A Million Tears Ago

The Egyptian Museum in San Jose has some fascinating and thought provoking displays.  In one part of the museum, there are ancient, tiny phials for collecting tears of the bereaved.  The explanation read that when the container was full, it was put in the tomb with the body.

In another area is the mummified body of a four year old girl.  Her coffin has elaborate decorations, including some gilding.  The striking image of her face is marred by what look like smears of dirt or earth across the forehead and one cheek. This is in sharp contrast to the gold leaf underneath.  The text explains that this 'dirt' is the remnants of perfumed oils the parents would have poured over the coffin at the child's funeral.

This physical link to the last act of love from distraught parents made the grief almost palpable.  Quite incredible given she died some two thousand years ago.

Not only had the mummified remains found a form of immortality, so had their love.

   

San Jose

Everything here is tinder dry at the moment.  The conversation on the bus today was about how the conditions are the most worrying for some years, from a forest fire point of view.  I spent the rest of the journey trying to remember where all the fire hoses and extinguishers were on site and realised I need to take a walk around to refresh my memory.  Living in a wooden apartment in the middle of a forest is not the most reassuring place to be under such circumstances.  Being a bit bored on the bus, I started fantasising about having to crawl into a drainage channel and sit in the stream while flames played at each end.  I would end up being rescued by the fire brigade, and would wipe away a stripe of soot from my face as everyone applauded my bravery. 

In reality, I would more likely have to be scraped off the floor a blubbering wreck, as I am hopeless in an emergency.

The bus was taking me to San Jose.  I was going to cram in some more culture.  There were palm tree lined boulevards and some impressive buildings.  The Tech Museum was fun, I know a lot about the Monarch butterfly, migration habits thereof, which were played out on an absolutely massive, domed screen.  It has to be said there was something disconcerting about having a caterpillar the size of a tube train hovering over your head.

I also created a heart out of pretend pixels:

Someone had sculpted DNA from books:

The art gallery was also brilliant, with a fantastic exhibition of photography by Annie Leibovitz.  It was especially good for someone from another country, as it explored some American history, with things like Abraham Lincoln's gloves and Elvis' Harley motorbike.  Strangely, there were some photographs of the Isle of Wight - a counterpoint, I suppose, for the Niagara Falls.

A good day, and no smoke to be seen - phew!

I'm a Lumbarjack and I'm OK....

I have been getting very interested in the local history of this area lately.  As a result, I have found myself watching some strange choices of video on YouTube, and sitting in the library in the town perusing old newspaper cuttings.  Unexpectedly, I have found the logging industry to be a fascinating topic.  The short film 'Redwood Saga' from the 1940s was full of useful information.  I had been wondering why some of the tree stumps round here had letterbox sized notches taken out of them.  Now I know (because I have been so busy improving my mind) that the lumberjacks needed to insert planks into the sides of the tree, about six foot up, to stand on to start chopping - they didn't want the knobbly bit of trunk at the bottom.  'Grease monkeys' were the men who had to grease the log slides, and 'Bull thwachers' the men who goaded the animals along. There was a photo in the museum of about 12 oxen, yolked together in pairs, pulling a long chain of redwood trunks down an incline.  The redwood trunks went back as far as the eye could see.  The oxen had a type of stairway made with thinner logs as treads to stop their hooves slipping, but these had to be greased regularly to keep the logs moving across them.

Log flume was also something I thought only existed in theme parks (you can tell I really am a townie at heart).  In the library I saw photographs of a real flume from the turn of the century, several miles long that the logs were shifted on.  One enterprising millionaire had ridden this flume, which must have been extremely terrifying, given the height and the fact it looked only just wide enough to take a log (don't look doooooooooooooown).

Another YouTube film showed men in boats nudging logs in the river to keep them moving downstream.  Like a lightbulb going on, I realised this is where 'log jam' comes from. If the men in their boats didn't do their stuff, the whole river backed up with what looked like tens of thousands of logs.

The sad side of all this is that the terrain looked awful after the trees had been felled.  It reminded me of photographs of bombed landscapes just after the First World War.  It is quite amazing that in the space of just over 100 years the new growth is as magnificent as it is.

  

Come on Baby, Light My Fire....

California has the most amazing fire engines.  They are incredibly shiny, huge, with lots of possibly unnecessary chrome and loads of bright red paintwork.  While sitting outside a cafe in Santa Cruz, a red shininess would cruise (Cruz) past, several times.  There was no emergency to be seen, no smoke rising from anywhere.  A local man said they needed to drive around to get used to the streets.  It did occur to me that they might just be showing off.  One of the trucks was so large, it took ages to go by.  (Sorry it's not a better photo, but the fire department photos are all under copyright).

After my coffee I watched a bizarre Balloon Man entertaining the kiddies.  I think 'Crusty the Clown', typifies everything I feel about children's entertainers, or maybe Stephen King got it right.  Whichever, they worry me.  Maybe it's the painted on perma-smile, which would still be there even on hearing the news that nuclear warheads had been launched.   However, later in the day I was to be rather thankful to the Balloon Man.

In a side street, waiters from local restaurants were racing each other round tables, slalom fashion, carrying glasses filled with water on trays.  They had to complete different tasks at each table, such as wrapping cutlery up in napkins.  It was a very jolly atmosphere, and everyone loved it, especially when the glasses went flying.

An antique fair was on in another side street, and it was fun to see all the American paraphernalia on display - a 'Sweeney Todd' style barber's chair, and Native American style goods.  The old lunchboxes had scenes from baseball matches or cowboys on them.  Further round  I was jolted back to thoughts of the UK by a poster

because I used to live very close to the Elephant and Castle (area of London near a pub of that name). Odd to note that Des O'Connor is still going strong.............

After this, I found myself in the Museum of Art and History.  I only meant to cast a cursory glance round, but was so absorbed in the displays, I stayed a couple of hours.  I think this was because my first recollection of being taught about America was from primary (elementary) school, where we learned about the Gold Rush and logging.  I remember being fascinated by the lumberjacks riding on rafts of logs down swirling rivers.  The other interesting and sad thing to learn about was how many disasters have hit California.  There were the earthquakes of course, but also several very severe episodes of flooding.  The earthquakes mean that bricks and mortar structured buildings went out of favour.  It's the opposite of the situation in the UK, where timber buildings are the ones hard to get mortgaged.

After this overload of culture, I was ready to head back, but was distracted by a modern art gallery near the bus station.  I drifted in (it was that sort of a day), and started laughing almost immediately with the witty sculptures.  One was made from the metal burner covers from ovens, which were hung in an arc along a wall.  There was an American payphone booth which had been turned into a water feature, and a fountain in memory of Steve Jobs.  This had a half melted Mac at the top with Apple logos and Steve Job's photograph arranged around a doric pillar.  A beautiful (real), red speckled bird was sitting on top of the Mac having a drink.  Inside were guitars made from toilet seats and all sorts of clever combinations of every-day items.

Maybe you had to be there.....................

Eventually I made it to the bus (with clever bike rack on the front):

I could tell people thought I was strange photographing our bus, but hopefully not as strange as Balloon Man who embarked just after me.  He was carrying balloon kit on a frame and was wearing a stripy rainbow hat, knee high stripy rainbow socks, harem pants with diamante detail and lots of draped scarves, along with the lurid, rictus grin.

The bus was driving along, and I was watching the world go past, but after a bit started to worry I was on the wrong bus, as the shops looked unfamiliar.  We had gone past the Pied Piper sign alright, but now we were somewhere strange.  Meanwhile, Balloon Man had walked to the front of the bus (it wasn't possible to tell whether he was worried) and was having a chat with the driver, who burst out laughing.  The bus then swung round fast in a 180 turn and we started heading back to the Pied Piper.

Walking back up the hill was helped by listening to my 'Ground Rush Party' play list on my iPod (quiet thank you to Steve Jobs).  I was singing along to Donna Summer (Love to Love Ya Baby - long version, who says I'm not up to the minute with my music?).  As I walked, I thought about how my childhood impressions of America had been formed by those lessons on the Gold Rush, but also by watching the 'Top Cat' cartoon on TV.  This must be why I am enamoured by street furniture, including fire hydrants (people thought I was strange photographing this too - thank goodness the Balloon Man had lowered the bar for strangeness):

The most shocking news of the day though, was this:

The Anarchic Cafe

Today I visited an 'Anarchic Cafe'.  I was drawn in by a rather shady garden, with crooked tables and chairs scattered about.  As I waited for my clover infusion to brew I was able to peruse leaflets on subjects such as 'Why We Hate the Police'.  The cafe felt like a strange mix of hippy friendliness and barely restrained anger.

I took a seat under the tree and sipped the tea.  A young man came up to me, with a black eye and several teeth missing. He also had 'Property of Jessica' scrawled on his arm in thick, angry letters.  He asked, quite politely, if I would ring his girlfriend's number which he held up, scrawled on some tatty cardboard.

I passed my mobile across the table to him, and was relieved to see he sat down with it.  My mobile costs by the minute, so I said I would appreciate it if he was brief.  He noted that I wasn't from round here, and when I said I was from London, he talked about his upbringing in Galloway, Ireland.  No-one answered his call, so I said, 'Jessica not in then?'.  His jaw dropped open and his eyes were as wide a saucers.  'How do you know?' he asked, in amazement. I toyed with the idea of saying I was psychic, but just said, 'it's on your arm'.  He gave me a rueful smile and returned my phone. After a friendly-ish conversation relating to England's repression of Ireland he ran off.  As he disappeared round the corner, my phone rang.  I guessed it would be Jessica and decided to 'reject'.

More interesting people came and went.  A couple of men who were suitably bearded to wear a red suit, black boots and carry a sack in December, a nervous couple who didn't understand where to get the coffee and a young woman with a puppet theatre made out of two bicycle wheels attached to each other horizontally and covered in material like a circus tent.  As she went past, I noticed a toy rat, swinging from a noose inside.  A short while after, a shabby camper van drew up.  It had black bin liners where the doors should be and a standard sitting room sofa in the main part.  It disgorged its occupants onto the pavement, and the driver started to assemble a tricycle with a large sign on it saying 'people power'.  Then a druid walked into the garden and lay down next to a dog on the concrete.

On the way back the bus went past a large, illuminated sign outside a pest control business.  It was of a life sized Pied Piper, dancing along followed not by mesmerized children, but one representative of each of the creatures of our nightmares.  Maybe he was going to start a new Noah's Ark, or maybe he was going to the cafe, to join the circus.







 

The Parking Attendant

Today I was being a parking attendant, California style.  I was a very happy parking attendant being at the top of a hill in the middle of a temperate rainforest, in the sunshine.  A few people were sitting cross-legged on the grass behind me strumming mandolins and guitars, and it sounded sweet.

There was a low density of cars appearing over the brow of the hill, so I took the opportunity to practice some of my latest dance moves.  These had been learned while in the audience at a Beatles tribute band concert, downtown.  Everyone had started dancing straight away, and the floor was packed, mainly with Santa lookalikes (proving my theory that they live in Santa Cruz).

However, one person stood out from the crowd, wearing a tie dye shirt (I instantly knew we would have Karma), and a hat (I feel your concern, there were other clothes as well).  He was throwing some amazing shapes with his hands, while stretching up and then crouching down.  I knew I had to do this, the dance style would certainly go with my tie-dye shirt and friendship bracelet, so I asked for a lesson.

It was hard to keep up, but I got the hang of figure of eight movements with one hand curved over the other.  The move that went behind the head and round past my ears, at speed, was harder.  I wasn't too sure about the flicking moves, which might make people worry I was suffering from a fit of some sort, or that I had a swarm of bees around me.  My new friend encouraged me to 'be like water' with my hands.  So I tried.  He told me he had some lights in his bag, but needed the right tune to get them out, like 'Lucy in the Sky'.  Just as the words left his mouth, the band started up with, yes, you've guessed, 'Lucy in the Sky'.  He rushed to his bag and came out with his hand torches and flung himself energetically into his routine.  At the end he needed a break because the music was so overwhelming.  It was very good, but I suspected he had taken some additional help before the concert to be overwhelmed.

My new friend said it takes three weeks to perfect this dancing style, which is why I am now practising at every opportunity, including while being a parking attendant.  I did have to be careful to stop when I heard a car engine as I didn't want to alarm the drivers (this was tricky as there was a high ratio of Toyota Priuses which would sneak up on their electric option just when I reached the cascading water move).  

Not only am I learning to talk the California talk, but I am nearly able to walk the California walk too.   

Breaking News - California's Latest Bridge

It's true!

California has a new bridge.

It is infinitely superior to the Golden Gate Bridge (so like, yesterday).

There are low maintenance costs as it only takes one person a very short while each year to keep it safe. It doesn't need painting either.

It is cheap because there are no tolls, no rummaging around in your pocket for loose change before you can cross.

The bridge is also ecologically sensitive - no cars are allowed, and it made out of a material sympathetic to its environment.  Wait a minute, it is so sympathetic, it is made from material actually harvested in its environment (no supply air miles either!).

The embarkation and debarkation destinations are far more pleasant than anywhere in San Francisco, and you can get from one side to the other in much less time, leaving you free to enjoy yourself.

There is also the occasional swirling mist to keep snap-happy tourists coming back for more.

Being a little lower than the Golden Gate Bridge you have a better view of the water below, when there is any.  

You will not have to share the bridge with other commuters, only the occasional deer, as they make their way to the Fawn Trail.

There have been no reported incidents of road rage either, so do come and use......

 ...........................................THE BEST BRIDGE IN CALIFORNIA.

 

Sorry, I'm Washing my Hair

One complaint I have about California (apart from why it isn't closer to England), is that stuff costs a lot in the shops.  The other week, I had a few perfunctory items in my basket, and the cost was about double what I would have expected to pay in the UK.

Today I went shopping in a store that is best described as a cross between Waitrose (supermarket chain in the UK where people with 'staff' shop) and an upmarket health food store (I'm thinking of that place in Kensington, where Biba used to be).  I decided to buy some shampoo.  I had suffered a traumatic incident while last in the bath tub.  My shampoo that had come with me from the UK was a trendy bottle that you keep upside down, so the 'pro-nutrient vitagel' will come out easily.  Sadly, it came out too easily as I hadn't put the lid on properly.  The next time I ran a bath, I was confused by the white lake round the plug hole, and then realised what had happened.  So, almost needing to take a small mortgage out, I bought some shampoo from the smart store.  I didn't have my glasses on, but I am quite adept at recognising the shape of the word from many baths were I have felt frustrated by the small print on the bottles, and squirted conditioner on first.

By the time I had climbed back up the hill to my apartment in sizzling heat, I needed a shower, so thought I would test drive my new shampoo.

This is the moment for my second complaint about California, the packaging on everything is so thoroughly sealed you need a chainsaw to get at them.  I thought the chainsaws were for the trees, but no, it is so you can release your exciting new product, wrapped in plastic and sealed with the same stuff barnacles attach themselves to ships with.  So I'm standing in the shower (a bit cold because it seems to take forever for the hot water to come down the pipes, which must go to the UK and back), and realise my new shampoo needs a screwdriver or similar to get through the foil seal.  I'm gnawing with my teeth, usually a successful method, but no, I ended up clawing and poking with my finger nails until I finally made a hole suitably sized for the release of shampoo.

Or so I thought.

The shampoo was so viscous it was the consistency of tar.  I was genuinely so confused, I thought I might have bought carpet shampoo by mistake.  Not having my glasses and thinking the smart shop probably didn't mix 'wholegrain hummus for hippies' with ironmongery, smeared it on my head.  It was quite odd.  It was more like trying to ice a cake than wash my hair.  I let the luke warm water sort it out for a while, but it was a strange experience.  Annoyingly I realised as I got out, that the bottle I had thought was 'make your bathroom so shiny you don't feel embarrassed when visitors use it unexpectedly' was in fact shampoo, that would have saved me all the bother.

I have noticed the roads in California don't have potholes, it must be due to disillusioned hairdressers pouring the shampoo onto the road.

Loch Lomond

Just to clarify, that's Loch Lomond, California.  Not Loch Lomond, Scotland.  They are both very beautiful, but I have to say California wins, but only because of the weather.  I have been to Loch Lomond, Scotland, many times, but I have never seen it in dazzling, undiluted sunshine.

Sorry Scotland.

'Och aye the noo, 'tis fair bright today'

I took the opportunity to go rowing.  I have missed my rowing so was looking forward to having a go in the tourist boats.  However, it only served to remind me how spoiled I have been, skiffing in traditional, finely honed crafts with even the sculls cut on the twist to help you along.

Sadly, the boat I was in was more reminiscent of a bath tub, and the sculls were very basic sticks with paddles on the end.  There was no foot board to move against, so it was a rather difficult to get any leverage.   The wind was getting up too, and the boat tended to crab on the water, and sometimes refused to move, even when I was pulling hard.

There were dragon flies and other pretty things flitting about.  I had been put off landing on the far shore, as apparently that is where the mountain lions congregate.  I know deer, horses and cattle can swim, I didn't want to find out about whether the puma still needs water wings.

The wind twice blew my hat into the water, which necessitated complex maneuvers to rescue it.  This meant I was exposed to the sun for longer than was sensible, but I did feel pleasantly cool as I put it back on and water trickled down my face.  I had obviously been without it too long, as someone back on land called out to ask me 'whether I had been in the sun'.

We had a lovely barbeque, in more sunshine, and were able to take in the fantastic views.  Even so, I have to confess that a little part of me yearned for the ethereal mist on the Thames and the gentle creaking of a proper, wooden rowing boat.

Releasing my Inner Hippy

Yay!  Peace!

Today I have been tie-dying.  I have always secretly wanted to tie-dye things, but for some reason I never got round to it.  It's an outdoor activity.  Very messy, so as well as being a hippy, I have also developed green fingers.

Perhaps I'm not a hippy yet, until the T-shirt is dry.

I am waiting anxiously.

Bet you can't guess which one is mine.

I have also been to Santa Cruz again.  I walked a very long way in the searing heat.  It was really interesting seeing how the suburban areas differ from the UK.  Basically, everyone has more space.  Even small properties have quite large front gardens, no other houses joined on to them and presumably large spaces at the back.  Some were flying the Stars and Stripes, some had cheery signs on the front door saying who lived there.  I'm not at all keen on flags, but the name signs seem jolly.  I don't think  hippies support flag waving activity, unless it has a rainbow or a CND symbol of course.

Thinking about it, no one has put a guinea-pig on a flag yet.  Why not I wonder?  Yet again the guinea- pig as a motif is underestimated.

I'm going to start a new movement.  Guinea-Pigs for Global Peace (GP4GP).

The boardwalk was really busy, and there were traffic jams with loads of people keen to get onto the beach.  I slumped under the shade of some palm trees, which looked like redwoods only different, if you get what I mean, man.

Hey wow etc.

I think I'm developing a thing about trees.  I also seem to be spending a lot of time looking up.

Can't be a bad thing to remember how small we all are in the grand scheme of things.

PS: I've just realised.  Santa.  Santa Cruz.  He doesn't come from Lapland at all, it's all been a huge hoax.  He is really a surfing dude hanging out down the boardwalk.  Why hasn't anyone else realised this?

Bagels - Inherent Design Issues

Bagels.

I had one for breakfast today.

First it was toasted successfully, no smoke coming out of the toaster.  A liberal coating of butter was applied, and them some rather delicious strawberry jam, full of promising chunky bits of what looked like real fruit.  I say 'real fruit' because in the UK there was a nasty rumour going round some years ago that raspberry jam had sawdust in it, to create a pip effect.  Also, when I was having my tonsils out as a seven year old, I remember a nurse looming down on me with a large spoonful of jam.  She said words to the effect of, 'eat this lovely jam', with accompanying 'mmmmm' noises.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, I took the bait and found I had a mouthful of anaesthetic.   These episodes obviously traumatised me and I have suffered a mistrust of jam ever since, although you will be pleased to hear I work hard at overcoming this negativity.

Anyway, I sat down to enjoy my breakfast, and as I took a bite out of my bagel, was distressed and embarrassed to note that one of the aforementioned chunks was sliding down my arm.  It was leaving a gooey trail.  A casual observer might have become alarmed, thinking I had woken up unhappy, and used one of the butter knives to absolve myself from this mortal coil.  Fortunately, this was not the case, and a squishy lump of strawberry had slithered through the hole in the middle of the bagel.

So who's idea was that?

What is the point of a hole in the middle of a bagel?

I know there are holes in polo mints, but no one is going to apply fruit conserves or butter to a polo mint.  There are holes in some inferior forms of doughnut, but these don't even have jam in them, so no breakfast leakage issues there.  It was suggested to me that the holes were handy for multiple bagel storage.  Americans do have some habits which appear alien to the UK visitor, but I wasn't convinced this was one of them.

However, I have also been told that if the dough rises enough in cooking the hole should 'heal up'.  So, come on America, get rid of those holes and end breakfast embarrassment!

You Know it's Hot When.....

• Your glasses steam up while you're wearing them.
• You have a cool bath and realise you have turned into a heating element
• While doing nothing at all, you break out into a sweat more suited to someone having just completed the Iron Man Marathon
• The Marmite goes all melty and drips everywhere
• The fridge is getting really noisy
• You take longer than is necessary doing an inventory of the freezer
• The grass crunches when you walk on it
• All the animals hide.
• Your get up and go has gone sunbathing
• You look forward to some rain
• You feel a bit grumpy even though you are in CALIFORNIA for goodness sake!

Grapefruit trees enjoy the heat more than yours truly.

Gadgets and Gimmicks

My camera has arrived. It arrived without a memory card.  I'm not sure who thought that was a clever idea, selling cameras that can't take photos.  No one would sell a vacuum cleaner without the hose.  It has therefore been a bit of a frustrating afternoon, but having bought the memory card, I can now show you my first two photos from my travels.  The redwood trees near my apartment, and my apartment, which is where I am sitting now.  I'm quite pleased with the redwoods.  Enjoy! 

Hanging out with the Bees

The Homeless Garden Project in Santa Cruz was advertising for volunteers to help with their lavender harvest.  It sounded like a really good organisation, so today I went along to see if I could help.

The sky was blue as blue, and the mountains and ocean could be seen in the distance.

The farm was very impressive, immaculately laid out rows of fruit, vegetables and flowers, as if someone had listened very carefully to the man who gave the keynote speech at the garden fair.  The rose delphiniums smelt particularly wonderful.  There were people tilling away on different plots.  In the distance, I could see the lavender bushes, with a few people standing with baskets, so I went over.  I wanted to walk straight to where the volunteer co-ordinator was, but there was a problem.  Every bush was covered in bees.  I am a bit of a coward when it comes to bees, so was hanging back, but when the co-ordinator, Kate, gave firm instructions to a teenager in front of me, I had to be the grown up and plough ahead too.  We sat on crates or old plastic garden chairs and clipped the longer, unopened flower stems, stripped the leaves off and collected them in wicker baskets.  It was very convivial and we chatted away while we worked.  The bees were more interested in the blooming flowers than our unopened ones, and just buzzed around.  It got to the point where I hardly noticed them, and when I did, I just thought kind bee thoughts.  I did sit down rather gingerly though, I didn't want any surprises there!

We all ate lunch together in a covered area between two sheds.  The food was fantastic, all home grown salads and it was great to chat to everyone.  I foolishly volunteered for washing up duty, and spent ages at an open air sink, but it was an open air sink in California, in the sun, so as these things go it wasn't too bad.

The day became hotter and hotter.  By the time I had walked up the hill, back to my apartment, I was sorely tempted to change places with my diet coke and climb into the fridge.

I can still just about smell the lavender on my clothes, which is a lovely reminder of a very nice day.

https://www.facebook.com/HomelessGardenProject

More Rain and Dancing with Drops

It's raining a little harder today. On my walk I noticed my outstretched hand is hit every three seconds - quite impressive compared to yesterday. The rain hitting the leaves is a very relaxing sound and reminds me of summer holidays in Scotland.  When I look up into the canopy of the excessively tall redwoods, I can see the occasional raindrop getting through.  They start really high up and my eye can follow them all the way down, until they nearly hit me.  At this point I do a neat side-step, only to get hit by a different one.   We dance this waltz for a few minutes until I give up and move on.

Everything smells wonderfully damp and earthy.   At some points on the trail there is the heady fragrance of flowers.  I can feel a million eyes watching me from the undergrowth.  Something moves a little to my left, and I am staring directly into the eyes of a deer.  We hold the look for several moments, waiting to see who will blink first.  She is motionless, apart from her over sized ears adjusting to the sounds in the forest.

I pass the moss covered stump of a redwood tree, the hollowed out centre neatly converted into a chair with a well fitted plank - a woodland throne.  When I wander off the trail, the ground is so thickly covered in leaf litter and forest debris that it is like walking on a mattress.  Some animals have felt the same thing, and every so often there is a small burrow dug into the soil.

The rain drops have caught on spiders' webs.  Lots of them.  Some lie horizontally across the twigs and leaves.  Others are little hammocks in between fissures on the redwood bark.  I wonder whether the spiders come out in the sunshine and use one foot to keep swinging, and another to hold the cocktail.  The hammocks create a ladder effect up the tree - I wonder whether they lean over and have a chat to each other as well.

I love the rain, and it will make us all appreciate the sun all the more when it shows up again.

The Rain that Doesn't

The earth was moving in the forest today.

No, it wasn't an earthquake.

There was something burrowing just under the border next to my apartment.  The dead leaves were being puffed up.  Every so often there would be a pause, and a change in direction.  It was intriguing.  I waited to see whether a pink nose appeared, or maybe the talon of a dragon, but the tunneller had other ideas and disappeared back into the centre of the planet.

A mist was hanging in the trees, a cloud tangled up in the branches.  Later on it rained.  I could tell it was raining because the air was moist and heavy. I could hear the drops hitting the leaves above me, but nothing was landing. It was quite odd to go for a walk in the rain and not get wet.  I held my hand out, and counted twenty seconds before a I felt a tiny drop land.

I have been told that at certain times of the year it rains so hard that it is like the 'sea with slits in' (as Terry Pratchet once said).  This can last for around 48 hours, when the clouds know they have to throw everything they have at the forest to get anything into the ground.  There is an average of 49 inches of rainfall a year.  When I have a vase of tulips at home, I have to keep topping the water up, so I can see it must take an ocean to keep these huge trees watered.






  

A Swim, a Stroll and Super Icecream

A high school about three miles away has a pool for use by the general public, so today I set off for a swim.  

As with all journeys from here, it started with the one mile steep descent to the bus stop.  I left a little later than I should have, so walked at knee-cap popping speed.  In spite of my haste, I noticed a couple of things on the way down.  In one place a tree root had rippled the tarmac, like someone's leg pushed under a blanket.  I had a closer look, and as I did so, a long, black, shiny, cylindrical entity scuttled in front of me.  It was a centipede, looking so evil as to suggest it had been scraped from one of the Devil's nostrils and flicked loose from his finger nail.

I carried on to the bus stop, and almost had to hop onto the bench to avoid being run over when it arrived.  'I have to pull right off the highway' the driver explained, 'you have to stand far back'.  

At the school, I was pleasantly surprised to see it was an outdoor pool.  I started doing my 'laps' or 'lengths' (I'm starting to get confused, is a lap a 'there and back' or a length - if I tell people I did 50 laps will they look impressed thinking I had swum twice as far as was the case?).  One thing I learned was that it is unwise to do enthusiastic back stroke in a pool without a ceiling to mark your progress and alert you to the end coming up.  I haven't hit my head so hard for a very long time.  I actually felt one of my neck vertebrae complain.  I changed to front crawl, which is always better in open air pools in the sunshine, as it helps stop spots burn on your retina when the sun hits the drops of water on your eyes.

After the swim, I walked down the highway to a hippy coffee shop.  The Amercians are not really geared up for pedestrians, and I vowed not to repeat the exercise as trucks came scarily close and I wasn't sure whether or not I was walking in the motorbike lane or the sidewalk.  I will start a kerbstone appreciation society when I get home.

After my coffee I was tempted by the icecream - moose hoof icecream to be exact.  I thoroughly recommend this, the moose hooves were made of chocolate and encased in caramel, slithering around in toffee icecream (who needs any other excuse to come to America?).  Then I decided to walk another mile to the state park as I wanted to try a trail I had seen on a map, that should bring me round, back to the bus stop.  

I have absolutely no sense of direction, and the trail wasn't signposted well.  After going down several dead ends, I started to feel rather concerned that I might be lost, and was having day dreams about search and rescue helicopters coming for me.  I was pleased I had had the icecream, as it might well have been the last meal for 48 hours.  Fortunately, with my hopeless sense of direction I hadn't noticed that I had gone in a circle, and arrived back where I started - and still a mile from the bus stop.

The Garden Fair

Today I went to a Garden Fair.  Very pleasant it was too.  The sun was shining and I could tell I was walking in the right direction by the jolly music wafting across the parked cars.  The music was from a band of zylophone players (zylophonophonists?) with a modest audience camped out on the grass, including one slightly over zealous zylophone lover who was dancing with gay abandon.  I visited all the stands, which included help in how to eradicate gophers, and strange birdboxes shaped like musical instruments.

The main marquee looked shady, so I sat at the back and became engrossed in a passionate talk about bees. I hadn't appreciated the thermal qualities of the bumble bee before, nor realised that honey bees only arrived in America with European settlers.  After that was a very good talk on the health giving properties of the organic kitchen garden.  It started to get a bit complicated, but I came out resolving only to eat garlic, parsley and broccoli in the future.

My head was a bit full at this point, so the sign directing me to spiritual healing and massage looking quite inviting.  I suspected it was just going to be inter-uterine whale music and sandalwood joss sticks, but felt ready to give it a go.

The healing was happening in a small community hall.  Yes, there were some warbling whales in the background, and someone wafting incense from a conch shell while women on benches were massaged by men with beards and pony tails (don't panic, everyone was wearing clothes).

Also in the corner, was a young man in a baseball cap, unobtrusively hitting a very large gong with a soft drumstick.  There was a very comfy looking seat, covered in sheepskin so I decided to sit and listen.  The over zealous zylophone lover came to lie on the rug at my feet, which was a bit 'in my space' but as I was in California, I decided to try to lose some of my British uptightness.

The noises that started to come from the big gong (I later found out it was a Chau) were absolutely jaw droppingly amazing.  Rolling thunder, lightning, wind in the trees, all ebbing and flowing in a way that went straight into your bones.  It sounded ancient too, really ancient.  As the gong was hit, it started twisting which wafted the sound back and forth.  The percussionist used different beaters, and each one laid another sound onto the building patterns.  It became quite an intense, emotional experience.

I came out feeling strangely spiritually healed, which was the last thing I was expecting from a gardening show.

Who Does What Well

Since I arrived in America, I have been compiling a bit of a list of what the British could learn from the Americans, and vice versa.

What America does better:

• Buses - run on time, and you can put your bike on a simple rack on the front, brilliant.  Drivers are polite and chatty too.
• Fast food - really tasty, really fast and most of it good for you
• Slow food - everything tastes nicer
• Ice cream - a nation that doesn't stop at strawberry, chocolate and the pale yellow one
• Sunshine - feels so wholesome
• Scenery - beautiful (round here anyway)
• Roads - not much traffic and no roundabouts - great!
• Cities - sensibly built in easy to navigate blocks
• Speaking - say what they mean and mean what they say - very straightforward
• Fire hydrants - look so complicated and impressive, bound to stop any fire
• Fire engines - really shiny and impressive bits of equipment - proper bells too.
• Letter boxes - I didn't believe you could have a drive by letter box until I saw one
• Being able to turn the easy way (ie left in GB, right in USA) at traffic lights if the coast is clear, even if the light is red - so sensible
• Parking - no nasty meters, just drive to where you want to go, and stop.  So easy.  Why didn't we think of that?
• Sand - it's warm
• Camping - the love of which seems to be in the bloodstream, but maybe it has more to do with the weather
• double decker trains - brilliant
• Being polite - reassuring, bearing in mind the gun situation
• Washing machines - REALLY impressive bits of kit
• Sending people to the moon - so jealous
• Surfing - but then you have the waves so it's sort of cheating
• Wildlife - lots and lots of it

What Britain does better:

• Free health service - stop complaining Brits and start being really, really grateful
• Better justice system - the death penalty is just so yesterday
• Post - we get it through the front door (but the letter boxes all point to the pavement so you have to get out of the car)
• Pavements - you can tell where the road stops and the walkway starts
• Gun laws - nice knowing that if you were to have an argument, the other person isn't wearing a revolver
• Zebra crossings - took me a while to spot where I could cross the road, a pair white lines just isn't enough of a clue
• Carrier bags - the handles stay on until you get home
• Coping with cooler or cold weather.  We don't need the heating on in June.
• Newspapers - you can buy them without having the right change
• Royalty - I feel bereft!  How is the royal pregnancy progressing?
• Annual leave - no way could any of us survive on 2 or 3 weeks leave a year
• Working hours - no way could most of us survive on a routine 40 hour week
• Trade unions - (I worked that out from the lines above)
• Trains - come on America - where are they all (apart from the double decker ones I found 40 miles away)?
• Cornish pasties (according to the bus driver yesterday)
• Scottish stuff like tartan and tossing the caber (according to someone who works here)
• Bus stops - at least you can tell where they are.  Even if the bus doesn't arrive, you have the smug pleasure of knowing you were standing in the right place
• History - more of it, but we mustn't gloat
• Credit cards - when did you last sign a chit - I mean, really?
• Steering wheels - we know which side to wear them
• Lorries - don't have them here apparently 
• Ground - doesn't usually shake

Aha!  22 all.  Better stop there!

Quirkiness

Quirkiness is a fabulous thing.  I am a devotee of quirkiness.  Without quirks (let alone quarks) the world would be a very dull place.  Quirk is also a rather good word for Scrabble, getting rid of that pesky 'q'.

Today, on a trip to Santa Cruz, I went to Natural Bridges beach.  It was windy.  I had my face exfoliated by the sand, but consoled myself with the thought that some people pay good money in beauticians' parlours for this sort of thing, and without the benefit of being able to watch the Pacific rollers crashing in front of them.

I walked to some rock pools and saw some funny ring doughnut shaped corally stuff (you can tell I'm not a marine biologist) and sat on the beach and ate some of the best tasting cherries, freshly picked off my friend's tree.

I have noticed, in my exploration of beaches, that the quality of sand varies. For example, at Natural Bridges, the sand was a good temperature, pleasantly golden, but too soft.  I sank in up to my ankles, which made walking tricky, and made me look as if I was inebriated.   At the beach near 'Downtown', the sand was too hot to walk on, which is annoying when you have gone specially to walk on it in bare feet, but had a good consistency.  It just squeezed between my toes, enabling me to treasure the experience without looking as if I am about to fall flat on my face.  The colour was very nice too.  I have decided that I am going to be the Egon Ronay* of sand.

After a bit I decided to get back on the bus to 'Downtown' (I still can't read or write that word without singing it in my head).

I walked down the exceedingly long pier, taking time to lean over the railing and watch the seals swim in the clear, turquoise water, and found a cafe right at the very end which looked like it had been waiting for me.  There was a great view of Monterey Bay, and I experience a merging of cultures as I watched surfers riding the waves, looked at palm trees around the horizon, while listening to The Beatles and eating fish and chips.

It worked.

On the walk back, I felt a bit Zen.  I already thought I had achieved total relaxation, but had achieved a state of mind and body where my knees were just swinging my feet out in front of me with absolutely no bother, and I felt like I was floating along.

Mid-float, I stopped to read the information board at the lifeguard station.  It had titles printed in some sections, and chalked information filling in the boxes.

Temperature: 26 degrees

Climate: sunny (I thought they might as well have that bit printed on)

and so it went.

At the bottom was the printed title 'Other comments' which I assumed was going to tell me about algae, or sharks or other helpful advice.  Instead was written,

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.” from Dr. Seuss.  

I liked that.  I will make sure I check the board next time I visit.  That sort of quirkiness works well, because people will check the board regularly, and when there is important information, will see it.

Release your inner quirkiness!


*(in)famous restaurant critic