The Daily Daniel

Friday, 31 July 2009

a study of evil on bike in beauty

Packing blankets and dirty sheets

Wednesday, 29 July 2009

More photos from my recent trip to Yosemite with Blues and Mike

Monday, 27 July 2009

Photos from the Hetch Hetchy region of Yosemite National Park

Poopenaut Valley, Tuolumne River

O'Shaughnessey Dam

Hetch Hetchy Reservoir

Photos from Yosemite National Park, and the vicinity. Utterly beautiful, and a heat in the mid to high 30s! Click on the panoramic photos to get much bigger versions.

Mariposa, Yosemite gateway town

Yosemite Valley

El Capitain

Merced River

Don Pedro Lake, Stanislaus National Forest

Overlooking Stanislaus National Forest

Editor's note

Saturday, 18 July 2009

I just submitted the third installment of my roadtrip with Maria back in March. For some reason it's been put in 'May' (I think Blogger is taking the piss - alright, alright - I know it's 4 months late!)

It may be found here

Ed.

Living In America

Mainly because I want to play this song on my blog. A few photos from a 'photo laundry' I had today whilst trying to keep out of the sun. A miscellaneous taste of my life in the last couple of months ... enjoy!

South Wales in sunny June

Thursday, 16 July 2009

Images from my recent trip back to the UK, on a sunny day in south Wales. Music by Clinic.

I AM Albania

... or proof that I should never be invited to fancy dress parties. This was my attempt to 'be albania'. Pitiful, I know.

Pikie Yayyayayaya

Tuesday, 2 June 2009

Whilst I'm in the slideshow mood, here's a compilation I put together of the road trip Maria and I took back in March - yes, the same trip I still haven't finished blogging about. Soon, my pretties ...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you .... the Grand Canyon

Monday, 1 June 2009

Some pictures from my latest adventure - a 230 mile trip down the Colorado River with the good people of the Grand Canyon Monitoring and Research Centre, USGS in Flagstaff Arizona. Thanks to you guys for such a great time!

An experience that will NEVER wear off

Music: "Young and Holtful" by Rae and Christian. A couple of photos provided by Paul Alley (tanks Paul)

Day at the 'Dead

Saturday, 16 May 2009

On Thursday night I saw the Dead (formerly known as the Grateful Dead but who dropped the 'grateful' when former and founding member Jerry Garcia died) at the Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View - the heart of Silicon Valley (just across the street from Google headquarters). The Dead have their origins in 1960s San Francisco, so this gig was like a homecoming. I went with my boss, a self-proclaimed 'Dead Head' who has been watching them perform since 1968. Of course, you will have heard of the Dead even if you haven't heard their music - famous for their incessant touring for 4 decades, their mammoth sets, their lack of studio albums, and their hippy fan base, amongst other things.

The crowd was a surprising mix of ages (having expected only 50+ year olds). All had leftist star-gazing tendencies and the vibe in the audience was really cool and chilled. There was a lot of pot-smoking but I couldn't detect any harder stuff being used, and there were very few really drunk people. The tickets were on the expensive side - well, they were after they add on all the hidden fees including parking which we didn't use but nonetheless had to pay for, and probably several charges which are designed to 'convenience' us in some way. Likewise, the beer was a shocking 12 dollars a pint! The amphitheatre consisted on seating and grass where we - and almost everyone else- sat. The sound was amazing for a live venue, and it was sheltered and clean and generally a very pleasant venue.

The Dead's music is quintessentially American - guitar heavy, folk-laden and ever-so slightly country-tinged. The songs are sprawling, winding, and long. Each drips with thumping drumming and fretwork. Lyrics are sparse, riffs are incessant. I cannot describe the sound - the closest I could come would be to say its almost atonally chaotic, but has just enough structure to keep it interesting. To be honest, it isn't my cup of tea. But then I didn't expect it to be, and I couldn't help but be impressed by the skill and stamina of the musicians. I was quietly impressed by how avant-garde it was. I would go as far as to say as it is the only avant garde thing I've seen since I got here. Self-indulgent, definitely, with guitar solos on guitar solos on guitar solos, but nontheless impressive.

The highlight for me was when the sun went down, in the second set out of three in a 4-hour concert. By this time, it was dark enough to not notice the 'hippies' (richest hippies I've ever seen) dance - let's face it, most white middle aged people have as much rhythm as an engaged telephone tone - and we could see the musicians on the big screen. Apparently, they've always kept the same format, which I liked. Set, break, set including 'drums' and 'space', then a huge encore (as long as the first set) with covers worked in. The drums and space sections were crazy. I think they must have evolved to give every audience member - no matter what drug they were on - fuel for their 'trip'. A cultural experience I'm glad I experienced.

Road Trip. Part 3: Washington

Saturday, 2 May 2009

(I'm determined to finish my travelog if it kills me! Sorry this is about 4 months late - the details are slowly fading now, but I will finish! Just 1 more installment to go after this)

Our experience of 'Washington' was limited to several hours on Interstate-5, a single night in Seattle, and a brief trip to Bainbridge Island. It wasn't enough. We arrived early in the evening, and again had the daunting task of trying to navigate from the freeway to the centre of a major US city, in the dark with empty bellies. We were old hats at this now, having done the same in San Francisco and, inadvertently, Portland. Again it wasn't bad - a few lucky guesses and a couple of educated turns saw us arrive at our hotel without going wrong once. I dumped the car, paid an extortionate fee to park it for 1 day, and checked in. We stayed at the Arctic Club Hotel in downtown Seattle - by far our most salubrious residence on our trip, it was our little treat for just over halfway through the journey. It was nicest hotel I've ever stayed in - oldy-worldy and smart, but with a young and hip clientèle. Perfect.

It was already late, mainly because of our unintended detour via Portland earlier on that day. We dumped our stuff and sat ourselves at the bar next to the hotel lobby. I started to unwind after my long drive, ordered a stiff gin, and sipped it happily whilst Maria made inquiries about somewhere nice to eat. The obliging young barman had created a list of the cool places to eat, drink and dance whilst in Seattle. Perfect - he recommended a restaurant called The Tamarind Tree - it was a fair walk in the cold, and hard to find, but cheap and worth it. He said it's a cool place only locals know about. In short, massive Kudos and there was no decision to make.

We drained our drinks and wandered happily through the streets of Seattle, oddly quiet but more European than anywhere I had been to in the states so far. The restaurant we happened across almost serendipitously (all I can tell you now is that it's in the international district near a supermarket, down an alley - sorry that'd all my memory will allow me to divulge). But my word it was worth it - highly recommended.

By the time we left we were the last in and they'd cleaned up and packed up around us. We were in no rush. We wandered back towards the railway station, and found a quiet looking bar to have a drink whilst we debated whether or not we'd go clubbing. It was small and empty except for a group of college-age students taking in turns to sing karaoke. We took a seat at the bar and started to sample the local beverages. It was hilarious to hear these guys and girls sing - they were a motley alternative bunch of rockers, punks and hippy-types, and were getting drunk and singing ridiculous songs to each other's - and are - amusement. I loved every second of it - I just love youthful piss-taking. Seriously, it's how the world moves on.

We stayed until closing time. From there we stumbled into an irish bar, mainly because it was the only place left open. The barmaid was Irish and very friendly. Even though she'd lived in Seattle for 25 or so years, her accent was one of the strongest I'd heard - amazing, really, and proof that if you don't want to lose your accent, you won't. We were a little tipsy by now, so started to make good and full use of nearby props.

The next day we awoke late, had a lazy breakfast, and decided to take the ferry over to nearby Bainbridge Island. We only had 1 day in Seattle since we had to be Vancouver that night, which was a shame because what we saw of it we liked. I made more than a mental note - more of a 'resolve' - to go back and check it out some more. One thing that I could say, and in no way a bad thing, it didnt surprise me in the slightest and in fact was everything I had imagined it to be. That's a rare thing in my world.

Bainbridge itself was a yuppy haven, so not our style at all. It was pleasant enough poking around the shops for a while, but it didnt really have anything to keep us there for long. It was well worth the trip, however, for the views from the boat. My word - first the downtown seattle skyline, then a sight of the space needle, then open water followed by, most spectacularly, the imposing majesty of Mount Rainier. Wow. The weather was cold but gloriously sunny and absolutely perfect

We reluctantly checked out and left for the open road once more. I could have stayed a week, but equally we had ground to cover, and I was excited about my first trip to Canada, only a couple of hours away! Well, a couple of hours, as it happens, turned into about 8 once we hit the traffic gridlock that is the seattle suburbs, and slow queues to cross the border, the monotonous details of which have happily faded. Onwards to Canada!

Half Moon Bay

If you're ever visiting this part of the world, be sure to pay a visit to Half Moon Bay, equidistant from Santa Cruz and San Francisco on Route 1. In my opinion, if not as unique, it's just as good as its glamorous sister to the south, Big Sur. A big more rugged, a bit less well known and therefore less crowded. It also has a few great farms on the way where you can buy jam and eggs. Here are a few snaps I took on a recent visit.

Out and About

Friday, 1 May 2009

The volleyballers of Front Beach

The boardwalk

Natural Bridges State Park

The 'Mystery Spot'

Downstairs in a bar, during a thrilling drunken tour of San Francisco

Take me down to the ball game

Sunday, 5 April 2009

American sports are designed to raise blood pressure, through the means of fast food consumption, rivalry, and blatant yet pointless nationalism. The 3 big ones - nationalism, commercialism, and consumerism - are displayed with more to spare. It's disgusting.

Having said that, my first trip to a baseball game (Los Angeles Dodgers versus San Francisco Giants at AT&T Park - Giants won 3:1) was enjoyable. Like the ice hockey, however, once is enough.

Like the ice hockey, there was the junk food fest, the horrible commercialism, and the moronic chants. Unlike the hockey, the game was easy to follow and played at a nice pace (some 3 hours for the whole game); it was blistering hot; and people were there to chill out with their friends rather than shout and get red in the face. It was much more genteel than hockey, and loads better. At neither the baseball nor the hockey is the intention to get drunk and fights with the opposing fans - I can't even imagine that happening here. Rather, it's all about giving the kids a good time, eating, spending money, eating, and advertising. All of which are American Dreams.

California in the Spring

I interrupt my series on my road trip - now a whole month ago - to bring you a taste of my neck of the woods at this time of year. Yes, I am very lucky

Road Trip. Part 2: Oregon

Saturday, 4 April 2009

Southern Oregon is the sort of place that time has forgotten, but nature remembers frequently and vividly. There's not much to the areas habituated by humans: numerous towns in valleys or wood clearings whose populations number between a couple of hundred and a couple of thousand. Everyone's white and every adult owns at least 1 truck. I'd guess the population is ageing. Gratifying our prior expectations, we saw a lot of lumber trucks, with men wearing red and black checked thick cotton shirts and hats padded at the front and ventilated copiously at the back. Backs were sweaty, and necks were on the thick and red side, for the most part. The sheriffs wore shiny badges and trousers with a very linear geometry. The towns are refreshingly uncommercialised, with lots of small independent gas stations and restaurants. We drove several hours before seeing signs for Chevron and Denny's, etc. the drive was spectacular. I can still smell the pine, the sea salt, and Maria's lip balm. It was magical: sunny, but not hot. The waves were so big, they'd crash into the rocks turning straight into clouds and move up over the trees. When we rose up onto high ground and caught a glimpse of the coast below, we saw this process a thousand times over, exactly the same like it had been drawn by a cartoonist.

We stopped off at a few places when the road straightened out near the coast, not of particular note, just to take it all in. The drive was easier than the previous day because of the light, the lack of rain, and the conveyor belt of snacks from Maria's hand to my mouth. The drive was a similar mix of sea cliffs, beaches, and mountain forest. The only gross difference was the smaller and quainter towns, and the quieter roads. I couldn't help but think the trees, the climbs, and the cliffs, were slightly bigger. The sand dunes certainly were - the dunes near Florence were amongst the biggest I've seen, and gave everything a wonderful dusty feel, like only big dunes can. Southern Oregon is not as affluent or flashy as northern California, but not as diverse either, in people or scenery.

We stopped off about half way in Coos Bay for a bite to eat and some gas. An unremarkable place in a, by the standards of the trip so far, unremarkable setting. But friendly enough. We ate in a 'German and fish' restaurant, possibly just because of the weird combination. It was in a mock-Bavarian style building, and the man who ran it and served us was in his late 70s or 80s. After a quick mooch around the rather dilapidated downtown, and some scary antique stores (the sort, I half expected, to have a Nazi memorabilia section in the back for the locals and other freaks), we departed.

A feature of the whole trip was how mobile we were (relative to our easy-going, never-rushed personalities that is). I think that happened just because there was always something cool to see around the corner. Maria spent a lot of the day watching far out to sea, when she could, in the hope that she might spot a migrating grey whale. This was the time of year to do it, she said, because they were making their annual migration back north from Mexico. I wasn't really that bothered - not because I wouldn't like to see a whale tail a mile out, but because I knew I would never see one, even if it was painted bright pink. I was satisfied to Maria watch (she's so cute when she's excitedly looking for something - so much so last year she persuaded me to come shark spotting with her, which involved sitting on a cliff in the freezing cold for 3 days. It was worth it just for her delighted agitation every time she saw something).

We rolled into Newport, just north of central Oregon, around 6 or 7pm. Set in beautiful Yaquina Bay, Newport is by far the biggest urban centre on the Oregon coast. We had driven around for a good while in order for Maria to photograph the sunset, and we were feeling happy and content, our eyes full of epic scenery and our bellies ready to receive. We checked in (the hotel counter clerk reliably informing us that we were in North America now - Maria dryly informed him that we'd been in North America for days), threw our stuff in the room, suited and booted and went to the beach. It didn't take long, the hotel was on the beach and even provided us with floodlights so we could stroll without walking into pools or mammal carcasses. I amused myself by running in and out of the shadows, so Maria kept losing me. She retaliated by picking up long stalks of mouldy seaweed and chasing me with them.

I had printed a list of likely eateries for every stop we made. The selection in Newport offered us perhaps the scantiest choice out of everywhere we visited: it was either fish restaurant near the beach, or fish restaurant away from the beach. We chose the latter - Quimbys - probably for no reason at all. As soon as we wandered in, however, we both regretted the decision. Our waiter had a very strange demeanour, a cross between bumbling idiot, and martial arts instructor. He was big and brawny, and had evidently traded his brain for lots of protein powder as a youth. Everything came with long pauses and bows, and we were both 'weirded out' by him. We ordered wine, which he brought to the table and spent 2 minutes trying to balance the unpulled cork on its end upon the table. The food was dreadful. We shared a starter - beans and tomatoes on bruschetta, ruined by excessive amounts of oil and vinegar. My main course was, basically, a selection of battered fried fish. Everything had been battered and fried, including the lemon garnish. Maria had something equally as hideous. He was overly attentive whilst we ate, then completely absent when we wanted to pay. We ended up trying to find him so we could settle the bill, and we found him sitting at the empty bar watching a boxing match on tv. As we left, Maria quizzed him about the battered lemon - was that an Oregon speciality, she asked, her face a mixture of disgust and mirth. Yes, its very common he replied with the slow drawl of a man who had been punched too many times. He was totally incongruous with his setting, and also a complete (excuse me) a**hole.

The next day was just as bright and fresh as the previous. We breakfasted in Mo's Annex, a small seafood restaurant I had read about in my guide. It was inland a little way up the estuary, and was built over the water, so views were to be had from every side. I was attracted to it because it was meant to be a bit of an institution, serving up the same recipes for 30 years. The food was incredible and cheap, the views great, and the waitress very friendly. The place was busy but not overbearing. We left satisfied, both telling each other that's exactly how we'd run a restaurant if we owned one.

We said goodbye to the 101 now, and cut across via Corvallis, a small college town similar in size and demographic to santa cruz, but dissimilar in almost every other way. No one here cared more about their appearance than their abilities to string sentences together actually worth saying. The road had been another through beautiful wooded mountain - we saw men on horses (yes, men - a rare sight in the UK) and elks. The bright light made the glades and snow-capped mountains we could see to the east sparkle.

As we joined the interstate 5 (equivalent to our motorways, but busier but also bigger so you don't notice so much), we entered a different world. We would have liked to stay on the 101 all the way up to Seattle, but that would have involved travelling through Olympic National Park and unfortunately our itinerary just didn't allow for such a huge detour. So we found ourselves driving for a couple of hours up to Portland, through endless strips of chain stores and retail parks, drive in Burger Kings and the like. Awful, but necessary. Around Portland the road got a little complicated - five lanes turned into seven, and the freeway split into two versions of the same thing - one which bypassed the upcoming city Portland (the largest and capital of Oregon, separated from Washington state by the Columbia River), and the other which zipped one through it with lanes joining and leaving with alarming regularity. Absolutely the only tricky thing about driving in the usa - let's face it, its easy and large and infinitely accommodating for drivers - is that one can leave a freeway from either left or right, which sometimes forces to cross about 5 lanes of traffic with very little warning in order for you to make your exit. You guessed, I missed my exit and ending driving straight into the heart of Portland. I was developing a little bit of a habit of driving straight through big cities - something that I wouldn't do in the UK. After about, erm, 2 minutes of driving to search for the way back out again and on the road to Seattle, our destination that night (we know our limitations), we pulled over and parked and decided to go for a coffee. I had already put several hours of driving since leaving Newport and whilst Portland was a mistake, it turned out to be a well-timed one. We got directions and were soon on the road. We didn't see much of Portland, but we saw enough of it to get the impression that it was bigger, and more grown up (business-oriented) than I expected to be. That the whole of Oregon was a much more conservative place than California was my lasting impression. We eventually cleared the suburbs of Portland, driving in the carpool lane past 4 lanes of stationary traffic filled with single occupancy cars, all new, all containing white men in suits. I'm no hippy, by any stretch of the imagination, but I couldn't help but feel a little free against those ruddy-faced chaps; self-righteous and self-congratulatory that I didn't fall into the horrible trap of the suit, the boot, and the commute. We passed into Washington looking forward to arriving in Seattle.