Author: Alidorey

A searcher after fine pearls.

San Francisco: day two

An earlier start on my second day in San Francisco. But even by 8:50am the sun was up and warming me nicely.

I enjoyed the long ride into the city as time to read and gaze out of the window as well as people watch. This route is the commuter route. The trains are double decker and always pretty full. Upstairs the train is like a mobile office, with single seats on either side full of people working on various electronic devices.

I decided to prioritise another trip to Golden Gate Park on this day so I didn’t end up having to rush back to the station at the end of the day again. I particularly wanted to revisit the Japanese Tea Garden and spend longer there. On the way, I heard the dulcet tones of a classical guitar floating across the park. The guy was so good I stopped to listen for quite a while. And then went over to talk to him.

It’s so nice to be on holiday and have the time to stop and have a chat with random people. This is Leo who was effortlessly making his guitar sound like a Baroque lute in Golden Gate Park. Google him at “T. Leo King”.

As soon as he heard me speak, Leo asked if I was from Manchester, which I thought was either a very lucky guess or pretty impressive as I live only about an hour from there. He asked whether I knew the play Pygmalion, or whether I’d seen My Fair Lady. Since watching it, he’d realised that everyone would guess he was a black American from Chicago just by looking at him and listening to him speak. So he decided to try and guess which town everyone he met was from, even if they were from different countries like Russia or Yugoslavia or wherever.

He said his favourite quote from My Fair Lady though is when Eliza Doolittle really finds her own voice and says, “The difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves but how she is treated”. A good lesson from a black American classical guitarist from Chicago via an American film version of an English play set in London!

I left Leo figuring out (successfully of course) how to play Greensleeves as a kind of English folk music tribute, and wandered on to the Japanese Tea Garden where I spent a very relaxing hour or two.

Haiku for a Tea Garden

Finally! I’m here,

drinking tea unhurriedly

while water burbles.

Gently rippling roof

and pool. Sweet jasmine warms me,

stills and heals my soul.

It took years for me

to get here. Why so long to

prioritise life?

Miso soup and sweet jasmine tea

From the Japanese Tea Garden I found a bus to take me back downtown, where I finally managed to hop on one of San Francisco’s famous cable cars. I’ve never managed this before due to constraints of time. You have to think of the cable car ride as a thing in itself rather than a means of transport, really, as it takes quite a while. But it’s very enjoyable to take one down to Fisherman’s Wharf which is what I did.

At Fisherman’s Wharf, I eschewed the usual touristy food, shopping and sailing options and went instead for this. I spent the princely sum of $4 and a very happy hour here! Fascinating historically, culturally and also just good fun.

Having had my fill of slot machines, I had a quick refreshing look at the bay and then made my way on foot back through the city passing Coit Tower and the City Lights Bookstore of Jack Kerouac fame.

By the time I’d got this far I realised I needed to vamoose again to get back to the Caltrain terminus, but the quickest and most direct way seemed to be to go through Chinatown, which I had quite wanted to see anyway. I pelted through Chinatown on foot so quickly I think a few passers by were a bit concerned for me! I didn’t want to miss my train again…

I managed to miss my train by about 3 minutes!! Again! I was so gutted I could’ve cried. I did express my dismay (“Nooooo! Not again?!!”) so the guard told me I could get on the next train which was faster and about to leave and which would overtake the one I’d hoped to get, so I could skip off the faster one and jump onto the slower one further down the line. The slower one would stop where I needed to go. And they waved me through without needing me to show my travel pass oh the relief! 😌

Generally speaking there seems much kindness around in San Francisco regarding this sort of thing. The previous day I’d noticed a really elderly guy obviously not well, getting on the bus, and no one expected him to have to pay or show a ticket. It was all he could do to get on and find a seat. I like that that is enough here. Although I had a Muni day passport I hardly ever showed it on the buses (it took me most of day one to work out that the ticket readers don’t scan mobile tickets so you just have to show it to the driver) and no one batted an eyelid. Kindness. And knowledge about the railways. I do declare they are Very Good Things.

San Francisco

A few days ago I spent the obligatory couple of days in San Francisco. I’ve visited before, and this time I wanted to explore some new areas, so you won’t see any pics of Golden Gate Bridge here I’m afraid!

The city smacked me between the eyeballs with blue, blue, blue sky, shiny tall buildings, loads of traffic at scary 4 or 5 lane BIG junctions and roadworks with cranes.

Then I explored the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. I recognised some real treasures here, alongside plenty of stuff that was new to me…It was also a great place to notice the sheer variety of people who live in or visit this city.

Then I hopped on a bus up to Haight & Ashbury. It’s quite a long bus journey. The closer we got, the stronger the smell of weed became. A mix of old men looking like faded hippy rock stars, young children and their parents and young adults wearing psychedelic clothing and interesting body jewellery got on at various points. When I got off, the smell of weed actually increased.

Police loitered with intent near people with dogs selling stuff from rugs where they sat on the sidewalk of the weird and wonderful shop-lined streets. Emporia selling all kinds of weird stuff and shops selling vintage clothes of every era jostled for space with Jimi Hendricks’ house (now a vape store), pizza places, bars and music and record shops.

Up Ashbury and various other side roads there were some impressive looking houses, including Janis Joplin’s rather ornate pink house.

Actually on the junction of Haight & Ashbury I found the Ben & Jerry’s café, where they sold me a chunky monkey ice cream approximately the size of my head! Delicious 😋 After a bit of aimless wandering up and down I finally found the iconic lady’s legs apparently sticking out of a boutique upstairs.

This is the place where people agreed to let the kids hang out as much as they wanted, where nobody would be disallowed. And where the drugs and good times rolled, back in the day.

From here I walked the relatively brief journey through the “Pan handle” (a thin strip of parkland) to Golden Gate Park, munching a packet of cauliflower crisps I’d purchased from the Haight market (after goggling at the crazy prices for virtually everything).

How anyone can afford to live in San Francisco is a mystery. Actually there’s loads of homelessness in evidence throughout the city, and some areas downtown where poverty is pretty evident, though there are also some big projects trying to provide places for people to sleep off the street, I think it’s difficult for supply to keep up with demand.

Then I had a bit of a mad dash through the park to find a bus to take me all the way back to the Caltrain terminus for my train home which I missed! While I waited the hour for the next one I enjoyed some tacos in a Mexican place near the station. A real taste of San Francisco.

Ta da! I have arrived

Day one, breakfast time, would you believe it, I managed to break a tumbler. Doh! I’m reminded of a folk song by Jake Thackeray about “Leopold Allcocks” his disaster prone distant relation. You could probably google that if you want a laugh. I just hope I don’t end up breaking everything in the houses of all my hosts!

The US customs process took a lot longer than I remember it taking before. A lot of queuing, and an attempt at speeding things up with automation that resulted in all of us “visitors” being given a printed out receipt with our details and photo on it crossed out in bold print. Hmmm welcoming! (Not.) I’m not sure whether this was a sign that we’d all been unsuccessful in working out how to use the machines. We all seemed to get through the rest of the checks fine though.

All of this makes me wonder what it means to welcome people. Is a neon sign saying “Welcome to our country” in the distance at the end of an interminable queue where your fingerprints are taken really welcoming? Or is welcome more about the readiness to forgive your guest when she clumsily breaks a glass on day one? And again when she accidentally traps the cat in a room because she didn’t realise about wedging the door open? (Sorry, Didi!)

For myself, I reckon signs saying “Welcome” mean very little. What matters is more the kindness that people treat you with. I’m happy to report that the cat seems to have forgiven me too.

Where to…?

Here’s a map showing the route I’ll take for my Big Trip around the world. In each place I’m staying with friends and family, apart from my little backpacking adventure in SE Asia. The UK is ridiculously big and central on this map of course. Hmmm… I think I’m about to be reminded that we are really not that big or central.

Leaving in the midst of the threat of a “no deal” Brexit crash out of the EU is… interesting. At the recommendation of my cousin’s daughter, I’ve just watched John Oliver’s 22 minute piece on Boris Johnson on You Tube. A good way to negotiate the transition from the UK to the USA. It’s both hilarious and scary. Worth a google especially for people in the UK or indeed USA if you’ve not already seen it.

Last night, along with the You Tube recommendation I enjoyed fabulous hospitality from my cousin and her family. Among other things I was so grateful for this very English comfort to set me on my way 👆🏼

In the meantime, I’m about to board my first flight, and hoping that my plan of travelling anti-clockwise in order to avoid too much jet lag will work out…

Travelling light

Well, I was hoping to travel lightly and dwell deeply with people, but I have predictably fallen at the first hurdle and am not travelling as lightly as I had hoped. I have a suitcase (rammed) and a backpack (not so rammed but fuller than it should be). I just got to the point when I couldn’t think what else I could take out. How like my entire life that is! Hmmm…

I wonder whether, on my travels, I will decide to ditch some things? At the moment, the thought of that is a bit scary. But maybe travelling will change my perspective? Other travellers have told me how travelling changed theirs in this sort of way.

How good would it be to hold so lightly to material things that at the slightest impulse of kindness, we could give them away? A friend reflected with me recently on how buying things is like taking. And how when we sell on our stuff on it’s a bit like taking too. “Why not give it away?” he asked. It seems to me that we all need some giving to balance out the taking. And the planet is crying out for it.

I am so touched by many gifts people have given me as we’ve parted. A visit, a lunch, a deep conversation, a cheque with a mandate to find treats en route, a coffee, a beautiful prayer. I receive these with so much gratitude today…

…And I receive my “window seat with power socket” with a giggle!! 😆

Portugal

I’m writing this retrospectively…we actually got back from Portugal a few weeks ago (it’s taking me a while to get used to the technology). And I’m realising that where I pictured I would be posting stuff up as I travel, actually I also have ongoing reflections about the places I’ve visited, some of which will take longer to take shape. So there’s more to be said about my experiences in France, which I will share in due course. But in the meantime, onto Portugal…

I went on a 10 day holiday with a couple of good friends to this lovely little surfer cum hippy dude type place called Odeceixe (pronounced “Oh-de-seysh”) in the North Algarve off the South West coast of Portugal.

Colourful bunting is strung up throughout the village, blowing in the gentle, cooling coastal breeze. The place is so small, you encounter the same local people and tourists each day.

We walked the 3km to the beach most days- a pleasant walk over some fields, and along a quiet road following the tidal river towards the sea.

We stayed in a FABULOUS hostel called “Hostel Seixe”, run by a lovely friendly local lady called Nadine. Most people stayed a few days and then moved on, but we stayed put for the whole 10 days. Why wouldn’t you? It was a really beautiful spot.

The pretty, white washed, orange roofed little houses of the village tumble attractively down a hillside. After quite a steep but short ascent, we arrived at this beautiful viewpoint, replete with a very picturesque windmill with its sails tethered. Here are my friends, enjoying the view over towards the river and the sea in one direction, and the rest of the village in the other. (Either that, or they were posing for a cover for their new music album 😆)

Portugal is a relatively cheap place to eat out in. As you can see, we dined splendidly on the evenings when we decided to go out for a treat. The fresh fish and red wine and the famous Portuguese Tarts (Pastel da Nata) were to die for. A meal including delicious starters, a bottle of wine, three fresh fish dishes, two generous portions of chips and a couple of portions of veg/salad cost us 12€ each. And the waiter brought us some delicious honey liqueur afterwards on the house, too. (We went back there again!)

On other evenings when we cooked for ourselves, we dined splendidly too, and at very little cost. (We bought a bottle delicious local wine in the supermarket for less than 3€.)

Every time I go away, I seem to end up hurting myself somehow. This does not bode well for my Big Trip! The Portuguese holiday was no exception. I looked at the tidal river and thought, “Could I swim across that? It’s not very wide. Sure I could swim across it no problem! I swim a lot further at the pool every week…”

This ☝🏼 is me in naive optimistic mode. It was nearly the last photo of me alive, though!

…and this is the photo of my wounds, which dripped blood in quite an impressive way before I could stem the flow enough to be able to wash my hands and take the photo!

I swam out into the river just far enough to get caught in the strong current (fortunately going inland at that point), then realised I was drifting upstream a lot quicker than I was making progress towards the shore. It’s really quite frightening swimming in one direction but being pulled inexorably much faster sideways! I kept swimming and eventually I reached some rocks on the shore upstream from the beach. I clung onto them for dear life while the tide bashed my toes and legs against their sharp edges. My arms started to ache, I knew I needed to move, but I also realised I didn’t have the strength to hang on much longer, let alone pull myself up. I panicked, but then, remembering mindfulness training, I realised “I’m panicking I need to stop”, began to breathe more deeply, and then was able to use the rational part of my brain to work out that if I edged along the rocks I would arrive in a niche where the tide would push me up onto them, where the rocks were lower down too, so I stood a chance of actually being able to haul myself up onto them.

It worked, I climbed out and up some steps through a bit of someone’s garden and then back onto the public path and the longer way back round to the beach where my friends were waiting for me. Most of my toes had little cuts on them which made walking across the sand pretty painful, but by that point I was just happy to be alive and back where I belonged!

If this is the sort of thing I end up doing when I’m with my friends, what will happen when I’m travelling solo??? Hmmm lesson learned about tides and tidal rivers, anyway. Odeceixe river: 1 Ali: 0

Preparation takes a lot longer than you think

It turns out that going on a Big Trip is a bit like moving house. There are shed loads of jobs that need doing, almost none of which you’d really think of until you actually make a start. Then as soon as you begin to do one job, you find out there are at least 4 other jobs you need to do before you can do the one job you were going to do. This has been going on now for me for the past oooo forever, or so it now feels! Hence the lack of writing on here. Every so often I come across someone who loves preparation. I do declare, they are an alien species. But even the most committed preparation guru would surely be fed up of preparing by now.

Part of the preparation for me has involved doing tasks I’ve been putting off for ever, like downloading endless work videos from iCloud, copying them to an external hard drive in order to free up space for the undoubtedly numerous photos I’ll want to take on my travels. See? Jobs you never even thought were a job. And they all…take…aaaaaages! *Groan*

Some of my preparation has been much more enjoyable, though. Like looking through travel books about SE Asia to work out where I’d like to explore. But now even those tasks have become more about doing a reality check on exactly what my budget and time limitations will be. But of course I do realize most people would give their eye teeth to have such preparations to make.

On one of our Quiet/Meditation Days recently, the sun came out and I went and relaxed in the garden and forgot about it all for a bit. The cat (Xena, Warrior Princess, who is still scared of the cat flap) came and settled next to me in the sun. My brain enjoyed the rest, my body relished the gentle English sun, and I had one of those moments of suddenly feeling very maternal towards the cat. And of being aware that there is so much that I will miss about home while I am away, even though I know the 3 months will surely feel like they’ve flashed by in the end.

It’s less than a month now. Onwards…

Aller en retour

Photo by rawpixel.com on Pexels.com
I return to the house,
 heart blue with questions,
 parce que, je n’était pas vraiment là
pour Céline -
 même si j’ai prié.
 Could I have been there more?
 I am sad, because I was better
at being there
when we were younger.
 (In this way, I appear
to have grown down
instead of up.)
 Mais, actuellement, maintenant, 
quand j’ai vu les photos -
 ses beaux amis, sa famille si gentille,
ses copines fidèles,
 sa vie vraiment pleine de lumière,
d’amour; d’amusement, de foi -
 Je suis heureuse.
 I am content,
because it was never about me,
anyway.
 
I return to the house,
 My hands are blood red -
 guilty with raspberries
 we often forgot to water.
 Blessed are those who mourn, for
 they will be comforted.
 Those who go out mourning
 with seed to sow
 will return,
carrying sheaves with them.