Unto Death Valley she cried, and the Thing lurched forward.

“Why are German’s hiring out Winnebago’s in America?”

“I think they’re Austrian…”

After the initial shock of the size of the R.V we had hired and driving on the wrong side of the road, we wondered why a bunch of blue eyed, blonde Austrian/German folk would chose to live on the outskirts of L.A and hire out trucks-with-beds-in to unsuspecting Australian backpackers. This fact is still unknown, but often lamented upon.

Dubbed “the Thing”, it’s monstrous size still worries us slightly, especially when we get stuck in the Denver Airport parking lot. However we have grown accustomed to the giant turning circle required and turning right on a red light. Although rather large, the three double beds, working fridge, freezer and stove are a welcome installment when we venture into unknown national parks and invite random Israeli boys on camping trips. When in America, do as the American’s.

From L.A we headed north east to well known National Park and big desert, Death Valley. A place that inspires the imagination and leaves you feeling very small as the monstrous size of the cliffs, canyons and vast expanse of the desert valley unfolds before you. The valley is surrounded by mountains, and when we arrived were just beginning to form beautiful snow caps, so that the view in the morning light was beyond breathtaking. As we arrived fairly late and drove down the mountain into the valley under heavy fog what we awoke to the next morning had all of us stunned and disbelieving.

On the winding, foggy road leading down into the depths of this rocky expanse we happened on a blue van that seemed to know where it was going. As we didn’t really know if we were going the right way the general consensus was to follow them. Later when we were trialing the stove top in the “Thing” for the first time and the smoke alarm was consistently sounding a false alarm, a voice rang clear “Is everything alright?” The blue van was back and it was announced that the occupants were German. In true Australian spirit we invited them for a beer and made friends for life. They turned out to be two Israeli boys on a road trip of their own, in an eight seater van converted to a four seater with beds and cooking appliances to match! It was called the Jemus and became the newest edition to our ever expanding entourage.

The Jemus, with Amit and Eyal astride spent the day with us, exploring the beautiful unknown. The dirt tracks leading to the different points of interest took the road trip to a new level. The first place we stopped was Mosaic Canyon, a gorge in the earth created by long dead rivers that left behind colourful patterns in the rock face and intriguing amalgamations of different rock types. Our general knowledge of the surrounding area increased as Dai and Amit bestowed their own studied insights, Dai’s knowledge extending from her studies in landscape architecture and Amit’s a knowledge from his love of hiking in Israel.

From here we drove towards a patch of gigantic sand dunes, left behind from the days in which the whole valley was covered by water. The dunes were small mountains of soft sand which we endeavoured to climb and conquer. Our shoeless feet found the hike up the dunes slightly arduous, but the tumbling, running, yelping, falling downhill trek was so much fun. Onwards to Badwater and the ancient Salt Flats that had been formed after the salt water lakes dryed up. This cracked and dry earth was caked with salt rocks and crunched under foot. A sign halfway up the mountain stated we were around 6000 feet below sea level and at the bottom of what thousands of years ago was a salt water ocean. Although we shouldn’t have, we took a little bit of salt from Badwater, which we put to use that night in the Bolognese.

As we left the both awe inspiring beauty and harsh desert rock that lined the desert floor, the road we travelled extended out behind us, and seemed to lead to heaven as it became lost in the mountains and clouds. It is a place of natures kings and queens.

The Public Bus System of Los Angeles and other uninteresting things.

It was a sad day when we last trudged the streets of San Francisco, taking in the sights for the last time, and exploring the hidden wonders of a hugely diverse city. Probably the saddest thing of all was the discovery of a cafe which sold decent coffee (nothing that you are used to in Melbourne but high above average in the U.S) right down the road from where we were staying, Cafe Triest. Jess and I almost cried after tasting the simple espresso and steamed milk combination that did not include hazelnut toppings, vanilla creamer and more often then not, a cherry. It was bliss on a San Francisco hill. But then we had to leave for the unknown south and the sprawling city of Los Angeles.

The L.A airport was not what it was all cracked up to be. There was not one famous person.

The guy we stayed with was a little too obsessed with his over formatted and rather Granny-ish ‘holiday to England’ photo-journal. We were a little more interested in the current time and place.

Seeming as we arrived in L.A quite late, we couldn’t really make any judgements of the city before we had explored it’s concrete and car lined streets of the stars.

Our first glimpse of something which Hollywood represented as L.A-esque,  was a bunch of palm trees. After a two hour bus trip we also saw some stars in the footpath after meeting a hobbit who promptly became our tour guide. We also saw Elvis, Marylin Monroe, Darth Vadar, Johnny Depp (both as pirate and chocolatier) and Cat Woman after peering at foot-prints in the concrete out the front of some Chinese Theatre. The Hollywood museum did prove quite interesting, with four floors of propts and photo’s from famous films and numerous Marylin Monroe quotes. The museum was inside the very first Max Factor building, so they also had on display a lot of very old make-up products and the average make-up kit women would own in the late 1910′s. It was about the size of a bar fridge.

After what seemed another three hours or so on another bus we ended up at another museum which seemed to be exhibiting “how-to” information for person-to-rock changes whilst performing on stage… and some bells. Venice Beach was next on the list, but not before we purused the curiosity stores (taxidermed animals and 18th century medical instruments) and high fashion outlets of Melrose Avenue. Venice Beach provided some entertainment in the form of Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Restaurant and oversized seagulls.

Then it was back on the bus, and then another bus, before boarding several other buses to get almost home before needing to catch two more buses. All in all it was a whole day of uninteresting bus trips, some pictures in the pavement and a hobbit.

Wait! Hold your horses! Stop the presses! There were two quite interesting things that didn’t consist of concrete or public transport in L.A! Hooray! In and Out burgers where you can order everything Animal Style (basically they put cheese and chile con carne on everything with some sort of pink sauce) and the donuts we had for breakfast whilst waiting the 45 minutes for the bus.

In case you haven’t noticed, we didn’t really like L.A that much. The only redeeming factors was the burgers and donuts we indulged in.

“You gotta let that shit go” and “I met Jesus on the train.”

After numerous days of inappropriate Yo Momma jokes and a Chicago deep dish pizza (God’s gift to taste buds along with pumpkin pie, fried chicken with waffles and buffalo wings), we left our first perfect couch surfing experience in Emeryville, California and headed to the mostly unknown district of Oakland, California (both districts are in the Bay area just across the bridge from San Francisco). Oakland is said to be a more dangerous district, with many people putting it down to the large black community that resides there. However it has been our experience that although some really odd, and I mean really strange, people come from Oakland the majority have been Gen-u-ine neighbours.

Our next couch surfer host’s building in Oakland was a little decrepit around the edges, with a broken window here and a random keyless piano there. The lobby was cold and dark as we dumped our stuff and realised we had a good four or five hours wait before our host got back from work. Would a restaurant be willing to take three packs, four back packs, three sleeping bags, a massive new coat and three weary Australian travelers? We decided on sandwiches.

As we started to get comfortable, a barrage of big men with corn rows, tattoos, over-sized t-shirts and a little girl in a pink jacket tramped through the lobby. I must admit  we were slightly unnerved. Until one of them stopped and asked “What the hell are y’ll doing sitting in the cold with all these bags?” We explained the situation and before we had a chance to say Yo Momma we were practically lifted clean of the lobby and installed in their new studio. Who could have believed that two white girls and a Vietnamese lady could be inducted into the Versatility Industries R and B rap group?

The night that ensued was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Not only did we get to experience a group of guys recording a track for their new album, but we got to see a real-live part of American society and culture. The track that they recorded whilst we were there was called “L.I.G” (Let It Go), and had a very catchy hook, which incidentally was the only part we got to hear. It went something along the lines of “You gotta let that shit go, shit go, shit go. Let that shit go. Oh Oh shit go.” Very entertaining.

Unfortunately due to either a hearing impediment, the loud loud “background” music (shit go, shit go) or the North Oakland accent and jargon, we only picked up two names out of the six or seven dudes that were hanging. Teagle and C-shaw were by far the most vocal, teaching us the slang i.e “Hella” is to have emphasis on a phrase/word “That burger was hella good” or “Those socks are hella ugly”. “Work” meaning to be doing something, anything besides actually working within your workplace/occupation “Shakira work that song on da radio, bitches”. There were many more but we can’t really remember them or how to use them.

It was a startling contrast to hang out with a bunch of totally chilled and friendly guys who looked like they could “pop a cap” if somebody put them in a bad mood, as opposed to the musical gathering we attended at our last couchsurfers place, where harmonica’s and Dylan were the call of the day. However, for all you worry warts out there, we were perfectly safe. We got in with the group, we showed them a few dance moves. Teagle told Dai she could call him Nigger. We are friends on facebook!

When Peter, one of the couchsurfer host dudes, finally showed up it was definitly time for a shower and then bed. But it turned out Peter and Erik lived in an office building, which sure had a great and huge space to place soccor in, but didn’t include a shower or kitchen. It was a smelly three days, and our Sunday hangover lasted that little bit longer without the usual refreshing wash. Great space to live if you don’t mind tipping a bucket of water over your head on the roof every three days, but I prefer my comforts.

This has nothing to do with the above events, but suggests a little more insight into the our daily, random ability to meet strangers. We were on the train to somewhere, just chilling in a four seater, when an old black guy with a grandpa hat and a double bass got on and sat down next to Dai. His smile was brilliant, with big white teeth producing a grin which extended to his eyes. He immediately started telling us about his day in a loud and un-ignorable voice. It was the most random conversation I had ever listened to (I, or anybody else, had nothing to do with the conversation we just sat, listened and nodded our heads), extending from the history of Blues and Soul in the U.S to the original bible. Apparently it had something like 60 books and Africa was the only place you could get a hold of all of them, but then somebody came and stole them all? He then started to preach to us about God and the ability he had to bring happiness and hope to all people. He told us of an enlightening experience he had, where God came to him in the form of a ball of light and he has been thankful of all things since. He went one step further and told us he was Jesus re-born. Well in as many words. Our stop came up and we had to leave, so Jesus/Old Blues and Soul busker waved us goodbye and wished us a very Happy Holiday. It was a nice change to the crazy people who jump down from trees and scream about McDonald’s.

Oh America, show us your wonders and surprise us with your realities. We are here to explore, indulge and witness this place they call Great.

Power to the People

The first American we met was the ticket lady for the BART train system (well apart from Dai’s account with the immigration officials), and it took us about five minutes for her to understand us. It turns out lots of people would find it difficult to understand us over the next few days.

The train was nothing special, just a metal tube with seats in it that costs exuberant amounts. However, Liam the gay travel writer from New Orleans now living in the Castro district of San Francisco is very special. We met him on the train heading to our first couch surfing destination and he let loose on all the good things San Franciso and the United States has to offer. Ten minutes later, as he stepped from the train to the platform, we thought we would never see him again. Our second American.

Our third group of Americans seemed a bit dodgy and a little gangsta for our liking. Turns out they were three lovely guys just hanging on the street with not much to do for the day. When in the United States do not judge people by the jeans that hang around their ankles, the foot long gold cross hanging around their necks, the gold or silver teeth or the badass language (“Get your ass inside. I ain’t paying for yo food. Y’ll better tell yo momma bout that tear in your shirt. Damn.”) that you can’t quite understand. They are (most of the time) quite lovely.

From the streets of Oakland where the people ranged from inquisitive old ladies to some very odd tree dwellers we headed to Emeryville to find our first couchsurfing destination. The folks we were staying with were the most hospitible, hilarious and gloriously friendly bunch of Americans we had met so far. Not only were they very keen on showing us the Emeryville sights and surrounds (the local supermarket which stocked a total of 24 differnent brands of peanut butter but no apples) but also teaching us the rules of Gridiron or American football. All I could see was a lot of big men wearing tight pants attempting to head butt each other into releasing the ball into their posession. The local bar tour they gave us was more enjoyable. The Cafe Biere, which stocked around 85 different kinds of beers (mostly Belgium) was a treat. Dai had a whole pint of black as night ale which tasted like balsamic vinegar (really good!) and Jess tasted her first Californian IPA beer, which is the locals choice. I just had a light blonde beer that had a picture of little boy peeing on the front.

From here we stopped in at the Jack London pub on the bay. A tiny place dedicated to American author Jack London, which seemed to be having some trouble remaining upright. The floor and bar were all sinking into the ground, giving the whole place a rather uneven feeling. Make sure you take a hold of your drink, or risk it sliding off the end of the bar. As the bay was a docking point for military seafaring vessels many soliders would take their last drink in the pub, leaving a couple of dollars with their name pencilled on, pinned to the wall as a means to buy a drink when they returned. Much of the money had never been reclaimed.

The last place we visited was called GodSpeed and was a particular hang out for the local bikie gang, The East Bay Rats. This knowledge put us three girls on edge, sending shivers up spines as images of brawls and big hariy, tattooed men cursed and shouted for more ale. The place had an interesting decor scheme with all the walls painted black with white skulls. All the furniture was leopard skin print. The manager of the place walked  straight up to us as we entered and introduced himself, in a rather high pitched voice and big smile plastered to his face, as Julio. “Why thankyou for all coming down for a drink. Just make yourself right at home. Can I get you ladies anything to drink.” All charm. The evening could only end here.

Castro district is full of colour and life, literally. Gay pride flags hang from all the light posts and the walls of the bars. Old men drink tequila sunrise and orange vodka screwdrivers, whilst young manish looking women hold pitchers of beer and swear at each other. I’m not kidding. As we sat and observed and wondered and observed I heard Dai shout “It’s the guy from the train.” Liam the travel writer had shown up and apprently in this magnificent and huge city, full of people, he wasn’t surprised to see us again at all. The night that pursued was of a raucus nature, with Liam as our tour guide, and we will not revelle in its brilliance here, due to particular people who will be reading. In all innocence it was a faboulous night with hilarity and joviallity from all aspects. Liam was the star with his knowledge of the underground scene and the people he knew. He joined us the next day as we perused China town and Fishermans Wharf, handing over precious pieces of history only a local could afford. As our new best friend he has claimed us, not allowing anybody else to tell us differently or show us the sights of San Franciso. Tomorrow we are taking his bicycles out for a spin in the park and a wander through the town.

The people of San Franciso are marvellous. Both kind and grascious they dispell their knowledge of the city and state without hesitation. The locals pride has played a huge part in our tour of San Franciso and the surrounds.

San Francisco. City of Dreams. Open to a select demographic.

The airport at San Fransico was much the same as any other airport, with people arriving from all over the world. As you would expect in an International Airport. Jess and Trish wandered through immigration with the other Australians and a few confused Canadians, happy to finally have arrived in the damn country after three seperate delays on Qantas’ behalf. We had succeeded in conquering immigration, politely and assuradly answering all questions about our financial situation and if it really was “pleasure” we were there for… Customs was a breeze. Nothing exciting happened at all.

It was the two hours later, standing out the front of the arrivals gate watching all the Malaysian/Singapore passangeers arrive that we thought Dai had possibly done something a little bad. What was happening to our little Vietnamese entourage, out there in customs all by herself?

We found out when she stumbled through the gates crying, “They FRISKED ME!” Her voice was shaky, her pack almost as big as her and the immigration officers “wouldn’t believe me. I have friends outside, Jess and Trish, waiting for me!” But noooooo. These guys were hard up, all precautions were taken to ensure Dai Le of Vietnam/Australia would not be let into the country without an address. Dai was onto it. “Please please let me use facebook, i have the address written down!” And so it was, that random Jason from Los Angeles who was currently working at the local Mexican food joint and who Trish met through couchsurfing.org saved the day for our little illegal immigrant. His cunning and wit in the face of  the immigration official was astounding, as he relayed details of addresses and phone numbers of people he had never met about a city, San Franciso, which he had never been to. So we dedicate this post to Random Jason, in appreciation of his bullshitting ability.

Goodbye Melbourne, Hello Customs and Immigration!

So I’m still in bed in Melbourne. My flight leaves at 1pm and I have already packed my bags, made sure I know exactly where everything is. I have even worked out how to get from the airport to our first couch surfing experience (will a little help from Sam of course) and now Im trying to while away the minutes until that panicked, “where’s my passport” sort of hysteria comes over me and I finally realise “I’m leaving the country for 3 months! woooooooo”

I’m not entirely sure how this blog will turn out. I have never done one before and it could all go horribly wrong when i accidentally delete everything. But in the meantime its gonna be a place where the three of us write down the days events, the anecodotes and funny little things that have happened to us on our Road Tripping Adventure Extrodinare! (please excuse all spelling mistakes, or just assume them to be the American spelling). I’m planning on using this as the ole style Group Email that everybody loaths so much! So please leave your comments. Let us know how you are, send us an email if its explicit or private!

I will try to post pics and whatever else, but it all depends on time, money and that inexhautible phrase “But i’m computer illiterate…”.

We love you so much and will see you in March!

AMERICA BABY, YEOW!!!!!