All Good Things…

At a time when there's nothing to do; when rain pours relentlessly, the electricity is out for the whole village and there’s three hours to wait for the connecting bus - I'm feeling some déjà vu. I've done this before I swear; somewhere, some time ago, some place very similar.

What isn't similar is the differences that I now see - like a fog that has somehow cleared - and from the rest of my travels throughout Asia, the initial excitement and sense of adventure has been replaced by pure cynicism. It's to be expected - my journey has come full circle, finishing where I began and knowing now what I do, the Rose-tinted glasses have faded to transparent: Thailand is arguably worse than China.

From the perspective of a travel-hardened survivor of The China Train Battles - the legendary stuff of legend™ - I can see through the smiles; the infinite supposed friendliness that is said to exude from the locals. In China they simply fuck you, here they fuck you with love; it's possibly even more contemptuous.

The Chinese influence here is clear; I now understand how the Kingdom of Thailand once ebbed on, in to the great rice paddy field to the North and how some provinces (such as Guangxi), actually have a local language very similar to Thai (minus the polite kha and khap). The similarities don't end there, unfortunately. The Thai love of Baht seems equally as strong as the Chinese love of Kuai (slang for Yuan), with bumped prices not just for some things, but absolutely every single item for sale. Try bartering and see how the smiles come a little more forced now, and it's easy to see the results of the riots earlier this year. Couple these two things together with an overall increase in prices (due to less visiting tourists - well, bar the ubiquitous paired female Germans and a rising number of affluent Chinese, made rich from exploiting their fellow countrymen), and they're victims of their own stupidity. Someone seriously needs to teach the Thais some basic economics. Drop the price and they will come; stop the scams and they will spend more. Receiving smaller portions than the locals, charged more than the usual price, receiving the lower-grade stock – visit Thailand and these things can be yours too! The mentality is akin to their Chinese cousins; stubborn, reluctant to change and just as much of an unwelcome hindrance.


To the South and North I travel once more, picking out missed spots and places of interest that now only barely pass as worthwhile. Temples, Temples everywhere are the cultural highlight of course, though it's such a disgustingly wasteful use of funds benefiting so few, that I feel more inclined to put my feet up on a beach, then donate by proxy entrance fee. Lazy, sedentary monks grow fat and stroll around markets on their mobile phones (some with the latest iPhone unbelievably), whilst the streets are filled with beggars; it’s enough to make anyone with any remote kind of sensibility despise religion with every ounce of their being. The bartering is no longer fun and I've also experienced a great deal more occasions where I've needed to argue the toss on sudden inexplicable hikes in prices, untold hidden charges or question why I’m quoted double for the "same same". Still, it's old hat to me now, and I really don’t mind walking away or standing fast.



As was the case before, the North shines brightly (strange considering the population is largely of Chinese heritage); eclipsing the cynicism of tourist-laden and farang-despising middle and South. It’s still cheap here - incredibly reasonable in fact - and the warm smiles of all welcome us once more as we drive around on our rented 150cc. To any random Market and how does a pound for 5 beautifully ripe Mangoes sound, or thirty pence for an entire Watermelon. As luck would have it the festival of Loi Krathong coincides with our visit; the many thousands of lanterns floating high above make for such a romantic setting it’s impossible to feel anything but contentment here. My cynicism is stirred from temporary slumber all too soon, however, as I see the homeless and physically impaired littering the streets; whilst the tens of thousands of revellers willingly part with money buying these paper-wasters. Whilst picturesque, I’m sure the Baht could be better spent helping others rather than themselves; thanks once more to religion for ensuring profit margins maintain top priority.


Dreams of mundane normality have plagued me over the last several weeks; the thought of cold, wet and dark London could hardly fill me with any more gloom. Coach transit with "lao wai" and "farang", and the accents of chav England, stoopid-ass American and crass Aussies burden my ears once more. Their brown oversized clumsy frames and narrow-minded, uneducated stupidity of Asian culture or way of life make me cringe much like a particularly bad epileptic fit. All they will ever know of Thailand (and most likely the whole continent), will be: Chang beer, Pad Thai, Temples and GoGo dancers. Some may stretch to butchering hello or thank you in Thai, pronounced phonetically of course, though most will revert to the predictable English-in-increased-volume technique. Oh how I long to hide under a veil that both disguises and distinguishes me from my fellow – ergh - country men.

If you’re going abroad simply to tan, find the nearest bar or restaurant then the message is simple: Stay At Home. If, on the other hand, you plan to visit and try to speak with locals, embracing a culture not your own and doing your best to understand and accept it; book the ticket now and get going. It’s not just Asia, the same applies to developed countries too.

So little has changed, then. I still feel far more at home and at ease in Asia, despite my complaints. I still feel little if any allegiance to my home country (or country of origin as I prefer to say, being a "child of mother earth"), and still wonder what path to take in life. But that's an impossible question to answer. What I can answer is - what have you learned?

It's been a truly interesting escape from daily-grind, and with much soul-searching, time for contemplation and deliberation over just about anything; almost certainly a worthwhile voyage of self-discovery. There are plenty of viable options other than 9-5 office work, repetitive menial tasks, career or money-chasing and of course - the most important thing for all women rapidly approaching 30 - babies. Most of which will grant a sense of fulfilment and well-being that I couldn't possibly have imagined before boarding Qantas QF2 at LHR almost a year ago, though sacrifice a lust for gold you must.

I have rediscovered a true passion for photography (despite my complaints of how digital has brought it to the masses), reaffirmed that running is almost as vital to my well-being as breathing, and discovered how little food is actually required to live healthily. Reading and writing (the latter arguably requiring some considerable spit and polish), are now deemed viable pastimes and come close to releasing the same endorphins as completing a half marathon - for me at least - for now. I’ve also learned more than I ever expected to of my own mother tongue; through conversations with English students and explaining the intricate lawlessness inherent in the new world-standard for communication. Following suit and repeating the same misunderstood word or phrase repeatedly, increasing in volume – as most English speakers do - is useless. Using different words and gestures makes things that much easier for those trying to comprehend and, believe it or not, far more fun. As a career-bound tech it's amazing how I've managed to survive with older generation kit - replacing it annually now seems positively wasteful. And finally one of the things I have missed most is my Roland Piano and stack of music books; it's a shame these things are not portable.

The art of conversation (especially in Asia), I’ve learned is more about any kind of banter - if required – rather than the so-called quality or interest that any given person brings to the table. It’s perfectly acceptable, for example, to ask the most basic questions and never considered embarrassing when doing so. This has almost felt like a revelation in many ways; pauses in conversation are never met with discomfort; more, it’s simply an accepted part of the human condition. Sat around a table, no one party is ever singled out or picked upon, deemed the odd one out or ignored. Take that same table and imagine strangers sitting down without asking permission, so as to eat in your company, and chances are you will be offered food or drink from the same unknown faces. It’s something that’s completely alien in the Western world and Asia is all the more rich for it.

My worldly possessions of the past year have consisted mainly of bare essentials, especially having had everything stolen. I'm now accustomed to my personal effects consisting only of what I carry, and having a permanent space for storage is now so alien it almost frightens me. Two bags are all I need; take away my photography and that number halves to become prime. The necessities will easily fit in to my 65+10 leaving space for plenty more; I can even run quite well with 12.8kg loaded on my waist (that's how you fit a rucksack correctly). My back and shoulders have developed a virtual immunity to most two-strapped burdens from my daybag, and I feel most comfortable when heavily loaded on back and front (valuables in the latter), much as the homeless must - it's all with you after all. I've become an expert in efficient usage of toilet paper, of soap and cleaning products and developed my own system for packing and "bit" location, so that the only things I've lost over the year are a pair of sunglasses and - strangely - every single hat I’ve ever purchased.

It's a way of life that has immense appeal; so much so that I have met couples that are professional travellers: One elderly pair having just recently passed their 20th anniversary away from home. It’s adjusted my outlook on possessions such that I long for a 52" 3D LCD and 5.1 THX-certified dust gatherers no more. Washing up by hand and cooking using a single pan and random ingredients have become good fun; it’s certainly a great way to exercise the social muscle when crashing in hostels. I appreciate luxury in a way I've never done before; having known such foulness that I dare not speak of it, and am more than happy to share any food, drink or anything else that someone may need. Generosity is such a large part of the travelling experience that it should be embraced wholeheartedly.

All that really interests me is where I'll be sleeping next and how to get there. Map reading (despite my reliance on GPS coordinates), and navigational awareness has become second nature. Long train journeys don't faze me, my ability to sleep in strange and often insect-infested dirty, stinky, feted places is now close to instinctive. And wearing the same underwear for four days having hiked, sweat and slept in it is no longer an issue. I’m also now a firm believer in exposing myself to as much dirt, bacteria and filth as possible – my immune system has never been stronger. Stuff the shrink-wrapped sterilised tasteless crap and give me a street-food vendor throwing herbs and spices in to a thirty year-old oil-encrusted pan anytime; oh it’ll taste so much better.

It's true what they say; travel does change you. And it can only be positive, but only if you choose to embrace the challenges and hardship that awaits and face it, rather than become that little Piggy that went to market, and ran "wee wee wee", all the way home at the first sign of trouble.

What stands out most, however, are a few things that I have mulled over in times of desperate boredom, where a coffee is stretched to fill a few hours or a connecting flight requires an inordinate amount of time to board. Most importantly is that overall and excluding clichéd differences, humans are invariably all cut from the same cloth. To this there is no doubt in my mind; we are all quite literally the same. Secondly is that they are all just as racist as each other. This point is important to me; the world is becoming pretty damn small, and in a bloody great hurry to get there. I have seen wonders of acceptance everywhere (in places I'd never expect), experienced racism on a daily basis for a sizeable chunk of my travels (much like any UK immigrant must have, though to a lesser degree I'm sure), seen the most random couplings imaginable and how the initial disparity at first glance is actually negligible. My first question to a new acquaintance is no longer asking where they’re from; or comparing their accent to mine, judging it on some false hierarchy that most decrepit older generation morons still cling to. I assume nothing until I know more of a person, rather than form an instantaneous opinion based on which part of the planet they were born. And it's all been eye-opening and strangely reaffirming, even the bad parts.

I return to the country in which I was born wiser, more experienced, understanding and maybe - just possibly - a little more fulfilled. It's been a privilege meeting the people I have, finding utterly random friendships in times of need and discussing things you wouldn’t dream of with your best friend of 20 years, and seeing so much diverse culture and natural beauty that your breath is literally taken away. And through it all, I only wish that it could have been done without such reliance on cheddar. Everybody should travel once in their life, not just spoiled-rotten graduates taking yet another hand-out from Mumsy and Daddy (I have encountered far too many of these for my liking), or middle-aged divorced women looking for some kind of rebirth (that stupid Julia Roberts film I point at you firmly). Education in a classroom simply cannot compare to the things I've discovered and experienced; it's either that or bring back national service to smack some bloody sense in to kids. Strange that most of Asia doesn't require such Draconian methods though isn't it?

And so, with the title of the last episode of one my favourite Sci-Fi series, "All good things…" must of course come to an end. I close with some random facts that I seem to have accumulated inadvertently, through all the tech I have lugged around the planet these last 12 months, and also a thought: Any spare time you may have, might be better spent learning Mandarin. In no particular order:

• Number of wireless networks joined: 112
• Total distance ran: 642.85 km
• Average distance per run: 10.71 km
• Maximum time spent procrastinating between exercising: 14 days
• Missed major city runs: Vientiene and Shanghai
• Total distance in rented vehicles: 8,468 km
• Number of days spent travelling: 336
• Number of photos taken: 11,849
• Average photos per day: 35 (that’s 330 rolls of film)
• Food poisoning occurrences: 3 (Laos, China and China)
• Number of flights taken: 17
• Total Long haul sleep managed: 2 hours (in 4 flights)
• Number of thefts: 1 (Vang Vieng)
• Amount donated to Temples: 0
• Occurrences of heat stroke: 1 (Bangkok, March)
• Time spent on trains: 364 hours
• Number of parcels sent to UK: 5
• Number of times I honestly missed home: 0
• Tourist traps knowingly fallen into: 7 (Thailand and mainly China)
• Weight gained: 2kg (I blame Las Vegas buffets for that one)
• Favourite Country: Japan
• Least favourite: Laos
• Longest length of stay in any one place: Bangkok, 3 weeks

Do you want cheese on that?

Road trip! Once you’ve done one, you’ll realise that nothing quite compares to driving in the States, and that it’s really the only way to get around and see the place. Sure, you can take flights to major cities, but due to the enormous size of most towns (let alone cities), it’s utterly impossible to get around by foot. Take Beatty for example – a small town on the East side of Death Valley (the perfect place to stay if you’re doing the park), which has shops, bars and the odd hotel so spaced out, that y’all have ta walk a coupla mahles to getta anythang. Thanks for that; info assimilated.

So rent a car you must; tis the only way it’s true. But ensure you stop regularly because straight roads make for a soporific drug, the kind you’ve ne’er quite experienced before. And ensure cruise control is equipped as those four buttons will be a god-send.

Through Death Valley via Beatty and on to Nevada’s crowning jewel; Las Vegas. It’s a shining, glittering, madhouse of human drudgery that will require some patience and noise-filtering to endure. “Anything else?”, the girl at the coffee shop says. For the ninth time. In exactly the same questioning tone. In fact, in exactly the same tone. “You want whipped cream on that?”, she says. It’s beginning… to grate… like the metal cheese kind… across my tenders. So I’ll go for a run, to use up some of the several-thousand calories I no doubt took in at the buffet breakfast; that’ll reduce my aggression and tetchiness to a sustainable level, surely.

Except that it’s impossible to get away from this robotic, programmed way of life. It’s everywhere and in a strange way I’m drawn to a conclusion that the US is in many ways like – if not identical to – China. Flags everywhere; from most houses, shopping malls, Casinos and even in random locations (such as on the only roundabout I’ve thus far found in St. George – a quaint Mormon village populated by androgynous automatons), ensure the general population is kept “patriotic” to unnaturally high levels. So patriotic, they’re borderline Communist: Does that make the Chinese so communist that they’re borderline patriotic?

“Anything else?”, she repeats and reminds me that guns are in fact – legal here.

They’re trained by repetition here; it’s the only way to ensure such a sadly illiterate general population can maintain any kind of standard. Keep ‘em stoopid, who else is gonna serve coffee, after all. That’s how they roll in China, too. Back there the majority feeling is that it’s the greatest country in the world and anyone would be crazy to think otherwise, chord struck with Americans too. Just ask a few about their country and sit back as a torrent of Hollywood and ex-President inspired clichés pours out from their pie-holes. Visit the “Atomic testing museum” just outside the Vegas Strip and listen as the tour guides spew uninformed, narrow-minded unintelligible dribble about how dropping a bomb on Hiroshima was “damn right, they deserved it.”

See the immense disparity between average worker salaries and rich Americans (just like China), and listen as the Television has someone else saying “God Bless America” (just like China), as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist (just like China), and reporters use such base language as “real life actual person” or “shock Hollywood affair”. And that’s about how most people think too; from the small village/town settlement, to the larger cities. Watch in awe as an upcoming politician smears an existing one with “endorsed” adverts stating such slander as “Sharon Angle has demonstrated a loose relationship with the truth”, and images of guns and propaganda worryingly similar to Communist China fill your mind full of hateful and paranoid thoughts. LOCK THE DOOR, BOLT IT NOW, President Obama’s healthcare policy is giving free Viagra to paedophiles!!! Perhaps that’s why Americans are generally so “scared” of communism; due to their inherent similarities. It’s a bit like Judaism and Islam; two peas in a pod if you ask me.

Though rather continue and concentrate on the negative, unbelievably wasteful and selfish general nature of the population; I should like to pick out some of their finer points instead.

Tis true, I like yanks. On the whole, they’re a good bunch. Extrovert, helpful, friendly and usually well-mannered (“I’m sorry” and “Excuse me” two more heavily used clichés that I actually rather appreciate), it’s impossible not to receive good service – even if you refuse to tip. It’s also impossible to find somewhere serving bad food; I challenge anyone to find such a place (bloody easy in the UK). It’s their mainstream drug, the Heroine of the States and no wonder that people are so damn fat when portion sizes are this big (to put it in to perspective it’s absolutely possible to eat just twice a day, sharing one meal between two and exercising most days too). That makes it cheap. And with the whole country setup for internal combustion-engined travel, with courteous drivers on the highways and motels visibly signposted (so large you’d need to be seriously lacking in IQ points to miss them), it’s a great place to tour.


Back in Death Valley and this is more my kind of thing; it used to be the bottom of a vast ocean, with a myriad of life and differing volcanic and underground activities at work making it so diverse that even three days left me pining for more. The photo opportunities are perhaps the greatest I’ve come across in the last ten months, though in all honesty – no CCD or film slide is capable of capturing what the human eye can resolve. Even using a signpost or random human to give scale to a shot, it’s simply not possible to accurately represent the grandeur which nature has created. From sand dunes to salt lake flats and more (the salt is actually good eatin’ if you care to try some), the sense of insignificance it gives to your existence (and impact on the planet), is something not many places can offer. Nature is both kind and cruel, and here is the place to see it in its latter guise (the “Devil’s Golf course” a fine example of impossible terrain, regardless of vehicle). Though with a surprising amount of life roaming around I’m still clueless as to where these animals source their water. Speaking of which, ensure you take plenty (a good 4 litres per day, per person), and something to cover your head.

From 19 Oct 2010

So back to Vegas and it’s a bit of a comedown for me. Personally I really enjoyed stopping at the smaller spots en route to this behemoth of gluttony. Mammoth Lakes, Mariposa, Monterey and even San Francisco (to a degree), were more friendly and welcoming; here it’s a little impersonal and all about the cheddar (much like China, Americans worship the Dollar in equal measure). Having found hotel, dropped car and headed to find some food it’s a wonder of miraculous proportions to find that there seems to be no fruit on offer. None whatsoever; nada, nil, nowt. Eggs (nine kinds), bacon (streaky), meat (fifteen different kinds of chicken, beef and chorizo), carbs (pasta, potato, potato and some more potato), and cheese (you want cheese on that cheese?), are available, but few buffets offer the multi-coloured healthy stuff generally from trees. That is, unless you happen to head to Bellagio for their extravaganza, which at a tenner is not only good value, but you can half-inch some fruit for later. It’s so big in fact, I recommend getting there for around 10am and taking your time eating – it’ll be enough for the entire day (tried and tested twice), trust me.

It is, however, plain to see that this place is absolutely barmy. And one that may potentially dry up (literally), in not so long. Due to the exponential growth of this town after the Hoover Dam was constructed, the water level of man-made Lake Mead has dropped over 100m in just seventy years. It won’t take a genius to work out that this can’t go on for much longer (it’s arguably a victim of its own success), and that even with a team of dedicated “Water Reclamation Experts” devising a way to sustain current usage up until 2050; I’ve no doubt that nature will have a way of spoiling their plans. This is after all – a desert – and with irrigation placed everywhere to ensure that the punters are kept surrounded with lush vegetation, and baths in every one of the average 3,000 rooms per hotel on the strip; something of a fleeting adult-playground whose sand is emptying on borrowed time.

On the note of gigantic hotels is the workforce that runs and maintains them. Much like China, the US has been built on cheap labour; though in this case the vast majority is of Hispanic origin. Hard working, honest, friendly and generally very pleasant, it’s a shame that in similar fashion to the indigenous native American population – little, if any homage is paid to them. Whilst Caucasian Americans are generally alright, it has to be said; they treat anything demonstrating a different ethnicity much like the Chinese do. Back in Australia and New Zealand and the respective native Aboriginal and Maori are proudly displayed on the currency and have both received public apologies from the government. Here, it’s as if they don’t exist and – quite frankly – never did. The history of the country has been created and rewritten by Hollywood – it’s all false (just… like… China), with most people displaying little or no knowledge of the atrocities carried out by their ancestral invading foreigners.

Should you pass by a sign on the highway stating a place of “historic interest” is nearby, make sure to adjust your expectations of what you might find. With such a recent history, most places are positively new and “Antique” shops should all be renamed “Tat” shops, considering the lack of anything older than half a century. They are intriguing places to visit and you may indeed pick up a random item of interest but it for us Brits – it’s more like walking around a car-boot sale.

The end of my 10 nights spent in this town of debauchery and vices and I’m departing for Los Angeles back in South Califor-nigh-aye. Vegas is a great place to spend some time and works out cheap (for the States), for even backpackers; though if you want to do it properly – come with money. Lots of it. Twenty bucks will last just a few minutes on most slot machines (less so on Black Jack tables), and is the average price for a single buffet when you include a tip. On to see what all the fuss is about in Hollywood.

Warderfarhlls

Over a barrel in terms of accommodation close to the park and it's safe to say the place is a wee bit more expensive than your average Motel6, though personally I recommend splashing out a little as El Portal offers such a relaxed and sublime setting, that it's hard to fault. Up early to catch the morning sun as it glances from rock surfaces, the kinds that I wonder appear anywhere else on the planet, with every piece of camera equipment at our disposal and it gives me an idea of what Mr A. Adams must have felt like each morning as he set off. A sense of anticipation washes over me as I look up stunned at the stony giants flanking me either side of this impressively designed road. It's just twenty dollars for a 7-day pass, so stick it in P, pay and put it back into D.

Around half an hour to reach the centre part and expect your mobile to again receive signal. The tiny town here offers most services (even a post office if you so wish), and a free circumnavigating shuttle bus; should your feet tire of trapesing. It's easy to see the attraction of the place, why Rooselvelt proclaimed it the first national park and how exciting it must have felt to have camped out all night for that one shot of the rising sun. Several "warderfarhlls" await your cheesy shot in front of and along with the cycling (or running track), to each point of interest it's plain sailing.


So back to the photography and some interesting experiments with filters, exposures, White balance and image post-processing (all internal), and the results are - in my humble opinion - impressive. I pine for something with a large-format sensor, an APO prime, something to capture what my eye resolves and yet strangely it seems the landscape somehow prefers shades of grey; black and White is far more flattering.

A brief 12k figure of eight around the bus route and it's thirsty work in such bright dry conditions: There's room for a lapped marathon here and all the sub-grades I'm sure. Rent a bike if you prefer though the cost is positively ludicrous when compared to vehicle rental.



Overall a place of incredible natural beauty, where the forces of nature over millions of years have created an area so divine, it's an absolute must on any budding photographers wish-list. To be honest though and as much as I admire Ansel's work; it's hard to take a bad shot here. Visit and decide for yourself; it may be fair to say that like most deceased artists, he's a little overrated.

Frisco

Somehow by the grace of [any given random unbelievable] deity, I was granted not one but two seats whilst crossing the pacific ocean. A little annoyed that the partition is fixed in place, I close my eyes and feebly attempt slumber. Screams to my left signal that once more - as has been the case every single time - the loudest, most spoiled and selfishly inconsiderate little bastard is in the adjacent isle.

Call it Sod's or Murphy's law, I'm a firm believer that the parents of children that act up on 'planes should be forced to compensate their immediately surrounding passengers. Either that or train the flight attendants in anethisia. Another all-nighter it is then, well like most things - practice enough and you get used to it.

Swinging around silicon valley on the approach and the view across the bay is impressive. Furthermore the city of "Frisco" is one of the nicest places you could ever hope to visit in these United States. No wonder it's the second most visited locale in the world then, though as with most places on this continent - if you haven't got any wheels, you won't be getting very far.

It's all in miles, so I'm multiplying by 1.6 to get it into a sensible unit of measurement. But it doesn't stop there; they use gallons for fuel (which are Queen's gallons, that we later decided to re-classify - hence the difference), making it a complete bugger to work out expenditure and efficiency. Nip in to a convenience store and expect drinks to be measured in ounces. Ask for directions (try it once for a laugh but don't bother again; "You gotta take 5th, then. Um, take the boulevard to the third and turn right at the stop sign. Um yeah, then take the one-fifty-two for a coupla miles and it's straight there just. Um, yeah just up the..." you'll have switched off to the white noise by now), and distances are all quoted in feet - weight in pounds. It's such a ludicrous way to go about quantising things, but stubbornness persists. It's the kind of obsinance that reminds me a little of some other country I visited.

So in to the rented behemoth we clamber - it almost requires a step ladder to reach the car door handle - and once in, a fit of laughter comes over me as I realise just how big the car is. For all intents and purposes, this 3.6 litre V6 Chevrolet Traverse is positively run-of-the-mill. And it's built as such; "All-American" (as they love to say), which in reality means it'll last about 6 months. If that. That other country I was speaking of builds stuff to a much higher standard. Starting her up, she purrs ready to be dragged about. Something about the grade of fuel, engine tuning or exhaust system makes all these soft bouncy vehicles sound different from their European counterparts; though I'm lost as to what it might be. As we head to the exit a sign says "maximum height 6'6". I'm clueless, what's that in metres? Will it fit underneath or take the roof off? To the petrol station and it's clear theyve paid attention to the refilling process.

Pull up to the pump and head straight for the cashier; you pay first. They'll respond with the amount you've given and the pump number that you have credit on, with something like; "Twenee sittin on five", so return and select your grade (87, 89 or 91; so even at best they're lower than our standard unleaded), and place nozel in the car. Now before I continue, when filling up just how many times have you got close to a tenner and slowed down as it approached to try and drop the exact amount in, only to go over by a few pennies? Often I'd say. Here that twenty will be exactly what you get. Pull handle and lock it in place; then simply watch as it fills up by exactly that amount. Perfect, I've paid and have fuel; so I can leave. No chance of skipping payment so no need for CCTV and license plate recognition.

Around the city are numerous attractions to keep you occupied. The red golden gate bridge is of course an icon, but further south, a more impressively engineered suspension bridge was an interesting mistake in driving to cross over; one way is above the other allowing more traffic flow. And there's lots of that here so it's clearly necessary. Head to pier 39 for some chowder or a boat trip to the nightmarish hellhole of Alcatraz, which whilst iconic is actually rather overrated. Cross over the golden red gate bridge and the top of the bay has some "scenic drives" (of which they are countless in the US), quaint coffee shops and damn fine eateries. And that's one thing they've got right - food. Whilst it's invariably too much every time, you can't fault the American passion for feeding their enormous appetites.



Shopping whores will love the "central downtown cen'er, um, of shaarps yeah" which is a lovely city to traverse by foot. The trams are a great way to get about and make for some interesting shots and if you happen by Chinatown, expect it to simply be populated by ABCs, rather than resemble anything from Asia.

On along "Historical" highway número uno and the drive is worthwhile. It's a few hundred K to Monterey, which Sinatra sang about and having visited, I've quite no idea why. The beaches are sublime, with enough surf to attract wetsuit-clad dudes aplenty. The climate verges on perfect in California; a dry heat year-round and occasional rain and cloudiness make it perfect for sport, of which running is a very popular pastime on the small island of Frisco. Traversing 10k along the length of the beach and back on the west coast makes for a great workout; as the regular patches of sand double the work you need to put in to keep up pace.


I'm a fan, it's a genuinely safe, relaxed and open-minded place. I hope (though I fear it may not be the case), that the rest of my experiences here are as good. On to Yosemite to see what Ansel Adams was twittering on about for all those years.