The Northern Californian Coast Part 1

Well, as you know I love in San Francisco. Morag McTavish and I both had some work to do, but we'd also done quite a lot of hanging out together, and doing touristy stuff. I persuaded her to join me on a trip up the Northern Californian Coast. I think that we were both pleased that I did.

So I picked up our hire car and we drove out of San Francisco. I find the satellite navigation systems that we hired together with the car to be a complete god-send It really comes into it's own in an unfamiliar town. So we left the city and headed over the beautiful Golden Gate bridge taking the main freeway north.

I had a lunch meeting with a business associate in Santa Rosa. She suggested that we should check out Healdsburg and then a picturesque road, which would take us back to the coast. We stopped for a coffee in Headelsburg. It was a lovely town. I gather that this town has some of the oldest buildings in this part of california, going back some 150 years.

Time to get back on the road, so we put 'Manchester' into the satellite navigation system, and off we went. The road that my associate had suggested was indeed beautiful. The sun was shining, we were driving through beautiful native Californian woodlands, and for much of the route, the road followed a stream. We stopped several times to take in the wonderful scenery, perhaps take some 'photos and also to dip our toes in the streams. After the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, it seemed strange that we more-or-less had the place to ourselves. We were near to a well maintained road, but cars passed by only occasionally. I felt that life was currently being kind to us.

When we got back into the car, the driving was fun as well. My own hypocrisy had struck again (See previous blog entry 'When is it acceptable to hire a muscle car') , and we'd hired a Chrysler 300, a large touring saloon. Very understandably, Morag had completely failed to understand the need for a large car; she thought we should have gone for the cheapest option. She was right, on many levels; in terms of money saving and in terms of conserving the environment, to name but two.

But boys love toys, so we did a deal where she paid for half of the cost of the cheapest available hire car, and I paid the extra. By now Morag seemed to have developed a certain amount of confidence in my driving and so I could push the load pedal a bit harder. The road was fun with long straights and then winding bends. Then we negotiated loads of hairpin bends, and we descended to the coast. Gorgeous.

I always enjoy being near to the coast. And coastal views are fabulous. But beyond that there is something about this part of the Californian coast that is gorgeous. The sun was shining brightly, the sea was blue and the coastline jagged in and out. Periodically, you see a beautiful, sandy beach. We were heading for the town of Mendocino, north up the coast. We had a final stop to walk along the beach before the sun went down. So the light was failing as we headed north to Mendocino.

We hadn't pre-booked any of our accommodation, we decided to risk spontaneity. So we parked up in Mendocino, and started to look for something to eat and somewhere to stay. We had a really good feed in a pub, but from both internet searches and the advice of our waitress, we decided to travel another few miles up the coast to Fort Bragg. We easily found accommodation in a nice and inexpensive motel on the outskirts of Fort Bragg.

An ode to Youth Hostelling

Youth hostelling what a fabulous concept. Who invented the youth hostel?



Well once again I have consulted the trusty Wikipedia. And according to Wikipedia the first youth hostel (or Jugendherberger) was created by Richard Schirrmann. Part of the idea of this was to allow financially poor German youngsters from inner city areas to experience the countryside and breath the clean air.



This idea spread rapidly overseas (Perhaps many good ideas do.). And Youth Hostel is now a trademark of the Youth Hostelling Association (Hostelling International).



The International Youth Hostelling movement now spreads throughout the world. Furthermore there are many and varied independent hostels (Check out http://www.hostelworld.com/ , if you're interested). And I think it is a mistake - lovely people - to regard hostels as simply a less expensive alternative to a hotel. While hostels are generally less expensive than hotels. They are a very different alternative Granted, they may not have some of creature comforts that a hotel affords. But they often have other things that are in my opinion more important. Many hostels have things in place, such that if you are travelling on your own and want some company......if you want to make some new friends, you can do that. In North America, hostels often have organised trips throughout the week. My general experience of Youth Hostels is that they are friendly places. Staffed by kind friendly and helpful people who enjoy working there.

But I'm not saying that these places are perfect. I sometimes hesitate to stay in Hostels if I have some urgent work which I need to do (It's sometimes hard to get any peace). And, if - as often happens - you're sharing a room with other people that you do not know, sometimes it's hard to get a good nights sleep. There are things that go bump in the night.

The worst experience I have so far is a young french lad - I think he was sufficiently young, that he knew everything - actually trying to throw me out of my bed in a communal dorm in a hostel in Santa Monica, California.

But it's important to put what I have said into context. These are one or two negative experiences that I've had; but I have also had countless wonderful experiences that have been inextricably linked to the fact that I've been staying in Hostels. And overwhelmingly, the people that I meet on my travels (often splendid people) are people that I have met in Youth Hostels.

I am totally not in the business of promoting or advertising products or organisations in this blog. So this is just my opinion - take no notice of it. But for my part, my favourite Youth Hostels (of those that I have been to so far) in North America, are:

1. The International Hostel in Boston, MA. It's just a little bit tatty. But it has a great and friendly vibe.
2. The independant "Apple Hostel" in Philadelphia. Beautifully decorated, fabulous staff and a "quirky" feel.
3. The International Hostel on Mason St., San Francisco. Great place. Lovely living room, good kitchen. Friendly, helpful and witty staff. Lots of friendly people.

I went to my first Hostel in 1993, when I was 15 and biking with some friends in the Scottish Borders. Since then, Youth Hostels have made my life better, more varied and more interesting. I have more friends than I would otherwise have due to Youth Hostels.

Hostelling International has the following mission statement: "To help all, especially the young, gain a greater understanding of the world and it's people through hostelling."

Here's to that....

San Francisco, I think I love you........

I always like arriving in San Francisco. I flew in from New York. The flight was enjoyable, partly because I was sat next to a very nice bloke. Although his life is very different to mine.....it also had bizarre similarities (Although we are ethnically dissimilar, we were born on the same continent [Africa]; we had almost been educated in the same college from age sixteen to eighteen [In a small town near Cardiff, Wales, UK and, almost because I didn't pass the assessment to be eligible for the grant.]). He had some work to do, and I didn't want to distract him from that, but he sometimes seemed happy to chat. Good guy. Lucky guy, he lived in the bay area...

I have only been to San Francisco twice previously to this trip. The first time was only a few years ago, when I was on a road trip from LA to San Fran. (Yes, I know: it was imaginitive). And then a few weeks ago (See my previous blog "The profound importance of kindness and courtesy). After the wonder (and stress) of New York, and a mildy annoying social scenario (the aftermath of which was resolved in San Fran. over facebook chat). It was a pleasure to be in a town that I find less stressful.

So a good flight, easy pick up of my luggage, then an easy ride to a pleasant youth hostel on the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) underground train. I was glad to be in a youth hostel where I had stayed before and felt comfortable.

First the inevitable (cursed?) checking of email etc., then off for a pint in my favourite San Fran. music bar, located nearby. Before I went I had to retrieve my "trademark" blazer which I had foolishly left in the lounge of the youth hostel. In doing this, as seems to have happened a few times my own gormlessness worked to my advantage: I got chatting to my dear and new friend Morag McTavish. Even better...off to the pub with a friend.

Why do I love San. Fran.? Well the people always seem friendly and helpful. I love the fact that it is hilly. San Fran has at least three dimensions (I currently do not have time for any philosophical discussion about any fourth dimension, that might exist?). It has a wide variety of districts, all with their own cheeky and charming characteristics. It is near the sea (so you can go to the beach and swim) which means there is a fresh breeze here. It is culturally rich, there are art galleries, bars with live music, and even good live music on the streets everywhere. I love travelling around - and hanging off the side - on the traditional trams (the locals call them cable cars, because they are pulled along on cables, within the tracks). You can cross the beautiful Golden Gate Bridge and you're into the fabulous Marin mountains. I love walking around the Marina near Fisherman's wharf, and then going for a Clam Chowder. San Fran. is wonderful.

I have heard it said that it is better to travel hopefully that to arrive...........Not so with San Fran. It is better to arrive in San Francisco, than to travel hopefully.

If you have never been here in San. Fran. before; you must. Save those pennies and come.....!

Moshing in Philadelphia?

Well, we might get back to some sort of chronology now.

Leaving New York to head (kind of) south to Philadelphia, on the bus, is a bit like the opening credits from HBO's 'The Sopranos'. You go through the Lincoln Tunnel and then migrate out into New Jersey. Much of that initial scene is really quite industrial. Lot's of train tracks, warehouses and factories. And from the bus, it just seemed to go on and on.

I was now just travelling with Titus Auberon and Catherine Lennox. I think they were quite tired, partly from a surfeit of all the things that New York has to offer. After the filming of Late Night with Conon O'Brien, they had gone to a concert. All seemed very quiet on the bus, which made me feel just a little nervous. With others if would have been fine, but these two are usually so lively.

Of course I was worrying for nothing. The hostel in Philadelphia is fantastic. Really nicely decorated and the staff were fabulous. During part of my stay here I had to do quite a bit of work, and they were got the balance of friendliness and not interrupting me just right.

Titus and Catherine were on quite a tight schedule, so we were only in Philadelphia for a few days. They had arranged to see a few bands, at this concert venue. I definitely fancied it. Sounds like the sort of thing that I enjoyed when I was a teenager. And we all have to be in touch with our inner teenager.

We went up into the first tier pretty quickly. But down on the dance floor on the ground floor there was moshing (running around, crowd surfing, and boisterous bumping into others, to the tune). I was quite surprised, this sort of thing was quite popular in the UK in the early to mid nineties, but it has now died out in the uk (with the inception of New Labour in government?), all but for a few isolated cases.

The first few bands were really not great. But the final two were really fantastic. One in particular stood out, because they had two drummers. I wondered whether this was the ultimate example of teamwork....

So now onto Washington, and an unusual co-incidence...

A Cathedral to what..........

I suppose that I felt a bit embarrased that I have now spent a few days in New York City (with a rest), but had not properly seen Brooklyn Bridge. There are quite a few things that I probably should have seen, but haven't.

I like walking in the rain, and it was drizzling gently as I ambled through central park. Felt quite wet by the time that I got to the Guggenheim. So went into the cafe.

As I walked on, I got to Grand Central Station. It seemed more like a cathedral to me than a railway station. I design the re-wiring of buildings, when they are refurbished for a living, and to my silly mind it felt like a building that had been designed for the worship of an omnipotent god; but had later been converted into a building to marshall people leaving an (omnipotent?), railway line.

That left me wandering what I was worshipping. It's a fabulous building. Go to see it, if you can. Is it a cathedral to capital?

Great Railway Journeys...(?)

There is a school of thought in the UK, that the then conservative government killed off the railways in the UK through a botched and ill-considered privatisation scheme in 1995. I'm not sure, but it has to be said that rail passenger numbers have risen steadily since then. Perhaps that was due to the economy that grew steadily from the mid-nineties, until recently.

One of the things that has happened since rail privatisations is that the various companies are forever re-branding and then re-painting the trains. Until recently, the line that links with London with Peterborough, Doncaster, York, Darlington Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, Edinburgh, and then Glasgow, Inverness or Aberdeen - was called the "Great North Eastern Railway". A misnomer of course, when compared to high speed rail links in mainland Europe or Japan. I understand that the franchise has now been taken over by a bus company and it seems to be called "National Express". Perhaps I should invest in the specialist contractors that paint trains.

But I love it. My first recollection of using it was aged eight in 1985. My Dad had just started a new job in Edinburgh, so we travelled from Nottingham to Grantham (A minor stop: birthplace of both Isaac Newton and Mrs Margaret Thatcher as it happens.). From there we whizzed up to Edinburgh.

And really it's been a recurrent feature of my life ever since...visiting grandparents in Kent in my childhood and teenage years, travelling home when I use to work in London. I've also worked in Newark-Upon-Trent in Nottinghamshire (don't you know), which is another minor stop on that line (just north of Grantham).

So I went up to London last week. The sun shone as we clattered out of Waverley Station in Edinburgh......Great view of some of the Edinburgh Hills, and then your out into the Arable landscapes of East Lothian. A Nuclear Power station (nice), Berwick-Upon-Tweed (then England). Great views of the Northumbrian coast. The Holy Island at Lindisfarne. Morpeth. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. Durham Cathedral (In the good old days there used to be a senior conductor from Durham who used to quip "On your left (or right, depending) the finest view on the East Coast Mainline, but the I'm biased."

Soon you're into the strange flatness of the vale of York. Then more arable landscapes, fenlands; stockbroker belt. And then the conurbation that they call London. Look out for Alexandra Palace ten minutes before London, King X station. I understand that where the BBC started broadcasting television.

I don't think it's a great train line. Too slow. But a great train journey. I normally jump onto this train with some relish

"You're not hard up at all....."

Well Thursday was a funny day for me....

My friend who is travelling but currently lives in New York City, Ms Nora Ann Ponteland, had asked me to bring her some chocolates from the UK. I'd suggested a shopping list and had duly got one. So off I trotted to a local supermarket (other supermarket brands are available, as well). It didn't seem to cater well for chocolate maufactured in the UK, so I went to another supermarket (and I'm not necessarily advocating that one either).

Then I had to get some new trainers and buy a biology textbook. In the end I decided that the textbook, would be better procured in London town (on Friday). When I buy trainers I generally go for a particular brand (not that I'm recommending them for you - they happen to suit me nicely), so I had to do a certain amount of searching. Found a shop that sells them. Bought them.

As I was leaving the shop (and this may not be the right place for you to buy trainers, I just found the unmentionable brand of trainers there); someone who begs for money on the streets asked me for money. Although, it's probably, basic common-sense, in a way; I'm a great subscriber to the theories of Abraham Maslow.

Like my earlier blog Re: These are the Shadowlands: Rehearsal for Reality, (the works of C S Lewis) I am just not qualified to paraphrase this great man, Maslow. But my understanding is that there is a hierachy of human needs - a pyramid. At the foot of this pyramid are really basic things like food, water, shelter. When these things are satisfied, you move onto the 'safety needs' and so on. I think that the theory states that you need to satisfy one set of needs before you move on to the next. Eventually, at the top of the hierachy you get to what Maslow calls "Self-Actualisation". I sometimes think that is a nebulous concept; but, having said that I think it is really apparent, when one meets someone in a state of "Self-Actualisation".

So I tend to feel sympathy for people who beg on the streets. They may only have one life, and I would assume that "Self-Actualisation" might be a long way off for them. So my sympathy leads me to empathy.

Going back to the man begging on an Edinburgh Street on Thursday, I said in response to his request for money "Sorry mate - I'm a bit hard up myself at the moment." His response to this seemed very reasonable to me "You're not hard up at all, you just bought a new pair of shoes". And then he moved onto a rather discourteous diatribe, including rude words beginning with F, that aren't "fiddlesticks".

And whilst I didn't really want to get into a debate with my new friend there and then, I had to agree to him. I had just bought myself lunch in the pub. Then I bought some new shoes. And by now I was late for an evening do in Glasgow (an attempt to market my business, but I think that's irrelevant), so I had to get a taxi home to change into my Tuxedo.

This made me angry. Angry with myself for spending money willy nilly, and then making flippant remarks to my (possibly) vagrant friend, about being hard-up. My remark was nonsense. And also angry that the UK is the fourth (or is it fifth, now) largest economy in the world, and yet we have people on the streets reduced to begging for money.

But I know that anger with my government is a cop-out. If I feel strongly about homelessness in the UK, I am free to help them and/or petition and vote-out a government, which may be indifferent to their needs. I'm not sure how I'm going to park that anger, but I have some further comments to make.

I was in San Francisco, CA a little while ago (I'm just not hard-up - although at this rate I might soon be). People on the street who are begging, seemed to be much more polite there. I walked several blocks and spoke to a number of people who were begging for money. At that time I had not been reprimanded by the vagrant community for my flippancy, and I was carrying a loaf of bread. So I said to them "I'm a bit hard up myself, but I have this loaf of bread, would you like it?"

I can't remember how many people that I had this discussion with, but my bread was resoundingly rejected by the good vagrant community of San Fran.. I would have gladly eaten the bread, it seemed fine to me. Which made me wonder, are the vagrant community in San Fran. posh (er than me)?

Others might say there are different issues involved. But it seemed strange to me......

Travelling is fabulous, but I love to be home as well

Firstly I have to apologise to any blog follower, who would like my entries to chronological in line with my travels. I'm afraid that I've broken that rule once already, and I intend to break it again. As with a number of things in my life, I'm a bit behind with this travelogue, and I'm doing an entry about a short period at home, whilst it's fresh in my mind. I have been home for a short period of time and now I'm going away again.

I wasn't mad keen to come home, and I was spending time in NYC with people that I am very fond of. But there were a number of things for me to do in the UK. I needed to help my brother with something and also there were a couple of work things to attend to as well. Whilst many aspects of my job (see our website at http://www.fec-ltd.com/) lend themselves well to remote working. There is - I think - no substitute for a bit of face-to-face contact with colleagues from time to time.

The first few days back in the UK were a bit manic. But after a couple of days the primary reason for coming back was dealt with. I do like being back in Edinburgh. The following Sunday, my mother an I went for a very familiar walk. We live in a Southern suburb of Edinburgh in flats (locally know as tenements) built just over a century ago. There are many advantages to living there, but one of them is that for keen strollers like us there are lots of nice, green places to walk to easily.

So my mother and I trotted for about ten minutes to the foot of the blackford hill. Then it's a short climb to the top. It was a clear, cold, crisp early March day. And from our elevated position the views were - despite their familiarity - wonderful. Laid out ahead of you (and for your pleasure) there is the beautful city: the castle on the crag, with it's tail forming the Royal Mile; Calton Hill with it's folly; many a church spire; Arthur's Seat (another hill) looms large, almost as if it is peacefully keeping an eyey on what us Edinburgers are getting up to.

Then further you see the Firth of Forth (the estuary), the two bridges and the Kingdom of Fife. On a Clear day like that day, you can see the Ochils and sometimes even Ben Lomond. I think that walk and that view is one of the many reasons that my mother chooses to live in Edinburgh, and I know what she means. You might be interested in the aerial photo:

http://www.multimap.com/maps/#map=55.92266,-3.210391632&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.92218:-3.21039:16EH10%206AHEH10%206AH

A few days later I decided that the weather was far too nice to be indoors (I work from home, so it's nice to get out and about at lunch time). So I decided to travel a bit further to the Pentland Hills. I should have cycled there, but we're a bit of a haphazard family so there were some logistical problems to do with this and I ended up driving. That took about twenty minutes.

It was another lovely day. Bit colder and with a thin layer of snow on the ground to re-inforce that notion in my head. I suppose that the view are in some way similar to my previous vantage point. Once again, you're looking due North towards the Kingdom of Fife. It's a fairly steep climb for five hundred yards or so on a good path and then you emerge out of the woods to this fabulous view. You might be interested in the aerial view, once again:

http://www.multimap.com/maps/#map=55.89141,-3.257951532&bd=useful_information&loc=GB:55.89984:-3.25795:16EH13%200QDEH13%200QD

The Pentland Hills are to the South of Edinburgh, and there is a road the A702 which follows them (more-or-less) due South toward Biggar ("England's big, but we've got Biggar") and eventually Carlisle. Although these hills are not high, they are very popular with Edinburgh folk, due to the good views and sheer close proximity to the town. I spent quite a lot of time mountainbiking on these hills with mates, when I was a teenager. All of this made me want to walk over the hill to Flotterstone and get a bus home. But I had work to do, so I lingered for a while on a seat, and then sauntered back down the hill.

There are some aspects of Edinburgh that I really do not like. I sometimes feel that the part of the town I live in is full of retired people with nothing to fill their time with, but an objectionable attitude (to everything). I sometimes feel that long outdated and negative aspects of British culture (that have all but disappeared in other parts of the UK) live on here. I strongly suspect that one of our neighbours genuinely feels that she is better than us purely because she lives in a main door flat (Her front door opens straight on to the street, rather than onto a stairwell). That attitude seems bizarre to me.

But I love Edinburgh despite all that because it is a culturally rich place. The art, music and literary scene is strong here. The scenery is fantastic (just walk around the town), and it holds many memories for me. I've even been known to enjoy the lively pubbing and clubbing scene.

A splendid town. If you don't live in Edinburgh, I would strongly encourage you to travel to here.

Slips, Trips and Falls in New York City

For an enthusiastic beer drinker and attender of pubs like me, New York is a bit of a haven. I guess that the larger the conurbation, in general the wider the variety of places available. This seems to be true in New York, although I am far from an expert in this, as I have only experienced New York as a tourist.

So Jean-Jacques and I were out on the town, looking for a few beers, some fun and some good music. Although it is a largely unfamiliar town to me J-J was much more familiar. And we'd had some good advice on where to go out from others (including Benedict Alexander) as well.

A New York bar, is a very different animal to a London or UK pub. For a start the North American commitment to customer service is usually there. Bar maids flirt much more freely with the male punters, and one is freed from the hassle of queing at the bar: A drink is brought to your table as soon as you finish the last one (sometimes before).

J-J and I must have both had tiring days (hard work being on holiday, you know) and the clock was ticking on, when we both decided to retire gracefully to the hotel. "Let's get the metro home".

The NY subway is a strange creature late at night. I didn't think that is was a frightening or intimidiating place. Just strangely quiet. Even eerie. Sometimes you might be the only people on the platform. Although of course there are plenty of rodents for company.

The main problem that J-J and I had with getting home, was that we usually travelled about with Benedict-Alexander; and when he wasn't there, we were rather lost without him. During an unecessary excursion up a stair from the undeground station to the street, J-J started running up the stairs several at a time. He did this with some haste........and I've never grown out of a boyish desire to compete.

So there I was, after a few beers and shod in hiking boots (to keep out the snow and icy puddles of a February New York), bounding up the stairs after him. Must get to the top first. Faster and faster I went in my semi-innebriated state.

But J-J is fast. He's an athlete. I am not. And I should have acknowledged this, and duly sauntered up the stairs slowly after him. But I didn't, and three quarters of the way up the long stair case, I caught a hiking boot on the lip of a stair and came crashing down. I also caught my elbow on the railing on the way down. A very minor injury, but this bothered me for the next week or so; it also made hitherto straighforward tasks like putting on rucksacks, much more difficult.

Well, after some more messing around J-J and I got home. I took my sore shoulder to bed with me. Am I too old to be doing myself minor injuries whilst racing friends up stairs (I'm 31 years young). Or is it a refreshing sign of youth in someone who might in other circumstances be described as middle aged. Not sure.......answers on a blog comment?