Yeah yeah I know, 3 posts in one day, but you must understand dear readers, it boils down to free wifi = post; no wifi = no post (anyone living in NZ will appreciate the latter).
Traipsed off to REI outdoors store this arvo, a squillion blocks away from tourist mecca downtown to get me some waterproof walking shoes ($65!) You couldn’t get a waterproof shoelace in NZ for that.
Doris – you know how I said I AM NOT TALKING POLITICS WITH ANYONE? I’d barely opened my gob at REI checkout when Bill Bryson’s twin brother told me everything I never wanted to know, and more, about Trump’s would-be impeachment. Clearly a slow day in REI. I hid my lack of interest/knowledge behind a charming smile and nodding head like those dogs you see in the backs of cars.
The route back took me along aptly-named Mission St. Only 3 blocks from the golden Nordstrom building on the main drag but might as well have been in another city.
Spent whole time trying to avoid tripping over tents, negotiating my way through solid walls of homeless people and sex workers clustered in huge groups outside the hideously ugly federal buildings (make 1970 Soviet architects look like height of chic) and random piles of food left on street by donors, all the while inhaling the overwhelming stench of urine and trying not to feel guilty about being white middle class.
It was so sad and depressing – the sheer numbers of homeless, the proximity to the glitz of downtown and the air of complete hopelessness.
Probably not a good time to then tell you about my portabello mushroom and avocado burger. Those fries were the most delicious to ever spend time in a deep fryer. The woman at the diner counter next to moi agreed. Had some sort of breading on them so SUPER DUPER crunchy.
Ok going to sleep now for first time in living memory and then 12 hr train trip back to LA so you’ll get a post-ponement (get it?? ah ha ha) for at least a day.
I don’t wanna pickle, I just wanna ride my motorcickle
Today’s post brought to you by: not taking it all for granted Grateful for: serendipity Trying hard to accept: I’m 50, going on 70
I’m sitting in the sun in train lounge car (too bad for you Amtrak lied and there is NO wifi so this is gonna be one looooonnnnnnggggg post) watching southern California’s food basket roll by. Ploughed fields, brown hills, birds skirting across reservoirs, oil drillers and oak and eucalyptus trees (sans koalas) for miles.
73-year-old Pat (I seem to spend a lot of time talking to women in their 70s. Might never leave Florida) from San Luis Obispo is on the phone telling her friend Yvonne all about my trip. I don’t think Yvonne can quite believe it. She’s asking lots of “Really??” questions.
Passing through San Jose I read Meryl-Lynn’s memoirs, which brought it all home about being grateful. As she put it: “We worked hard (boy did David do some hard graft in his younger years), saved hard (trebled money on Avondale house – can’t get more M&D than that), lived an idyllic life but never took it for granted.”
Closer to home I just need to look out the window at all the homeless men living in tents along the rail tracks. Little communities in some cases.
Pat just pointed out an elementary school group where every child was Mexican, most likely kids of low-paid farm workers (as opposed to high-paid pea harvesters of Hawkes Bay). Then when I spent 47 seconds thinking about it, I realised that of the low-income/needy people in these parts, the homeless are mostly white and the farm workers are mostly Mexican. And never the twain shall meet. Interesting.
To my left right now is a correctional facility the size of downtown Wellington, surrounded by wind turbines (hopefully the state of California gives the inmates decent food seeing as power is gratis). Reminded me of that depressing film festival doco we saw years ago at the city gallery (I went with a bloke – Grant? Or was it you Peter? John?) about life inside that prison in California desert where inmates lived in tents.
Earlier today 74-year-old Carol invited me to stay at her house in downtown San Francisco (winter home) or her National Park Service cabin in Yosemite (park guide in summer).
Boy was I glad to meet Carol at 7.14 this morning after spending 58 panicky minutes covering every inch of the Salesforce Transit Centre (Amtrak connecting bus depot) and Transbay Transit Centre three blocks away (Amtrak connecting bus depot according to its stupid website … job # 1 when find wifi – helpful (bloody grumpy) email to Amtrak).
I asked every transit employee, bus driver, random person on street, Greyhound employee (“Amtrak? Oh no we know absolutely nothing about them, no way, no how, nothing, we cannot help you”) I could find.
16 minutes left to find bus stop, ring Amtrak automated (GRRRRRR) help line. Just as giving up all hope of (a) finding bus stop (b) embracing ‘acceptance’, I finally speak to Amtrak agent (calm voice Gail, speak slow, don’t take it out on the agent) who has no friggin’ idea where the bus stop is and couldn’t even find the transit station on their station list. Thank goodness my friend serendipity turned up because as I was calculating cost of last-minute air ticket to LA I looked up and there was Carol standing next to an Amtrak connecting bus stop looking equally lost.
Carol looks 60 and like me ran away when she turned 50. Quit graphic design job at IBM, sold the house, sold the husband, bought a new car and drove off to discover America/decide what to do next.
She’s also into meditation et al and was telling me about a 14 day silent retreat she went on in the California wine country. Complete bliss for lithe introverts because not only are you not allowed to utter a word but you’re also not allowed to make eye contact with anyone. At all. For 14 days. Not even while eating meals.
I can’t think what’d be worse – that or the agony of sitting cross-legged meditating for 6 hours every day. I gather if you ask (in sign language) if you’re allowed to lie down they reply (on a scrap of unbleached recycled paper) that no, you may not. Sucker.
Another woman in her 70s just sat next to me. I’m going to act like a retreat guest and not look at/speak to her. Too busy eating (mindfully, Martha!).
One sleep and 2 hrs later. Hunger forced me to the train café to pay $7.50 for the only option under 6,000 calories. Cheese (yuk), ham (double yuk) and bacon (guilty yum) sandwich. My bag is bursting at the seams with ‘complimentary’ packets of relish, mayo (surprsingly nice and surprisingly free when made into sandwich on Trader Joes whole grain and oat bread) and Half ‘n Half.
“Tell me” I said to the café manager, “What exactly is Half ‘n Half? Is it half milk, half cream?” He scratched his bald head, stared out the window for an eternity and said “You know, I don’t actually know. I’ve been drinkin’ the stuff for years and never thought about it. I’ll have to google that when I get home.” Lucky for him I didn’t return with any more world-changing questions.
I wish you’d been there (well not all of you ‘cause you would’ve had to have sat three on top of each other) in the lounge car with me when I took my $7.50 sandwich up there. A young woman with cancer was playing her guitar and singing (no Peter, not Arlo Guthrie’s City of New Orleans), the blindingly orange sun was setting over the sea and there was a warm golden light throughout the lounge car. One of the reasons you ride Amtrak.
I went and talked to Kelly, a fashion design student from Santa Barbara who showed me her design for a woodcut printed jacket. Then got talking to Elissa, a florist/artist from a small farming town north of Seattle. And she’s not in her 70s! Only 67!
She’s house/flower nursery sitting for a wealthy couple from NY on a lush green property which looks surprisingly like NZ except for the 20,000 snow geese currently on the front paddock. She invited me to stay which would’ve been the most wonderful experience, sitting in front of the fire, looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows watching the snow geese fly away in formation.
We talked about everything under the setting sun. I’m grateful to Elissa for pointing out 2 things to me:
The rug I chose for my bedroom is actually a very similar pattern to the William Morris wallpaper on my phone screen picture. Subconscious in action.
When deciding on next career move think long and hard about the ‘essence’ of why I want to do a certain job. So instead of “I want to be a counsellor or hairdresser”, why do I want to do those jobs? Answer: because I’m extremely interested in talking to people and finding out about their lives and what makes them tick. Ok, so what other jobs could I do that use that but don’t require me to retrain? Etc, etc. Professional Amtrak passenger?
One Uber later I arrive at Julia (ex El Salvador) and Rudy’s (ex Mexico) house in Silver Lake, LA (House Hunters buyers always end up in Silver Lake).
They gave me such a warm welcome I felt like a long lost little sister. We chatted, they gave me big hugs, I had a long shower, now am in my snack-filled room with view of palm trees and sounds of LA outside.
And on that note, “Good night sweetheart, well it’s time to go. I hate to leave you but I really must say, good night sweetheart, good night.”
Hey, I could write this blog in song lyrics. Now there’s an idea I bet nobody’s ever thought of.
The lovely Julia and Rudy in LA. If all Airbnb hosts are as nice as them I’m in for a very warm trip.
This picture has nothing to do with this post. I just stuck it here ‘cause I like it. View from top of my street.
Today’s post brought to you by: The dog in seat 10C Grateful for: Having boobs, Uber, Google maps Trying hard to accept: Jacinda
I’ve seen it all now. You can take your dog on domestic flights.
I wondered why all these people were dragging their bags in one hand and Fido in the other. And to add horse meat to dog roll, they even get their own seat. Imagine Angus!
The 7 feet tall, Stetson and flannel shirt-wearing ex-Pakistani army cowboy I met, me and 236 others sat on a jam-packed 3 hr flight to Houston, across 2 time zones. Thank goodness for the free movies. Thank goodness I brought my earplugs so I could watch said free movies.
Sent ‘constructive feedback’ to Amtrak earlier, now about to send some to American Airlines to point out that I am not a man. Is my chest invisible? Ok, don’t answer that.
I dealt with five of their staff at LAX. Three called me “sir”. Oh hindsight my friend … I should’ve screamed discrimination and gotten upgrade. Bugger.
Also going to email Jacinda to let her know that as soon as I say the words “from”, “New”, “Zealand” I have to fake grin my way through how wonderful our PM is. But I guess when you’ve got Trump … Wonder if Jacinda’ll give me an upgrade/job/Green Card/cushion cover.
Izabela, where are you when I need you? Out power walking the ‘hood this morning it took me all of 6 mins to realise I’m the only person in my neighbourhood who did not understand a word of Spanish.
I was in the proudly historic Filipino area of LA and strangely the residential streets reminded me so much of the posh Adelaide streets I’ve spent hours wandering. Until I got to intersections where the streets were littered with broken sofas, clothes and dumpsters, and the only breakfast options were enchiladas, fried chicken and liquor.
So proud of myself – Google maps only had to save my skin once.
Move over Grand Central Station, Union Station is something else. Art Deco piece of beauty surrounded by palm trees and the best thing is the super friendly concierge woman who approaches and helps you if you look the slightest bit lost. She was over to me in a flash!
Got my third invite of somewhere to stay while on airport bus. Met Janette, ex Boston & Chicago, who was 81 but had the energy and skin of a 61 year old. She’d been to the Antipodes lots with her late husband who was a Baptist theology academic. Rilly (that’s not a typo, it’s how we speak down under) interesting and informed woman, would love to go stay with her.
Due to time zones I lost 2 hours of my life flying to Texas. But boy has it been Dallas Fort WORTH it (get it?). Jim and Fran must be the most hospitable, generous, thinking-of-everything-before-even-super-organised-me-has-thought-of-it people I’ve been lucky enough to meet. David my Airbnb host has an amazing house full of treasures and we have so much in common it took an hour to make it to the stove.
Special post! I’ve just slowly savoured (hoovered) my first buttermilk biscuit in 13 years.
Let’s be honest. Forget cultural enlightenment, scenic wonders et al, the real reason I came here was to eat biscuits. Pic below for those of you south of the equator. Imagine the lightest, fluffiest, slightly sour scones you’ve ever (not) made.
Thanks to David’s recommendation I’m in uber cool Blacksmith cafe. You know you’re in a hip joint when first customer you see is a tall dark and handsome doctor in his scrubs. Should’ve developed sudden crippling pain in MY hip joint and collapsed at his feet.
I’m allowed to eat biscuits because I did 40 press-ups and tricep dips at park among frolicking squirrels. And walked 1.4 km along Houston’s broken footpaths. Jim explained there’s something amiss with rain+soil here that causes roads and paths to buckle, sink, crack.
Right, back onto the broken paths I go to burn one millionth of the calories I just ate. 10, 9, 8 … we’re off to the Houston (we have a problem) space centre this morning. Wonder if Elton John’ll be there.
Grateful for: Being born a middle class New Zealander
Trying hard to accept:Beingmarried
Every home needs one. No, not a me. A porch swing!
I’ve got so much to tell you I’m actually sitting at a desk to write this.
First of all, I’m married! According to the server at the space centre BBQ joint, Jim is my “second husband”. Not sure who my first one was. And don’t remember either of my weddings, but stranger things have happened in space.
Space. There’s so much to tell you about the Johnson Space Centre I’ll put it in lists and pictures. Ok, ready? LIFTOFF!
10,000 people work there
Rice University built a campus at the space centre in the 1960s with the deal that if NASA ever went bust the university would have a second campus in Houston. They also reinstated the Texas longhorn cattle that used to roam the land. There are also deer everywhere – hang out there to avoid the local coyotes.
It includes the facilities where they make the space food (3 year shelf life), put astronauts through before & after medical tests (you grow taller in space due to lack of spinal pressure), and have managed to grow peppers and lettuce in soil from the moon (“Right kids, I went to the moon and back to make this salad. EAT IT.”)
The eagle (has landed) eyed will notice how clean this rocket it. They ran out of money, it never left the car park.
Close-up of the lunar landing bit. Like a work of art in steel.
Orion control centre ready for the 2035 mission to Mars. The video feeds are from the International Space Station, which in this pic was hovering over the Falklands. The ISS control centre was next door.
Gail M Wilson Jnr, fourth astronaut on the 1972 Apollo mission. They had to photoshop me into the official picture – I was busy (washing my hair) at the time.
Jim’s reaction to being told he’s my husband.
Our wedding breakfast. BBQ brisket and mac cheese. Two of my favourite food groups.
This is the actual 747 used on shuttle launches. We went inside. It was big. That’s a replica shuttle. We went inside. It was surprisingly big, but not when you’re floating around crashing into everything I guess. The cockpit made your average passenger plane cockpit look like child’s play.
I now know why every town in these parts has a water tower shaped like that one yonder. First person to guess gets a prize. Gail M Wilson Jnr’s autograph or one-way ticket to Mars – you choose. (You’re not allowed to enter, Dad).
So, back in time, before we landed at NASA Jim took me on a tour of Houston. First we went round the neighbourhood I’m staying in so I could drool over all the 1920s homes with their front porches and swings, then to the even more historic Houston Heights area of the most gorgeous homes.
Then we went up a trillion real estate brackets to the moneyed River Oaks. Ok see that house above? Well that’d be at least 10 bedrooms, 12 bathrooms, 10,000 sq ft, with a section the size of two NASA hangars. And that’s not all. Most of them had full-time guards at the gate. And probably more staff than family.
There’s a huge medical industry here. You’ve got Texas University medical school, Texas children’s hospital, and the massive and I mean massive MD Anderson Cancer Centre to name a few.
Every faith has its own medical centre – each the size of a large hospital in NZ. I was interested to learn the Catholic centres won’t allow stem cell research.
This is Jim and Fran’s church – Covenant Church, an ecumenical, liberal, Baptist congregation. Stunning building, in its simplicity.
To me, their church is what religion should be about. They focus on practical ways to help people (homes for teenagers kicked out of home for being gay, shelters for abused women, food banks etc.)
From tomorrow’s service: “It would be so much easier, Jesus, to ignore the hard truths around us; the widening gap between rich and poor … give us the courage to disrupt the way things are in the name of what should be … in order to heal and restore …” Jim and Fran embody that – the way they treat others, help people, believe strongly in justice and always act according to their beliefs rather than any social/political pressure.
Thanks to Houston’s decision to build another trillion miles of freeways there was so much construction work that we never made it to Galveston. Instead, we spent ages trying to get from A to B and talking about big scary subjects like what Trump’s doing to families in border detention centres, what drug companies get up to and the obscene gap between rich and poor in the US.
For someone who would’ve fled NZ like a shot to come live here I can now appreciate how lucky I am to have been born where I was, and not only that, to be born into a middle class family. I still love the US for many reasons but if I lived here I’d have to be head-in-the-sand re politics because otherwise I’d be so angry and feel so helpless.
Jim’s views echoed those of the people I’ve met so far, a few of who have told me they’re ashamed to be Americans. And those are words I never thought I’d hear.
After a long day of driving half of Houston and its surrounding cities we went to Jim and Fran’s apartment in their retirement complex. The whole place was absolutely lovely – incredibly warm, welcoming and peaceful.
This photo of swans in Hakkaido is one of a series taken by a resident who has Parkinson’s.
This one’s for you Kay. One of several quilts hand sewed by Fran’s mother. Just beautiful.
I could not believe the dining room. It was starched white table cloths, table service, 5-star dining the whole way. It’d be like Christmas dinner every night. Completely beyond anything I’d imagined.
In case you’re interested (you are) I had cream of broccoli soup which I could’ve eaten the whole saucepan of, my good friend salmon again, a delicious citrus sauce, balsamic grilled vegetables, my beloved corn, and sage stuffing with gravy which is one of the best comfort foods ever to have come out of an oven.
It was the best day. Thank you again Jim and Fran for teaching me so much about so much.
