LA and Home

My last few days in LA weren't exactly spectacular, I was put in the staff room at the hostel which was absolutely bogging and a bit cliquey, the hostel was in a really rough area on Hollywood Blvd full of guys hanging about and folk off their faces and I just didn't like the place. Parts of it were nice but nothing amazing and certainly not worth the hype.

Hollywood Blvd, one of the main tourist attractions in LA only has 3 or 4 blocks that feel safe enough to walk them alone after dark. The part that the hostel was situated in was probably one of the dodgiest areas I've ever been in and I made sure I was back at the hostel before 7.30pm each night. I know hostels are generally in more run down areas but contrast this to the hostel in San Francisco where I felt perfectly safe out at night even though it was in the red light district.

I enjoyed spending some time on Venice Beach and saw some great street performers, The Calypso Tumblers, as well as a Basketball game near Muscle beach but Santa Monica beach was more like Butlins and Rodeo Drive was nice but didn't have anything that you can't find somewhere in Glasgow minus the attitude problem.

The people are also a waste of space. Girls who swan about waiting for people to notice them, 'actors' waiting every single table in the city and some of the most sexually aggressive men I've ever had the misfortune to encounter - apparently walking in a gang behind a girl and shouting about how nice her legs, bum, boobs are is acceptable in LA. What self-respecting girl would find that flattering? On second thoughts, the ones that want to be noticed would probably love this.

And so, after a few disappointing days in LA I was glad to be heading home to sunny Glasgow. I'm sure if I had left the US directly from Chicago or San Fran I wouldn't have been so eager but it was probably best ending the 2 months like that rather than dragging myself to the airport.

It was an uneventful 10 hour flight (being able to sleep would have been nice though) then a short hop from Heathrow back up to Glasgow where I was met by my mum, dad and Alasdair. Dinner, some wine and endless anecdotes later I crashed out at the fairly respectable time of 1am - God knows how many hours after getting up for breakfast at 8am the previous morning in a different timezone. No real jet lag to speak of although Alasdair kindly pointed out that I looked knackered yesterday morning - thanks, darling!

I had a great summer, met some fantastic people (as well as a few scary nutters), saw some amazing sights, danced my heart out and was inspired by others but I have to admit I'm glad to be home. There's something about Glasgow that makes me feel safe, it's home. I know it has it's downsides and I'm not blind to them but better the devil you know and it does have tons of good points in it's favour, culture, shopping, nightlife, open spaces, music, dance, the punters, the patter...

Glasgow's Miles Better!

Playing Hide'n'Seek with LAX

You'd think a major international airport with 8 terminals would be clearly signposted from a variety of roads leading into LA. You'd think that but you'd be wrong. It's not until you're about 10 miles away that there are signposts. What's the point in that? By the time you're 10 miles away you can follow the planes in. I spent a very frustrating hour driving round LA today trying to find some sort of indication that I was heading in the right direction and ended up pulling in to a communications firm to ask the receptionist for directions. She very kindly printed out a mapquest page and as it turned out I was only 20 minutes away but without her help I doubt I'd have got any closer on my own. LAX needs to spend some cash on new road signs.

The Tory Boys and The 80s Bar

After a day spent on the beach I returned to my room and found another 2 guys in my supposedly female dorm room. I complained again but as there were no other rooms they have a policy of turning female rooms into mixed rooms if it means they can get a few extra people paying $30 a night through the door. The door incidentally doesn't open fully due to a bunk bed in the way. Health and safety seems to be about as high up the list of priorities as guest comfort. I have no moral objection to sharing a room with members of the opposite sex but when I'm travelling alone I'd prefer to have a chance against the lunatic in my room instead of it being 2 6ft guys.

Anyway, rant over. The guys, Pete and Rob, both from London, both members of the Tory party and both very funny, turned out not to be serial killers so we decided to go out for a drink in State St. Santa Barbara is pretty much made up of the beach and State St. First we found an Irish bar but it was pretty dull so we left and had a wander up the street where we discovered a livelier place playing the worst 80s music ever.

The only good song they played all night was Let's Dance and even that had a stupid drum beat over the top. Sacrilege. During the course of the night we got chatting to various locals and 'vacationers' and a good time was had by all.

At the end of the night Amani and Elliott, 2 DJs from LA, invited us to a party and of course I was up for it until the Tory boys ruined my fun by reminding me that I was getting up at 8am to drive to LA in the morning. Those Tories ruin everything!

Cruising with the Top Down

Yep, I am officially loving having the wind in my hair and the sun on my shoulders, although I am having to make extra stops to re-apply sun cream. Yesterday, 19 Aug, I drove from SF to Monterey stopping in at a few places on the way mainly to see how the other half lives. Serious money in this area.

Monterey doesn't have much to offer apart from it's fishing trade. There are a few piers, some working and some touristy where you can buy anything as long as it's fish or fish-related. I tried clam chowder but it was a bit heavy so I decided to catch my dinner instead, ok that was luck instead of planning but it worked.

I also found a British gift shop (why?!?) so went in to have a nosey at what British things people could buy from Monterey. As well as the usual china and dishtowels they had a British grocery store selling... IRN BRU!! As soon as I saw it I knew I couldn't wait another week to have it. The man behind the counter thought I was hilarious getting so excited about it but I knew that it meant I'd be having a fish supper and a bottle of Bru for dinner.

Today (Monday 20 Aug) I drove the majority of the Pacific Highway, Route 1. Most of the journey is coastal covering the 90 miles of Big Sur. A beautiful, dramatic coastline formed by ancient mountaintops protruding from the ocean. I'd been told that a lot of the coastline looked like Scotland and they weren't wrong. The only real difference was the colours. While our trees are much greener I've never seen such blue sea in Scotland. It actually reminded me what's on my doorstep and made me more determined to see Scotland properly and not just motorways and the insides of gym halls. I can feel a camping trip coming on.

After Big Sur, the highway leads to San Luis Obispo, a small beach town exactly halfway between SF and LA. I'd been planning on staying there for the night but there was no room at the inn, ok hostel, and other than that I had no real option. Motels are a lot more expensive than I expected them to be - $80 and up compared to $25 average for a hostel.

So I decided to bite the bullet and drove the extra 100 miles to Santa Barbara where I am now. I checked with the hostel here before leaving San Luis Obispo and booked in for tonight and tomorrow night. The hostel seems ok, a lot of young people but in a residential area so quite quiet as well but the kitchen is ridiculously small. I've had bigger kitchens in flats I've lived in. It wasn't helped by the fact that there were 5 girls 'helping' (ie flirting with) and Italian guy who was using pretty much every pot in the kitchen to make pasta with a tomato and pepper sauce. It looked quite nice until he added a cup full of oil after it had been cooking for 20 minutes and put 3 handfuls of salt into the pasta. I could've waited but I'd had nothing since breakfast and all the driving and sea air had really had an effect on my appetite. My pasta and pesto was so much better than his oil slick and salt effort anyway.

Tired and cranky? Yep!

The Missing Day in The Mission

Saturday 18th August

I have a bit more time now so, as promised, here are the events of my day with Wyatt in The Mission. The Mission is a predominantly Mexican area of San Francisco with a lot of bars, cafes, vintage shops and street art.

By the time we got there breakfast had worn off so we popped into a cafe for a snack. We both ordered Tacos Cabeza Mas Grande, Beef Head Tacos with all the trimmings. I have to admit to being a bit dubious but it just tasted like the rest of the cow but slightly more tender. Wyatt was impressed by my ordering in Spanish but the waitress had a wee giggle at my Spanish as opposed to Mexican accent. Not that I minded, she gave me my drink for free.

After that we headed towards Galeria del Razas, The People's Gallery, where most of the exhibits were about immigration and the extreme lengths people go to both to get in and to keep others out. Interesting but from an artistic point of view everything was very simplistic. They did have a cool wee skeleton doll which will be on the flickr page as soon as I can upload pics.

After that and a wander round the shops we decided a light refreshment was in order and Wyatt already had the only gay bar in the village earmarked - I have a sneaking suspicion that was his whole motivation for the day. The Phone Booth is a bar for freaks. It has a sign saying that behind the bar so I was expecting the American version of freaks where people are just slightly less clean cut than normal but this was full on Jerry Springer show freaks. Within half an hour of being there I'd met Liz the Lesbian who fancied me, Perry the Fairy who prayed a lot, Louise an elderly Korean woman who sat in the corner and giggled a lot and 2 prostitutes, 1 female and 1 tranny who decided to show the whole bar her new pouch. I'm glad to say I wasn't the only one a little put off by this.

Later on the place livened up and became pretty much your average bar with a variety of people coming in and out. 2 girls came in at one point and sat down for a chat while they had a drink. One was called Emily and the other, Sushka! She's Mexican but her parents met in Russia and had heard the name there. I don't know who was more surprised when I explained that my mum calls me Sushka. It was about the most shocking thing the whole night.

Despite the range of characters I had a great night in there and was proud to be the biggest freak in there - they've never had a straight, white Scottish girl with blonde hair and blue eyes sitting in the bar before! I'm a freak, fact! I think they kept expecting me to be shocked by their antics and everything that was happening but they've never met Wee Gay Bryan so I'd seen it all before!

Must be my Lucky Day!

I'm paying for this internet so I'll skip yesterday's events (Beef head, The Mission and Liz the Lesbian) and just tell you about today, my lucky day. When I was packing my bag to leave SF this morning I noticed my iPod was missing. I'd had it in the lounge a few days ago and couldn't remember having it since then. Thought I'd lost it and was physically sick at the thought of it. On the off chance I asked at reception and some wonderful person had handed it in.

Next I went to pick up my hire car to drive to LA and the man serving me didn't recongise my booking and was about to turn me away. He then checked bookings in a different way (technical stuff) and found me. To apologise for the inconvience (I was standing there for a whole 5 minutes) he upgraded me to a convertible. I am now cruising down the 101 with the wind in my hair and the sun on my shoulders.

Then, when I arrived in Monterey, a fishing town, 2 men in their 60s/70s thought I looked lucky and they'd been having a bad day so they handed me their rod. Within 20 minutes I'd caught dinner. Wow!

Everything before this sentence was written yesterday, the secoong I typed the exclamation mark my session timed out. Luckily I had auto-save set and I didn't lose anything. My lucky day was Sunday 19 Aug, it's now Monday 20 Aug.

Time off for Good Behaviour

Today I went to Alcatraz, possibly one of the best things I've done in the US. I was half expecting to be a bit bored and to rush through the cellblock just glancing at the info cards like I usually end up doing in museums (with the exception of GOMA which I always enjoy) but I was completely engrossed in the whole thing.

The boat takes about 20 minutes to sail the mile and a half to the island and you're greeted by a tour guide who makes sure everyone knows where they can and cannot go, where the toilets are and where the shops are. Then you're pretty much left to your own devices. I went straight up to Alcatraz and took the self-guided (free) audio tour which has won awards year in, year out and features the voices of former guards and inmates (the majority by Leon 'Whitey' Thomspon, a bank robber who was sentenced to Alcatraz for 15 years and never received a single visitor or letter) giving their accounts of prison life. There is a group tour with a guide but that seems slightly pointless when the self-guided tour is so good, even telling you where to walk to and where to stand to get a good view. Obviously everyone else is on the same self-guided audio tour so there are a few bottle-neck situations but being on the first boat out ensured it was the minimal amount of disruption and you can pause your tape at any time.

Alcatraz was the only American prison at the time to give inmates hot showers. By getting them accustomed to relative luxury they were less likely to attempt to escape to the icy waters of San Francisco bay. They were also given healthy, good quality food that was presented nicely on plates - certainly not the bread and water gruel served in other prisons. As part of the tour you are encouraged to go into some of the cells to feel how small they are - 5ftx9ftx7ft. The only cells larger than this are in isolation but they are in total darkness. Leon's method of keeping himself sane in isolation was to take a button off his shirt and throw it in the air. He'd then spend the next few hours crawling around in the pitch black trying to find it. When he found it, he'd do it all again sometimes for days at a time.



Aside from the prison, Alcatraz played host to a demonstration by Indians (their term so I'm assuming it's right) who were annoyed with the government for not following through on a treaty allowing land that is no longer used as government land to be reclaimed by Indians. When Alcatraz, the prison, was closed due to rising costs and a change from punishment to rehabilitation of offenders, a group of Indian students landed on the island to make their point. It worked and although they never lived on Alcatraz for any length of time the government did honour the treaty at other similar sites.

Alcatraz was also an area that people aspired to live in even though it meant a boat trip to do shopping or go to school. Originally the housing was for guards and their families but other families started to move to Alcatraz for cheaper housing and it's low crime rate. Apparently it was common to keep doors unlocked and to use a neighbour's bike or lawnmower on the basis that it'd be returned at some point. Quote from a former resident: "We knew where all the bad guys were so we didn't have to worry about things". Fantastic. Who'd have thought Alcatraz would have been an area people aspired to live in - not quite the same with Barlinnie.

It was all go on the tourist express yesterday as well. I walked the Golden Gate bridge, well part of it anyway. It was really windy and crowded so I walked to the first big tower, took a few pics including one of the 'Crisis Counselling' hotline and turned back. My second stop on the tourist express was Lombard St, the 'crookedest street'. It was another place I just wanted to see just so I could say I'd seen it. Kind of cool but dominated by tourists which is to be expected. I pity the people who live on this street, must be so annoying having coach tours pull up outside your front door every 10 minutes.

Last night was spent in the ballroom with Wyatt, a film student using the hostel as a base while he finds an apartment and Matt and Colin, 19 year olds from Chicago who started every sentence with the word 'Dude'. As the night wore on this got funnier and funnier until Colin thought I was making fun of him and informed me that I had an accent too. I thought he'd fallen out with me at that point but he was talking to me this morning so he's either put it behind him or his hangover got the better of him. Not sure.

Tonight is another free dinner (yaay) and maybe a trip to a few gay bars in the Mission with Wyatt... It's fun to stay at the YMCA!

Go and buy a Scion now

Yesterday (15 Aug) Clare and I met at the far end of Haight Street outside Amoeba Records so we could have a wander round Twin Peaks. Whilst waiting for her I was approached by a PR girl asking if I wanted $15 to spend in Amoeba. All I had to do was test drive the new Scion xD and fill out a 1 page survey about it. Realising that even if she was going to try and sell me something I wouldn't be able to afford it or get it out the country I thought I'd go for it.

When Clare arrived we headed into the car park they'd taken over and signed up for our test drive. A quick once round the block later - I was driving - and we'd almost earned our $15. The survey was aimed at American customers so we left most of it blank and collected our cash AND free t-shirt. To be honest I'd have done it for the free t-shirt alone but I wasn't telling them that.

After our little Scion adventure we tried and failed to go to Twin Peaks. Twin Peaks is just a hill, yes a hill in San Fran, shocking but apparently you can see a 360 degree view of San Fran and the bay. We were on 3 different buses heading in 2 different directions and although we kept going up we didn't seem to get any closer so when the 37 got back to the Castro we cut our losses, had a wander round there instead and went back to the hostel for free dinner. The Castro is the original and still the main gay area in SF, very vibrant with lots of cafes, bars restaurants and 'specialist' boutiques. There are rainbow flags everywhere and I think even Dad would realise he was in a gay bar in this place.

Free dinner was burritos with bean chilli and salad - lovely. The bean chilli was quite surprising actually, a lot nicer than I expected it to be, might give it a try when I get home.

After dinner Clare and I hung around the ballroom with Paul (English guy from the Beer Pong night), Dave (from Colorado) and Bora (Turkish guy) and spent the night having a chat and a laugh. Yet again my limited Turkish came in handy and apparently I'm the first person Bora's ever met to have learnt some Turkish. Don't worry Dad, I got his email address so you can impress him with your Turkish too.

Fogbathing, Beer Pong and an International Ceilidh

Yesterday (Tues 14th) I decided to head to the beach as it was sunny and apparently has great views of Golden Gate bridge which I would have enjoyed if not for the fog. I set off mid-morning and after an hour and a half of walking and bussing it through different areas and parks I made it to Baker Beach just in time for the fog. And when I say fog I mean the thickest, bleakest, chilliest fog you can imagine. I sat on the beach for about 30 minutes with my beach towel wrapped around me before I'd had enough and got the bus back into the city. I actually managed to get a great shot of the bridge shrouded in fog and discovered Presidio, a former Spanish military out-posting upon which San Francisco was founded, so not a total waste of time.

The rest of the afternoon was spent hunting for internet cafes and was so tediously boring I won't waste your time with details.

For dinner, I went to House of Nanking, a highly recommended Chinese restaurant just round the corner on Kearny St. Every night without fail this place has people queueing outside it despite the fact it's in Chinatown and surrounded by other restaurants. There was no menu in the window so I was slightly apprehensive about range of choice and costs but I needn't have worried. I ordered salt and pepper shrimp and mushrooms and it was the freshest, tastiest Chinese meal I've ever had and not even a trace of Monosodium Glutamate. That plus a glass of wine came to less than $15 (8quid!). It's not the sort of place you'd go to for a leisurely or romantic dinner, you sit wherever there's space, order quickly and don't hang around after all there's another queue of people waiting but it was worth it.

Beer Pong was next on my agenda, well it wasn't actually part of the plan but somehow I ended up playing. The plan was to go into the ballroom (the hostel's multi-purpose lounge/bar area), watch a few games and get chatting to some people. Before I knew it I was being accosted by Maura, an Irish girl looking for a team-mate, and playing against Nat and Josh in the first round.

Beer Pong is a simple game. Each pair has a set of 6 half filled beer glasses arranged in a triangle in front of them. The object of the game is to throw a ping pong ball into your opponent's glasses to knock them out. The first team to eliminate all their opponent's glasses wins. Of course, each time someone lands a ball in your pint you have to drink it.

Maura and I turned out to be surprisingly good and equally competitive so we made a great team. We beat Nat and Josh in the first round and went on to play 2 English girls who were taking the whole thing very seriously and got very annoyed with themselves when they lost. It was during this round that Team Celtic was developed. Maura is travelling with 4 friends so they were the founding members then we had Clare (roommate from Edinburgh), Paul (random English guy travelling alone) and a Korean couple who seemed totally bemused by what was going on. Team Celtic was responsible for leading the Mexican wave anytime we scored and chants of "There's only one Team Celtic!" as well as general ooh-ing and ah-ing at any near misses.

After totally trouncing the English girls we were in the semi-final against 2 American guys, 1 of whom was an obnoxious git. It was a close-run game in spite of his 'tactics'. Apparently the only way to win is to distract your opponents and wave your arms around. Team Celtic was not impressed by this guy's antics and neither was the rest of the bar who quickly joined Team Celtic. By this point we had about 40 people all Mexican-waving and cheering us on.

Unfortunately they cheated and won and that was the end of Team Celtic's Beer Pong championship dreams. The obnoxious git was in the final against Adam (Australian guy with bleached blonde hair) and a French guy whose name I don't know. Team Celtic got behind Adam and the French guy and made them honorary Celts for the purposes of cheering. Obnoxious git and his teammate were being annihilated and were losing 5-1 when Adam threw and Obnoxious guy blocked the shot. This should have been and instant disqualification but Adam decided to take the shot again and win in style. He sunk it straightaway and Team Celtic went wild. The prize for the Beer Pong tournament is a free night's stay at the hostel and a case of beer. If I'd known that at the start I'd have tried harder!

For anyone else this would have been enough excitement for one evening but not for Team Celtic. Someone had arranged for an Irish band to play after the tournament with the aim of holding a ceilidh but nobody had checked whether or not anyone knew any dances. After about half an hour of people jumping around aimlessly I stepped in and put on my Miss Bossyboots t-shirt. Pretty soon we had an International Gay Gordons underway with mixed success. Some people were great and got it straightaway but most were awful and we had a few near misses with dislocated shoulders on the switch turn. Fearing the someone would end up in hospital I set up Strip the Willow.

The last time I Stripped the Willow was at Yvonne and Iain's wedding and I ended up in the drum kit in some sort of matrix move, a move that I wasn't keen of repeating especially as there was no drum kit to save me this time!

It went surprisingly well and assisted by Clare we managed to get most people going in the right direction. No small feat when the majority don't speak English and I'm shouting at them in my teacher voice. With each round the set got smaller (lightweights) and we also seemed to end up with people switching sides and unequal numbers on each side but we made it through. What I didn't realise though was that when the band walked down the middle of the set they were trying to signal the end but as they kept playing we kept dancing. It was only afterwards that one of the band members told me they'd been playing that tune for over half an hour. Oops!

All in all not a bad night and plenty to chat about this morning at breakfast. Oh, and no-one fell over but I do have an impressive bruise on the inside of my arm.

A job offer, a photo shoot and a broken nail.

First thing today, leaving the hostel, a man got out his car, walked into a bar and walked back out again to ask if I could dance. Em, well you could say that. Before I could answer he said if I danced as good as I looked I had a job. Where? At his bar, the "adult entertainment" venue across from the hostel. Thanks but I think I'll pass. A nice start to the day though and I might need a few extra bob at some point.

After that I took the bus down to Haight-Ashbury where all the arty-farty crowd do their shopping. I was on the hunt for CDs for Alasdair, ones that were difficult to find in the UK and just a general nosey for myself. First stop was Amoeba records, an emporium of new and used records on every format and in every genre. I was in there an hour and I only scratched the surface of the electro section.

When I came out a girl approached me and asked if she could take my photo for a new style mag called Look (original name, eh). So of course I obliged and gave her a twirl in my long frock. She has my email address and has promised to forward a copy of the pic but she seemed a bit ditsy so I'm not holding my breath. She asked me for a little quote about myself and I managed to get FireBox in so if there's a huge surge in hits from California I'll know I've been published.

With practically every shop I went into I received more compliments. One of the things I really like about here is that people are open and willing to hand out compliments. If they like something you're wearing they don't keep it to themselves, they'll make sure you know. Many a time in Glasgow I've seen someone walking down the street and thought their hair was nice, they had great shoes or a lovely dress and not said anything. People here have no such qualms.

Wonder if I'll get charged excess baggage for my newly inflated ego?

Haight-Ashbury had some nice shops but a lot of smelly vintage stuff too. I don't care what people say about vintage stuff being clean but it still smells. So I started to walk back along Haight Street towards the Downtown area. On the way back whilst rummaging in my back for my little fold up map I broke a nail. This wouldn't normally be blog-worthy but this was a cracker. A few weeks ago I was chopping up some chorizo for paella when it slipped and I sliced my finger (left hand, middle) and into my nail partially cutting it in two. I'd been managing to keep the broken piece intact hoping that if I kept filing it down it would grow out. Today put paid to that. My nail is now half the nail it used to be and the nail bed is painful to the touch. I'm torn between keeping it under a plaster to stop it getting infected and trying to get air about it to help it grow. The plaster is currently winning.

Just before coming back to the hostel for a (free) dinner of pasta pesto and salad I stopped by a little Italian cafe where the compliments were flowing thick and fast. I was feeling very pleased with myself and swished out the door slap bang into a crowd of angry teenagers, one of whom took an instant dislike to my swooshing and decided to have a go. Apparently I'm vacant, judgemental and empty and am only concerned with dying my hair blonde and keeping my tan looking good just like all those other LA bimbos and I should go back to where I came from.

You'll be pleased to hear that I did take the time to point out that my hair's not dyed, I've worked hard on my tan and I like it, I'm not from LA, it's bad vocabulary to use vacant and empty in the same sentence and it certainly wasn't ME being judgmental.

Hmmf.

During dinner I met one of my new dorm buddies, Claire. She's a media student from Edinburgh and has spent the last 6 months in Melbourne as part of her course. This is her making a few stops on her way home. She had a ticket to see Minnie Driver who is apparently now a singer/songwriter. Really? Does the world need another actress turned muso? Anyway, I agreed to go since it was a nice offer and it would be nice to hang out with someone for a while so we headed down Market St to Cafe du Nord. Sold out. Bummer. Claire went in and I went home. Probably for the best as I'd forgotten my ID and I don't think I could have retained any credibility at all after being at a Minnie gig.

Mon 13 Aug

San Francisco's ABC: Alcatraz, Ballet and Climbing!

I arrived in San Francisco (or SF as the locals say) last night after a pretty uneventful flight and airport shuttle into the city. One thing to say about the flight though, on a 4 hour flight costing 140 quid you'd think there'd be grub. Apparently not. American Airlines don't feed you but you do have the option of a complimentary soft drink or purchasing a snack or "adult beverage". I wasn't impressed.

Got into my room and my dorm buddies seem nice enough, no obvious axe-murderers anyway. I've got the bed under the window on one of the busiest streets in SF. The street is full of bars, restaurants, clubs and "adult entertainment venues". Wonder if they also sell "adult beverages"? I'm just glad I have the ability to sleep anywhere and the noise won't bother me.

Woke up early this morning, had breakfast and decided to go for a wander to get my bearings. I headed up to the piers where all the tours leave from to book my Alcatraz tour. I'd already been warned by dorm buddy Vanessa, French girl, very nice, that there's only one company authorised to land on Alcatraz so they book up fast. Sure enough, the earliest tour I could book myself on was Thursday 16th at 12.30pm. BUT, I'd also heard that it's better going on an earlier tour as there are fewer crowds. People can stay as long as they want so the crowds build up throughout the day. Knowing this I booked myself on the Early Bird tour at 9am on Friday 17th. $24 including tax for the boat trip and tour around the prison. The audio tour features ex-prisoners giving their account of life on Alcatraz and has apparently won awards year in year out. Looking forward to it.

After that I took a leisurely stroll around the tourist trap piers, think Brighton pier with more expensive shops. It was nice enough but exactly what you'd expect from a pier aimed at tourists. So I headed to Stern Grove where, informed by the info board at the hostel, I knew San Francisco Ballet were performing. For FREE! My favourite price. I tried to walk the whole distance but after realising my map wasn't to scale and I was attempting to walk approx 10 miles in an hour I hopped on a bus. $1.50 plus free transfers for the following 90 minutes, although as I discovered today 90 minutes last much longer here than in Britain. My 90 minutes lasted about 4 hours because the bus drivers rarely check the times and you hold onto your ticket. Fantastic.

The SF Ballet were amazing and the park was packed. Seriously packed. We're talking main stage at T in the Park packed (OK, maybe Belladrum) but definitely over a thousand people. It's amazing what FREE does to the audience numbers at the ballet. Most people had been there for hours with picnic blankets, small tables and hampers full of wine and cheese. I did try sitting close to people and smiling hoping they'd share but I didn't have a very good view so I staked out a spot in front of the tech desk - always the best spot in the house. I arrived too late to catch the first piece but I did catch a George Balanchine piece which was good but just your standard traditional ballet then Paul Taylor's Spring Rounds which was just gorgeous. Set to jazz music and with relaxed, colourful costumes in a 1940s style the dancers were so fluid and quick I was grinning like a maniac watching it with toes tapping, obviously. Stern Grove runs a free arts festival throughout the summer every year. Next week is the last week but it's opera so I might give it a miss.

And so on to C: Climbing. It's no wonder I couldn't walk the distance today. Apart from 10 miles in an hour being a tad over ambitious the hills are mental. Seriously mental. I walked up one today, Broderick Street between Villeja and Broadway that was at a 28 degree angle. 28 degrees! It was actually a bit scary at one point and I was holding onto the wall in case I slipped on some leaves (leaves are slippy you know, just ask British Rail) and at the top was a sign saying... HILL!! HILL-arious. (sorry)

I took loads of photos today and will get them up as soon as possible but it's almost 7pm, my feet are killing me and I'm hungry so I'm going to change my shoes and head into Chinatown for some food. I get free dinner here on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and snacks are so cheap (and so big) in certain places that I'm actually better off eating out that buying stuff to cook. Sounds good but we'll see...

Save the Last Dance for me!

Today was my last day dancing in Chicago and I have to say I'm really going to miss it. It feels like I'm back in uni again, dancing for hours every day and working in small groups to help each other figure out the combinations and although I still have American voices shouting at me, this time they are all positive (DT needs to learn a lesson here from her fellow yanks, I work much better with encouragement than with criticism).

All this week I have been dancing with The Dance COLEctive headed up by Margi Cole. My flatmate Liz is a member of TDC so it was great seeing her do what she does best. It was also great doing partner work and being lifted for a change. I am always, always, always the lifter never the liftee. I understand why and I even do it myself when I'm choreographing. I'm tall and fairly strong so when I lift dancers they really fly through the air and it's much more impressive than a small person lifting me and my legs still dragging along the floor. Margi, who is 5'2", showed me different lifts where height differences don't come into it and she actually got me quite a distance off the ground. Something to bear in mind for future.

I also Fedexed my dance clothes home today. Mum, if you're reading this, I'd open the box in a well-ventilated area if I were you. Sorry. I went into the Fedex office yesterday to pick up a box and the address form and even after I asked if I needed an international form he still gave me a US airbill. I filled it in but didn't attach it to the box as I was pretty certain he'd given me the wrong form. Sure enough I took my parcel back in this morning and asked again if he was definitely, positively, without a doubt sure that he'd given me the proper form... "Oh no, you need an International form for that". Deep breath, Susan, count to ten.

After class I cycled my last cycle over to Mindy's house to return her bike. It was quite sad saying goodbye to her as she's similar to Sarah in a lot of ways, not least her youthful face, and I enjoyed hanging around with her. She's planning a trip over to Scotland at some point so fingers crossed we'll meet up again. This time I can take her out til 5am, although probably more like 9am if we're really in the mood!

Ah'm Pure American So Ah'm Ur

Last week at the end of Cindy's class we were all reclaiming our water bottles. They tend to move around the room as we take sips (gulps) then move to new spots. Mindy Meyers had collected all the bottles and was calling out, "Who's is the Evian?",
"Who's is Volvic?",
"Who's Fiji Water?",
"Who's Pure American?"

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

That's mine, I'm Pure American!!!

Needless to say nobody else in the class could understand why this was so funny and even after trying to explain the Glaswegian use of the word 'pure' it still didn't really translate. It was pure dead brilliant though!

Even In Blackouts present The Larry and Raul Show!

Liz C (flatmate) and I went to the Even In Blackouts gig last night at Simon's Tavern on N. Clark, a dingy but nice wee bar with regular live music. Even In Blackouts were great as always, despite being a little unrehearsed. Luckily they have enough talent and charisma to pull it off and nobody minded them forgetting words, coming in at the wrong time or not knowing which song to play next. They also made me feel really welcome, asking after my family, chatting away about time spent here and in Glasgow and letting me steal hats. N.B. Liz E (EIB) has promised to come shopping next time and I'm determined to hold her to it.


Entertainment was also supplied by The Larry and Raul Show. Two men in their 60s who came and sat next to Liz C and I because we were in 'their' seats. We were about to make our excuses and find another table but they were harmless and so funny so we stayed. Things started off well enough, a polite enquiry about the band, did we mind them joining us but this was their usual spot, nice weather we're having and then... the question that opened up a whole can of worms:

Raul, "Where are you from?"
Me, "Scotland"
R and Larry, "Oh wow, she's from Scotland, hey did you hear that? This girl's from Scotland. All the way over there in Europe. Scotland, huh? Wow"
Me, "Yeah, Scotland, it's nice"

I then spent the rest of my evening answering a barrage of questions and trying to answer them truthfully whilst not being sure if they're winding me up or not. I came to the conclusion that they weren't winding me up and they really didn't know anything about the world outside America. Questions included:

What language do they speak in Scotland?
Do they speak Garlic like the Irish? (Gaelic)
Do you have Mexican food in Scotland?
Do you have Spanish food in Scotland, cos that's different ya know?
Is it all mountains in Scotland?
Do you have freeways in Scotland?
Do you have Chinese food in Scotland?
Do you have Italians in Scotland?
Do you have Poles in Scotland? (I assume they meant the people not upright cylinders but you never know)
How do you say love in Scotch? (they very quickly were told off for saying Scotch)
How do you say cheers in Scottish?
Where exactly is Scotland?
Oh, it's part of England is it? (I nearly stopped talking to them at this point but Raul saved the day when he told Larry it wasn't)
Do they have Indian food in Scotland?
Do they have McDonald's in Scotland? (Even Baghdad has McDonalds. This was lost on them as they didn't know where Baghdad was either)
Do they have Burger King in Scotland?
Do they have Wendy's in Scotland? (No. Oh that's a shame, they don't have Wendy's in Scotland, they don't have them. Tsk tsk)
Do they have their own money in Scotland? (On payday we do!)
What's the food like in Scotland?
Is Scotland where 'haggish' is from? (He meant haggis)
Why do you have to have a big bag on the bagpipes? (Erm, cos without the bag they'd just be pipes)
What's the capital city of Scotland? (Larry then tried to correct MY pronunciation of Edinboro!)
They really have Mexican food in Scotland?

I would have mentioned the fact that we only just got electricity and running water but I thought my sarcasm would have been lost on them so it was better sticking to the facts. Liz C, Phil and Gub were really embarrassed about them, thinking that I would think all Americans are as thick as Larry and Raul but it was fine because I know that it's only the majority who are as thick as them and at least they were asking questions.

I should also mention that every question started with "Hey, Scotland"!

Live to Work or Work to Live?

I've always thought of myself as a 'Work to Live' type of person. I'm very fortunate that I love my job (that's what happens when you turn a hobby into work) but ultimately I work so I can have nice things, go out with my friends and go abroad. Being a freelancer my work schedule varies a lot, sometimes working 12 hour days most of the week and sometimes only a few hours a day. Either way, it's my choice.

Here I have discovered that a full time job demands 60 hours per week to our 37.5 hours. On top of that most people do overtime, often unpaid, to take their weekly working time up to 80-100 hours per week. They get up at 5.30am, are in the office at 7am until 8pm at night then bring their laptop home and do a few more hours before bedtime.

With them working such long hours you'd think they'd be compensated with annual leave, right? Wrong. Americans are only entitled to 2 weeks annual leave. 2 weeks! Then with medical insurance averaging at 350 quid a month, sales tax which varies from state to state, food which is even more expensive than Waitrose or M&S and a minimum wage of roughly 2.50 an hour the only bonus to living in America is the housing. Much bigger flats than ours for a fraction of the price and even the worst of the Government housing, equivalent to our Housing Association, is spacious, well-maintained and somewhere I'd be happy living... if I could transport it back to Scotland that is.

P** B*** and Pushy Pests (*edited at Mum's request)

P** B*** works. Especially when used in conjunction with I****** tablets. I know a lot of you may think this is overkill but I have always been desperate for a tan. Growing up as the 'white chicken' of the family is no fun, surrounded by dark haired people who tan easily and don't have to deal with comments like, "I thought you were on holiday? Was it not sunny?" was rubbish. But lately, since my 3 weeks in India, I've been tanning more and with my new found lotion and potion I'm actually going properly brown. Not just my usual freckly and golden but properly brown. People who don't know me are even commenting on my nice tan which is a first. All my hard work lying on the beach for hours every day has been worth it especially since I've had to deal with the aforementioned pushy pests.

American men are forward, desperate, pushy and don't take no for an answer. Last night I was meeting Mindy at the North Avenue Beach House to reshoot some material when I was approached by some random asking if he could borrow my cell phone. Taken by surprise I agreed (yeah, I know it's unlike me) and he made a call looking for his brother who didn't answer. It was only later I realised this was a crafty way of getting my number without directly asking for it. He spent the next 20 minutes (my cycling is getting faster so I was early) talking about how he was just back from Czechoslovakia (doubt he can even spell it) and how different it was to America. Duh! At one point he even said how weird it was that black people and Asian people spoke Czechoslovakian! Oh my God! Really?!? You mean they speak the language of the country they're from?!?! Wow!

After him rambling on about this and me checking my watch every 5 seconds waiting for Mindy he pops the question: Did I want to go for a drink. Sorry, no. Why not? Well, I'm meeting my friend tonight, I have a boyfriend and I'm just not interested in ignorant midgets who think America is the centre of the universe (ok, the last one I just said in my head). Another 10 minutes he stood asking the same question. Take the hint mate, NO.

Then again at the beach today, 2 young guys set out their towels and CD player (Maroon 5!) quite near me before one of them comes over with a piece of paper with both their numbers on it for me to choose which one I wanted to go out with. I didn't even take the piece of paper and they still spent the next 10 minutes saying where each of them would take me for a date. I was looking for Cilla and our Graham with the round up.

I'm enjoying being here, I know just enough people to hang about with and still have my moments of anonymity but the pushy pests are getting on my nerves. I can't imagine this unrelenting technique of chatting someone up would ever actually work but it seems to be the main method here. Very strange.