I've given the whole driving lesson debacle some thought, and think that rather than being a complete fuck, my instructor was using me as a guinea pig in experimental driving instruction.
Rather than responding with the due patience and calm demeanour I expected, he would just get irrationally angry when I got things wrong, which, despite the fact that I hadn't been behind the wheel in 15 months, didn't happen all that much. I learned jack, naturally, but having thought about it I think that maybe if I carried on learning with him, I might get so used to being told off when I do things wrong that I'll get scared I'm going to get shouted at (he also had a habit of clapping his hands together and saying 'bang' rather a lot when I messed up), and will drive perfectly.
But I don't like pets, and I don't fancy much being a test animal for his Pavlovian driving lessons.
Thursday, 23 October 2008
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: Frequently there must be a beverage
My driving lesson was shit. My intructor was a total prick. However, Woody Allen saved the day by deciding that as well as creating absolutely hilarious scenes on film, he would do so on paper also. Maybe if I'd gone to Katz's deli I wouldn't have walked to the Strand bookstore and bought his complete prose. If that hadn't happened, maybe the anger would have run away with me and maybe I would have thrown a pillow across the room in anger. But I did buy it, and so my pillows stayed where they were. Obviously I've read further than the Gossage-Vardebedian Papers, but it's particularly hilarious.
My Dear Vardebedian:
I was more than a bit chagrined today, on going through the morning's mail, to find that my letter of September 16, containing my twenty-second move (knight to the king's fourth square), was returned unopened due to a small error in addressing—precisely, the omission of your name and residence (how Freudian can one get?), coupled with a failure to append postage. That I have been disconcerted of late due to equivocation in the stock market is no secret, and though on the above-mentioned September 16 the culmination of a long-standing downward spiral dropped Amalgamated-Matter off the Big Board once and for all, reducing my broker suddenly to the legume family, I do not offer this as an excuse for my negligence and monumental ineptitude. I goofed. Forgive me. That you failed to notice the missing letter indicated a certain disconcertion on your part, which I put down to zeal, but heaven knows we all make mistakes. That's life—and chess.
Well, then, the error laid bare, simple rectification follows. If you would be so good as to transfer my knight to your king's fourth square I think we may proceed with our little game more accurately. The announcement of checkmate which you made in this morning's mail is, I fear, in all fairness, a false alarm, and if you will reëxamine the positions in light of today's discovery, you will find that it is your king that lies close to mate, exposed and undefended, an immobile target for my predatory bishops. Ironic, the vicissitudes of miniature war! Fate, in the guise of the dead-letter office, waxes omnipotent and—voilà!—the worm turns. Once again, I beg you accept sincerest apologies for the unfortunate carelessness, and I await anxiously your next move.
Enclosed is my forty-fifth move: My knight captures your queen.
Sincerely,Gossage
Gossage:
Received the letter this morning containing your forty-fifth move (your knight captures my queen?), and also your lengthy explanation regarding the mid-September ellipsis in our correspondence. Let me see if I understand you correctly. Your knight, which I removed from the board weeks ago, you now claim should be resting on the king's fourth square, owing to a letter lost in the mail twenty-three moves ago. I was not aware that any such mishap had occurred, and remember distinctly your making a twenty-second move, which I think was your rook to the queen's sixth square, where it was subsequently butchered in a gambit of yours that misfired tragically.
Currently, the king's fourth square is occupied by my rook, and as you are knightless, the dead-letter office notwithstanding, I cannot quite understand what piece you are using to capture my queen with. What I think you mean, as most of your pieces are blockaded, is that you request your king be moved to my bishop's fourth square (your only possibility)—an adjustment I have taken the liberty of making and then countering with today's move, my forty-sixth, wherein I capture your queen and put your king in check. Now your letter becomes clearer.
I think now the last remaining moves of the game can be played out with smoothness and alacrity.
Faithfully,Vardebedian
Vardebedian:
I have just finished perusing your latest note, the one containing a bizarre forty-sixth move dealing with the removal of my queen from a square on which it has not rested for eleven days. Through patient calculation, I think I have hit upon the cause of your confusion and misunderstanding of the existing facts. That your rook rests on the king's fourth square is an impossibility commensurate with two like snowflakes; if you will refer back to the ninth move of the game, you will see clearly that your rook has long been captured. Indeed, it was that same daring sacrificial combination that ripped your center and cost you both your rooks. What are they doing on the board now?
I offer for your consideration that what happened is as follows: The intensity of foray and whirlwind exchanges on and about the twenty-second move left you in a state of slight dissociation, and in your anxiety to hold your own at that point you failed to notice that my usual letter was not forthcoming but instead moved your own pieces twice, giving you a somewhat unfair advantage, wouldn't you say? This is over and done with, and to retrace our steps tediously would be difficult, if not impossible. Therefore, I feel the best way to rectify this entire matter is to allow me the opportunity of two consecutive moves at this time. Fair is fair.
First, then, I take your bishop with my pawn. Then, as this leaves your queen unprotected, I capture her also. I think we can now proceed with the last stages unhampered.
Sincerely,Gossage
P.S.: I am enclosing a diagram showing exactly how the board now looks, for your edification in your closing play. As you can see, your king is trapped, unguarded and alone in the center. Best to you.
G
Gossage:
Received your latest letter today, and while it was just shy of coherence, I think I can see where your bewilderment lies. From your enclosed diagram, it has become apparent to me that for the past six weeks we have been playing two completely different chess games—myself according to our correspondence, you more in keeping with the world as you would have it, rather than with any rational system of order. The knight move which allegedly got lost in the mail would have been impossible on the twenty-second move, as the piece was then standing on the edge of the last file, and the move you describe would have brought it to rest on the coffee table, next to the board.
As for granting you two consecutive moves to make up for one allegedly lost in the mail—surely you jest, Pops. I will honor your first move (you take my bishop), but I cannot allow the second, and as it is now my turn, I retaliate by removing your queen with my rook. The fact that you tell me I have no rooks means little in actuality, as I need only glance downward at the board to see them darting about with cunning and vigor.
Finally, that diagram of what you fantasize the board to look like indicates a freewheeling, Marx Brothers approach to the game, and, while amusing, this hardly speaks well for your assimilation of Nimzowitsch on Chess, which you hustled from the library under your alpaca sweater last winter, because I saw you. I suggest you study the diagram I enclose and rearrange your board accordingly, that we might finish up with some degree of precision.
Hopfully,Vardebedian
Vardebedian,
Not wanting to protract an already disoriented business (I know your recent illness has left your usually hardy constitution somewhat fragmented and disorganized, causing a mild breach with the real world as we know it), I must take this opportunity to undo our sordid tangle of circumstances before it progresses irrevocably to a Kafkaesque conclusion.
Had I realized you were not gentleman enough to allow me an equalizing second move, I would not, on my forty-sixth move, have permitted my pawn to capture your bishop. According to your own diagram, in fact, these two pieces were so placed as to render that impossible, bound as we are to rules established by the World Chess Federation and not the New York State Boxing Commission. Without doubting that your intent was constructive in removing my queen, I interject that only disaster can ensue when you arrogate to yourself this arbitrary power of decision and begin to play dictator, masking tactical blunders with duplicity and aggression—a habit you decried in our world leaders several months ago in your paper on "De Sade and Non-Violence."
Unfortunately, the game having gone on non-stop, I have not been able to calculate exactly on which square you ought to replace the purloined knight, and I suggest we leave it to the gods by having me close my eyes and toss it back on the board, agreeing to accept whatever spot it may land on. It should add an element of spice to our litter encounter. My forty-seventh move: My rook captures your knight.
Sincerely,Gossage
Gossage:
How curious your last letter was! Well-intentioned, concise, containing all the elements that appear to make up what passes among certain reference groups as a communicative effect, yet tinged throughout by what Jean-Paul Sartre is so fond of referring to as "nothingness." One is immediately struck by a profound sense of despair, and reminded vividly of the diaries sometimes left by doomed explorers lost at the Pole, or the letters of German soldiers at Stalingrad. Fascinating how the senses disintegrate when faced with an occasional black truth, and scamper amuck, substantiating mirage and constructing a precarious buffer against the onslaught of all too terrifying existence!
Be that as it may, my friend, I have just spent the better part of a week sorting out the miasma of lunatic alibis known as your correspondence in an effort to adjust matters, that our game may be finished simply once and for all. Your queen is gone. Kiss it off. So are both your rooks. Forget about one bishop altogether, because I took it. The other is so impotently placed away from the main action of the game that don't count on it or it'll break your heart.
As regards the knight you lost squarely but refuse to give up, I have replaced it at the only conceivable position it could appear, thus granting you the most incredible brace of unorthodoxies since the Persians whipped up this little diversion way back when. It lies at my bishop's seventh square, and if you can pull your ebbing faculties together long enough to appraise the board you will notice this same coveted piece now blocks your king's only means of escape from my suffocating pincer. How fitting that your greedy plot be turned to my advantage! The knight, groveling its way back into play, torpedoes your end game!
My move is queen to knight five, and I predict mate in one move.
Cordially,Vardebedian
Vardebedian:
Obviously the constant tension incurred defending a series of numbingly hopeless chess positions has rendered the delicate machinery of your psychic apparatus sluggish, leaving its grasp of external phenomena a jot flimsy. You give me no alternative but to end the contest swiftly and mercifully, removing the pressure before it leaves you permanently damaged.
Knight—yes, knight!—to queen six. Check.
Gossage
Gossage:
Bishop to queen five. Checkmate.
Sorry the competition proved too much for you, but if it's any consolation, several local chess masters have, upon observing your technique, flipped out. Should you want a rematch, I suggest we try Scrabble, a relatively new interest of mine, and one that I might conceivably not run away with so easily.
Vardebedian
Vardebedian,
Rook to knight eight. Checkmate.
Rather than torment you with the further details of my mate, as I believe you are basically a decent man (one day, some form of therapy will bear me out), I accept your invitation to Scrabble in good spirits. Get out your set. Since you played white in chess and thereby enjoyed the advantage of the first move (had I known your limitations, I would have spotted you more), I shall make the first play. The seven letters I have just turned up are O, A, E, J, N, R, and Z—an unpromising jumble that should guarantee, even to the most suspicious, the integrity of my draw. Fortunately, however, an extensive vocabulary coupled with a penchant for esoterica, has enabled me to bring etymological order out of what, to one less literate, might seem a mishmash. My first word is "ZANJERO." Look it up. Now lay it out, horizontally, the E resting on the center square. Count carefully, not overlooking the double word score for an opening move and the fifty-point bonus for my use of all seven letters. The score is now 116—0.
Your move. Gossage
My Dear Vardebedian:
I was more than a bit chagrined today, on going through the morning's mail, to find that my letter of September 16, containing my twenty-second move (knight to the king's fourth square), was returned unopened due to a small error in addressing—precisely, the omission of your name and residence (how Freudian can one get?), coupled with a failure to append postage. That I have been disconcerted of late due to equivocation in the stock market is no secret, and though on the above-mentioned September 16 the culmination of a long-standing downward spiral dropped Amalgamated-Matter off the Big Board once and for all, reducing my broker suddenly to the legume family, I do not offer this as an excuse for my negligence and monumental ineptitude. I goofed. Forgive me. That you failed to notice the missing letter indicated a certain disconcertion on your part, which I put down to zeal, but heaven knows we all make mistakes. That's life—and chess.
Well, then, the error laid bare, simple rectification follows. If you would be so good as to transfer my knight to your king's fourth square I think we may proceed with our little game more accurately. The announcement of checkmate which you made in this morning's mail is, I fear, in all fairness, a false alarm, and if you will reëxamine the positions in light of today's discovery, you will find that it is your king that lies close to mate, exposed and undefended, an immobile target for my predatory bishops. Ironic, the vicissitudes of miniature war! Fate, in the guise of the dead-letter office, waxes omnipotent and—voilà!—the worm turns. Once again, I beg you accept sincerest apologies for the unfortunate carelessness, and I await anxiously your next move.
Enclosed is my forty-fifth move: My knight captures your queen.
Sincerely,Gossage
Gossage:
Received the letter this morning containing your forty-fifth move (your knight captures my queen?), and also your lengthy explanation regarding the mid-September ellipsis in our correspondence. Let me see if I understand you correctly. Your knight, which I removed from the board weeks ago, you now claim should be resting on the king's fourth square, owing to a letter lost in the mail twenty-three moves ago. I was not aware that any such mishap had occurred, and remember distinctly your making a twenty-second move, which I think was your rook to the queen's sixth square, where it was subsequently butchered in a gambit of yours that misfired tragically.
Currently, the king's fourth square is occupied by my rook, and as you are knightless, the dead-letter office notwithstanding, I cannot quite understand what piece you are using to capture my queen with. What I think you mean, as most of your pieces are blockaded, is that you request your king be moved to my bishop's fourth square (your only possibility)—an adjustment I have taken the liberty of making and then countering with today's move, my forty-sixth, wherein I capture your queen and put your king in check. Now your letter becomes clearer.
I think now the last remaining moves of the game can be played out with smoothness and alacrity.
Faithfully,Vardebedian
Vardebedian:
I have just finished perusing your latest note, the one containing a bizarre forty-sixth move dealing with the removal of my queen from a square on which it has not rested for eleven days. Through patient calculation, I think I have hit upon the cause of your confusion and misunderstanding of the existing facts. That your rook rests on the king's fourth square is an impossibility commensurate with two like snowflakes; if you will refer back to the ninth move of the game, you will see clearly that your rook has long been captured. Indeed, it was that same daring sacrificial combination that ripped your center and cost you both your rooks. What are they doing on the board now?
I offer for your consideration that what happened is as follows: The intensity of foray and whirlwind exchanges on and about the twenty-second move left you in a state of slight dissociation, and in your anxiety to hold your own at that point you failed to notice that my usual letter was not forthcoming but instead moved your own pieces twice, giving you a somewhat unfair advantage, wouldn't you say? This is over and done with, and to retrace our steps tediously would be difficult, if not impossible. Therefore, I feel the best way to rectify this entire matter is to allow me the opportunity of two consecutive moves at this time. Fair is fair.
First, then, I take your bishop with my pawn. Then, as this leaves your queen unprotected, I capture her also. I think we can now proceed with the last stages unhampered.
Sincerely,Gossage
P.S.: I am enclosing a diagram showing exactly how the board now looks, for your edification in your closing play. As you can see, your king is trapped, unguarded and alone in the center. Best to you.
G
Gossage:
Received your latest letter today, and while it was just shy of coherence, I think I can see where your bewilderment lies. From your enclosed diagram, it has become apparent to me that for the past six weeks we have been playing two completely different chess games—myself according to our correspondence, you more in keeping with the world as you would have it, rather than with any rational system of order. The knight move which allegedly got lost in the mail would have been impossible on the twenty-second move, as the piece was then standing on the edge of the last file, and the move you describe would have brought it to rest on the coffee table, next to the board.
As for granting you two consecutive moves to make up for one allegedly lost in the mail—surely you jest, Pops. I will honor your first move (you take my bishop), but I cannot allow the second, and as it is now my turn, I retaliate by removing your queen with my rook. The fact that you tell me I have no rooks means little in actuality, as I need only glance downward at the board to see them darting about with cunning and vigor.
Finally, that diagram of what you fantasize the board to look like indicates a freewheeling, Marx Brothers approach to the game, and, while amusing, this hardly speaks well for your assimilation of Nimzowitsch on Chess, which you hustled from the library under your alpaca sweater last winter, because I saw you. I suggest you study the diagram I enclose and rearrange your board accordingly, that we might finish up with some degree of precision.
Hopfully,Vardebedian
Vardebedian,
Not wanting to protract an already disoriented business (I know your recent illness has left your usually hardy constitution somewhat fragmented and disorganized, causing a mild breach with the real world as we know it), I must take this opportunity to undo our sordid tangle of circumstances before it progresses irrevocably to a Kafkaesque conclusion.
Had I realized you were not gentleman enough to allow me an equalizing second move, I would not, on my forty-sixth move, have permitted my pawn to capture your bishop. According to your own diagram, in fact, these two pieces were so placed as to render that impossible, bound as we are to rules established by the World Chess Federation and not the New York State Boxing Commission. Without doubting that your intent was constructive in removing my queen, I interject that only disaster can ensue when you arrogate to yourself this arbitrary power of decision and begin to play dictator, masking tactical blunders with duplicity and aggression—a habit you decried in our world leaders several months ago in your paper on "De Sade and Non-Violence."
Unfortunately, the game having gone on non-stop, I have not been able to calculate exactly on which square you ought to replace the purloined knight, and I suggest we leave it to the gods by having me close my eyes and toss it back on the board, agreeing to accept whatever spot it may land on. It should add an element of spice to our litter encounter. My forty-seventh move: My rook captures your knight.
Sincerely,Gossage
Gossage:
How curious your last letter was! Well-intentioned, concise, containing all the elements that appear to make up what passes among certain reference groups as a communicative effect, yet tinged throughout by what Jean-Paul Sartre is so fond of referring to as "nothingness." One is immediately struck by a profound sense of despair, and reminded vividly of the diaries sometimes left by doomed explorers lost at the Pole, or the letters of German soldiers at Stalingrad. Fascinating how the senses disintegrate when faced with an occasional black truth, and scamper amuck, substantiating mirage and constructing a precarious buffer against the onslaught of all too terrifying existence!
Be that as it may, my friend, I have just spent the better part of a week sorting out the miasma of lunatic alibis known as your correspondence in an effort to adjust matters, that our game may be finished simply once and for all. Your queen is gone. Kiss it off. So are both your rooks. Forget about one bishop altogether, because I took it. The other is so impotently placed away from the main action of the game that don't count on it or it'll break your heart.
As regards the knight you lost squarely but refuse to give up, I have replaced it at the only conceivable position it could appear, thus granting you the most incredible brace of unorthodoxies since the Persians whipped up this little diversion way back when. It lies at my bishop's seventh square, and if you can pull your ebbing faculties together long enough to appraise the board you will notice this same coveted piece now blocks your king's only means of escape from my suffocating pincer. How fitting that your greedy plot be turned to my advantage! The knight, groveling its way back into play, torpedoes your end game!
My move is queen to knight five, and I predict mate in one move.
Cordially,Vardebedian
Vardebedian:
Obviously the constant tension incurred defending a series of numbingly hopeless chess positions has rendered the delicate machinery of your psychic apparatus sluggish, leaving its grasp of external phenomena a jot flimsy. You give me no alternative but to end the contest swiftly and mercifully, removing the pressure before it leaves you permanently damaged.
Knight—yes, knight!—to queen six. Check.
Gossage
Gossage:
Bishop to queen five. Checkmate.
Sorry the competition proved too much for you, but if it's any consolation, several local chess masters have, upon observing your technique, flipped out. Should you want a rematch, I suggest we try Scrabble, a relatively new interest of mine, and one that I might conceivably not run away with so easily.
Vardebedian
Vardebedian,
Rook to knight eight. Checkmate.
Rather than torment you with the further details of my mate, as I believe you are basically a decent man (one day, some form of therapy will bear me out), I accept your invitation to Scrabble in good spirits. Get out your set. Since you played white in chess and thereby enjoyed the advantage of the first move (had I known your limitations, I would have spotted you more), I shall make the first play. The seven letters I have just turned up are O, A, E, J, N, R, and Z—an unpromising jumble that should guarantee, even to the most suspicious, the integrity of my draw. Fortunately, however, an extensive vocabulary coupled with a penchant for esoterica, has enabled me to bring etymological order out of what, to one less literate, might seem a mishmash. My first word is "ZANJERO." Look it up. Now lay it out, horizontally, the E resting on the center square. Count carefully, not overlooking the double word score for an opening move and the fifty-point bonus for my use of all seven letters. The score is now 116—0.
Your move. Gossage
Learning.
Today I have my first driving lesson in over a year. I called my sister and asked her how to do it, and I'm pretty certain she gave me incorrect instructions. Apparently I keep the clutch down all the time I'm in first. I'm sure that's not how I did it before. I told her I'd found out this afternoon.
I hope my new instructor thinks it appropriate to inform me whether I'll be driving a diesel car or not. My last instructor didn't think this was essential info, and couldn't work out why I was stalling all the time. Despite not being even vaguely familiar with cars, let alone the differences between petrol and diesel, it was me who asked her, "Umm...this isn't a diesel car, is it?". "Ohhh." She did, however, have some plus points: she kept a bag of murray mints in the car, and didn't have the corpse breath my previous instructor insisted on maintaining. That was my primary reason for finding a new instructor. One can only take so many two-hour sessions breathing through the mouth.
Anyway, I'm hoping to pass my test after about 4 hours. I've had plenty of practice - I drove (erratically) a golf cart all summer, and Amy taught me how to reverse after we went to the cinema one time.
I hope my new instructor thinks it appropriate to inform me whether I'll be driving a diesel car or not. My last instructor didn't think this was essential info, and couldn't work out why I was stalling all the time. Despite not being even vaguely familiar with cars, let alone the differences between petrol and diesel, it was me who asked her, "Umm...this isn't a diesel car, is it?". "Ohhh." She did, however, have some plus points: she kept a bag of murray mints in the car, and didn't have the corpse breath my previous instructor insisted on maintaining. That was my primary reason for finding a new instructor. One can only take so many two-hour sessions breathing through the mouth.
Anyway, I'm hoping to pass my test after about 4 hours. I've had plenty of practice - I drove (erratically) a golf cart all summer, and Amy taught me how to reverse after we went to the cinema one time.
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Dr Pepper
Some of my favourite drinks are Dr Pepper, Coke and Amaretto. If you add the last two together you get an alcoholic version of the first. This is excellent. But not when you have one after a lager and lime. It makes you feel sick the next day and not want to read about critical metaphor analysis. It doesn't stop you from having seconds when mushroom risotto's on the menu for dinner, though. But I'm not sure that anything could stop that.
Today the mim ate pancakes for breakfast and dinner. I ate some for lunch. I never have pancakes, but the one time I do have them I'm having them after she eats them for breakfast and before she has another load for dinner. If my Dr Pepper exploits weren't making me feel so terrible I might be able to work out whether we were eating them at the time, seeing as she is 10 hours ahead.
I am pumped on the following few things:
Francis Bacon's Head VI
FRIDAY
Driving on Tuestag
Getting a copy of The Onion
Bookbags
Mushroom risotto
Today the mim ate pancakes for breakfast and dinner. I ate some for lunch. I never have pancakes, but the one time I do have them I'm having them after she eats them for breakfast and before she has another load for dinner. If my Dr Pepper exploits weren't making me feel so terrible I might be able to work out whether we were eating them at the time, seeing as she is 10 hours ahead.
I am pumped on the following few things:
Francis Bacon's Head VI
FRIDAY
Driving on Tuestag
Getting a copy of The Onion
Bookbags
Mushroom risotto
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
Eggs - WTF does 'over' mean?
During my travels in America I found myself eating breakfast out quite regularly. Being a fan of the egg, but knowing how my idea of a good scrambled egg differs with that of the majority, I often went for a fried egg. I would be asked how I'd like it cooked, and it was at this stage that my ignorance of egg terminology was laid bare. I know how I like it cooked, and could probably draw a picture, but this isn't a convenient method, ever. So I would ask for 'medium', which would always be corrected - apparently the word 'over' is necessary also. So over medium it was, every time. Although the cookedness of the egg would differ in each establishment I ate in, one thing remained reliable: there was absolutely nothing medium about an over medium egg. I kept reminding myself to look up the different terms used to order a decent fried egg, and today finally got round to it. Apparently an over medium egg is "cooked on both sides; the yolk is of medium consistency and the egg white is thoroughly cooked." This was precisely the consisency I was after, and yet it would seem that I was getting an over easy egg each time. Urgh.
I could, of course, have bypassed this issue at the first hurdle by simply asking the server what the different names mean, but I didn't want to sound like an idiot. So instead, I just ate a lot of partially cooked eggs. How I've learned my lesson.
I could, of course, have bypassed this issue at the first hurdle by simply asking the server what the different names mean, but I didn't want to sound like an idiot. So instead, I just ate a lot of partially cooked eggs. How I've learned my lesson.
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Monument Valley, Page, Grand Canyon
After leaving Gooseneck we drove two hours to Monument Valley, leaving Utah for Arizona. We had a look in some of the gift shops then went on a jeep tour of the Valley. Some parts were interesting - there was this one rock feature that you lay back on and looked up at the 'ceiling', and because of some pretty flukey wind the shape of an eagle's profile had been sculpted. It was very cool and something I wouldn't have even noticed had our guide not pointed it out. It made me wonder what else we might be able to see if we looked close enough at the things around us. I had hoped our guides might have told us about what significance the rocks held for their people, but they didn't.
On leaving Monument we drive to Lake Powell, a dammed lake in Arizona. It was really clean (at least in comparison to Recapture Resevoir, the last place I'd had contact with water), and refreshing after being in the dusty valley earlier. When we dried off we drove to Page, and went out for dinner. I ate half an enormous calzone. We went from the restaurant to this total dive bar where we played pool and some members of the group got wasted and did kareoke. I sat that one out. It was a surprisingly brill night. The cheap drinks helped.
We left Page at 1am, driving through the night to the Grand Canyon and after getting about four hours sleep we arrived at the park. My immediate concern on our arrival was to seek out the showers. It had been a LONG time. Once showered, walked along the rim with Julie and Christie until we reached the Bright Angel trail viewpoint. The trail looked amazing, but VERY long. In the evening we went to listen t a ranger talk about 'extreme beauty and extreme danger' in the park. It was ace! It was in this open-air aphitheatre in the dark, and we took beers. The ranger was really enthusiastic and knew so much. When the talk ended I walked with Julie and Vicky to the rim in the moonlight; we couldn't see a lot but could just make out the other side of the canyon.
On leaving Monument we drive to Lake Powell, a dammed lake in Arizona. It was really clean (at least in comparison to Recapture Resevoir, the last place I'd had contact with water), and refreshing after being in the dusty valley earlier. When we dried off we drove to Page, and went out for dinner. I ate half an enormous calzone. We went from the restaurant to this total dive bar where we played pool and some members of the group got wasted and did kareoke. I sat that one out. It was a surprisingly brill night. The cheap drinks helped.
We left Page at 1am, driving through the night to the Grand Canyon and after getting about four hours sleep we arrived at the park. My immediate concern on our arrival was to seek out the showers. It had been a LONG time. Once showered, walked along the rim with Julie and Christie until we reached the Bright Angel trail viewpoint. The trail looked amazing, but VERY long. In the evening we went to listen t a ranger talk about 'extreme beauty and extreme danger' in the park. It was ace! It was in this open-air aphitheatre in the dark, and we took beers. The ranger was really enthusiastic and knew so much. When the talk ended I walked with Julie and Vicky to the rim in the moonlight; we couldn't see a lot but could just make out the other side of the canyon.
The second day I took it pretty easy and after making lunch I walked from the campsite to the rim, then from there to Pike Creek Vista and ate my lunch on the edge under a tree. It was a really quiet trail - everyone else had seemed to go in the other direction.
I had different expectations of the canyon to how it actually is - I had expected a huge drop beneath the rim but it's more gradual. I think we have been spoiled by the other canyons we've visited on the tour - to someone who hadn't been to Zion or Bryce or Arches the Grand Canyon might seem incredible, but those other parks are just as, if not more, beautiful.
Gooseneck
I am sitting in my tent in Gooseneck State Park, possibly having the most amazing night of the trip.
We arrived, started on dinner (chilli, polenta and steamed vegetables), put up our tents, kicked a football around and had drinks. The view, even at that point, was stellar. We are on the rim of an entrenched meandering river and can see Monument Valley in the distance.
We arrived, started on dinner (chilli, polenta and steamed vegetables), put up our tents, kicked a football around and had drinks. The view, even at that point, was stellar. We are on the rim of an entrenched meandering river and can see Monument Valley in the distance.
We have a 360 degree view of the surrounding land, and have watched a whole catalogue of different weather unfold around us.
There was a lizard in this toilet
Tonight there was an epic storm over in the Monument Valley direction, but it hasn't moved this way so far. It was so cool having a conversation with someone and seeing a huge flash of lightning over their shoulder. As I write the lightning has diminished and and thunder is less frequent, having been replaced by Wild Bill playing Brown Eyed Girl on his guitar. What a night.
Arches, Moab and Gold Bar
After Bryce we drove again to Mystic so the new group could have a go in the springs. We left at 1am and drove through to night to Arches, where I woke up with a heavy cold. I wasn't really up for hiking but Julie convinced me to walk for half an hour or so, just so I could see it. So we ate breakfast then drove to the trail head.
Once I started the trail I knew there was no going back - it was beautiful and I had to see it all. The trail was described as 'primitive', and that translated as a sandy track leading to a trail with very few markers, requiring the walker to scrabble up and across rocks. It was absolutely brill, the best trail I did on the whole trip.
Once I started the trail I knew there was no going back - it was beautiful and I had to see it all. The trail was described as 'primitive', and that translated as a sandy track leading to a trail with very few markers, requiring the walker to scrabble up and across rocks. It was absolutely brill, the best trail I did on the whole trip.
After leaving arches we ate a yummy lunch in Moab before leaving for our camp ground. En route we stopped for another photo-op. I almost didn't get out of the bus but I'm so glad I did, because we had stopped at the site of some ancient petroglyphs, made by native Americans.
The camp ground wasn't far, at this place called Gold Bar. It was a super quite spot right next to the Colorado River. It did have some really prickly plants which, when paired with flip flops, caused some aggro. Everyone was starting to get pretty tired by this point, and most of 
Bryce Canyon
I missed a few days...
We went to Bryce Canyon and walked for about three and a half hours between Sunrise and Sunset points. Bryce was really, really beautiful, in some ways similar to Zion but with a lot less vegetation, and it was more 'canyon'y.
We went to Bryce Canyon and walked for about three and a half hours between Sunrise and Sunset points. Bryce was really, really beautiful, in some ways similar to Zion but with a lot less vegetation, and it was more 'canyon'y.
6 August 2008
As I write I am in the campground we're staying in at Zion National Park. Last night we arrived in Kodachrome which was the first real desert place we've been to. Enroute we stopped at Red Canyon and hiked for about a mile there. It was very beautiful and very red. When we got to Kodachrome I helped to make a huge stir fry for dinner, then we sat around the fire drinking and talking, knowing that tomorrow a lot of people would be leaving us. It was a really fun night, with a lot of drinking. That night the toilet had truly stank, but with the hangover I woke up with I thought I was going to pass out when I got in it. I slept my hangover off on the bus to Zion.
The trip took about three hours, and when we arrived at the park we drove through this totally dark tunnel (The Zion-Mt.t Carmel Tunnel) - so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face (I tried). The tunnel had a series of enormous holes on one side, so one minute you were in total darkness, the next you were getting a sneak peak of one of the canyons at the park. It was the most incredible and exciting thing.
We arrived at the park in time to eat lunch and say goodbye before starting to walk the Angel's Landing trail. At the time we started the temperature was 105 degrees Farenheight, and this 
teamed with the gradient I flaked after about an hour. This was an intense bummer because the trail is meant to be pretty amazing. Still, I reached a height where I had really great views.
teamed with the gradient I flaked after about an hour. This was an intense bummer because the trail is meant to be pretty amazing. Still, I reached a height where I had really great views.I walked back down to the bottom and took the shuttle to the riverside walk, which takes you up to the Narrows. It was a really great walk and so beautiful - all of a sudden these enormous canyon sides shoot up beside you. 
After finishing there I took the shuttle back to the camp site, feeling pretty exhausted.
After finishing there I took the shuttle back to the camp site, feeling pretty exhausted.
5 August 2008
Last night we went to Mystic Hot Springs in Monroe, Utah, which belongs to this hippie who used to be a film maker and illustrator for the Grateful Dead. There are two massive pool type things which the water just flows into.
We made dinner, set up tents then went into the tubs at about 10pm. The sky was perfectly clear so we had the most incredible view of the stars. Because there's very little unnatural light we could see the haze of the milky way. I stayed in until about midnight, and got out feeling the most relaxed I've ever been. The word sedate doesn't cut it. That night was the first I'd spent in the tent, and it was nice to have my own space after sleeping with my face right up in someone else's feet for several nights.
This morning we're driving to Kodachrome via the Hard Rock Candy Mountain, where we're stopping for ice cream. Tonight is the last night with some members of the trip which is a bummer.
4 August 2008
Last night we drove through the night and ended up in Antelope Island, Utah. We woke up early (about 6.30am), and I helped make breakfast (banana pancakes) and heard cayote howling nearby. The landscape was amazing, like we were on another planet; there were so many pastel shades and it was so still and quiet. After breakfast we walked down to the lake and it was so salty (1o times saltier than the Pacific) that we could float. Yes, we were in Utah's answer to the Dead Sea. It was bloody freezing but an amazing experience. The cold meant we stayed in the water for only half an hour.
After showering all the salt off (which became intensely prickly almost instantly) we drove for an hour to Salt Lake City. It was so beautiful, really clean and peaceful, with incredible architecture. We walked to the Salt Lake Temple, I stood and watched as Liz attempted to negotiate the pond out front, then we tried to get into the temple itself for a wander round. An incredibly friendly woman told us it was only open to members, so went to find lunch. On our way to lunch we saw 3 couples in wedding gear, and we were later told that 90 couples come to the temple each day to get married. Impressive.
This afternoon we're driving to some hippy's hot springs somewhere in Utah - they're open 24/7 so it should be a lot of fun.
Driving through Utah is just amazing, it's such a beautiful state. At the moment we're driving on this plain between two stretches of massive hills. The sky is the most perfect blue. It looks like we're driving next to a painted backdrop.
We just drove past a lorry that had 'Jesus Christ is Lord, not a swear word'. Epic.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
Yellowstone - 3 Sept 08
Today is our second day in Yellowstone - yesterday we walked around a small area of the park (it's HUGE) and saw Old Faithful and some other geysers and hot springs. This really deserves a whole slideshow of photos, but here's a couple. The rest are available in my picasa area, under Green Tortoise.
After we left the Old Faithful city (it's swarming) we drove to an area of the park called Fountain Paint Pots which was far more impressive than Old Faithful. We saw a crazily energetic geyser which seemed to last and last, but I think we might have just been lucky and caught it at the right time of year. I guess the rest of the time Old Faithful is the winner.
Last night it was cold, and this morning it was even colder - 27 F which is just below freezing.
The day before we were at Grand Tetons still. The scenery was really incredible, as Ansel 
Hidden Falls
View from Inspiration Point
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