Beware the Squirrels - excerpt 1
Exploring America on the rails
18.01.2012
So this is the first excerpt from my travel book entitled Subject to Change - Without Notice Taken from the first chapter Beware the Squirrels
On a whim i booked an Amtrak railpass and spent a few weeks travelling thousands of miles around the good ole US of A. I started in San Francisco.
All that glitters is not gold
The lights of downtown San Francisco stared back at me through the tinted windows of the unmarked cab, driven by a suited individual. I was sat in the back next to Sammy the businessman, whom I had chatted to on the flight from Chicago. My primary thought other than 'I really hope this guy isn't going to sell me', was that I would not be telling my mother about this. Twenty minutes later Sammy had dropped me off safely outside my hostel, refused to accept any payment for the ride and asked me to call him if I wanted to go for dinner the following evening. I thanked him and smiled; I would not be going to dinner, but had saved myself 20 bucks. I would not generally accept or advise accepting random rides from people you have known for 3 and a half hours. I wasn't yet versed in the airport shuttle service though, or more often than not the public transport option. I have now found it is virtually unnecessary to get a cab from or to any airport if you do some research beforehand.
My Hostel, although sited in a well maintained five storey red brick building, was in a slightly questionable area of downtown San Francisco called The Tenderloin. I did a quick visual sweep of the block as I stepped into the lobby: Streets characterised by barred or boarded windows, slippery black stained walls and cardboard strewn pavements, cardboard with or without resident. Great I thought, shithole; maybe it would look better in daylight........
........Not really. I stood loitering outside the hostel, waiting for my transport on an unusually fog free morning. It was just after 6am and San Francisco would normally have been enrobed in a thin shawl of fog, until the sun had a chance to elbow its way through. One of the Tenderloins characters sidled up to me, wearing XXL jeans and white t-shirt on only an L body. He enquired after a cigarette, I didn't have one and told him as such, tightening the grip on my bag and smiling vaguely. "Where ya from"? He asked. Damn the accent. Considering while I was not a complete travel virgin, I was yet to venture out much on my own and was convinced that every male that approached me on the street was a drug dealer who was going to steal my passport. I have since realised that there are very few of these people and they tend to congregate in areas that aren't frequented by tourists as much. Don't get me wrong, advertising yourself as being a target is stupid and I’m a big believer in the paranoid approach, particularly when out alone in a city at night, but there's a balance.
See the main trouble with America's cities is that the shitty areas are really very close to the nice normal areas and even the touristy areas. San Francisco is one of the biggest offenders and it is not hard to accidentally stumble over the border from good to bad in just a couple of blocks. While that doesn't mean that anything is going to happen to you, being in the wrong place increases the chances. When I had been in LA with the ex the year before, we found ourselves on the train coming back from Long Beach to Hollywood and it was closing in on midnight on a Friday. I had been prepared to pay the 60 odd bucks for a cab, but travelling with the tightest man in the history of the world, put me in a situation I shall never forget. For a start, it was glaringly obvious we were not from the area, that area being some of the most notorious ghettos in greater Los Angeles, e.g. Compton and Inglewood. The armed police at the stations did not bode well and the fact that we were sat in between two very conspicuous gangs was disconcerting at best. It may bear mentioning at this point that this train journey lasted 45 minutes, the last 15 of which involved us being shouted at by a stoned guy for not giving a blind man any money because we were white. The stoned guy; was white. The point of this anecdote is to point out that there are dodgy places in the world, where you can genuinely and justifiably fear for your life, or at least your wallet - I saw at least one weapon tucked into the back of someone’s pants and was seriously praying no one looked at each other the wrong way. If it had have been the last thing I had done though, I may not have deserved it, but I also should not have been there.
My way or the highway
Anyhoo, back to the San Francisco morning and me being saved from flirty cigarette man by a bounding brightly patterned shirt and an MPV which smelt of car air freshener, one of those Christmas tree shaped ones, pine maybe. Our small tour group headed south, along the San Andreas Fault for scenic value. The highway runs parallel to what looks like a very innocent lake, surrounded by dark green, lush and long standing forest. However, far from being a haven of peace and tranquillity alongside the hectic highway, our driver informed us that the fault is about due for a big shift and subsequent mass of destruction. Fortunately the world didn't frown enough that day to move the giant wrinkle, but when it does, what will happen to the western seaboard does not bear thinking about.
As we travelled further south I became aware of the prolific use of the prefix 'San' or 'Santa', in place names. I enquired. It’s Spanish for Saint and began around the late 16th, early 17th centuries, when Spanish Catholics of the Franciscan order were 'spreading the faith' amongst the locals. The Missions were neatly situated near the coast and aimed to be self-sufficient due to their remoteness. It was also helpful if there were a large supply of natives in the general area, ripe for labour and 'civilisation' plans. We visited the Franciscans HQ at Mission San Carlos, more commonly known as the Carmel Mission. Each collection of buildings, comprising living quarters, a garden and of course a chapel, was located a days horse travel apart, about 30kms, to allow for communication and shelter for travellers. When the Franciscans first arrived, the area that is now California was still part of Mexico, further explanation of the Espanol influence. Ultimately though the plan was just a bit too ambitious. The missions never truly supported themselves and didn't give a huge amount to the locals as far as I could tell, except disease and confusion of course. They are now one of America’s foremost and oldest historical attractions. Although still imposing in their devout perseverance, they look pretty worn out nowadays.
As the road morphed into sand at the Carmel township, just a tad further south, I stopped to remove my trainers and scurried towards the sea. Carmel is sweepy, sandy and free from crowds or sea weed, the perfect example of beachness. I rolled up my jeans and ventured into the chilly edge. I don't swim in the sea, ever, unless it's perfectly clear. You have no idea what's in there. I like to paddle though, where escape is still possible. I needed the escape tactics too, as a wave decided to attack me unexpectedly. Barefoot, with dripping jeans, I walked back through the charmingly touristy town of Carmel. With its classy yet quaint gift shops and cafes, it's the kind of place that would frown upon a girl walking along the manicured sidewalks with no shoes on, rolling sand out from her jeans.
The furthest south we went along the famous highway 1, was to the edge of Big Sur. We had sandwiches next to a rather substantial coniferous trunk, surrounded by the buzzing and rustle of the forest. This lunch gave me my first experience of eating amongst nature, which is possibly one of the most irritating activities one can ever do. I would be doing it quite a number of times over the following years and it never got less irritating. The highway itself at times clings quite dangerously to a very windy coastline, my hair was horizontal. There were also a disturbing number of skid marks staining the tarmac and some which even appeared to go over the edge?!
Posted by matildasuitcase 19:10 Archived in USA Comments (0)
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