Recently in travel buggy Category
Last week, M and I visited Boston for a few days. She went for work. I went for fun. (Unlike M, I had to pay my way, but if one were keeping score, I think I still came out ahead (not that I'm keeping score).)
On Tuesday, I left San Jose at 9:30 AM, had a four-hour layover in Dallas, and arrived in Boston around 11:30 PM. It wasn't the ideal way to go, but it was the least expensive way. During the flight and downtime in Dallas, I managed to get some work done (unofficially, of course), so the day wasn't a complete loss.
M arrived in Boston early the next morning and after she got settled in, we ventured over to Newbury Street, which was only two blocks away from our hotel. We were only across the street from the Boston Public Library, in the heart of Copley Place.
The highlight of our Newbury exploration was the discovery of the Life Is Good flagship store (a.k.a. Jake's House). I showed some restraint and only bought a cap. It says "Get Lost" and was 30% off.
The rest of the day was spent wandering through Chinatown and the Seaport District (where M's conference was happening).
That evening, we ate at Legal Sea Foods and Palm Restaurant (early dinner and late appetizers). (I'd recommend Legal over Palm any day.)
Thursday was my favorite day of the trip. I walked down Boylston Street, past the Berklee College of Music and Back Bay Fens, to visit historic Fenway Park. It was my first time there. I can't claim to be a lifelong Red Sox fan, but I've been a big fan ever since my first trip to Boston in 1993. (I was an impressionable 19-year-old, which seemed old then, but hardly seems so now.)
During my subsequent visits to the city, it was either not baseball season or the Red Sox weren't in town, so I never got to see them play at Fenway. This was the first time when they and I were in Boston at the same time, so I wanted to make the most of it.
To start things off, I took a tour of the park. Tours are $12 a person and they start on the hour (between 9 AM and 4 PM during the season). I caught the noontime tour and it was packed. Our group numbered in the fifties.
Our tour guide was an elderly gentleman named Steve. He must have been in his sixties, but he had the energy of a man decades younger. He told plenty of silly jokes, but also plenty of great stories about Fenway. A place can be saturated with all of the natural beauty and historical significance in the world, but they only represent two dimensions. To make it real, to bring it to life requires stories told by somebody who knows and loves it deeply. Steve was that somebody for Fenway. By the end of hour together, he and the park held a special place in my heart.
The park was built in 1912. The wall in left field, a.k.a. the Green Monster, was built in 1934 by the owner, Mr. Yawkey. He built it after receiving complaints about broken windows from neighbors and discovering fans peeking over the then ten-foot wall to watch the games for free. It's 37-feet high and 230-feet long. The seats atop the wall have been there for four years and there are 275 of them.
The red seat in right field stands marks the spot where the longest home run in Fenway history landed. Ted Williams hit it in 1946. The seat is roughly 502-feet from home plate.
The scoreboard is one of three manually-operated boards in the country . The same two guys have been running it for thirteen years. Over that time, they only missed one game. (One was getting married. The other was his best man.)
Fenway has the shortest home run (302 feet to right) and the longest home run (420 feet to center). The right field foul pole is called Pesky's Pole, named after Johnny Pesky who hit 12 home runs in 12 years, just past that pole.
Steve told us that last story as we sat atop the Green Monster. From there, we got to sit on the oldest, most uncomfortable seats in the park. Personally, they are fine to look at, not to sit on.
By the time the tour wrapped up, I only had enough time to walk back to the hotel to grab a jacket before walking back to the park to wait in line for day-of-the-game tickets. I didn't even have time to stop at the gigantic Apple store on Boylston.
Getting in line four hours before the game was good enough to get a chance to buy premium standing room tickets on the left field roof (not ideal, but still tickets).
From there, we saw the Red Sox pummel the Texas Rangers 10 - 0, thanks to an amazing nine-run second inning and stellar pitching by Daisuke Matsuzaka.
Friday started with breakfast at Finagle a Bagel. M had to prepare for her conference, so I took the T to Stony Brook for a tour of the Sam Adams Brewery, which is free and includes, besides a lesson about beer brewing, actual beer tasting.
After the tour, I met up with M and tagged along to her conference, spending the rest of the afternoon at the convention center. Later, we had dinner at the Bull and Finch Pub (a.k.a. Cheers).
On Saturday, I only had enough time to pack before having to hop on the T to the airport. I left Boston at 11:30 AM, made stops in St. Louis and Santa Ana, and touched down in San Jose around 5:30 PM.
And that was my Boston trip.
The itinerary for our first full day in London was tight. The plan was to ride the London Eye, take a cruise down the Thames, and visit the Tower of London, the Tower Bridge, and St. Paul's Cathedral. Luckily for us, the day didn't go as planned.
What threw us off was what I hadn't done the night before, namely, I hadn't set an alarm. We were on vacation after all. In my head, I envisioned shutting my eyes at midnight and opening them at 8:00. Eight hours of sleep instead of the usual six? How decadent! Unfortunately, I forgot to factor in that we had just been up for 32 hours straight (7 AM Wednesday morning to 3 PM Thursday afternoon, Pacific Time).
When I opened my eyes the next morning, something felt off. It was my internal clock. The traveling and the time change had knocked it out of kilter. With apprehension, I checked my watch, my phone, and the room's clock. All of them said 10:30. Our reservations for the Eye were for 10:00.
I calmly woke M, brewed two cups of coffee, and then proceeded to freak out. "We've lost three hours! What if they don't let us on? What if I can't get a refund? Augh!" Luckily, my moment of melodrama passed.
We raced to the Tube, made the two necessary transfers, and walked briskly across the bridge from the Westminster station to the Eye. When the person at the ticket counter took my printed confirmation sheet and handed me two tickets without a glance or question, I realized I had stressed out for no reason.
The London Eye, built as part of the millennium celebration, is a giant ferris wheel overlooking the River Thames. Instead of benches, it has large egg-shaped glass capsules. Each can hold twenty people without them bruising each other's ribs with their elbows. It's a carnival ride with class. A standard "flight" (they're too good to be called rides, apparently) will set you back £14. While I was online, I contemplated purchasing the champagne flight, but champagne at ten in the morning and 440 feet above the ground didn't seem prudent.
A trip on the Eye lasts approximately thirty minutes. The wheel rotates so slowly, the operators can load and unload passengers while it's moving. The most impressive view of the city is near the top, but one gets great views throughout the flight.
Afterwards, we crossed the bridge and boarded a City Cruises boat for a ride along the River Thames. We got the Red Rover ticket (£10, but "free" with London Pass (LP)), which allows unlimited use of the boat for the day.
We took the cruise from the Westminster Pier to the Tower Pier. Seats on the boat were unassigned. A clear shell offered protection from the wind while still providing a view of the river (an impossible-to-photograph view thanks to abundant water stains). Snacks and beverages were available for purchase towards the boat's stern. One of the crew members acted as a voluntary tour guide, pointing out the notable ships, bridges, and buildings, including London's uniquely shaped city hall.
At the end of the cruise, our guide reiterated the voluntary nature of his narrative and casually mentioned the tip jar he would be holding as he and his crew mates helped us from the boat. I didn't have anything smaller than a five-pound note and it seemed wrong to make change from the tip jar, so it was an awkward disembarkation involving a lot of eye contact avoidance and mumbled thank yous.
Because of our late start, we decided to visit the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge another day and head straight to St. Paul's Cathedral. To reach it, we took the Thames Path, a scenic footpath along the riverbank. The section we walked was only lightly used, making it one of the most relaxing and peaceful places in the city.
We were soon at St. Paul's Cathedral, whose impressive exterior doesn't begin to hint at the magnificence of its interior. Christopher Wren, the architect, started design of St. Paul's in 1669. After several rejected drafts, a final design was agreed upon in 1675. Construction began June 1677 and was completed October 1708.
While we were touring the cathedral (£10 admission, "free" with LP), one of the canons approached the pulpit on the dome dais and asked us to pause and join him in prayer. In the moment it took to say amen, lift my head, and open my eyes, I came to realize and appreciate Wren's grand design. The feeling that I was standing in a truly holy place was palpable.
The most incredible feature of the church is its dome. After walking the length of the nave and quire, we took the stairs and climbed 259 steps to the Whispering Gallery, which offers a magnificent view of the paintings and sculptures that adorn the dome's interior. From there, we climbed another 117 steps to the Stone Gallery, which provided a beautiful view of the city.
Clambering up another 154 steps, we reached the Golden Gallery, which also offered wondrous views, but was too cramped and crowded to enjoy.
On the way up, we came across a six-inch porthole that gave us a bird's-eye view of the cathedral floor, more than 250-feet below.
Before leaving the cathedral, we grabbed a bite to eat at the Crypt Cafe, which is literally located in the crypt beneath the church. It was the strangest place I've ever eaten a ham and cheese sandwich.
We then wandered down Fleet Street and The Strand until we reached the Covent Garden Market and Piazza. This was the first and nicest shopping area we saw in London.
A while later, we ventured over to the Covent Garden station to meet L, M's friend who lives in London. It's a popular meeting spot. Everybody seemed to be waiting for somebody. After a few false starts, we spotted L, who took us to nearby pub called Maxwell's. Because I was set on trying beers I wouldn't normally find on an American menu, I had a Kronenbourg.
After eating what could be best described as nondescript food, we wandered towards the Thames and stopped in at The Wellington, a pub near the Waterloo Bridge. That's where I tried my first Stella and resisted the urge to yell out the name like an idiot.
After the sun set, L took us across the Waterloo Bridge and showed us the amazing night view of London.
We parted ways at the Waterloo station and returned to our hotel via the Tube. All in all, it turned out to be a great day in London. Thank goodness for days that don't go as planned.
Our trip to London started in San Francisco two weeks ago, on a Wednesday afternoon.
To avoid the nightmare of making connections, we took a direct flight. We left on time and were in the air for ten hours. During the flight, they served us two meals (dinner and lunch).
I think I slept all of thirty minutes on the plane. I was excited about the trip and too captivated by the entertainment available on the tiny screen embedded in the headrest in front of me to nap. There were more than 45 movies to choose from. I immediately dove in and watched Elizabeth (a destination-appropriate historical drama), The Chronicles of Narnia, I Am Legend (at 2x speed), and Hitman (Timothy Olyphant bald and bar coded? Bizarre).
Once we were at a low enough altitude, the view from my window became infinitely more interesting than the television.
By the time we deplaned at Heathrow's new Terminal 5, it was Thursday morning. (London is eight hours ahead of California.)
To avoid the nightmare of checked luggage, we packed light. M had a duffel bag and purse. I had a backpack and small messenger bag. We would be spending 10 days and 9 nights in London and Paris, but we only carried enough clothing for 3 days. We also came prepared to do laundry every other night or so.
We wove through the terminal by escalator, stairs, shuttle, and elevator until we reached the Underground. Because I had purchased Oyster cards a few weeks before the trip, we were able to hop right on the Tube without the hassle of buying tickets. (Each card had £20 on it.)
Oyster cards are similar to BART's EZ Rider cards. To enter or exit a station, one only has to wave the card over the disk at the fare gate. Unlike the BART card, it's a great money saver. Instead of paying a £4 cash fare for a single ride on the Tube, we only paid £1.50. It also had the added benefit of a 24-hour-period price cap. We could ride the Tube all day and the most it would cost was £6.50.
The ride into the city was long (roughly 50 minutes), but comfortable. The most amusing memory from that first ride was listening to the recorded announcements. In her ultra-pleasant voice, the announcer told us what line we were on, where the train was terminating, and what stop was coming up. She also warned us to mind the gap (between the train and platform). The warning wasn't repeated often; it was repeated ridiculously often. I was soon cracking up every time I heard it. On a sad note, the woman who recorded the announcements was fired last November for criticizing the Tube.
The train was relatively empty until we reached Acton Town. From then on, it was consistently packed (another reason I was glad we were traveling light). Two long escalator rides later (the Piccadilly Line is deeper in the earth than the Mines of Moria), we were standing in the center of Piccadilly Circus.
Our first stop was the Britain and London Visitor Centre on Regent Street, where we picked up our London Passes. If we visited half of the places on my spreadsheet, the pass would save us several pounds. (At the time, one pound equaled $1.97.)
From there, we went to our hotel. Even though we weren't carrying a lot, we were carrying more than the typical Londoner, so we thought it best to unload our bags before sightseeing. By this time, it was 13:00, two hours before our official check-in time. We figured if our room wasn't ready, the hotel might at least store our bags until we returned.
While it would have been easier to hop back on the Tube, I thought it would be more fun to walk and get a feel for the city. We had been sitting for hours and my legs needed a stretch. I pulled out what would become my trusty pocket map and tried my best to navigate London's streets.
We crossed the roaring rapids of motor traffic (look right!), drifted by the statues, monuments, and fountains of Trafalgar Square, and let the current of pedestrians carry us down the Strand and Kingsway, until we reached the safe harbor of our accommodations on High Holborn.
It was all nearly too much for me -- the number of people, the height of the buildings, the narrowness of the streets, the speed at which everybody moved. I didn't realize just how anxious the city had made me until we stepped into the hotel lobby, where I felt instant relief. I could finally stop and breathe without being rushed, brushed, or shoved. (Luckily, it didn't take long to get acclimated to the crowd or speed of the city. By Day 2, I was at ease.)
The feeling of relief grew when we learned we could check in. We dropped our bags off and took a quick tour of our modest-sized room. Besides the typical bedroom/bathroom setup, we had a kitchenette, which came with an electric kettle, microwave, refrigerator, stove top, and dishwasher. How they fit it all into such a tiny alcove still befuddles me. The cabinets were fully stocked with dishes (including a pan and drainer), while the drawers were stocked with eating and cooking utensils. Paranoid, we inspected everything to make sure it was clean.
From the hotel, we took the Tube to Embankment, a station along the River Thames. The ride involved a transfer, but thanks to smartly placed maps, signs, and arrows, we were able to make it without trouble. (It was nice to feel comfortable with the transit system my second time through.)
A peaceful walk along the Thames brought us to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. The lighting was poor, but I tried my best to photograph the clock tower.
I also got a chance to photograph one of the statues on my list: Boadicea. She and her chariot are located at the corner of Westminster Pier.
From there, we circled the parliament building (it was closed to visitors) to reach Westminster Abbey.
Upon entering the church, I was disappointed to learn that photography wasn't allowed inside, but I soon grew to appreciate the restriction. The lack of cameras added to the solemnity and sanctity of the shrine.
After visiting the altar and choir, we slowly toured the various chapels and tombs. Statues and memorials dominated the Abbey. Aristocrats and monks throughout the ages are buried at Westminster. Several monarchs are also entombed there, including Mary I, Elizabeth I, Mary Queen of Scots, Anne of Cleves, three Henrys, and five Edwards. Seeing their names made me wish I had made more of an effort to study my British history.
Just before we reached the tomb of Elizabeth I and the Henry VII Chapel, we came upon the Coronation Chair, which has been used in every crowning ceremony since 1296. The last time it was used was in 1953, for the coronation of Elizabeth II. I still have a hard time wrapping my head around that fact.
We then visited the Poets' Corner, where I had greater success recognizing the names of the buried: Geoffrey Chaucer, Charles Dickens, George Frederick Handel, Rudyard Kipling, and Laurence Olivier.
We took a detour through the Cloisters and visited College Garden, which was refreshingly free from the weight of history. (I love history, but taking in several centuries all at once was too much.)
We returned to visit the nave and found where Charles Darwin, David Livingstone, and Isaac Newton were buried. Afterwards, we took a peek at the gift shop, which seemed absurd and out of place in the context of its surroundings.
From Westminster, we went searching for 10 Downing Street, the home of the Prime Minister. We toddled past the Winston Churchill Museum and through the Horse Guards Parade before coming upon the street, which was gated and closed to the public. Several policemen guarded the entrance, but I caught a glimpse the black front door of the residence. I'm sad to say I didn't spot Gordon Brown. Maybe next time.
After a brief stop at the hotel, we went hunting for dinner. We passed a number of pubs, pizza parlors, and Indian restaurants before settling on a place called Sway, which was quiet compared to the other places we had seen. The interior was dark, but the decor was sophisticated. I found the faux windows amusing.
As soon as we sat down, I knew what I wanted. I ordered the tiger beer battered fish and chunky chips (£7). The fish was tasty. I only wish they had given me more chips because those were the only vegetables on my plate. (The tiny container of mushy peas didn't count.) To complete the meal, I had a pint of Beck's (£3.50) because a glass of wine seemed wrong somehow.
It had been a long day, so we returned to the hotel to shower and sleep. The last thing I remember watching before dozing off was an episode of The Weakest Link. By some minor miracle, Anne Robinson and her creepy wink didn't give me any nightmares and I slumbered peacefully.
Now that we've been there and back again, I feel free to officially mention that we just returned from a week-and-a-half-long trip in London and Paris.
It was something M and I had talked about doing ever since we visited Vienna nearly four years ago. The conversation had begun broadly, while we were still on the plane.
"We have to go back to Europe," I said, or she said, or we might have both said at the same time, still on a traveling high.
Once home, the discussion quickly became a brainstorming session of European countries we wanted to visit. Since neither of us are seasoned international travelers, I suggested we start with a place that didn't require a book of common phrases. Visiting a country with different currency, customs, and culture would be difficult enough without the added challenge of a language barrier. That's how England (generally) and London (specifically) ended up at the top of the list.
I would have been content with only visiting England, but M wasn't keen on the idea of seeing just one country. With the crazy cost of air travel, she thought we should aim for a multinational adventure. That's how France (generally) and Paris (specifically) came to be second on the list.
I agreed to it wholeheartedly since it would finally justify the French classes I took in high school. I wouldn't be able to say much more than, "Pardon, garcon, je voudrais un sandwich au poulet." But at least it would make me feel better about not choosing Spanish like everybody else.
Fresh from Austria, I thought it wouldn't be more than two years before our passports would be inspected and stamped again, but then came M's graduate program, a lack of funds, and a shortage of vacation leave. The desire to travel abroad was relegated to the back burner, left to simmer until conditions were right. In the meantime, weekend getaways would have to satisfy our wanderlust.
Everything finally fell into place two months ago. In the span of a few days, we went from simmer to boil as we purchased plane tickets, booked hotels, and started researching each city in earnest.
Planning the trip was probably the most stressful part of the whole process for me. Trying to figure out what places to see or skip was agonizing. It was also difficult to balance the competing interests of exploration and relaxation.
To make things easier, instead of planning the entire trip together, we each took a city. M was lead in Paris, while I was primary in London. That method worked well and relieved some of the pressure.
Still, the planning process revealed something I didn't know about myself: when it comes to travel itineraries, I'm detail-oriented to a fault.
The Excel spreadsheet I created had more rows and columns than I'd care to admit. It included admission prices (in dollars and pounds), map coordinates, nearest underground stations, hours of operation (each day of the week), and page references (for both books: Eyewitness Travel and Lonely Planet). Besides landmarks, churches, and museums, it included statues (Boadicea, Wellington), famous streets (The Strand), and famous stores (Harrods). I didn't realize the extent of my need for detail until I printed it. The endless grid came as a nasty shock. Apparently, my ability to wing things isn't as strong as I'd like to believe.
Because I'm not a savvy world traveler, every new place I visit leaves an embarrassingly deep impression on me. It's silly, really, but I fall in love with everywhere I go. Salzburg? Smitten. London? Lovely. Paris? Paradise! Vienna? Vonderful! I'm a complete dork when it comes to globe trekking. I would make a horrible travel guide, which is why I strongly discourage people from using the travelogue I plan to write and post in the coming days as a planning tool.
Today is my first day back at work. It's also my first day back at blogging, which is my excuse for the rambling nature of this entry. My head is still spinning from the trip (due to either the incredible experience I had or the jet lag -- it's hard to say which). The spinning sensation isn't helped by my inbox, mailbox, and RSS feed reader. All are overflowing.
I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and I have a feeling I'll be walking around for the next few days with a giant question mark floating above my head, asking the same thing over and over, "Now, where was I?" So, please, pardon me while I get back into the swing of things. It will happen, I promise... eventually.
For those just tuning in, it's 2008. I know. It came as a rather nasty surprise to me, too. One minute, at roughly 10:02 PM, it was 2007. The next minute, at exactly 7:27 AM, it was 2008. I thought I would be wide awake when we leaped into the new leap year, but the God of Sleep (and General Napping) had other plans, apparently.
I thought I would use this first post of the new year to briefly recount what I did during the last week of last year. To keep it brief, but interesting, I will limit myself to a bullet point summary.
- December 26 - Drove to Anaheim to visit M's friend and wander through Downtown Disney. (After a week in Disney World earlier this year, I was Disneyed out and didn't need to set foot in Disneyland.)
- December 27 - Visited Palm Springs and hiked in nearby Indian Canyons (more about that in a separate entry).
- December 28 - Drove home and succumbed to the will of the God of Sleep (and General Napping). Fourteen hours of driving over a three-day period (a sizable chunk through Los Angeles) was physically and emotionally draining. I don't think I could survive living in Southern California.
- December 29 - Pottered around the house and performed many domestic chores.
- December 30 - Drove to Yosemite. Explored and played in the snow-covered valley.
- December 31 - Spent New Year's Eve snowshoeing near Badger Pass (more about that in a separate entry, too). After an exhausting day, surrendered to the God of Sleep (and General Napping) two hours before the stroke of midnight.
- January 1, 2008 - Tried to avoid the drive home, but eventually did, due to a sense of obligation to work and the cat, but mostly the cat. (She expects to be fed daily and doesn't believe in sick days. She also has claws.)
On Sunday, we traveled to Nevada City, CA, a town roughly sixty miles northeast of Sacramento, to experience the town's fabled Victorian Christmas, an annual celebration entering it's thirtieth year.
For five days in December, the town's historic district travels back in time. The streets are filled with vendors, carolers, and musicians dressed in period clothing.
Cars disappear and horse-drawn carriages take their places.
Even Santa Claus undergoes a transformation and becomes St. Nicholas or Father Christmas. (I wish I had gotten a photo of him, but I only had my iPhone and he has always been a fast-moving fellow.)
The magical effect of time travel was helped by the fact that Nevada City still resembles an old gold mining town. Its most modern building is city hall, with its art deco facade.
The drive to Nevada City was a smooth one. From Sacramento, we took Highway 80 East, towards Reno, and cut over to Highway 49, near Auburn. That took us north through Grass Valley and dropped us right off at Broad Street, the main thoroughfare of the historic district. While the town offers a shuttle for a nominal fee ($2), we opted to find our own parking and walk to the event.
Although part of event felt like the typical weekend art and wine festival, I was still taken with the town's holiday transformation, charm, and sense of community. I wonder what the place feels like during the rest of the year. It might be worth another trip.
If you or future me should ever plan to visit Victorian Christmas, here are a few tips:
- Make sure to verify the times of the celebration. This year it was only held on three Wednesday evenings and two Sunday afternoons in December.
- Be prepared for cold weather. It was chilly while we were there and I was thankful to have my jacket, hat, and gloves.
- Remember to bring a camera. (Do you hear that, future me?)
- Suspend disbelief and enjoy it. There will always be one or two killjoys who will point out every anachronism, but don't let them ruin it for you. It's Christmas. Even cynicism needs a holiday every now and then.
This weekend, M & I visited Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks. Unlike last weekend's trip, which was spontaneous, this trip was planned well in advance, so we were able to reserve a room at the Wuksachi Lodge, two miles from Lodgepole, Sequoia's main visitor center. Considering Saturday's nighttime temperature dipped to 16 degrees Fahrenheit, I was happy to have a warm place to sleep.
One of the things I wanted to do while at the parks was visit the General Grant Tree in the Grant Grove area of Kings Canyon. In addition to being the third largest living thing in the world, the General Grant Tree is also "The Nation's Christmas Tree". To celebrate this designation, a local chamber of commerce has led a pilgrimage to the tree and held a ceremony at its base on the second Sunday of December every year since 1926.
Since we wouldn't be able to attend the official pilgrimage and ceremony, I thought it would be cool to do our own "Trek to the Tree", perhaps with something symbolizing the spirit of Christmas.
Of course, this idea only occurred to me as we were driving to the park on Friday, somewhere between Los Banos and Clovis. The odds of finding a store selling simple decorations seemed slim. Unless Lady Luck blessed us with a Christmas miracle, ours would be one sad little trek.
By the time we entered Fresno, I had given up all hope. We hadn't seen one convenience store along the way. I was positive Lady Luck was ignoring us.
That's when M suddenly pointed and said, "Hey, look, there's a Dollar Tree!" Those dingy green block letters never looked so good.
Four dollars and thirty-three cents later, we had a 15-inch wreath, a bag of fake cranberries, and two Santa hats. Some assembly was required, but M did a fine job of decorating the wreath.
For thirty minutes, we had the grove and giant sequoias to ourselves. We took our time wandering along the Grant Tree Trail. It was difficult to walk without stopping and staring up in awe at the colossal trees.
When we reached the General Grant Tree, I placed the wreath on a post in front of it. There weren't choirs singing or balloons on parade or dignitaries making speeches or celebrities lighting trees, but in that moment, without any of the pageantry, it felt like Christmas.
Before we left, we removed the wreath, just in case a ranger came along and thought we were trying to deface a national treasure with cheap decorations.
We drove down Generals Highway, checked into our room, dined at the lodge, and retired early in preparation for the big hike on Saturday.
Since neither of our families were having a traditional Thanksgiving celebration, M and I made a last-minute decision to do a destination Thanksgiving in Yosemite. It had been nearly two months since our last visit and I was eager to see what the park offered during the holidays.
Because of the short notice, I wasn’t able to reserve any of the park's heated units, but I managed to book an unheated tent cabin in Curry Village. With nightly lows dipping below 30 degrees Fahrenheit, it wasn't ideal, but it gave us a chance to see how our sleeping bags (both rated for 15 degrees) withstood the cold.
We reached the park around one o'clock on Thursday. After checking in and unloading the car, I tried to make dinner reservations at Yosemite Lodge's Mountain Room over the phone. They told me I needed to reserve a table in person at the restaurant, so we took a shuttle to the lodge.
Unfortunately, the restaurant was closed. A sign on the door said to call a different number for reservations. This call was more successful. They told me they were booked, but they might be able to squeeze a party of two in at 8:15. I took it.
As we were heading outside, I saw a sign advertising free movie screenings at the Lodge's Cliff Room. They were showing Transformers and Ratatouille over the Thanksgiving weekend.
"Transformers is a profound holiday choice," I told M. "Deep down, it's a movie trying to remind us to be thankful for what we have, because at any given moment, warring alien robots with the ability to transform into anything they want could come and take it all away from us." She just looked at me and shook her head.
After grabbing lunch from Degnan's Deli (my favorite eatery in the park), we returned to see Ratatouille.
I'm going to pause here and say I'm sure somebody is thinking, "Why would you spend ninety minutes in a dark room, watching a movie, when you're in a beautiful place like Yosemite? Shouldn't you be outside, exploring and seeing the sights?"
My initial response is a guilt-ridden, "Yes, you're right." My ultimate response, though, is, "I'm grateful to be living as close as I do to Yosemite that I don't feel like I'm missing out on something or wasting time if I'm not out spending every second of daylight seeing the sights."
I'm sorry for being so defensive. Opinionated hypothetical people aggravate me.
After watching the movie (and falling in love with it again), my stomach was growling. (Who knew digital food could look so delectable?) Our tentative reservations were more than two hours away and I didn't think I could make it.
Without mincing words, I told M, "I don't think I can make it."
Luckily, the Mountain Room Lounge was serving a Thanksgiving meal that didn't require reservations and it was right next door to the Cliff Room. For twenty dollars, the meal included turkey with cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, vegetables, and pumpkin pie.
It wasn't as elaborate as the multi-course feasts at Ahwahnee, Wawona, and Mountain Room ($86, $32, and $28 a person, respectively), but it was in the spirit of the holiday and closer to our price range.
The Lounge was packed, but we found a table quickly. The service was fair and the food was only standard (the turkey was on the dry side), but it was still a pleasant Thanksgiving experience. (I was particularly impressed with the Swedish fireplace in the center of the room.)
Afterwards, we caught a shuttle back to Curry. I showered in the newly remodeled shower house where the water was actually hot (such a luxury). Clean and warm, I raced back to the tent cabin and hopped into my sleeping bag, which did a fine job of keeping me cozy during the cold, cold night.
When I awoke the next morning, I felt fully rested and ready to hike to Dewey Point.
As illustrated in the informative and mostly factual table below, there are three ways to reach Yosemite's North Dome.
| trail head | One-Way Mileage | Elevation +/- | "Unofficial" Nickname |
|---|---|---|---|
| Porcupine Flat | 4.6 | -580 feet | The Baby Bear |
| Mirror Lake | 9.0 | 3,550 feet | The Papa Bear |
| Upper Yosemite Fall | 7.9 | 3,550 feet | The Papa Bear's Younger Brother |
With no intention of driving out to Porcupine Flat and never having been a fan of Papa Bear, I went with his Younger Brother.
Because I wanted to get the climbing done before the midday heat arrived, M and I tried to get a somewhat early start. We took the shuttle from Yosemite Village (Stop 4) to Camp 4 (Stop 7) and were at the trail head by eight o'clock.
The hiking conditions to Columbia Rock were noticeably different from those in April. Instead of a trail with constant traffic, we only bumped into three hikers along the way. Instead of darkening skies, there was growing morning light, which made photographing the valley difficult.
This was M's first strenuous hike in over a year (due to a foot injury), so we took it slowly. She went all the way through the first few switchbacks above the middle cascade before turning back. I was sad to see her go, but was proud she had made it that far.
I continued up the rocky and sandy switchbacks and reached the waterfall overlook by eleven. I didn’t venture to the edge like old John Muir, but got close enough to snap a few stomach-plummeting shots.
I dawdled at the top, enjoying the solitude while I could. For thirty minutes, not another soul appeared.
Knowing my destination was still five miles away, I picked up the pace, rapidly crossing a wooden truss bridge and following a winding, uphill granite trail towards Yosemite Point.
Like Columbia Rock, Yosemite Point is nothing more than a metal rail secured to an outcropping. How secure it really is, I couldn't say. I wasn't willing to lean against it to test the workmanship. I stood there longer than I expected, though, partly due to the sight of the trail below and the Lost Arrow spire.
From there, I continued on the granite trail to North Dome.
A quick aside: I'm not a fan of granite trails. The only indication of a path is usually a strategically placed rock (a.k.a. a marker). Of course, not all rocks are markers and that's where I usually run into trouble. I sometimes read too much into the rocks - perceiving patterns that aren't really there, divining direction from "markers" more likely placed by a cunning mountain lion than by a person.
With the help of a couple who had hiked the Baby Bear, I managed to stay on the trail. The path soon entered a forest and began an undulating course - down to Indian Gulch Creek, up a ridge, down to Lehamite Creek, up a ridge, down to Royal Arches Creek, and up another ridge. It was like riding a rollercoaster in the woods.
The trail emerged from the forest and became a cluster of granite switchbacks. At the top, I came across an Australian fellow who had just hiked the Papa Bear. He happily told me I only had a half-mile to go and then pointed to what was obviously North Dome.
I thanked him and raced to the summit. The view at the end was more breathtaking than I imagined. There was the valley, Illilouette Falls, Tenaya Canyon, Clouds Rest...
And, of course, Half Dome, front and center...
I spent about fifteen minutes at the top. I wanted to stay longer, but it was already two in the afternoon. Knowing the hike down would take nearly as long as the hike up (due to the steep and sandy switchbacks), I reluctantly left the dome.
I wish I could say the return journey was uneventful, with only one or two unremarkable slips, but somewhere between the Upper and Middle Falls, I took a tumble worth mentioning.
I had just achieved a comfortable downhill rhythm, using my poles for extra balance, when I came upon on particularly bad swarm of mosquitoes. Instead of planting my right pole, I swatted at one of the buggers while taking a step.
My right foot went out from under me, spinning me around. The sky fell away. My poles scattered and my right arm shot out, grasping air. My forearm scraped the rocks as I twirled and fell. The sweatshirt and snacks in my backpack cushioned the fall - the gummy bears and cookies getting the brunt of it.
Dazed, I ran a quick diagnostic. Beyond the scratched and bruised arm (call it a bad brush with Brother Bear) and a tightened right calve muscle, nothing else seemed to be amiss. I stood up slowly, brushed myself off, and resumed the descent with more caution and less mosquito-swatting.
I reached the valley floor in one piece around 5:30 p.m., just in time to see the shuttle leaving Stop 7 and heading for Stop 8 at the Yosemite Lodge.
Because I had promised to meet M at the village before six, my rattled brain figured my only chance of making it in time was to catch the shuttle.
Visitors in Camp 4 that day saw a grimy hiker sprinting through camp, crossing the road, and running through the Lodge parking lot to leap aboard a shuttle.
It was a good two-hundred-yard dash that I didn't think was in me. Thirty minutes later, my legs informed me that, in fact, I hadn't had it in me. I had actually purchased the dash on credit and would be paying for it the rest of the evening at an exceptionally high PAPR (post-adrenaline pain rate).
Friday was an impatient kid in the backseat of Mr. and Mrs. Weekend's minivan repeatedly asking, "Are we there yet?"
Saturday was the hysterical mother screaming, "Do you want a time-out? Do you? Ask that one more time and I... Okay, that's it, I'm pulling over! Five-minute time-out!"
Sunday was the matter-of-fact father saying over the cheering child, "See, if we had left him at the kennel like I suggested, there'd be no need to tie him to the roof rack."
That was my weekend - a blue Ford Aerostar speeding down the highway at 85 miles per hour. It just flew by.
M and I were in Yosemite from Friday through Sunday. The weekend after Labor Day is the time to go. Temperatures may be on the high side, but the number of visitors drops precipitously, at least the number of American visitors does.
The park had a definite international flavor this weekend. I heard no less than half-a-dozen languages spoken. In order of popularity, Spanish, German, English, and Japanese were the languages of choice.
An observational aside: Spanish-speaking visitors seemed to stay close to camp, large families hanging near the river and picnic sites. German-speaking visitors were often rugged young men who looked like they had spent days climbing or backpacking and were making a quick stop at the village store for supplies before heading back for more.
The big adventure on Friday was climbing to the base of Lower Yosemite Fall. It's the second time I've done it.
Last time, dozens of people were crawling over boulders and jumping into pools. This time, there were only two other guys bounding about. For a while, I had the entire waterfall to myself (if you don't count the mosquitoes).
From a distance, the waterfall appears to have dried up, but a closer look reveals the truth. Yosemite Falls continues to trickle like a giant leaky granite faucet.
Climbing in the waterfall is both fun and infuriating to me. It's fun because, well, it's like playing in a giant playground that has failed a safety inspection. Scampering over boulders large enough to crush you and everybody in your fave five is more than half the fun. Technically, it's 65% of the fun. The other 35% is the part where you survive the scampering unscathed.
It's infuriating because while I'm hopping from boulder to boulder, I come across discarded trash. People leave behind empty drink bottles, wrappers, socks, and other items. They treat what is one of the wonders of the world like a garbage bin. It's maddening to see.
I picked up whatever would fit in my backpack to recycle when I got back to the viewing bridge. It's apparent that some people still haven't gotten the concept of Leave No Trace through their heads. If I could, I would make the litterbugs spend a day picking up trash in the park.
On Saturday, I hiked to the top of North Dome by way of Upper Yosemite Fall. It was a 16.5-mile round-trip trek with views almost worth every step and slip. (A few less slips and it would have been completely worth it.) An entry packed with special features like words and photos will be up tomorrow.
Sunday was a day for relaxing and recovering. We moseyed around the valley and pretended to be posh at The Ahwahnee (as posh as one can be in hiking shorts and Tevas) before finally surrendering and returning the demands of the "real world" beyond the park's borders.
From Friday through Sunday, we were visiting Chandler, Arizona. Chandler makes up the southeastern portion of the greater Phoenix glob. (During the other three seasons of the year, it's an area, but during the summer, the heat melts the neighboring municipalities into one big, sticky glob.)
We flew out of San Jose on Friday morning. It took two minutes to get through security, which was disappointing. The last few times I flew, security pulled me out of line just to say hello and search my belongings before sending me on my way fifteen minutes later. It passed the time and made me feel special. This time, I actually had a chance to eat a cheese egg mit from Noah's Bagels, drink coffee, and relax before boarding. It made me edgy. I almost went back to the checkpoint to ask them to search my backpack anyway, just to calm my nerves.
Because the point of the trip was more to visit friends than to see the sights, we didn't do a lot of wandering. They're a young family with a two-year-old and a one-month-old and since they had already been so kind to invite us to stay with them, we didn't want to burden them with entertaining us as well. We just tried to be low-key and undemanding in an effort to make the weekend as much of a vacation as possible for everybody.
As soon as we were out of the airport, my camera was out and snapping shots of the local scenery. This was one of the first photos...
After dropping off our backpacks at the house, we had brunch at Brunchies, a country kitchen establishment that is famous for its American and Mexican style breakfasts. What it should be famous for is the talking horse's head mounted on the wall. The thing freaked me out. Fortunately, it didn't start babbling until after I had finished my Brunchies Omelet (a three-egg omelet with cheese, avocado, and bacon).
That evening, M and I cooked cheese raviolis covered with ground turkey and tomato sauce. After dinner, I received a refresher course in toddler endurance. I've never seen a child push a train around a track so many times without tiring or losing interest. His enjoyment never flagged. By the time he was done, I was choo-choo-ed out and ready for a good long nap.
On Saturday, we visited Phoenix's Desert Botanical Garden ($10 per person). Thanks to thunderstorms the night before and that morning, temperatures were only in the nineties, a welcome relief from the previous day's 100+ high.
The garden, located in Papago Park, features cactus, succulents, wildflowers, and other plants that thrive in the desert, more specifically, the Sonoran Desert, which extends from Mexico, through Arizona and California, and into Baja California. My favorite plants were the octopus cactus, teddy bear cactus, and saguaro cactus. The first two are pictured below...
The garden also featured Childhood Dreams, a living sculpture by Patrick Dougherty.
Afterwards, we ate lunch at Aunt Chilada's, where I had a two-enchilada plate (shredded chicken and shredded beef).
We then drove to Dobbin's Lookout in South Mountain Park (free). It's a popular spot (easily accessible by car) that offers a magnificent view of the greater Phoenix glob.
On certain Sundays (called Silent Sundays), the roads inside the park are closed to vehicles. Only hikers, runners, cyclists, and equestrians are allowed full access. It's a great concept. I wish I had seen it in effect. Actually, it would be great if they enforced it seven days a week. The crowd at the lookout would have been a third of the size and there would have been less litter. It's sad to see empty soda cans and water bottles strewn across the mountain landscape. After seeing a teenager drop his empty bottle on the ground, I was tempted to toss it (and the rest of the litter) into his car. Instead, I surreptitiously dumped it in a garbage can.
For dinner, we had barbecued chicken and hot dogs. Afterwards, we watched an entertaining episode (or three) of The Backyardigans. Then, after the little ones had gone to bed, I watched 300, one of bloodiest and most melodramatic green screen movies I've ever seen. If I had my way, I would have added a penguin named Pablo and had the Spartans sing "The Worman Polka" (Yip yip yip!).
On Sunday, we drove thirty miles southeast to the town of Coolidge and visited Casa Grande Ruins National Monument ($5 per person), the location of an ancient agrarian community of people known as the Hohokams. The Casa Grande, or "great house", is one of the largest Hohokam structures still standing. The four-story building is over 700 years old and is now protected by steel roof.
We spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing and spending time with our friends. They kindly dropped us off at the airport and we caught our flight home without trouble or "special" treatment (darn you, TSA!). When we got home, I had just enough energy to empty my backpack, dump my dirty clothes in the washing machine, shower, and jump into bed.
The next time I visit Arizona, I hope to go during the spring or fall. I also hope to stay longer. A road trip through the state would be ideal. There is the Grand Canyon still to see, as well as Canyon de Chelly and the Petrified Forest. In the Phoenix area, I'd like to see a Spring Training game or at least watch the Diamondbacks play. It could also be fun to visit Rawhide (a western theme park) and couple of genuine ghost towns. In any case, it's a state I want to see again.
Finally, I leave you with a parting shot from Casa Grande Ruins...
You can see more photos here...
Hello, everybody. I'm happy to report that I survived my first backpacking trip, a four-day excursion in Desolation Wilderness, a recreation area just west of Lake Tahoe. This was my second visit to the area, but my first camping trip there. I hiked to Fontanillis Lake last year during my first visit.
On Friday, we started from the Glen Alpine trail head, located near Fallen Leaf Lake and hiked roughly five miles to our campsite at Heather Lake.
On Saturday, we hiked to the top of Mt. Tallac and were greeted with the amazing sight of the Lake Tahoe Basin.
On Sunday, we rambled over to Aloha Lake and Mosquito Pass. On our way back, we stopped to relax on the ledges overlooking the lake and spotted a small smoke plume to the east. We guessed a fire had broken out somewhere near South Lake Tahoe. Over the next hour and a half, we sat and watched the plume grow. We knew it was a big fire, we just didn't know the seriousness or true extent of it. Perhaps stupidly, we stayed the night as we had originally planned.
On Monday, we awoke to find ourselves in a smoky haze. Luckily, it was only smoke. We quickly broke camp and hiked five miles back through the ashy haze to the trail head. Only when we reached the car and turned on the radio did we learn the scope and scale of the Angora Fire.
All roads into South Lake Tahoe were closed, so we had to take Highway 89 north through Tahoe City to catch Interstate 80 in Truckee to head home.
That's just a quick and dirty summary of my first backpacking trip. Photos and details to follow.
My heart goes out to the folks who lost homes and businesses in the fire and my prayers are with the firefighters who are working tirelessly and risking their lives to save structures and contain the blaze.
I wrote this last Friday, but forgot to post it.
In the United States, there are 388 national parks. Of those, I have visited 14 (12 in California, 2 in Hawaii). Of those 14, there are four I'd like to visit again (Haleakala, Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Yosemite). That leaves 374 left to explore. Even if I were to travel to 12 a year (one per month), it would take 31years and 2 months to visit every park. I imagine it's possible to cut that time down if I were to plan trips to particular regions to maximize the number of parks I saw.
To make this potentially monumental undertaking more manageable, it would be helpful to prioritize which parks I wanted to see first. It would also be helpful to set a few constraints. Let's stick with 2007 and California for the time being.
Therefore, the top 5 national parks in I want to visit this year are:- Lassen Volcanic National Park
- Whiskeytown National Recreational Area
- Joshua Tree National Park
- Death Valley National Park
- Channel Islands National Park
It could be possible to combine Lassen and Whiskeytown in one trip during the summer. The Channel Islands might be neat in the summer as well. Then, later in the fall, when temperatures are cooler, a combined Joshua Tree/Death Valley trip sounds feasible.
All of this is still in the early fuzzy phase of planning. Anything and everything could change. Right now, it's just fun to think about it. In the next couple of weeks, I should do some research on those parks to see what is possible and what is practical.
If you'll bear with me, I would like to finish what I started. After we left Santa Rosa, we puttered north on Highway 101, headed east on Mark West Springs Road until we reached Calistoga, and headed south on St. Helena Highway.
We passed Bothe-Napa Valley State Park, a place I would like to visit next time we're in the neighborhood. Hiking in the morning and wine-tasting in the afternoon? There could be worse ways to spend the day.
Since it was quickly becoming evening, we headed straight for V. Sattui Winery, one of the few wineries that offers free tastings. (Actually, we stopped by Beringer Vineyards first, five minutes before they closed and were tersely turned away, so we kept going.)
After sampling a few wines, we continued south to American Canyon. We stayed at a brand new hotel called Gaia Napa Valley Hotel and Spa It is one of California's first green (or eco-friendly) hotels, which means it was designed and constructed with environmental sustainability in mind. What that means is that during design, the architect focused intensively on issues like sustainable site development, water and energy efficiency, and material selection.
Being green also means the hotel management focuses on ways to make their operations more environmentally-friendly. This means things like low flow showers and toilets, energy efficient air conditioners, recycling receptacles, bulk soap and shower dispensers, and chemical free landscaping. I was quite impressed with their list of green features.
It was by pure coincidence that we stayed during the hotel's grand opening weekend. The upside was that nothing had been used yet. I think we were the first ones to stay in our room. The downside was that certain amenities (like the restaurant) weren't open yet.
My favorite parts of the hotel would have to be the swan in the lagoon...
And the gauges in the lobby showing carbon dioxide emissions and electricity and water usage...
That evening, we dined at La Strada. The food and wine were delicious, but the service was only okay. Next time, it would be interesting to try one of the Italian restaurants in downtown Napa.
On Saturday, we got a late start on the morning and decided to visit a winery that was more out of the way, so we ventured over to Andretti Winery, which was founded by famous race car driver, Mario Andretti.
Afterwards, we headed east to take a leisurely drive on the Silverado Trail. At some point, we cut back over to St. Helena Highway and stopped by Cakebread Cellars only to discover that we needed an appointment to taste their wines (a minor detail repeated on their website, which is why it's good to do your research beforehand, children).
Feeling shunned by the world of wine, we drove to Napa to enjoy a midday meal at Gillwoods Cafe, where they serve breakfast all day. I had the Gillwoods Scramble and a big mug of coffee to cleanse my palate of any wine residue.
We wandered around Napa and St. Helena that afternoon, stopped by Trader Joe's to pick up an inexpensive dinner we could eat back at the hotel (thank goodness for microwaves), and resisted the urge to venture out for the rest of the evening.
Here's one of the buildings I photographed while in downtown St. Helena...
On Sunday, we did many mundane things that now escape my memory. The most exciting thing that happened that day didn't take place until that evening. We saw Blue October perform at The Fillmore. I first saw them play in San Jose nearly four years ago.
The opening act was good, but all of their songs seemed to sound alike, except for their inspired cover of Radiohead's "High and Dry". Blue October, though, was pure energy and unforgettable. My favorite songs from the evening include "You Make Me Smile", "Into the Ocean", "Overweight", and "X Amount of Words".
At the end of the night, they gave away these free posters...
And that's that.
M had spring break last week and I had Friday off, so we took advantage of the long weekend to visit Santa Rosa and Napa Valley.
The point of visiting Santa Rosa was to stop in at the Charles M. Schulz Museum. I first visited it four or five years ago, when it first opened, and I had been wanting to return.
We arrived at the museum in the early afternoon. The traffic on the main roads around the museum were busy, but the museum itself was quiet, which meant we wouldn’t have to fight crowds to enjoy the exhibits. By the way, for those who might want to visit, admission is $8 per person.
The first thing I spotted when I got out of the car was the giant version of Snoopy's house in the lot next door. It serves as the information kiosk for the adjacent baseball field complex.
The museum is housed in a two-story building across the street from Snoopy's Home Ice, the Warm Puppy Cafe, and Snoopy's Gallery & Gift Shop. I didn't take a picture of the museum's front, but I did take one of its back.
The first floor of the museum is home to two permanent installations and two rotating exhibits. Both installations were created by Yoshiteru Otani, a Japanese artist. One is a massive wood sculpture called "Morphing Snoopy". It is 9.5 feet tall and 26 feet long. It also weighs 7,000 pounds, which means it must have been fun trying to hang. I have trouble hanging simple picture frames. I'm wondering how many people it took to get it up there and who was the lucky one who stood far back and said, "I think it needs to be a little higher on the left. No, your other left."
While the sculpture was impressive, I liked the tile mural more. It is 17 feet wide and 22 feet high and consists of 3,588 different Peanuts strips printed on 2" × 8" ceramic tiles.
These were the only two indoor exhibits we were allowed to photograph. Everything else was off limits.
The two rotating exhibits included Peanuts Lives: A Tribute to Charles M. Shulz and Changing Seasons. The tribute featured the work of other cartoonists. Some of the more familiar strips included Cathy, Garfield, Bloom County, and Beetle Bailey. They also had political cartoons on display. It was interesting to see how cartoonists used familiar images (Charlie Brown's futile attempts to kick the football, the kite-eating tree, etc.) to get across their point. Overall, it was incredible to see the influence Schulz had on other artists.
There were many quotes on the wall, but two stand out most in my mind. One was by Bill Watterson, who praised Schulz's "graphic shorthand and stylistic economy". The other was by an artist whose name escapes me at the moment. He compared reading Schulz's strips to reading a haiku. I'm sure that comparison has been made by others about other comic strips, but it does seem especially appropriate to Peanuts.
The other exhibit featured Peanuts through the seasons. I think I've always been aware of the cyclical nature of the strip - baseball in spring, camp in summer, school and football in the fall, and snow in the winter, but I never really stopped to observe it.
The upper floor featured the obligatory biographical exhibit complete with a time line and trophy cases. It also featured a replica of the studio where Schulz drew Peanuts every day.
After visiting the museum, we went across the street to visit the gift shop, which has some artwork of its own on display...
After getting a couple of small souvenirs, we dropped by the Warm Puppy Cafe for some coffee before getting back on the road and continuing on to Napa.
The final thing I'll leave you with is the sketch I drew at the museum. On the second floor, there's a classroom where anybody can go in and try their hand at drawing. I grabbed a book called How to Draw Peanuts and this was the result...
I apologize for not writing about the final part of the Solvang trip we took two weeks ago. Just to refresh your memory (and mine), a couple of weekends ago, we drove down Highway 1, visited Hearst Castle, and reached Solvang, my favorite Danish town in California.
When we arrived, we checked into the hotel and then did a little wandering before it got too dark. To help visitors with poor memories, the town hangs bright red banners on the lampposts as reminders.
- I just wasn't very attentive the last time I visited
- In the past few years, Denmark has grown extremely fond of wine.
- Local wineries and the town are attempting to capitalize on Sideways.
One of the reasons I love Solvang is the architecture. The timber framing, the thatched roofs, and the windmills all help to solidify the town's identity and heritage. I especially like the windmills. There are at least three in town. We passed this one on the way to dinner.
We ate at Meadows Restaurant where I tried a Danish smorgasbord, which included meatballs, sausages, potatoes, carrots, and more.
The next day, I got up early, ventured out, and grabbed a morning cup of coffee from Bulldog Cafe. It was so cold outside, one of the fountains down the street was still frozen.
Around midmorning, we ate brunch at my favorite restaurant in Solvang, Paula's Pancake House. They make delicious Danish pancakes. If you eat there, go early because the place fills up fast.
Afterwards, we visited Mission Santa Ines, which is on the edge of town.
Before leaving, we made a quick stop by Nojoqui Falls County Park, just a few miles south, which has a small waterfall at the end of a quarter-mile trail. In January, there is barely a trickle of water, but it didn't matter to me. All I cared about was stretching my legs a little. Even a short walk in nature is good for the soul.
After that, it was time to go. We hopped on Highway 101 and headed home.
- An introductory tour for first time visitors,
- a more in depth tour of the upper floors in the main house,
- a tour of the main house's north wing and one of the three guest houses,
- a tour of the gardens and grounds,
- and an evening tour.
We had taken Tour 1 two years ago, so it only seemed natural to take Tour 2 this time around.
During the off-season, the price per adult is $20. The tour lasts approximately 70 minutes, not including the bus ride to and from the castle.
We arrived at the visitor center shortly after eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. When I went up to the ticket booth, I fully expected the woman behind the counter to tell me we would have to wait until noon for the next available tour. (Buses for Tour 2 leave on the hour and twenty minutes after the hour.)
She surprised me when she said, "We have two tickets left for the 11:20 tour. If you can run, well, not run, but walk quickly, they're yours."
I took them without hesitation. As she was waiting for the tickets to print, she said, as though taking me into her confidence, "You know, I'm glad you got these. I don't have any other Tour 2s for the rest of the day."
I thanked her, took the tickets she passed through the window slot, and was just about to thank her again, when she shooed me away by saying, "Go now, through those doors and to the left. Hurry!"
As I said, Tour 2 takes visitors through the upper floors of the castle, also known as Casa Grande, where numerous guest quarters, Hearst's bedroom, and two libraries are located.
The tour began where I believe all of the tours begin - at the Neptune Pool. The pool is usually a brilliant blue, but it was white and empty the day we were there so they could repair a severe leak at the shallow end of the pool (the far end in the photo)...
From the pool, we entered the house...
Of the various guest quarters we saw, my favorite was the Doge's Suite. This is one of the walls in the sitting room...
As we were told repeatedly, the purpose of Hearst Castle was to display the art William Randolph Hearst had collected. In his day, he had earned the reputation and the nickname of The Great Accumulator and it was obvious why. He accumulated everything, not just paintings and statues, but also doors, door frames, door knockers, rugs, walls, and more. He especially liked to collect ceilings...
The upper floors contained two libraries. The larger one (with 4,100 volumes) was available to Hearst's guests...
The other, the gothic study across from his bedroom (holding 3,800 volumes) was for his personal and private use...
I think a dream of mine would be to spend a morning in his study - sitting, drinking coffee, and reading one of the thousands of books in his collection.
I wonder how much that would cost. Let's do some quick math - $20 per person, 12 people per tour, 2 tours per bus ride, 2 bus rides per hour, 2 hours of tours before noon, and tack on a 50% fudge factor. That equals $2,880.
Okay, I might have to put that dream on hold for the time being.
Anyway, let's continue to the last two stops on the tour. After leaving the upper floors, we took a quick peek at the modern kitchen (modern for the 1930s, that is)...
And finished our journey at the Roman Pool, another stop common to most of the tours, I believe...
Once back at the visitor center, we stopped at the gift shop, where I bought an illustrated biography of Hearst, just to learn a little more about the man.
Afterwards, we made a quick detour at Cambria for lunch at The French Corner Bakery, which makes inexpensive, but mouthwatering sandwiches. From there, we didn't stop until we reached Solvang.
Taking advantage of the sunny weather, we got away to Solvang, California this holiday weekend. Instead of driving directly to our destination using Highway 101, we decided to take the more scenic Highway 1 and stop at Hearst Castle in San Simeon along the way before completing our journey.
We left home just before eight on Saturday morning. The sun was out, but hadn't been out long enough to warm anything up. According to the car's temperature gauge, it was in the low to mid-twenties outside.
Traffic was light and grew lighter the further south we went. Once we passed Carmel, we hardly saw anyone else on the road. We saw a few early bird photographers at Carmel River State Beach seeking the perfect shot...
We also saw a few seagulls, but I suspect they were the late risers in the flock. The rest had already flown to the next feeding spot...
Unlike 101, where the point is to get to wherever one needs to be going as fast as possible, the point of Highway 1 is to stop frequently and take plenty of photos, which is what we did.
Every time we saw a uniquely breathtaking view and a turnout, we stopped and took a picture. I now have dozens of nearly identical "uniquely breathtaking" shots of California's central coast and the Pacific Ocean.
Here are a few of the photos I snapped. I wasn't particularly good about noting where I was when I took them, so these may be photos of Point Sur, Salmon Creek, and Ragged Point or they may not...
As we got closer to San Simeon, the traffic grew heavier. Just beyond Piedras Blancas Lighthouse, we pulled over to view the elephant seals. We weren't alone. There was a whole crowd of onlookers, but the number of people didn't compare to the number of elephant seals laying on the beach.
According to one of the nice docents from Friends of the Elephant Seal, the rookery (the term for a group of seals) at our end of the bluff was made up mostly of females and pups.
There were some males present, but most wouldn't be arriving until next week. That's when the beaches would become noisy with activity. In the meantime, the seals were quietly spending their time trying to stay cool (by waving their fins and throwing sand on themselves) in this hot (30 to 40-degree) weather.
Here are two shots of the rookery...
The wind and the cold finally chased us from the beach and we continued on to Hearst Castle, which is only five minutes down the road. We arrived at the visitor center a few minutes after eleven and I will expand on that bit of the trip in the next entry.
Ever since I upgraded Movable Type, I've been having plug-in troubles and template problems. It has been quite an adventure repairing pages, fixing the "repairs" and then trying to repair what was broken in the first place. If something doesn't appear right (beyond the usual nonsense I write), please let me know. I'll try my best to "work the problem" or, if that fails, simply delete it.
I spent this weekend camping and hiking in Sequoia & Kings Canyon National Parks. It was my third visit to the jointly operated parks in four years. Three years ago, we stayed at Grant Grove. Two years ago, we camped at Cedar Grove. To change things up this year, B and I camped at Lodgepole in the Sequoia half of the park.
Since B had to work Friday morning, we left for the park in the afternoon and reached Lodgepole around 5:30 pm. The late arrival was fine except for the fact that the village showers close early in the fall. For whatever reason, they're only open from 9:00 am to 5:45 pm during the off-season.
Why they keep such short hours is a mystery to me. My guess is the rangers have a secret arrangement with the local black bears. In exchange for not eating visitors, the bears receive hot showers every night. Everybody wins. Campers don't get eaten, rangers don't get bad publicity for eaten campers and bears get hot showers on cold nights. And really, isn't it better to have dirty campers than devoured campers?
I suppose the only ones who really lose are the maintenance workers who have to spend the wee hours of the morning cleaning bear hair from the drains. So, to be more accurate, 98% of everybody wins, which isn't bad if you think about it (and you aren't a maintenance worker).
Considering the cost of a hot shower (minimum three dollars for eight minutes), the tight time constraint turned out to be less of an issue than how to obtain three dollars worth of quarters and not accidentally drop one down the drain (with all the bear hair) when trying to feed the shower meter.
After all that fun, we set up camp, ate hot meals around the campfire and went over the game plan for Saturday's big hike before retiring for the night.
(Or "The Tale of the McTeagles")
Since Labor Day, the Ferguson Rock Slide Bypass on Highway 140 has been open 24 hours a day to signaled, one-way traffic. Due to limited space on the opposite side of the river, the bypass has a vehicle length restriction of 28 feet.
As we drove to Yosemite on Friday, I noticed a number of signs posted along the route informing travelers about 140's status and restriction. I also listened to the road condition radio station that looped a message reminding people about the length limitation.
With so many signs and alerts making it nearly impossible for people not to know about the restriction, it only makes sense that we would find ourselves in a line of cars following an SUV towing a long travel trailer on Highway 140.
With plenty of miles to speculate, I came up with a few theories to explain why the clearly-longer-than-28-foot-vehicle was on the road:- The driver was so focused on driving that he missed the signs, didn't hear the radio and was oblivious to the restriction.
- The driver knew about the restriction, but believed his SUV and travel trailer were shorter than the stated length.
- The driver knew about the restriction and knew he was longer than the stated length, but figured he could make it through anyhow.
By the time we reached the stoplight at the bypass, we were ahead of the SUV. (After accumulating a large following, he had finally used a turnout to let his groupies pass.) While we waited, I caught a glimpse of the rockslide and temporary detour.
It was easy to see why Caltrans had a length restriction in effect. Long vehicles would have no trouble getting onto the bridge, but it would be impossible for them to get off. Both the bridge and the roadway were barely wide enough for one vehicle and the turn from one to the other was extremely tight - nearly a ninety-degree angle. Unless we suddenly entered the world of Tron, there was no way a long vehicle could clear the turn without clipping the bridge or the canyon wall.
To make sure traffic flowed smoothly, Caltrans had a road crew stationed to monitor the bypass. One of the workers, wearing an orange vest and white hardhat, walked down the line of vehicles and greeted us as he passed. When he reached the SUV with the travel trailer, he spoke to the driver for a minute and then walked back up the line.
The light finally turned green and we began to making our way across the bridge. In my rearview mirror, I could see the SUV pull off to one side to let the rest of the traffic clear. Although I soon lost sight of what was happening, I envisioned the crew having to shut down the road temporarily to let the SUV execute a u-turn (or, more likely, a 97-point turn). It would then have to return to Mariposa and enter Yosemite through the south entrance using Highway 41, adding at least a few hours to the trip.
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