

Tuesday 17th September 2013

I felt as though I needed to let some time pass between the event and attempting to write about it. There were so many different thoughts and feelings provoked by Burning Man I wanted to give them sometime to settle before I committed words to the page. I'm not 100% sure the time is now, but I have the distinct impression there may never be a perfect now in which to do this as the chains of thoughts its triggered could be without end. On that basis now is as good a time as any to begin...


To my surprise it seems as though what's stuck with me most is the different mode of operation I have adopted in day to day life, rather than some fond reminiscences of my adventures on the playa (this is the terminology for the desert where Burning Man is based among Burners (those who attend Burning Man)). I seem to have found the space between the words, there's more time to think and to get things done. Perhaps its a byproduct of not spending time thinking about the book I'm trying to write in its totality (something I've been trying to avoid but finding on occasion unavoidable). Now without effort I find a series of smaller tasks that present themselves to me as if dropping off a conveyor belt at a branch of Yo Sushi. With this simplification comes the time to breath in and breath out. I'm sure this is not just Burning Man's effect alone, how truly difficult would it be to ever isolate anyone influence on our person and determine its extent in the wider frame of reference? Impossible I'm sure. But I know its in there in some high sphere of influence driving me forward. Sure, life on the road charges me up, and San Francisco and the Bay Area are bringing me all sorts of good source material for the book but Burning Man meant something else...


What was it about Burning Man that triggered this response? First and foremost the people and their interactions with one another all through the festival. Even before we'd arrived we were subject to a warmth and generosity of spirit I've rarely encountered. An afternoon spent in Walmart in Reno attempting to get everything we'd need to survive in the desert was interspersed with meeting other burners doing the same thing we were, happy to share tips and tales of life on the playa. The lady at the cash-desk was happy to see all of the Burners too, and insisted on packing the shopping as she'd got “a pretty good idea of what would be best packed together” having been “packing for Burners for years”. She even closed the checkout to take Chris to the butchers to get dry ice to keep our cool-boxes really damn cold. This isn't in itself all that remarkable, nice but not remarkable. It does however, mark the beginning of a crescendoing level of friendliness that climaxed one week later in Blackrock City (the name given to the week long settlement in the desert that is Burning Man) with the burning of the man.


As far as I could tell the attitude of every person at the festival was one of unity. An air of permissiveness (not anything new on its own) coupled with a desire to share and exchange ideas (whether they be frivolous or profound – I'll give an example of each in a minute) was underpinned by an awareness that we needed to look after one another and that included the desert (a both harsh and delicate environment simultaneously). No one dropped a cigarette that I ever saw, and if there ever was a piece of rubbish on the ground I was usually alerted to it by virtue of the fact someone had ducked down to scoop it up as soon as they spotted it. This is called MOOPing (Matter Out Of Place) and is a typical behaviour that is promoted here and lies at the very core of Burning Man's ethos and mission. Sure its a big party in the desert but its a party that celebrates and promotes some serious things all be it in a very alternative manner, and the The Ten Principles lie at the heart of that. I won't list them all but to give you a flavour...


Item 1: “Radical Inclusion – Anyone may be a part of Burning Man. We welcome and respect the stranger. No prerequisites exist for participation in our community.”
- Right off the bat the door is opened to all, no exclusivity, although I did read an opinion piece in the Burning Man Gazette contesting the truthfulness of this statement given the necessity of being able to afford a ticket to be included in the first place! But I think even that shows the extent to which Burning Man tries to be open to internal debate and discussion, so much so they allow publication criticising their adherence to a core principle!


I digress, items 2 and 3... Item 2 “Gifting - Burning Man is devoted to acts of gift giving. The value of a gift is unconditional. Gifting does not contemplate a return or an exchange for something of equal value.” Item 3: “Decommodification - “In order to preserve the spirit of gifting, our community seeks to create social environments that are unmediated by commercial sponsorships, transactions, or advertising. We stand ready to protect our culture from such exploitation. We resist the substitution of consumption for participatory experience.”
- This means no cash and no corporate influence or advertising, and it means bars are free as the drinks (you provide your own cup) provided are gifts! One of the other totally different thing about Burning an vs. another festival is the absence of stages per se. There are no bands or DJs booked to play on a huge stage or vast tent. Instead parties are much more localised and on the whole smaller based in whichever camp is throwing a party at any given time. Burning Man is composed in the main of camps, most Burners join a camp (we were a part of the wonderful Campi camp) but they range in size, theme, experience, centrality, vibe, etc... Our camp was around a hundred people and centred around a Bedouin tent but some were much more elaborate and included huge art-cars: colourful vehicles that travel round the site and out into the deep playa usually kitted out with sound systems and lighting rigs that will blow your average ravers mind. Among my favourites were a huge fire-breathing octopus, a unicorn made from a double decker bus, and a Spanish gondola sailing across the desert. So you're basically only a couple minutes away from some fun and generosity no matter where you are and what time it might be. Gifting takes many other guises beyond simply providing free drinks at a bar, first off the people working at the bars are gifting their time to work there! Chris was gifted among other things a yellow kazoo and an imaginary friendship bracelet but people extend it even further, no one will walk past someone who looks like they might need any kind of help and will do whatever they can to deliver it. This coupled with the complete absence of money from my life for a week was truly blissful. I like many others have felt the stress and strain of exerted by money or more accurately the lack of and its complete silence on the playa undoubtedly has some bearing on the freedom people seem to find.


The rules continue from there and cover: communal effort, civic responsibility, and of course leave no trace (link to the entire listing: http://www.burningman.com/whatisburningman/about_burningman/principles.html#.Ujjl6mTR32A). Before I go on I should make good on my promise to give an example of a frivolous idea and a more serious one that someone wanted to share on the playa... The place for frivolity was definitely in and around the camps on one day I had the pleasure of swinging in a hammock under canvas at one particular camp before taking my first ever ski-shot. This basically involved three people drinking shots of bourbon from glasses that were glued to a small ski, meaning the guy in the middle (me) has to drink without using his/her hands and rely instead upon his co-drinkers; all of this is served via a picture frame held by the barmen. More serious messages were to be found in the temple, this year it was a huge wooden pyramid that must have been at least 50 meters high. Inside people are encouraged to leave messages to loved ones who might be in trouble or dead or confessions of their own. On the last night the temple is burned and with it in silent ceremonial witness all of the Burners in theory let go of whatever pain they were carrying with them. We didn't get to stay to see the temple burn on the Sunday night but a visit during the day on the Wednesday reduced me to tears as I read some of the messages and felt the emotion of everyone there lie thick in the air.


The long and short of all all this is that the people of Blackrock City and their sense unity, enthusiasm to exchange and share ideas and compassion for one another living under a different set of values / principles have triggered a shift in me. From talking with others I've met in San Francisco since who also attended Burning Man my experience is not unique, and some I've spoken to have talked in even more fantastic terms than I about what their experience meant to them. Perhaps even quazi-religious! Lets see how long it stays with me, and here's hoping it keeps me charged until next year.



I'm wondering if having described what has stayed with me from Burning Man and why I may have inadvertently said very little about what actually happened at Burning Man. This may be so and ordinarily I'd aim to remedy that but this time I think a little enigmatic perhaps fits this desert city best. So I'll leave it here and finish by making sure I thank all of the new friends I made in the desert for their kindness, brilliance and good humour; and suggest that like most things in life if you really want to taste it, best get there in person.

Saturday 7th September

I'm in San Francisco (I've been reliably informed by a local not to refer to it as San Fran) its too hot to sleep in my hungover condition and I don't expect Chris will be making an appearance anytime soon so I might as well write something; its basically that or vomiting...


We arrived here yesterday from Yosemite in the late afternoon approaching the Bay area on highway 580. As the road swoops down towards Oakland and the Bay bridge that crosses to San Francisco there was no sign of the prevailing fog; instead clear skies and bright sunlight scattered reflections across the bay and offered a clear view of the Golden gate bridge far off in the distance. For once our luck with traffic on this trip has changed for the better and within 20 minutes we were parked up and at our hostel: Adelaide. Handily placed just around the corner from Union Square in the heart of town.


After our basically carnivorous diet in the forests of Yosemite we decided it would be best to switch up to Japanese and by all accounts San Francisco has some of the best on offer outside of Japan. Fortuitously the hostel is just around the corner from Geary street where a host of sushi places lay in wait. Our appetites didn't allow much time for research and the first place we found was the one for us. The restaurant was called Katana-Ya and I'd recommend it to anyone looking for a bowl of ramen soup, goyza or sushi rolls. Each and every mouthful was a divine and it was a welcome change not to be greeted with the now customary oversized portions that every restaurant here seems hell bent on providing. After dinner we did a little bar hopping where thanks in no small part to a friendly Las Vegan called Stuart prompting some rapid shot drinking we found ourselves pissed as newts and consequently in my now severly hungover condition.


Before I get to far down the road on San Francisco life; not that I have much more to tell than what's detailed above I should probably mention our final slice of Yosemite... After the exertions of the previous couple of days neither Chris or I was up for much more than a gentle stroll. But as luck would have it our last destination required no more than just that...


The Mariposa grove is located at the southern end of the park on route 41 and its where the biggest living things in the whole wide world reside... There are around one hundred sequoia trees there, some as much as 1,800 years old which means they we sprouting up form the ground back when civil war raged in the Roman empire and the Han dynasty in China fell. Chris seemed a little underwhelmed but for me the ambience of the grove was pretty special, in his defence we've seen so many mammoth natural wonders here in Yosemite its easy to begin to accept leviathan such as these as the norm. As we meandered through the forest I felt as though I was walking on the forest moon of Endor (sorry Star Wars reference), sadly there were no Ewok or Imperial stormtrooper sightings but these majestic red giants were good enough. On an even more trainspottery note I feel I should mention the biggest sequoia we saw: called the Grizzly Giant and although it wasn't the tallest one around (apparently the top came off at some point a couple hundred years ago?) its girth was absolutely mind blowing – around 35 feet in diameter I think?



I'm sorry to have to leave Yosemite and I'm sure I'll be back, I feel as though we managed to do a fair whack in the three days we spent here but talking with a Yosemite veteran called Jim who's been coming here every summer for around 40 years, it takes that long to exhaust all of the trails and activities on offer. Here's hoping I get closer to that feat!

Thursday 5th September

I started the day dropping Chris off in Curry Village around a mile or so up the valley. He'd arranged a one to one rock climbing lesson for the day, leaving me an opportunity to explore the southern side of the valley. After I'd deposited Chris I popped to the grocers in the central tourist development in the valley called Yosemite village for a sandwich, energy drink and other sundries for today's hike... There's a pretty expansive grocers come gift shop here, as well as a grill restaurant with terrace, sports shop, ranger station, art gallery, lodge that in actual fact is a low rise luxury hotel complex complete with swimming pool, recycling depot, workshop and a smattering of grand chalets (or should I say cabins?). It all sounds a bit much but the design of the buildings sits pretty well under the towering lodge pole pines, incense cedars and Douglas firs; faced with greenish brown shingles and sloping roofs, marking their base close to ground level.


Returning to the camp the fire I'd somehow remembered to start before I dropped Chris was ready to go and in no time at all I was enjoying a bacon and egg doubler with a smoky taste permeating the sweet bacon, complementing the iron like ouse of the egg yolk. Next stop Trailhead around two miles up the valley where the mist trail begins...


I'd decided to go for a walk that a) gave me options (i.e. an easy way to back out if I was feeling it on my dodgy knee); and b) was orientated around the southern side of the valley. The route I'd opted for ascends a canyon that marks the route to many of the more extreme treks available to the most intrepid, many go all the way to the top of half dome from here (perhaps Yosemite's most distinctive landmark?); this is a twelve hour plus walk that is often undertaken over two days camping in the high Serria overnight. Other routes such as the John Muir route stretch on for hundreds of miles and require a commitment of weeks rather than days! My plan was more humble... All going well I would climb up a canyon that leads to Venal falls and from there up higher still to the top of the valley where the high Sierra south of the valley begins and the even taller Nevada falls drop nearly 600ft! Both of these waterfalls run all year so the hiccup with Yosemite falls yesterday – there weren't any water to fall wasn't going to be repeated. And as I mentioned earlier if I wasn't feeling great after yesterday's exertions I'd be able to back out at Venal falls.


Thankfully I felt even better today than yesterday, in no small part to being better fuelled and hydrated and setting out before the very hottest part of the day (10am vs. 12pm). The path as it really can only figure to be given the vertiginous heights of the valley was steep, although perhaps not as relentlessly steep as yesterday? Even so getting up the side of each waterfall's cliff face certainly pushed me endurance to the limit – again the 90 degree heat couldn't help but take its toll. But once more the views back to the valley as I climbed ever higher (a more modest ascent to just under 6,000ft, but still over 2,000ft of climbing) were awesome and although I didn't have Chris on point with the camera I still managed to get a few great shots. That said if we exclude the different perspective of the valley the south side provided a couple of distinct elements I didn't encounter yesterday: two active (can I say that or is it just for volcanoes?) waterfalls streaming their misty ribbons of ice cold water over sheer granite walls polished smooth; and a fleeting brush with the southern high Sierra on my arrival at the top of Nevada falls. These highlands felt completely different in terms of the landscape and flora of its northern sibling we'd visited yesterday.

Nevada Falls

Unlike yesterday today's route was a loop rather than a straight up and back down retracing the steps we taken upwards on the way back down. The mist trail I'd gone up took me to the top of Nevada falls where routes fan out in the shadow of liberty cap, a towering granite monolith that rises from the shelf the falls plunge from which just as promised looks exactly like the top of a liberty cap mushroom. The way back down would take me down the start of the John Muir trail back to the valley floor. Happily it was a little less steep than the mist trail, avoiding the waterfalls and instead following a more gentle contour down the opposite side of the granite valley walls to the canyons edges the mist trail follows. The sun dappled through the trees as I walked back down to the valley below and I found so much wonder walking along the dusty tracks, not a thought of anything other than this magical land out west existed in my mind.

Liberty Cap

I should before signing off mention this evening and its two notable features (I'm not going to count getting my ass kicked at Scrabble by Chris as a notable feature). The first was the cooking of the marinaded baby back ribs and new york strip steak (an extremely well marbled thick cut of sirloin to you or I) cooked over wood in our fire pit. And second of all the stars... I don't think I've ever seen such bright stars, even in the desert. The Milky Way stood out like a ribbon of white tinsel and the moonless sky was still bright enough with starlight alone of mark our the edges of the cliff faces towering far above. I'll miss Yosemite so. It seems as though I live the right way here with little or no conscious effort... Days are filled with hikes in an environment that I cannot quite comprehend, its vast towering peaks, its calm cleansing air; writing, reading, and even a little yoga! If I can keep this time and the desert with me there's no telling where this could lead. An exciting thought to end another inspiring day.

Wednesday 4th September

We climbed to Yosemite point today, approximately 3,000ft (914m) above the valley floor. We managed to do it in a very respectable five hours in 90 something degrees fahrenheit (34 ^oC) – given the estimate the guide book provided of six – seven hours. The climb amongst the cliffs that mark the north side of Yosemite valley rise up from the forest and wild pastures of the valley floor below like stone guardians watching over Eden. Our ascent up steep hairpins, skirting up the side of the sheer granite cliffs, laid out in Granite dust, stone and slab (I cannot imagine the efforts of those men who forged this trail) was exhausting but the views of the valley as we climbed ever higher through tree lined trails took my breath away. Many of the trees sheltering the path appeared to be clenching the granite rocks making it impossible to discern whether the trees held the granite in place or vice versa? As we passed through ever more regular periods without shade, the rock face we somehow spiral refuses even the most pushy of trees is reflects the sunlight with brights greys, golds and slate colours marking times slow advance. I felt as if I was walking in some Tolkienesque world. As I understand it the Yosemite valley was formed thanks to some sort of massive rift in seemingly impregnable granite. The views of this rift inspire an emotional response and strangely I found myself reflecting on not just this tear in the earth before me but another much smaller one I saw in the Tate Modern some years ago. I suppose both are in some ways microcosms for so much in the world. Chris once more very kindly took responsibility for the photography and they are sensational! I'm especially glad we have them as I don't think I have worlds to describe what only the eye can behold.

Its late evening now and I'm starting to feel a little more together But I readily admit that today's expedition took me to my physical limit. Happily all of the things that stopped working (blistered feet, sore knee, mild dehydration all reserved arrival for the very moment we arrived back at the car. I never thought I'd say it but thank goodness for Gatoraide a large infusion helped regather most if not quite all my composure, topped off with a fantastic burger cooked on the fire by Chris sealed the deal and I'm now tucked up in bed ready for a deep dreamy sleep (its around 10pm) as I listen to our neighbours speak spanish - which is sure to bring good dreams.

Tuesday 3rd September 2013

After attempting three already convoluted routes of entry into Yosemite park we've finally arrived at 11pm, five hours later than we would've had it not been for the fourth largest recorded forest fire in Californian history that has closed most of the roads into the park and if memory serves burnt around 357 square miles of forest. We (Chris Key and I) are sitting at a table under canvas roof, in a small 4 berth shelter that is both cabin and tent at the same time. Despite our weary condition we're both in a state of silent excitement; attempting to unwind by reading and writing respectively. We've had little in the way of dinner, omitting charcoal from our otherwise extensive shopping spree at Walmart in Carson City was our only if somewhat important failure.


Arriving under the cover of darkness means there is no way of knowing exactly where we find ourselves. However, consultation with the guide pamphlet we've been handed alongside our pre-existing knowledge of the location mean I'm certain that I sit within fifty metres of the Merced river, from who's banks an upward glance will reveal the granite wall of Yosemite valley rising up 3,547ft in American money, which I think is over a kilometre high!


Yosemite cloak of darkness offers abundant mystery and wonder but this cloak hides not just inanimate wonders shaped over millennia, life teams here... Our food is stored carefully with not a shred left in the car for fear of the bears we've been warned will be attracted to the slightest scent: noses more sensitive than bloodhounds, silent gait thanks to padded feet, appetite more voracious than a Californian stoner who's been unfed for days, so we've shut everything up in our bear proof locker made sealed with sturdy spring-action steel bolts. Thankfully no insects that bite have come to our lamps, but a gentle hhhhiiiiiizzhhh of crickets flows over the gentle breeze.


The drive was (I think?) the longest I've done. We're riding a huge GMC Yukon XL SUV with the obligatory automatic gearbox. I'd never normally allow myself to use a car like this except in the very specific circumstances of this trip... To get to Burning Man we needed to carry three passengers, not in itself a particularly big ask but once you factor in all of the kit to camp and live in the desert for a week it starts adding up. This included but is not limited to: an 18ft diameter dome tent, an air-conditioning unit, a gasoline generator, three persons clothes and hand luggage (ie 20kgs suitcases and smallish rucksacks), groceries for a week, 36 US gallons (approx. 150 litres) of water, 100 cans of beer, two huge cool boxes, a gas burner and grill plate gas cooker (and gas), a 5 gallon gerry can of gasoline, 2 double airbeds, 3 sleeping bags, a full set of kitchen utensils and steel crockery, and a few other unspecified items... This vast quantity of stuff which reveals just how much stuff we need to survive, though I guess it was to survive in the desert which maybe a little more demanding than more temperate climbs. Anyhow, we now find ourselves minus most of that stuff thanks to a quick visit to storage unit in Reno (£200 for a year!) and free to enjoy the other elements beyond sheer practicality of our V8 powerhouse (bear in mind I recon this thing weighs close to two tonnes).


To get from Reno to Yosemite requires a crossing, or at least if all roads are open a partial crossing of the Sierra Nevada. As things stand with the fires we found ourselves doing a full crossing via Sonoma pass, which turns out to be the first pass successfully navigated by settlers, led by “Grizzly” Adams in something like 1854. At its highest point we were at around 6,950ft which by anyone's standards is pretty high. The pass was a narrow winding road with steep climbs and drops that lasted for something like fifty miles until we reached the beautiful old town of Sonoma. With the benefit of hindsight this appears to have marked around the halfway point of our journey, though at the time we felt as though we were on the finishing straight. After leaving Sonoma behind we travelled further and further south vainly hoping that we'd skirt round the rim of the fire control area and find a route in as twighlight grew large passing through beautiful little mountain villages nestled among the pines. We'd stopped only twice as we travelled from Carson City and lunch, and this second occasion we doubled back having met our third road block of the day. Hoping for some directions and a little local knowledge in one of the small mountain settlements we'd passed though right before we hit the block. In a pizza shop that seemed like something out of my teenage dreams of American life a friendly girl at the counter gave us a definitive set of directions and the finally we were tantalisingly close to the park!



The route she'd suggested was down a very minor road that swept up and down ever steeper mountainsides as night finally engulfed us climbing over the most precarious pass we would encounter. Eventually we arrived in Mariposa, a small town on the south corner of the national park where the biggest sequoias are to be found and we'd made it at long last to Yosemite.