Back to blogging at last

Apologies for the absence: I was in the UK for a week, and was then very busy on my return. Apologies should also be made for the fact that this will be a long one… are you sitting comfortably?

After being awoken early in the morning by a small earthquake and then enduring a caffeine-fuelled day at work on 20th July, I caught a shuttle to the airport, only to find that there were delays and huge queues as a result of the “severe” weather in London. I kept myself entertained while waiting and during the flight by talking to anyone that would listen, including, it would seem, about half the workforce of Google. Upon arrival in London – following a trip on the super-expensive but super-convenient Heathrow Express – I got my first dousing with rain as I tried to figure out how to get to Susie’s place. In spite of the fact that I was delirious with fatigue, we had a lovely evening, as my friend Emily came with her fiancé Emmet and we all went out for a long-awaited gourmet curry. The rest of the week was filled with a few torrential rain showers and many emotional reunions with friends and family: a marvellous barbecue at Dan and Michelle’s – attended by many friends – on the Sunday, during which the weather thankfully played ball and the rain held off; three days in Chesterfield visiting my mum and dad, brothers and aunty as well as Jon’s granny, not forgetting the new dog; then a couple of days visiting Jon’s dad and Pam (step-mum) in Devon, accompanied by a trip to the lovely north Cornish coast and Tintagel. We ended the week with the wedding of our university friends Andy and Dipika: a civil ceremony followed by a Hindu one at a beautiful converted barn near Bicester, Oxon. Again, the weather stayed fine when it mattered, and it was wonderful to catch up with so many chums again.

We returned to a foggy week in San Francisco (just as the weather apparently turned truly glorious in England!), so decided to escape for the weekend to Yosemite, as a group of friends were heading over there. I caught the BART (metro/train) over to the East Bay so that Jon could pick me up there instead of having to drive all the way back to the city from his office in Alameda. I chose a station in Oakland, where, it turned out, there was nowhere to park, so Jon pulled up at the side of the road – without getting out – to wait for me. Unfortunately, it happened to be a bus stop, and within about one minute (I’m not exaggerating) of being there, a police car had pulled up and was writing out a ticket for a $250 (£125) “parking” fine! I couldn’t help thinking that surely the police had better things to do: Oakland, not undeservedly, has the reputation of being a somewhat “sketchy” place – undoubtedly someone somewhere was being shot while the police department were engaged in collecting levies from law-abiding non-citizens.

The journey was otherwise unremarkable, and we arrived at our cabin in Groveland with enough time to spare to check out the local saloon and its interestingly named Friday night rock act, “Hot Daddy”. It was then up very early the next morning to head into the valley (some 50 miles away) to secure a pitch at the campsite. There is just one walk-in campground in the valley: all the others are booked up six months in advance at weekends, so the early start and long wait in line is the only option for those with a more spontaneous outlook on life. While waiting to register, a rumour went around that a car that had been trashed by a bear in the car-park. Of course, I went off to investigate. The car turned out to be only three along from ours. The driver’s side door frame had been pulled back, the window smashed, the back seat ripped to shreds and one of the rear speakers completely pulled out. It was hard to believe that a bear had done all this.

Our wait for a pitch was rewarded, and we all got a spot together on the northern edge of the campground, backed by thousands of feet of granite wall. Having pitched the tents, we headed out for brunch, then spent the afternoon by and in the deliciously cold Merced River: swimming, sunbathing, playing frisbee and splashing around in Cassie’s inflatable raft. After a nice beer it was back to the campsite to cook a barbecue.

Following the event of the previous night, I was determined to bear-proof the car. Instructions are posted everywhere you look to remove all food and toiletries (the furry beasts are apparently attracted by anything strong-smelling), and I had heard horror stories of people having their cars broken into for such items as discarded wrappers and chewing gum. I had almost completed a sweep of the entire vehicle, then finally came to the arm-rest, which conceals a cup-holder. That is when I made the tantalising scientific discovery that if you heat a forgotten can of Coke up to a high enough temperature by leaving it in a hot car all day, it will eventually explode. Suddenly the car became a bear-magnet, and I found myself wondering how those lovely plush leather seats would hold up to vigorous clawing. We cleaned up as best we could, but I was already mentally rehearsing the undoubtedly fruitless conversation with the insurance company.

After a superb barbecue, we retreated to our tents, where I found the new Thermorest I’d purchased to be remarkably comfortable. In spite of my earlier fears, I was drifting into a slumber when I became aware of a car alarm going off. I then heard some shouting and clapping, which I attributed to the high jinks of fellow campers. A few minutes later there was a shout just a few feet from the tent, “Black bear – right there!”, then … I joke not … “Go, bear, go!” It turned out to be a group of rangers, evidently tasked with scaring bears off. By the time we’d managed to scramble out of the tent, there was no bear to be seen, just a very starry night. As I stood in the cool darkness, wondering what to do next, I saw a meteor streak across the sky.

Needless to say, I didn’t get much – if any – sleep that night. I was just remarkably relieved when the sun came up and we found everyone, including the car, safe and sound. We packed up the camping stuff and headed out on a fairly short hike to Mirror Lake and beyond into Tenaya Canyon. We were much bemused as we were initially unable to find the lake: what I remember as being a large expanse of glassy water in the spring of 1999 had almost entirely dried up. It was a pretty hike, however, which we rounded off with another welcome cool-off in the river.

Heading home in the car, we decided to try playing the iPod, filled with trepidation as the cable input is positioned inside the Coke-bespattered arm-rest. Amazingly, it worked. The other potential casualty was the remote for the garage door. This had to be broken: it was swimming in liquid. Almost unfathomably, it functioned perfectly well when we returned, at last and somewhat relieved, to the apartment block. Yosemite is a wonderful place, but I have yet to enjoy a stress-free experience there!

Photos of the UK visit and the latest foray into Yosemite Valley are available at http://public.fotki.com/EllenHardwick/ (password: moocow).

The way to a man's heart

What's the first thing an Englishman does on returning to his home soil after an absence of half a year? He goes for a curry, naturally! Four curries actually. It's amazing, but of all the things I miss most about the UK, curry is top of the list. Well, actually my friends and family are top of the list (honest) but you know what I mean. So whilst I was back in the UK this last fortnight, I've been taking full advantage and stuffing my face in Indian restaurants whenever the chance arose. I have gained four pounds during my visit - possibly not a coincidence.

What's the first thing an English expat does on returning to San Francisco after an absence of a fortnight? You probably guessed it - he goes for a burrito. The US equivalent of a curry. Cuisine imported from Mexico, adopted and perfected in the US. Nothing beats it... except British curry.

All alone!

Jon flew back to England (a week earlier than me) on Saturday. I was really sad to see him go, even if it is only a week! However, I had been invited round to my friend Gami’s place in the Sunset district for an English-themed event comprised of afternoon tea and watching the BBC version of Elizabeth Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters. I made scones especially for the occasion, and stopped by the British shop on California Street (aptly named, “You Say Tomato…”) to purchase clotted cream and jam to go with them. We were actually in Gami’s mum’s place, which purportedly has a view of the ocean from every room. However, as it’s July, alas, the fog was in and the ocean was barely distinguishable from the sky. We did have a lovely time with our tea and drama, though.

Today started very slow. I managed to force myself to do a run, although shorter than the usual. I wasn’t inspired because it was foggy again. I had lunch at Caffè Sapore – a delicious bagel for less than $6 (£3): you really can’t argue! Then I headed into town on the cable car to do some shopping. My friend and old neighbour, Karen, had requested I bring her something back from the States, plus I had a wedding present and some other bits to buy, so I had a nice browse around the shops on Union Square, which by now was blue-skied and sunny. Gami had invited me to another event – a free concert – again in the Sunset district out West, so I got on the Muni Metro (underground) and headed out there. However, when the train surfaced into the daylight (it’s only underground in the city center), the sun had gone and I was in thick, chilly fog – barely five miles from downtown! Anyway, I couldn’t get into the park where the concert was, because I arrived late and it was completely full (to the extent that they weren’t letting anyone else in), so I retraced my steps and came back to North Beach, where I was in blazing sunshine again! Talk about microclimates! I read my book for an hour and soaked up some sun in Washington Square, then came back to the flat, had a swim in the pool and did my Italian homework in the sunshine. Overall, a pretty good day!

4th July and Russian River Discovery

Wednesday was a holiday here – 4th July. We were so lucky, because it was a glorious day, although we weren’t out enjoying it for the first part at least, because we were instead engaged in a frustrating shopping trip downtown. However, we spent much of the afternoon by and in the pool, which was great, before heading out at twilight to catch some of the action down by the waterfront, where hordes of people were assembled in the park and on the beach, listening to a slightly dodgy band and patiently awaiting the fireworks. We had a sneaking suspicion that we might, in fact, get better views of them from our balcony, so headed back to the flat before they started. It turned out to be a very good move, as the fireworks were launched, simultaneously, from the end of a quay and a barge out in the Bay, offering us great views from our building. It was a stunning pyrotechnic display above the water, itself lit up by hundreds of boats gathered for the show.

The fog rolled in on Saturday, so we were glad that we had planned a weekend away to Russian River, a beautiful spot about 70 miles away in Sonoma County. We took a look at the little town of Sebastopol on the way – boasting plenty of nice gift shops and a chocolate-themed café, but otherwise not much to write home about – then had a picnic on the shore of the Russian River itself. We had an amusing time watching kayakers negotiate a log partially blocking the stream and saw one group capsize completely! It was gorgeously hot and sunny after the fog of city. After our picnic, we visited Korbel Champagne Cellars, and were delighted to find they offer a free tasting! As a result, we did feel more inclined to purchase, and came away with a couple of bottles of surprisingly good value “California Champagne”, as they call it. We were then very hot and more than ready for a swim, so we headed to a secluded little beach, which a friend had told me about (not signed from the road). The wide, shallow, lazily meandering river with an osprey hunting overhead was perfect for an afternoon dip. We were not the only ones to think so, and were entertained by a bulldog playing a game of catch with his owner in the water. This was followed by dinner in Guerneville – not amazing food, but nicely accompanied by live Jazz music. We then headed to our motel in the ugly, soulless town of Santa Rosa, some way east, as we had been unable to find any available accommodation in the Russian River valley itself. Flicking channels, we were highly amused – although also not a little appalled – to find an international hotdog eating competition being screened. All but one of the competitors were American, with the winner – who downed almost 60 hotdogs in twelve minutes – being a guy from San Jose, California. How proud we are!

Today we headed down the valley to the very end, where the Russian River meets the Pacific. We drove from baking sunshine into a chilly, fog-cloaked world by the coast, but were greeted by seals, geese and pelicans at the estuary mouth. We then did a gentle and pleasant hike in from Pomo Canyon down the valley to an ocean beach, again slipping in and out of microclimates along the way. We decided to have another swim in the river before returning home, but found the beach much more crowded than yesterday, so didn’t stay long. We drove back to a much chillier, foggy San Francisco over the Golden Gate.

More photos are available on the Fotki site (http://public.fotki.com/EllenHardwick/ password: moocow).

Not fog city yet!

We’ve had a couple of weeks of glorious weather: sunny, clear – not always warm – but bright with some gorgeous sunsets. This was the weekend of the Fillmore Jazz Festival, and as my office is located on Fillmore Street, a party was held for staff and clients. We went along and enjoyed the food and chit-chat, but heard very little jazz in the end – too busy socialising. In the late afternoon we picked up a delicious party platter from La Méditerranée (a delightful little restaurant that donated to Shanti and happens to be just across the road from my office) and took it back to the flat, because we’d decided it was about time for us to throw a party too! There weren’t that many people, but we had a good time, enjoying the views and playing on the Wii again! We ended up heading out to the Savoy Tivoli bar and staying there until they closed at 2 a.m. – perhaps that would explain while my eyelids are drooping now!

On Sunday we went to my favourite beach – a real tucked-away place in Marin County. You park your car, then head down a trail through lovely Tennessee Valley for a mile and a half, before coming to a lagoon and finally the beach, nestled in a gorge between the cliffs. It was very windy, but we managed to find a sheltered spot, and spent a pleasant afternoon there picnicking and reading. We were entertained by some pelicans, which swooped in to feed, their throats expanding dramatically every time they caught a fish. On the way back to San Francisco, we headed up a road that I’d never been on, which takes in several spectacular viewpoints overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge from the Marin (northern) side.

Wednesday is a bank holiday – 4th July. Not sure what we’re doing yet, but hopefully we’ll come up with something! It will be nice to have a break in the middle of the week, although the job is going OK. One of the best things is the journey, since I can travel part of the way by cable car!

Pride not Prejudice

That’s the “theme” of this year’s Gay Pride celebrations, which culminated today with a parade down Market Street and festival in the Civic Center gardens. I was a bit disappointed by the parade: not sure what I expected – maybe more hunks in trunks with balloons, but it seemed a bit lame, especially as several local politicians, who had little to do with the cause, were using it as a cheap PR exercise. I had been told (warned?!) that the real show would be on the sidewalks, not in the parade itself, and that was certainly the case! The festival was quite fun: there were several bands playing, lots of food and drink, stalls selling everything from straw cowboy hats to marijuana-flavoured lollipops. There was a dance floor peopled entirely by male couples twirling around to country music and countless groups recruiting for their cause. After a good look around, and stopping to say “hello” at the Shanti stand, we decided to head home, as we were getting sunburnt and also felt perhaps a little like we were crashing someone else’s party.

What else have we been up to? On Friday evening, we tried out what turned out to be yet another mediocre Italian nearby in North Beach. It beggars belief: here we are, living in the heart of Little Italy in a major city, and we still haven’t managed to find a restaurant that can rival Marconato in Hoddesdon! Yesterday, we went to the beach ten minutes walk from the flat for a little while (it’s been a gorgeous weekend weather-wise, although always with that little bite in the wind). We also went to a barbecue at the house of Melissa, someone we know through Susie, down in Menlo Park (between the airport and Palo Alto). Jon was on auto-pilot as he drove us there and took us onto the Bay Bridge by mistake. Fortunately, there’s an island (well, two, actually) half way across, so we were able to turn around. In any case, it was a very interesting detour, with fantastic views back to the city from Yerba Buena Island, as well as the sight of dozens of pelicans gliding around in their characteristically menacing fashion, looking for all the world like pterodactyls. We really enjoyed the barbecue at Melissa’s: it’s nice to go to people’s houses when you don’t really have one of your own, plus we met some more people and got to play with a Pug dog and a Boston Terrier (also small and wrinkly) – hilarious!

I’ve been feeling a bit homesick recently, if you can call it that. A German guy I met at Shanti told me wisely, “Irgendwann vermisst man seine eigene Kultur” (“At some point you miss your own culture”). I didn’t believe him at the time, but I now know what he was talking about. The English aren’t exactly known for their happy-go-lucky outlook on life, but they’re a lot more laid-back than many Americans I’ve met. The people in my office for example: they work SO hard! They arrive early in the morning, leave late, don’t take a lunch break, don’t take long vacations and yet can be fired at any moment without reason. However, I went for a nice long run in the early evening today, pausing at my turning-around point, the beach at Crissy Field, to watch the crashing waves, with the towering Golden Gate Bridge to my left and Alcatraz to my right, feeling that all was right in the world after all.

Yosemite getaway and (nearly) doing Half Dome

After my first week at work (I got the job in project management for the translation company), we headed to Yosemite National Park, approx. 170 miles east, for the weekend. On Friday night we were together with some chums from Jon’s work in a cabin a few miles outside the park. The next day, we got up early and headed into the valley itself with the intention of doing possibly the most strenuous of the available hikes, the 17 mile round-trip – ascending some 5,000 feet –to the top of the glacier-formed granite monolith known as Half Dome. We made good progress at the start of the hike, passing by stunning Nevada Falls on the way up. The day started to heat up, though, which made walking more difficult, especially the climb up the steep shoulder of the dome towards the end of the outward trek. The final leg of the hike, covering an ascent of some 400 feet, involves hauling yourself up steel cables suspended over the 45 degree angle cliff face to the summit. We reached the cables just after 1 p.m., only to find that we were far from alone, with a line of stationary people ahead of us clinging to them for dear life. We dutifully waited in line for about an hour, donning the last odd gloves left by previous hikers to aid our grip, only managing to get a quarter of the way up the incline during this time. We were fast dehydrating, standing on the bare rock face in the searing heat, and had to make a judgement call: it would take at least an hour to get to the top at the rate the people were moving (about one step every couple of minutes), which, in addition to the time spent at the summit and the many minutes needed to get down, would increase the duration of the hike considerably, meaning that we may not reach the valley before nightfall. With the line being so bad, people were taking the dangerous chance of scrambling up the outside of the cable. It was a difficult decision to make, not to mention highly frustrating, but we decided to abandon the exercise and embark upon the return journey. The views from the shoulder were, in any case, superb and the hike as a whole, passing two amazing waterfalls and a beautiful, emerald-coloured lake, was rewarding enough. We also came across a rattle-snake slinking along at the side of the path (although no bears, to Jon’s disappointment)! The last three miles or so were incredibly tough, though, and we were more than ready for the beer and pizza we gorged on at the end!

About an hour after we turned back from the cables, we heard a helicopter overhead and were confronted with an out-of-breath ranger on his way up, who asked us if we had seen anything in relation to an accident near the summit. We found out today that a mere half an hour after we decided to descend, a man had slipped and fallen from three quarters of the way up the cables to his death (http://www.sanluisobispo.com/348/story/70854.html). Judging from the time this happened, he was probably quite near us in the line. It’s not clear exactly what happened – perhaps he was trying to bypass the queue or was maybe overcome with the heat, but it’s a horrific tragedy.

Our second night was spent in a motel, also outside the park, as it’s impossible to get anything near the valley on a weekend (apart from camping, which we hadn’t prepared for) unless you book something approaching a year in advance. After an all-American breakfast of gammon, eggs, pancakes and maple syrup at nearby café, we headed back to the park and drove along the Tioga Pass road (only open about three months of the year because of snow) to do another hike to North Dome, on the northern rim of the valley. This was a much easier trek, in spite of the unforgiving heat and sun, being a mere (!) nine miles long with less ascent/descent, but it still afforded amazing views. We had lunch on the granite dome, looking towards the towering cliff of Half Dome on one side and down into the deep valley on the other, all the while being entertained by a curious chipmunk.

Our journey back was long and tedious, as we got stuck in a major traffic jam shortly after indulging in a dinner at Denny’s, a diner chain, about half way along the route. There’s not that much freeway on the way to Yosemite, which means that you pass through a lot of run-down, quite soulless little places largely dependent upon agriculture. After this dose of small-town America, it was a relief to see the garland of lights marking the Bay Bridge and the glittering skyscrapers of SF beyond. Driving up through North Beach at that late hour, with people still out and about enjoying themselves, felt very much like coming home. Could it be that I’m turning into a city girl after all?!

Pictures are available on the Fotki website: http://public.fotki.com/EllenHardwick/ (Password: moocow)