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)...
Wednesday, 16 October 2013
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
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.
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.
Monday, 7 October 2013
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...
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, 22 September 2013
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 19th 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!
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 19th 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!
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
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.
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, 7 September 2013
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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