faites simple

Crazy Plan is booked - mostly

2012-01-28T10:38:00.000-08:00

I'm still calling this the Crazy Plan although I think it is really the Awesome Plan. Very awesome. Properly awesome - not in the common "my sandwich at lunch was awesome" use of the word. Nope. This is going to be one helluva year.

[To my British friends, and Xander, my apologies for the overuse of Americanisms. It appears they are a slow contagion that starts to make itself evident c. 2 years after arrival. To Mike, Howdy!]

Anyway, because Tom needs broadband and because I am not as free-wheeling as I like to think I am, we have now got accommodation booked across the States. What? You thought we were going in an RV? Not so adventurous. That'll have to wait for retirement and no more daily Hadoop.

[Extra points to the (British) wag I met at a party who on being told we were taking 4.5 months, said "you know you can drive faster than 20 miles an hour?]

Now I could keep our itinerary a surprise but if you know me personally then you'll have heard it a yawningly enormous number of times and if you don't, you might have some useful travel tips. So here goes:

We drive up the coast to Portland then on to Seattle where we stop for a month (April). Then on to Yellowstone, the Black Hills of South Dakota and Ames, Iowa. That takes 3 weeks. We arrive in Chicago in late May and spend 3 weeks there. After that it is what seems from here like a hop and skip to New York for nearly 7 weeks in Brooklyn which will take in a long weekend in DC and some trips probably to Philadelphia, Boston. Our last stop on the continent is Nova Scotia. Yes, we are trying to get as far across as we can before we have to get on a plane.

The total mileage driven will be over 4100 miles. Which is equivalent to driving from London to Samarkand in Uzbekistan - much easier and with more hamburgers I 'm sure but the same distance. Mind is boggling.

Point Reyes - pictures not words

2012-01-28T09:54:00.000-08:00

All things mammary

2012-01-26T15:42:00.000-08:00

This post comes under TMI so if you want to look away, do.

But who knew that the best words you could hear all week were "it's a cyst!"

Last week I found a lump. So being a well-behaved patient I made an appointment pronto, and spent the next few days worrying, envisaging ghastly scenarios etc.

And today I presented myself at Kaiser to find out what it was. I am now home and relieved ("it's a cyst!) having been prodded, poked, squeezed and generally felt about a lot. I've had two breast exams, a mammogram, and two ultrasounds.

Things I've learned:

Kaiser rocks - really rocks. At least two of the gropings were without appointment and after just over 3 hours I was sent on my way having seen at least three doctors, two radiologists, the woman who did the mammogram - what is that job title? I call her the "reluctant torturer" because the mammogram hurts a lot and she apologizes a lot - and lots of other efficient and friendly people.

Mammograms hurt - see above. Also if you're a boy, imagine putting your softest but most sensitive tissue between two cold smooth pieces of plastic and then squeezing really hard and then holding your breath for ten seconds. If you're a girl, just don't think about it. It will come to you, and it's not very pleasant. Also annoyingly the mammogram didn't show anything - hence the ultrasounds.

Ultrasounds rock - it's that same fuzzy, can you see a heartbeat picture we've seen before except this time "it's a cyst" and there wasn't a heartbeat just what is apparently technically known as "crud" "junk" "gunk" and my favourite "schmutz". Fortunately said "schmutz" can do no harm, may go away, may not but can do now harm.

Being undressed in front of lots of people is okay. Actually it has always been okay with me (hippyish parents...) but there is something vaguely absurd about the woman who has just ladled gel on your tit and rubbed a plastic scanner over it, then getting all proper and leaving the room so you can put your bra back on in peace. Really I don't care. Tits, schmitz, or is that schmutz?

The long way home

2011-12-11T18:51:00.000-08:00

Our time in San Francisco is coming to a close. Well not quite, but the end is fast approaching.

Regular readers of the blog will know that we always planned this to be a temporary move and we are in the undoubtedly fortunate position of being able to choose where we want to make our home. And so next summer we will be heading back to the Brecon Beacons and the Black Mountains and Crickhowell. We do love San Francisco and we have had/are having a wonderful time but - well, we love our families, and we love Britain and it's home.

So that's next summer. The big news is that we will be leaving SF a little earlier than that. We have decided to take a slightly longer route home than the flight from SFO to LHR. We will be hitching up our wagon (okay, loading up a still to be bought car) with all our worldly goods (well the ones we need/want for the journey) and heading north and then east, across the United States. For four and a half months. We want to see much more of this wonderful country and try living in a few other places for short times to get a feel for other cities. Tom will be working - a broadband connection is what he needs - and connecting up with other Hadoop people en route. The girls will be home schooled by me for a while. And I will be blogging and taking pictures.

Meanwhile, we still have Christmas, a trip to Point Reyes in January, a big PTA fundraiser to help organize and the flat to empty. Gulp.

Perfect birthday present

2011-12-11T17:51:00.000-08:00

It's not that I didn't like my other presents but the late birthday evening out with my friend Moriah was perfect. Moriah had bought tickets to an annual event held at the beautiful Castro Theatre - Rick Prelinger's presentation of the latest Lost Landscapes of San Francisco.

So she picked me up last Thursday on her Vespa. Yes her Vespa! I will admit I was bloody scared. Haven't been on a scooter since the mid-90s in a former life on a Greek island and probably under the influence. But I was playing it cool. Or at least I did actually get on the scooter without resisting and I didn't scream although I did say "Oh shiiiiiiiit!" when we shot down our first San Franciscan hill.

The Lost Landscapes series is a collection of archive footage collected by Rick Prelinger - the film ranged from the early part of the 20th century to the 60s, and from institutional film through Hollywood out-takes and second unit to home movies. We saw the Sunset district when it was just miles and miles of sand dunes, the old cemeteries of Laurel Hill with huge monuments set in grassy hills, Market street lit with neon, streetcar lines that have long gone, the Ocean Beach amusement park that is no more and at one funny moment a very gloomy film which ended by suggesting that the BART was the answer to all city evils. There were three people commenting on the films (including Rick Prelinger) and the audience (which was huge as the cinema was packed) were encouraged to shout out, ask questions and so on. It was fascinating. I love that kind of stuff so thank you, thank you, thank you Moriah for thinking of me.

Grateful

2011-11-29T18:41:00.000-08:00

It is my birthday and a few days after Thanksgiving so here's some things I'm grateful for:

A trans-Pacific phone call from my friend Sam who I've known since I was Lottie's age and who I haven't spoken to in far too long but who I can pick up with like it was yesterday no matter how long between calls.

A card - hurray for post - from my friends Nicki and Karen in Canada, looking forward to our visit next year.

Birthday messages from old friends and new, from America and Wales and London and Thailand and Germany, from people I see every day (with added hugs) to people I haven't seen in years.

An email telling me about my cousins' geese, Fox and Werrity, who are being fattened for a family Christmas in the Black Mountains. I am already imagining the wonderful meal Jack will cook, and feeling very envious!

This card from my mother - no, I don't know what she's trying to tell me either! Love my mother.

And most of all, I am grateful for Tom and Millie and Lottie. There are no words expansive enough to describe how much I love them.

Lake Almanor, Eagle Lake and Lassen Volcanic National Park: Pictures not words

2011-10-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

Only in San Francisco: Muni Diaries

2011-10-06T21:59:00.000-07:00

I lived in London for 17 years, home of the oldest underground railway system in the world, formerly (sniff) home to the wonderful Routemaster bus. Londoners could tell you a few tales of their frequently not so glorious public transport system. But we haven't so far as I know set up a website, and a series of regular live story-telling events on the subject.

I know. What a quirky idea. But cool really. Which is how I found myself in a bar with a friend listening to a series of people tell hugely diverse stories about riding the buses of San Francisco. The event was organised by Muni Diaries. It was fun and funny. And hurray for Americans talking about (and using) public transport!

And here is a London bus story.

I was taking the 73 bus home to Stoke Newington one sunny evening. This was in the days when the 73 was a Routemaster - the old style double decker bus with an open back you could jump on and off. It was chugging slowly through Islington and we'd just turned into Upper Street by Angel. It gets busy just there with three lanes of traffic going each way and lots of lights. And it was rush hour so there were lots of cars and buses and vans and so on. Anyway, there we were. A full top deck of commuters ignoring each other, when someone jumped on the bus while it drove along and ran straight upstairs. He was young and looking very nervous, running up and down the aisle, ducking low, looking out of both sides, watching to see if he was being followed. Which he was. By a big security guard who also jumped on the bus and started to climb the stairs. Where could he go? He was trapped. Also turns out he was nuts or on something. He ran for the back of the bus (where the stairs came up) and instead of running down, opened the emergency exit window and climbed out of the bus onto the roof.

So now we're sitting in slow moving traffic with a man running up and down on the roof of our double decker bus.

The conductor was going nuts. There were two Sainsbury's security guards who clearly thought they were in a film and were running around the bus and on the bus and generally causing mayhem. And the guy on top was pounding back and forth looking for a way down.

It didn't end well. He jumped off onto a large van which was driving past, then fell off that and onto another smaller car and into the road.

I don't actually know what happened next to him. Presumably hospital, and arrest for shoplifting. The bus drove on. And in retrospect the weirdest thing is that most people on the bus didn't say a thing about it to each other. Takes more than some poor doped up shoplifter leaping off the roof of a double decker bus onto passing traffic to break down British reserve. Our upper lips did not quiver.

More hippie than hipster this weekend

2011-10-03T12:37:00.000-07:00

What a great weekend we just had.

We spent Saturday at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass. For those not in the know, this is a huge free (yes free! thank you Warren Hellman) music festival in Golden Gate Park that takes place over 3 days. The focus is Bluegrass but it is hardly strictly so there's room for bands like Elbow and Gomez amongst people like Emmylou Harris, Gillian Welch, the Punch Brothers, Merle Haggard and Kris Kristofferson and so so many many more. There are 6 stages in amongst the eucalyptus. And there are hordes of good natured people many getting high, drunk and generally mellow in the sunshine while listening to some really good music.

We caught Hugh Laurie first - yes Hugh Laurie - who after all the other things he has accomplished is now also playing and singing the blues. Huge crowd - curious House fans, women with a crush (okay I plead guilty). He was great. Self-effacing, funny and a really good musician with a great band. Then we headed off to Kris Kristofferson and Merle Haggard. I've heard mixed reports. Unfortunately the crowd was even bigger and I wasn't close enough to judge for myself. But, well. Kris Kristofferson! I know he's getting on a bit these days but he's just about the only guy who could totally carry off that whole 70s too much denim/beard look (Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore...) and still look cool/sexy. Then it was off to the Rooster stage for Patty Griffin (great voice) and the Punch Brothers (fantastic).

And then homeward. All tired and happy. Lottie liked the dancing. Not quite sure the girls got the whole sit and do nothing to music in the sunshine thing. Just wait till we take them to the Green Man Festival back in Wales, when they will have to stand and do nothing to music in the pouring rain.

Anyway. That was just the start. Last night, I went out to a gig for the first time in a decade or so. Gillian Welch at the Fillmore. The Fillmore is historic - everybody has played there. Really everybody. There are pictures in the corridor there of everyone from John Lee Hooker to Radiohead to Janis Joplin to Johnny Cash to of course the Grateful Dead. It's a ballroom so no seats and not huge. We got there early and stood waiting and chatting at the front. Yesterday was Gillian Welch's birthday (the audience sang Happy Birthday when she came out which kind of surprised her) and it was the last day of Hardly Strictly so we didn't just see Gillian Welch and David Rawlings - they were joined by the wonderful Nate Walcott from Bright Eyes who played hauntingly on the trumpet, Buddy Miller who sang That's How I Got To Memphis (amazing voice), Robyn Hitchcock who sang Candyman with them, and a guy on mandolin banjo who's name I missed. And yes, I have had to google all these people because I am clueless, but they were awesome. Three hours of fantastic music. May be the best gig I've ever been to. It felt a privilege to be there.

Impressions of an afternoon in San Quentin

2011-09-19T19:06:00.000-07:00

The San Quentin Creative Writing Class invites you to a public reading of their creative work on Saturday, September 17, noon to 4 p.m.

On the west side of the Richmond bridge, sits an enormous imposing collection of buildings. San Quentin State Prison.

Saturday. No fog, no clouds. A drive through San Francisco over the Golden Gate Bridge and north. Frenetic. Running late. Nervous. My first time to a prison of any kind. We drive around the small headland and through a pretty village of old houses facing a stunning view - the Richmond bridge, the bay, sunshine, yachts. The prison gate is ahead and beyond, the prison. A fortress. With a castle keep.

Security. ID handed over, checked. A dress code - no green, orange, denim, blue, grey, yellow, open toed shoes. Dress conservatively. I'm going to a prison and I haven't a thing to wear! We are escorted to the castle keep - within there are huge metal gates, more checks, a search. And then out into a courtyard of quiet. We are going to the Catholic chapel. A large building in a cluster of other religious buildings catering to every faith. There are flowers, trees, fountains with no water. Ahead is the original facade for the hospital now dwarfed by newer higher walls. 1885. A reminder that this is the oldest prison in California. To the left is the massive body of the prison. We turn right. This is as far as we will go.

In London, in the 18th century people would pay to visit Bedlam. What am I doing here? Am I a voyeur?

A group of mostly-white mostly-middle-aged mostly-women in the audience. And the readers are men, in blue, the majority African-American, the majority in their 40s, 50s or older?

A man steps up to the microphone. A big smile. He tells us that four weeks ago he became a grandfather. And with that simple statement, connects us. This is a prisoner. This is also a man with a family.

I am not here to judge. This is a prison. These men have been judged and sentenced and are doing their time. I am here to listen.

Stories. Stories from their past. From imagined pasts. From the future. From fantastical worlds. Stories that make us laugh a little. Make me cry. Such eloquence. Stories of loss. Of themselves. Of their families. Pain. Regret. Struggle. Self-knowledge.

A boy in a tropical fish shop. A kid getting beaten up over a girl. A man trying to get attention in a crowd. A bank robbery. Tales of African American pasts and futures. Political statements and fantastical worlds. A spell-binding performance that takes us to a southern cotton field at the end of slavery. Stories that are from deep within themselves and stories that have taken the writer out of themselves and this place.

There is something almost monastic about this situation. These men are so calm, polite, respectful. We are in a church. They read in front of the altar. They are shy of reading out loud any swear words that they have written.

There are no noticeable guards. It is easy to lose yourself in the voices and forget where you are. We take a break and walk out into the yard. There is another voice, shouting insistently. At first I think "a guard"? But no, the voice goes on, monotonously, loud, hard to understand. Another prisoner says "perhaps he killed someone and his soul is in torment". I am struck that the men we are spending the afternoon with, have found a way to survive. Are they the extraordinary exceptions within this huge enclosed society?

San Quentin Prison: Capacity: 3082. Population as at August 2011: 4671. (151.6%)
In May 2011, California lost a U.S. Supreme Court appeal of a ruling that had found its prison overcrowding and the resulting lack of access to medical care amounted to cruel and unusual punishment.

As I walk back into the chapel, I look at the book asking for prayers to be said. So many asking for prayers for men suffering from cancer. The men reading to us are serving long long sentences. In one case, he has been in prison for 29 years. More than my adult life and I'm not young anymore. Incomprehensible.

Several times men get up to read and reach for the right spectacles. Bi-focals on a man in a baseball cap with a prominent tattoo on his forearm. Men serving time for acts committed by much younger selves. And I think about that voice in the yard - someone who cannot cope. Someone who is unable to look within and find strength to get through the days and years and the uncertainty and the overcrowding.

Is it the quantity of time served that is important or the quality? How long is enough?

I'm not making excuses. It is a jarring shocking moment when a man tells us that he is a killer. It is jarring and shocking because the piece he is reading is so beautiful. It is jarring and shocking because he is matter of fact, rueful, sad, moved and moving. And it is jarring and shocking because it reminds me that many of these men may be killers but they are fathers, grandfathers, husbands, writers. Monstrous acts. Common humanity. We lock people up to protect ourselves, to punish, but do we also do it because we don't want to look too closely and see ourselves looking back. We lock them up and then what? What is the purpose?

The United States has the highest documented incarceration rate in the world. According to the U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) 2.2 m adults were incarcerated in U.S. federal and state prisons, and county jails at year-end 2009 — about 1% of adults in the U.S. resident population. Black males have an imprisonment rate over 6 times the white male imprisonment rate. The rate of imprisonment in the United States is considerably higher than the rate in any other industrialized nation.

At the end we nearly run out time. The "count" is about to happen. The prisoners must get back - to where? to what? And we must leave or we will have to wait for the count to end. Mutual concern that no group gets into trouble takes us over. No time to talk. No time to give feedback except applause, handshakes, smiles, murmured heartfelt thanks for being given the chance to hear their words in their voices.

We leave and I drive home alone, aware now that I am outside, that there is an inside. I wonder if they can even see out, see the spectacular view of the bay. I wonder what the cells look like, or are they in dormitories? Over the next day or so, I find myself thinking about the small freedoms in my life - getting to eat what I want when I want, sleep in a bed in a room in an apartment, shower alone. I am filled with questions, about incarceration, about their lives, before, now, in the future.

*****

The last two days, that afternoon has been swirling around in my head. I want to thank Zoe Mullery, their writing instructor, for inviting me.

I do not believe in God, but I do believe in redemption, and forgiveness, and I believe strongly that programs like this deserve support.

William James Association

Brothers in Pen

Taken out to the ballgame

2011-09-15T21:48:00.000-07:00

We've been here almost two years and going to a baseball game has been on our list from the start. And then I realized that we might need to get on with this particular task, as the Giants aren't having such a great season and it won't be going on to Hallowe'en like last year's when they won the World Series.

So about three weeks ago, the girls and I wrapped up very warmly - thermals and everything - packed a blanket and hats and mittens, and headed down to Tom's office to meet our guides for the evening: Henry, a tall droll Brit with both cricket and baseball knowledge, Aaron an ever-smiling even when booing baseball nut and later Todd, quiet and calm even when sitting next to small surly unimpressed English girls.

Discussing the finer points with Henry (orange) and Aaron

Now before I go into any details of the game, a disclaimer. The following post has been written by a British woman who knows only slightly more about cricket and rounders than she does about baseball. And any knowledge she does have of baseball was chiefly gained from the film Bull Durham which is rather more about sex/witty romance than baseball (thank God).

Fog!

AT&T Park is in a brilliant setting. Right in San Francisco, by the Bay Bridge, near enough for balls to get hit into the water - they keep count of how many during the season. Gets chilly though. This being an August night, it got really cold, with billowing fog sweeping through the stadium and us.

We were sitting near a really big glove and Coca Cola bottle, and far away from the pitcher/batsman part. Basically, where the batsman is aiming, if he can actually aim with his bat. There was a discussion on this which concluded that cricket involves much more control by the batsman than baseball, where the bloke just tries to whack it really hard out of the park. In fact I've concluded that the real skill in baseball resides with the pitcher as the fielders seem to find catching ridiculously easy. Happens all the time. Then again they are all wearing those huge gloves.

It's a funny game. Not much happens but it doesn't happen much faster than in cricket. So a bloke steps up, tries to hit the ball, fails and after three strikes is out, or succeeds and gets caught out. Only very occasionally does anything of moment happen and then it's over really fast and everyone else stood up and cheered and the small clueless British contingent said "what?". And sat down again. And the score changed. On our night, the Giants were playing the Houston Astros who are apparently rubbish (possibly biased opinion from Giants fans) and were wearing very unfetching grey. Must be horrible playing away in baseball as no one travels to support you, so there's you and your team mates in a stadium full of Giants fans in panda hats, and bright orange snuggies, all bellowing at you. Like being harangued by 40,000 Honey Monsters at once.

Aaron booing. He's rather good at it.

What can I tell you about the game. We won. (Obviously I am now a Giants fan despite this being my first actual game.) The score was as low as a football score - 2-1. Everyone I had heard of was injured apart from the superbly named Madison Bumgarner, who buys cows for his wife when not pitching. There was a double play which involved - oh hang on - can't remember. Was that when we got two people out at once and there was lots of slipping and sliding into bases and what not? Oh whatever.

What I liked was the family atmosphere - we went in the evening so there weren't that many children but there were lots of women and it was a friendly place to be. Also their chants are way less obscene and offensive than at football. Never been to a proper cricket match so I can't tell you if the shouting at Lord's is Anglo-Saxon. But I have seen Arsenal at home and they can come up with something riper than "What's wrong with X? He's a bum!" or whatever it was.

And the food. The food was really good. Garlic fries with parsley! And really excellent sausages in the hot dogs. And Ghiradelli hot chocolate. But then this is the foodie capital of the USA. Apparently the Giants are known for their nosh.

It was Irish night. No I don't know why either.

And the odd stuff that happened between innings. That was fun if a bit strange. The kissing camera - old people kiss much more passionately and for longer than young people. The crazy dancing old guy with the hot young thing. The seal mascot driving guests around the park. Everyone getting up to sing "Take me out to the ballgame". Now that was very strange. But rather charming.

Bemused Englishman surrounded by singing Americans (including Todd, in non-Giant green)

All in all it was a good night out as far as the adults were concerned. The girls had no clue what was going on and endured it rather than enjoyed it.

Back

2011-08-20T10:07:00.000-07:00

I am still here. Rather lost the will to blog over the summer. So an update in not particular order:

1. Teeth. After my first appointment, I went back and had two wisdom teeth out, plus a filling. I won't go into the gory detail but there were two dentists involved at one point. I'm really not sure that dentistry has moved on that much since the 19th century apart from in one very important area - anaesthesia! Had a chance to look at a dentist's office from the heart of the industrial revolution at Blist's Hill in Ironbridge in June, and honestly, the tools look almost the same. So thank heavens for anaesthesia and loud arias on Pandora radio through the headphones. The other two wisdom teeth are due out at the end of the month.

2. Travel. We went home for three weeks. Well the other home. The flight was fine this time, the jet lag not quite so bad, the weather lovely. We saw family and some friends and the girls' past and future village school in Wales. It was odder than last year which felt more like a return after a long holiday. This year we felt much more torn into two places at once. I remember sitting watching the village cricket - a familiar scene in our past and future home - and having to pinch myself to remember that right now I live in San Francisco which is so very different and yet also so familiar. One good thing about the holiday was that it allayed any fears I had about our return being a step backwards and into too quiet a world. We love the city we are living in, but we do miss the countryside and our friends and family in Wales and it was wonderful to see them all again and to know that they are waiting for us to come back. There will be lots of outdoor activities to do like riding and sailing on Llangorse lake and walking and chasing chickens. And there will be reading groups to rejoin, and cousins to eat with and play with and swim with. There will be camping in West Wales. And city breaks to Paris and Barcelona and Rome and Berlin.

3. But. Oh it is going to be hard to leave. And as leaving is also going to be a big logistical undertaking for mostly me, it's something that I'm already thinking about. And I want to be closer to my mother and my cousins and my friends, but I don't want to leave these friends, and California, and all the lovely lovely food in San Francisco... Still, we can come and visit.

4. Good times. We spent some lovely times here during the ridiculously long summer holidays. Visits to Oakland Museum of California and the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park. A walk in the woods near Woodside down the peninsula. Two nights at Monte Rio on the Russian River (heaven!). Dinners with friends. Playdates with small giggling girls.

5. PTA. Doing even more than last year. I am nuts. I think I'd had 4 meetings on PTA related business by the time school started. Still. It's interesting and useful for the school I hope.

6. School. The girls are so far having a really good start to the year. They have teachers who aren't completely new to the school as they were last year. And Emilia's class isn't chaos and the teacher isn't going to leave after two weeks. The girls are happy and look so much more confident than they have in the past and so much bigger than the wailing kinder children.

That's all for now!

Do you like my smile?

2011-05-26T21:04:00.000-07:00

Big day today. 7th wedding anniversary. And My First Proper American Dentist Experience. It's taken me a while to get this sorted out. Last year we had insurance of the HMO variety - which basically means that you have insurance but can't choose your dentist except from a particular group. Turns out this means you can't find a dentist within 50 miles for love nor money because dentists don't like taking HMO insurance. Lesson to learn if you're moving here. Choose PPO. It'll cost more but you will be able to find someone to treat you.

Luckily last year we switched to PPO and thus I could choose my dentist and so I chose my friend Phyllis. She's a parent at my daughters' school, very nice, friendly, funny, easy-going. Which is good, as it's been a eon since my teeth were last investigated properly and that was in the UK - land of bad teeth. So I wanted someone friendly who would feel obliged to cover her horror and not say as a dentist did to a friend of a friend "You've got barnacles growing on your teeth!"

First up, X-rays. Lots and lots and lots of digital x-rays. Then huge questionnaires. The usual stuff - who are you? where are you? the confusing insurance ones and then the funny ones: do you like your smile? What? I was also shown a "smile book" today. I declined. Wish I hadn't, just so I could find out what it is. I sort of envisage something like those hair style magazines - but with teeth. Seriously? Do you get to point at a smile and say can I have a Rachel?

Wasn't all bad. I have cavities. The depth and capaciousness of said cavities was established with a nifty painless light that made Clanger like noises (for US audience The Clangers was a cult UK kids TV series about knitted aliens that made whistling noises - it's genius). As each tooth was checked the noise whooped up and down - the more whoopy the worse the cavity. Sort of like finding a big cave and checking for a good echo. But given the lack of proper maintenance it could be worse. I have a treatment program and the insurance will help me half way there this year by paying 80% of costs up to a $1000 cap and then I'm on my own. That's the thing about insurance. It is not as simple as you have it and you're covered, or you don't and you're not. You have it, and you might be covered for some things, but you still have to pay part of the costs. And working it all out is tricky and time consuming and confusing. And at the end of the day, you've paid for insurance and you still have to pay out quite a lot of money.

But the costs are not dissimilar to UK private practice - I think. And we can fortunately afford it. And then I shall have shiny happy teeth though I shall not be returning to the UK with a Hollywood smile. Costs way too much. And apparently Tom Cruise's teeth are used as a case study in American dentistry schools (they weren't always as perfect as they look...).

Meanwhile, 7th Wedding Anniversary. Which rather surprisingly this year meant chocolates. Yup. Dentists and chocolates. Oh well.

Torn

2011-05-09T11:18:00.000-07:00

Tom and I are both feeling a bit homesick at the moment. We're around half way through our time in the USA if everything goes according to plan. Long enough to feel at home. Long enough to miss our families and friends back home, and to realise how far we are from the people we love. And that all comes into stark relief when things are happening back home that you are very worried about. Thousands of miles, an 8 hour time difference, make being able to be a support for family in hard times, very difficult. Neither of us like feeling this useless.

We have booked tickets for our trip home this summer and our time there can't really come soon enough.

But we're also conscious that soon we will be leaving the US permanently. And there is a real sense that the clock is ticking and have we done enough exploring, are we taking enough advantage? And won't it be awful when we stop seeing the lovely people we've got to know. Children we now see all the time will grow up and forget us. I find this really hard because I have spent so much time in my daughters' classes this year, that I get big hugs whenever I turn up at school. Of course, we're not going yet. But I definitely feel like we need to make the most of what time we have left.

And added to that, is the fact that this city is a lovely place to live. So we are torn. We want to be home with our families, and we miss them, and we worry about them. But we're having a good time here and I'm a terrible one for imagining permanent lives that just aren't going to happen, wandering around thinking - "what if we bought that house?", "I wonder what Berkeley is like to live in", "wouldn't it be great to have a cabin at Tahoe or a beach house" and so on.

Yesterday was Sunday Streets in the Mission. One of my favourite SF days. The event moves around the city during the Spring, Summer and Autumn. Streets are closed to cars, and opened to pedal power and feet. Cafes serve food on the pavement outside. Bands play at cross streets. There was yoga, taiko, capoeira, and a very Mission car show on Harrison. Tom and the girls were wheeled so they soon disappeared down Valencia, and I was left for dust, pottering about behind them. So if I used my abandonment to spend a reasonable amount of money on a posh frock, then they only have themselves to blame.

Las Vegas

2011-04-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

I wrote most of this travelogue on the road. I saved Vegas until I got home. I think I wanted a bit to time before passing judgment. And I know I am going to come over as a crashing snob. Sorry. If Vegas is your thing, fine. It really really really isn't mine.

We had booked rooms at the Luxor. That's the pyramid, sphinx and all things Egyptian. It's huge and on the Strip and we got a pretty good price for our room. The hotel room was fine. No complaints. The hotel itself was ludicrous but that is the point. If I had to sum up why I loathed Vegas so intensely after about 24 hours it would be the following:

Music or rather Musak everywhere. Songs bombarding you from every bloody direction, some only beamed at you for 10 yards worth of corridor before you enter the zone of another bloody song. Songs on the music system competing with the songs on the slot machines. Even our good though overpriced Italian restaurant at the MGM Grand was playing incredibly earsplittingly loud crap music. The only place I could tolerate the constant music was the Venetian, and that was because it was classical and quieter.

The slot machines. Gambling is not glamourous. I know you see films and it's all "Bond, James Bond" and Monte Carlo and "Faites vos jeux, messieursdames". But the reality is a really fat badly dressed old-aged pensioner smoking while playing, with their mobility vehicle parked next to them.

The shopping. These hotels are basically enormous smoky shopping malls with gambling. And I don't like shopping and don't gamble and anyway I had the girls with me which meant don't stray off the path marked on the carpet. Again the only tolerable space was the Grand Canal Shoppes (why the extra p and e - shoppes is cod old English not Italian) because they put the gambling somewhere else. And the shops were posher.
You have to walk through every bloody hotel to get anywhere. The monorail stops are hidden deep within hotels with crap signposting so you can lose as many idiots en route as possible. I reckon we walked further in Vegas trying to use public transport than we did in the Grand Canyon going for walks.
The pornography. It is everywhere. And it may not be offensive to you but I have two small children so the fact that the self-serve newspaper box things on the street were full of Asian Babes and such like at their eye level is horrible. As are the huge vans advertising hot chicks who want to meet you, and the curmudgeonly middle-aged hispanic women handing out cards offering prostitutes. Actually I thought the last quite funny as they looked so damned miserable (and who can blame them) but were wearing t-shirts emblazoned with phrases like Hot Girls. The thing is, Vegas is now advertised as a place to have a family holiday but I don't think it's particularly child friendly to have lingerie clad girls dancing on bars to raucous crowds in the main thoroughfare of the hotel at 7.30pm.

It wasn't all bad. The pool was nice according to the rest of the family. And the dinner on Saturday night was excellent. And the Venetian is hugely kitsch but very well done. Canals, singing gondoliers (like I've ever heard a gondolier sing in Venice!), and even a false sky.

The Rialto - with the addition of a moving walkway.

But I think the lesson that Tom and I learned is that when we think we know something isn't for us, it probably isn't, and it really doesn't matter if it is on everyone else's list of things you have to do when you go to America. Which means we won't be going to Disneyland either.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 9/10

2011-04-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

31st March/1st April 2011

The weather was glorious. We decided to walk part of the way into the canyon. A mere scratching of the surface. We chose the Bright Angel Trail which is busy even with mule trains. It is also reasonably wide and easy if in places icy.

I've discovered that I suffer from a condition I'm naming "Over Cautious Grand Canyon Mother". Any time my children look remotely close to the edge - and we're talking very remotely, staidly standing, carefully walking - I get a gut-wrenching nervous pain. I am not alone. Having forced my girls to hold hands, both directions walking on the inside near the cliff, on the way back up we encountered a similarly afflicted mother with her husband and two sons. "If you go near the edge, I'm going back!". We commiserated with each other. I don't think there's a cure.

I don't think we really went far enough down to begin to get a sense of the world inside the canyon. That's for another year perhaps.

After this we had an ice cream and wandered to one of the National Park Centres. And then a little weirdness began.

We knew that we had managed to coincide our trip with that of some old friends from London - Americans who had returned to the States in 2006, and who we hadn't seen since. So I had texted to tell them we'd arrived, and then left messages on both their phones. Except one wasn't. I got the number wrong and for no earthly reasons the recipient of my errant messages decided to call and mess about. The line was so bad I could barely make out anything and certainly not tell that the voice wasn't one I hadn't heard in over 4 years. This person proceeded to tell me complete rubbish, text me again and since then has been calling repeatedly. Calls I haven't taken. Conclusion - they're an arsehole and the numbers will be blocked on my return home if this carries on.

Meanwhile we did walk further along the rim to the Yavapai Geology Observatory (stunning viewpoint) and then headed back for a rest.

As we left to go and watch the sunset later, we heard from our friends and met up at supper time and again this morning. Lovely to see them and their now 3 gorgeous children.

At 11ish we left, heading south on the 64. We're so much more relaxed about our journeys now. We had c. 160 miles to cover to reach Kingman, AZ, a good stretch towards Vegas which is our destination tomorrow.

After a mediocre lunch at Williams - a very Western town on the Santa Fe railroad - we decided to take the old Route 66 for some of the journey. More interesting than the Interstate but also one of those roads across nothingness under a big sky with cliffs in the distance. We were alongside the railway lines most of the way, watching goods trains slowly snaking across the landscape. Very Bad Day at Black Rock.

Tonight it's warm for the first time. We've had hot days but been at such an elevation that the temperature plummets later to around freezing. Not today. 20s-30s, no clouds. Dry and dusty and it's only April. We're not built for this and can't imagine what summer is like.

Tomorrow the RV is returned.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 8

2011-04-11T09:31:00.000-07:00

30th March 2011

After a spot of retail therapy, we set off again in the direction of the Grand Canyon. I'm not sure what I was expecting from the road. We were coming from the east along the Desert View drive and I suppose expected to see something looming in the distance (if a hole can loom). As it was, we had a few sights of the Little Colorado river (a tributary) and then headed into the Kaibab National Forest. The Canyon cuts through the Kaibab plateau but I hadn't realised there were so many trees. The trees shield the Canyon from view unless the road heads to the rim which it didn't for most of the way. Our first opportunity to see the Canyon came at the Watchtower shortly after entering the park. We parked in the huge and empty RV section of the car park and walked towards the rim. Nothing really prepares for you for the site. Grand is far too small a word and pictures though glorious don't capture it. It's bloody amazing. Vast. Beautiful. And a bit scary. I didn't go to the top of the Watchtower as I don't much like heights and somehow those extra few feet made a difference.

After that stop we stopped at almost every viewpoint. It's not that the overall sight changes. But it is riveting. And the light changes throughout the day and from whichever direction you are standing.

Finally after a very leisurely drive, we arrived at the Trailer Village campground which was a lot more picturesque than it sounded. RV campgrounds are basically large glorified car parks but this one had grass and trees. Also grazing elk. It was very busy, fully booked, but didn't feel like it. Some of our nearest neighbours were deduced to be French pretty quickly. The giveaways were the large wine glasses and bottles on the lunch table with cloth. Not something I've seen on American camping tables. Our lunch wasn't as good as theirs.

Later we walked a couple of miles along the rim as the shadows started to lengthen. They have an interesting walk, marking the millions of miles by the metre and putting a large lump of the relevant rock at each change. So you're walking "down the canyon" as you walk along it.

We also saw two magnificent condor circling overhead.

Tomorrow we hope to walk a short stretch of a trail below the rim and to meet up with old (American) friends from London.

p.s. I bought a hat. I think it suits me, but I'm not entirely convinced.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 7

2011-04-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

29th March 2011

A quiet less spectacular day. We did some laundry at the Lake Powell campground which is currently almost deserted. I cannot imagine what this place is like full - it is huge and would probably be unbearable. Empty and you don't really know it's there.

At 11ish or is that 10ish, or whatever, we set off down Highway 89 towards the Cameron Trading Post. We crossed the Glen Canyon Dam and drove up over a plateau before going through a pass and finding we were thousands of feet above the plain.

On the right were the Vermillion Cliffs and the Paria Plateau. On the left the Kaibab Plateau. And in front, the Colorado river snaking its way through a canyon carved through the ground.

We drove down and bore left, south at the bottom of a ridge of rough red and pink and grey cliffs. This is the Navajo Nation. Every few miles there were stands selling arts and crafts and a few mall and not at all luxurious houses behind.

Then the landscape became almost lunar with even less vegetation and grey rounded rock hillocks. We arrived at our stop for the night - the Cameron Trading Post. This has been here over 100 years and is a small settlement including a restaurant, motel, post office and an RV park. Possibly the least fancy as all bodily functions are now taking place on board. But we have electricity and water. Tomorrow before we leave I plan to shop. It's touristy true, but the large shop also holds some treasures - lovely jewellery, gorgeous handmade rugs and I may even get a hat - no cowboy boots but I reckon I can get away with the hat in the garden on on the beach. I wish I could afford some of the jewellery - it is stunning silver and turquoise work but most has an equally stunning price which is fair enough as it's gorgeous and handmade but sadly way out of my price range. (It's okay, I'm not a big jewellery wearer. Sniff!)

This afternoon was spent watching other RV drivers. A large family parking and reparking and reparking their huge towed RV. A man fiddling with the position of his satellite dish for over an hour. The girls gave us a running commentary. "Mama, he's still there." "Mama, there's another child. That makes six!" And I taught E. Canfield Solitaire while Tom played catch with L. As I said, a quiet day, before tomorrow's drive to the Grand Canyon.

A note on time zones

2011-04-09T21:03:00.000-07:00

This is the first time I've driven into a new time zone. The island nature of the UK means you either fly or sit on a ferry or go by train, but you don't just drive across some imaginary line that says "now change your watch". We are in possibly the most confusing part of the USA. Utah is on Mountain Time (an hour ahead of California and Nevada). Arizona is also on Mountain Time but unlike Utah, Arizona doesn't practice daylight savings so now Arizona is in the same time zone as California. Except the Navajo Nation (a large chunk of northern Arizona starting a few miles down the road) does do daylight savings. Depending on where my phone thinks it is, and it keeps changing its mind, it's either 9ish or 10ish and I'm not sure it really matters.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 6

2011-04-09T09:47:00.000-07:00

28th March 2011

It's funny how a town can charm you without doing anything special. Kanab isn't big or beautiful though the setting is but it has a certain way about it which we liked.

The setting is of course amazing and this morning we explored it a little by climbing up the Squaw Trail to get views across the town and down over the Kanab Plateau.

The sun was strong but the air was cool, the sky deep blue, the rocks all shades of terracotta. We saw cacti, strange trees, lizards, a herd of mule deer high above us. Tom and I also expected to be ambushed by baddies in black hats any moment - it's that kind of landscape.

After a light lunch and some food shopping we headed south-east skirting the Vermillion cliffs and scraping the corner of the Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument. It was an incredible drive.

We stopped at Big Water and went to the BLM Visitor Centre. GSENM is relative newcomer to the protected lands here and slightly different. It is managed by the Bureau of Land Management and is not going to be developed in the way the National Parks have been. No lodges or paved trails and roads. It also has a huge amount of scientific research going on there, partly because it is an extraordinary site, relatively unspoiled and containing geological, paleontological and archeological wonders. They find a new dinosaur every month round here, and over 100 different species have been found. We saw some bones, maps and a short film giving a taster of the area. Tom and I came away wishing we could investigate more. Also we both thought it was ironic and amusing that the Mormons have made their home in a state riddled with evidence of evolution and the immense age of the earth, when their own views on evolution are a touch hazy shall we say.

Sadly our RV just isn't up to dirt tracks. So we got back on the road and drove down to Lake Powell - a reservoir in the former Glen Canyon.

We're now parked in a vast but very quiet RV park in the desert above the lake. The stars are stunning and we saw a large rabbit hop by with very long black-tipped ears. The sunset changed the rocks of the lake and in the distance Navajo Mountain sits with snow on its slopes. It is like nowhere I have ever been but I could say that about anywhere on this trip.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 5

2011-04-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

Blue skies today. Frost on the ground. Today we were leaving Zion having barely seen it. It's been glorious but the weather didn't help our exploration. We filled up with gas, bought our tunnel pass and then briefly visited the Canyon again (to see the Court of the Patriarchs and the valley near the Emerald Pools).

Then we turned east along Highway 9 and climbing dramatically out of Zion Canyon. The tunnel itself was constructed in the 30s and isn't wide enough for RVs to pass each other so they issue a pass and close the tunnel to on-comers.

Naturally the very thought of this part of the drive completely stressed me out, and naturally it turned out not to be so stressful. Though Tom was driving and did have to handle the tricky hair pin bends on the way up to the tunnel. He may say different. The views from that road back into the canyon are stunning. And as you climb higher you get better views of what the tops of these cliffs are like.

Then you enter the tunnel which has picturesque windows with give light, air and brief spectacular views. When you leave the other side you are much higher and in a different landscape. The rocks are strangely layered with stripes of colour and today, with sweeps of white light reflecting off the melting snow.

Then once you leave the park the landscape changes again to ranch land, with low trees, scrubby bushes and an eagle flew off (big excitement about the eagle from the adults). And monumental cliffs in the distance.

We were heading for Kanab to the south-east but on the way I wanted to see the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. We turned off Highway 89 and drove for what seemed like an age on a very quiet road to arrive at an incongruous and alien landscape. When we got there the Coral Pink Sand Dunes were mostly white with snow and I was a bit concerned that we weren't actually going to see any sand. The sun was hot and by the time we'd had our lunch the orangey pink sand dunes at the foot of the craggy cliffs had fully revealed themselves. The park itself has a small campground, visitors centre and one rather lonely looking ranger who made a point of coming to say hello, I think because he hadn't really seen anyone all day. Ours was the only vehicle in the car park.

The dunes are large and sweeping. Areas are marked off for different activities and people come here to whizz up and down in sand buggies (or whatever those annoying noisy but probably exciting things are called). We walked the short nature trail, marked only by a series of small signs telling about the plants, animals and geology that makes this park special. Apparently many millions of years ago, the dunes stretched over 6 states and all the way north to Montana. Here they have stayed because they are blocked from dissipating by the cliffs. They change shape in the winds that come. And are home to many plants and animals, some unique to this area. We found deer tracks amongst the dog and foot prints. It was so quiet and peaceful and other worldly.

We got back on the road and headed for Kanab. More stunning views from the road. We just never knew what was coming up. Now we're hooked up in a small and friendly RV park in this small spread-out and charming town. It was a centre for Westerns - many great and not so great were made near here including some of my favourites like the 1939 Stagecoach (John Wayne again was everywhere) and The Outlaw Josey Wales. It's on a flat plain surrounded by the Vermilion Cliffs and to the south it feels like the land drops away. Opposite the RV park is McDonalds but we ate at the Rocking V Cafe which was really excellent. Southwestern food with flair and a wine/beer menu to confound any notions you may have as to the dryness of Utah. Kanab feels much less uptight than St George. We drank Utah beers from microbreweries thought not Polygamy Porter which was on offer.

A few more hands of Gin Rummy with E. and the kids are now in bed. Tomorrow we walk up the cliffs before leaving for Lake Powell.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 4

2011-04-07T20:59:00.000-07:00

26th March 2011

Wet. Not wet enough to spoil the day but wet enough to cramp our style.

First things first. We unhooked ourselves and drove off to the dump station. Dumping - think of "taking a dump" and you'll be close. Grey and "black" water. It's not a sophisticated process. But it was our first time so we were a mixture of cautious and incompetent. Thankfully not so incompetent as to need a change of clothes.

Then onwards up the canyon which narrows quickly. We wanted to visit the Emerald Pools. By the time we'd parked at Zion Lodge, it was really raining. You couldn't see the tops of the cliffs and it looked like it was snowing up at that level.

We walked along a well-made path to the first pool, slightly up hill, and tucked up a small valley. There were waterfalls and huge rocks and one small pool, not emerald but very pretty.

It was wet and we were wet, and cold.

So we headed back and had a good lunch at the lodge before taking our home back to the campsite and spending an afternoon, playing Crazy 8s, Uno and Gin Rummy. Emilia took to Gin like a duck to water and declared it was her favourite card game because it required thinking.

By the evening, it was clearing and more snow had fallen on the cliffs. Tonight is our last night in Zion. I feel we've only got a taste but it has been lovely. Hopefully tomorrow the weather will be good enough for a decent goodbye drive through part of the canyon, and then the tunnel. We're off to Kanab via the Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park. Sounds magical.

Road Trip: NV - UT - AZ - NV Day 3

2011-04-06T21:32:00.000-07:00

25th March 2011

A walk on the Watchman trail in pictures

Things I like about the RV

2011-04-05T23:29:00.000-07:00

It's cold outside but I'm not. (Hurray for heating.)

We don't have to pack again until our last night.

You can stop by the side of the road and make your own espresso (well you can if, like us, you brought your own coffee pot).

No getting dressed to go to the loo in the morning.

The bed is so much more comfortable than a mat on the ground, even if I do worry about turning on the kitchen tap in my sleep (with my feet - bed is not meant for 6 footers).

We walked past lots of tents last night. And there's no doubt that tent camping is much cooler than caravanning unless you have a VW camper van or one of those rounded 50s shiny airstream things. But it may snow today so I don't mind that we're at the over 50s, satellite dish all mod cons uncool end of the site.

Some things I've seen

2011-04-05T23:22:00.000-07:00

An enormous ad for Guns complete with toothsome busty blonde carrying a machine gun, in Las Vegas airport.
A bookshop with a special section for the Latter Day Saints but it also sold Harry Potter and the Dark Materials Trilogy, in St George.
A 50 something man wearing a belt declaring he was a redneck - also in St George.
An American flag planted next to the owner's RV. I don't know another nation containing citizens so compelled to proclaim their nationality even when they're in their own country.
A large party of teenagers led by two grey-haired ladies. All of the females whatever their age, had their hair in complex and fearsomely tidy French pleats. And they were wearing almost identical conservative cotton shirt-waisters. Scary!
Signs on the Park Visitors Centres and lodges saying "No food, drink, pets, weapons". Doesn't matter how long I live here or will live here, I'll always think that it's awful it even needs saying.