Grand Weather

The Big Chill and Grand Canyon are two films written by Lawrence Kasdan. I have not seen either one, but I experienced their literal titles simultaneously on Monday. After leaving Vegas, I drove to Zion National Park in southwest Utah. The weather there was fair, perhaps slightly on the cool side, but I got by just fine in my navy Old Navy zip-up hooded sweatshirt. When I was leaving Zion NP, I was trying to decide whether to stay the night at Bryce Canyon or the Grand Canyon. I had read and heard that Bryce Canyon would be colorful at sunrise, so this won out, and I headed the additional hour north in order to see it. As I drove, I saw the temperature gauge in the Equinox drop to below freezing, and light flurries of snow hit my windshield. I had considered camping “out” in my vehicle at Bryce, but this weather dissuaded me from that plan. So, I checked on hotels, finding that the ones closest to Bryce would have been more than $100, which was hard to take since the night before I had stayed at a resort for half that amount. Because I had already gotten a glimpse of the canyon and wasn’t all that tired, I changed my plan and started driving south towards the larger canyon and warmer weather for car sleeping. The temperature reading went up as I’d expected. Then, as I entered Arizona, it started to drop again. Until, when I was close to the entrance of the North Rim, the gauge said 25 degrees. It was already after midnight, and the sun would be coming up in a few hours, so I thought, even with the cold, I might as well find a campsite and try to sleep. I wasn’t sure if it was safe to sleep inside a vehicle with the windows rolled up, so I cracked the front two (but ended up rolling the passenger pane back up after I thought I heard the wind blowing in snow). For a few hours I was warm enough in my sleeping bag covered by two blankets. By 4:30 or so, however, my pillow was chilled. I had gotten a few hours sleep and decided I might as well start the engine, warm the vehicle up, and get ready to drive on to the North Rim in time for sunrise. I passed by the un-staffed (I suspect due to my early arrival) entrance station and arrived at the Canyon shortly after the sun started sending light to the location. Wrapped in an Army blanket, I went into a café at the Lodge and bought a hot cup of coffee. In another part of the Lodge, there is a viewing area, and I alternated my time between sipping coffee inside this place and darting out the side doors to snap photos of the Canyon as the changing light created different effects on the Canyon’s walls. After spending about an hour at the North Rim, I drove on towards Cottonwood, Arizona to visit the Kees family. Within an hour and a half, I had descended enough in elevation to melt the icicles that had formed on my vehicle’s running boards, and by the time I reached Cottonwood, it was shorts and T-shirt weather again.

Venice and Tuscany in Nevada

In 2006, I spent a couple of hours at the Las Vegas airport, and I recall someone telling me that the outside temp was 112 that day. Last Saturday, I spent a longer amount of time in Vegas, and, thankfully, the temp was only in the 70s. This time, I wanted to drive down “the strip” and look around inside The Venetian. While cruising Las Vegas Blvd, I waited at long stoplights as lots of people crossed the road. Dominating the scene were casino hotels—some at least thirty stories tall—including Caeser’s Palace with its Roman look, the Paris Hotel and Casino, and New York New York. Here was the world in miniature—or at least the Western world. Quite a contrast from the open desert region I had come from only minutes before. I parked (for free) in the garage of The Venetian. The front of this casino hotel looks like the Ducal Palace in St. Mark’s Square, and there is what must be an almost exact scale model of the Rialto Bridge, but this one has moving sidewalks in the middle instead of shops. The bridge crosses a pool of water where there are actual gondolas and gondoliers. More gondola rides are available inside, too. In one sense, it’s a “best of” Venice. The ceilings along the canal are curved and painted to resemble a fair sky in Italy with a few white clouds. The ceiling of St. Mark’s Square is done the same way. Here you can eat “outdoors” indoors and watch street performers and cap off a meal with gelato purchased from the central stand. There are less Venetian-looking places as well: convention halls, theatres, restaurants, shops, and the casino. I found myself wondering about the objective of building a look-alike but fake Venice (or Paris, New York, Rome) for a casino crowd? Across from the Venetian is The Mirage, and I thought that this is actually what The Venetian is as well—a mirage of the real city. However, if I went to the authentic Venice, I would be able to visit the Ducal palace, but I would not find it being used for its original purpose, for it is now a museum. In some way, this seems to be another sort of mirage. The concept of mirage can be extended to the casino as well. For some, gambling may be an inconsequential hobby, but it can be a mirage of hope, too—a type that doesn’t always pay off as frequently as one might like.

The casino resorts really are something to see, and certainly Vegas is more than just gambling and entertainment, but I felt sad looking about the luxuriousness of this city (it’s visibly clean, seems to run smoothly, and promotes comfort and consumerism—understandable objectives to increase tourism) compared to others in the U.S. So much planning and care must be given to make this city (one based at least conceptually on entertainment) thrive, while other cities that Vegas visitors are “escaping” from might thrive more if the same amount of care were shown to them. On Sat. night, I stayed at the Tuscany Suites and Casino in a room that could have been a studio apartment—it even had a range for cooking. I paid the same price for it ($50, not including the $10 resort fee) as I did for the Super 8 I stayed at in Bakersfield, California the night before. Also, for dinner I paid $8.75 for a good buffet at a casino near the Hoover Dam—only slightly more than my $7.99 3-piece chicken tender meal at Popeye’s that I’d had for lunch. (The buffet ad was thankfully not a mirage, and my mom can be glad that I got some vegetables and fruit with it.)

I am not the kind of person The Venetian or the Tuscany, or other casino hotels, probably wants to see coming—who finds the deal for a night’s stay or a buffet, enjoys looking around the casino instead of placing a bet, pays only for a slice of pizza in exchange for free parking, uses the coupon for a free beverage that comes with checking into the hotel but doesn't buy any more, and utilizes a hotel's free Internet in public places but doesn't pay $13 to connect in his room. However, even though the “Italian” casino hotels weren’t built with a person like me in mind, I still enjoyed experiencing a nostalgic sense of Venice, my actual remembrance of which--it having been three years since I was last there--is surely to some degree, by now, a mirage.

The Joshua Tree

I have long been intrigued by Joshua trees. Surely, in part, because of their interesting shape, but probably more so because U2 has an album called The Joshua Tree. There is a national park called Joshua Tree in southern California. I considered going to it, but I opted instead for the Mojave Desert where I saw the Joshua tree in this picture. These trees are technically called Yucca. They were given a Biblical nickname by a Mormon who encountered them and associated their uplifted branches with Joshua praying.

West Coast Family

Mountain House, California--it may not show up on my older GPS, but I'm glad I found it and certainly have reason to go back. This is where the Pooler family lives. I first met Chris and Lori in 1997 for Harding's Italy international studies program, and it's hard to believe that as of this next Saturday, it will have been ten years since they got married. I've only seen them a few times since their wedding and had never before met their two adorable girls. What a comfort it is to have friends like the Poolers, who welcomed me and made it seem like it had only been a few months instead of a few years since I'd last seen them. A big thanks to their daughters, who not only shared their joy of life with me but also space in their playroom for me to store my luggage.

San Francisco Tribute

Yesterday, I spent about seven hours in San Francisco. Since 1999, NYC has been my favorite city in the world, and I'm not ready to change that designation but...I do think that, for me, SF would make a better city for living in than NYC. SF seems more driver-friendly (despite its steep streets), is less crowded (even though it is the second most densely populated place in the U.S.), and feels more laid back and casual. While in the city, I visited the Italian American Museum where I bought a book of Durer's etchings for Dante's Divine Comedy, drove down Lombard Street (known as the crookedest street in the world), visited the City Lights bookstore (famous for its association with the Beats) where I purchased a book by David Crystal called Txtng: the Gr8 Db8, walked to Coit Tower (where this picture of a mural was taken), and had dinner in the Fisherman's Wharf area--ended up getting shrimp in a sourdough bread bowl. I was going to check out one more site before leaving--a gift shop that has an entrance designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. First I went to the wrong area. Then I drove past it. I intended to turn around--first on 4th Street (no left turn), then 3rd (no left turn), then second (no left turn), then first (no left or right turn). It was getting late, and the city was becoming more crowded: I decided to let this one go.

The Silver Gate?

Here's another picture of a famous San Francisco bridge, but it's not the Golden Gate--it's the Oakland Bay Bridge. In some ways this bridge is more impressive than the Golden Gate: longer, composed of multiple types of bridges, older, and includes a tunnel between two sections of it. Perhaps, though, due to the silver coloring of it, the Bay Bridge was destined to come in second behind the "golden" one in terms of recognition.

Wonders and Limits of Technology

Four events were on my schedule for Tuesday: take a tour of a winery, eat lunch at the Marin County Civic Center, watch my niece Mackenzie's Kindergarten graduation, and arrive between 5-6 p.m. at the Poolers' house (about 60 miles east of San Francisco). I started from Ukiah, California and enlisted the help of my Garmin GPS to arrive at the Rutherford Hill Winery (seeing views of Napa Valley that were equal in sublimity to those of the forest drive from yesterday), making it in time for the 11:30 tour. This winery, now run by the Terlato family but at one time owned by Pillsbury, uses a system of machine-built caves tunneling deep into the hillside to store oak casks of wine, which must be topped off from time to time because 15% of the wine evaporates in a year and air left in the resulting space could negatively affect the taste. From the winery, the Garmin got me to San Rafael's Marin County Civic Center by 1:30. This is one of Frank LLoyd Wright's buildings that is still being used for its intended purpose. Unfortunately, my GPS was not capable of helping me to find a parking space quickly. After several minutes, I pulled into a 30-minute one and went up to the cafeteria on the top floor where I was able to eat my Reuben sandwich at a patio table by a fountain, while looking off in the distance at the Bay area...as well as about 15 ft. away at a couple being married by, I presume, a JP. Hustling within a half-hour back down to my SUV, I reprogrammed the GPS for a Panera restaurant in the Oakland suburb of Dublin because it would have free Wi-Fi where I could watch the live-stream of Mackenzie's graduation. However, I didn't choose to follow its directions precisely because I wanted to cross the Golden Gate Bridge. This, by the way, cost $6--the same as the drive-through tree attraction would have cost. Once in downtown San Francisco, I tried to follow the recalculated directions as best I could. At one point, the computer tells me to turn right on one street, then--before I do--says to turn onto a a different street--and then another different street--then, says, "Find the nearest road." Before I had to turn, the instructions went back to the original, and it worked to get me heading in the direction I needed to be going. But, it can't predict traffic, and I realized that, even though, by its calculations, I should arrive at Dublin in time for the ceremony to start, I was never going to make it. I had to get off the expressway and find another Wi-Fi location. Peet's Coffee offered an hour's worth of Internet usage with a purchase, so I ordered an iced tea and started up my Mac to discover that I needed a code. Went back to the cashier, got the code. Pulled up the school's Website, looked and saw announcements about the Kindergarten graduation but no link for the live feed. I tried clicking on many of the links, including one for the church associated with the school, but didn't see any way that I was going to be able to view the ceremony and figured the school just hadn't been able to get the feed set up. However, on one announcement, there was an alternate Website given, so I tried it, and it turned out to be the church Website I had seen--but this time, I noticed a link for the live feed. Immediately after clicking on it, up pops a window displaying the graduation. Kindergarteners in white robes were having their names called and walking across a stage to get their diplomas. I heard a last name that preceded "W," and I was so glad I hadn't missed Mackenzie. Then I realized they weren't following alphabetical order, and the procession ended after a few more kids walked across the stage, none of whom were my niece. But, a great thing about this graduation is that it didn't merely consist of graduates walking across a stage and a speech. The students performed songs, and there was a slideshow, too, and I was still able to see Mackenzie multiple times during the remainder of the program. When it was over, I closed the browser and my Mac, got in my SUV, and started typing in the address for the Poolers. Their city did not seem to exist according to my GPS. Come to find out, at the time my Garmin was bought, it probably didn't exist since the community is only four years old. Oh well, I thought, I'll just drive close to Peet's and open my browser again and use a map program. Too bad...because I had closed my connection, I wouldn't be able to access the Internet again without a new access code. I did the "old fashioned" thing and called my friend Chris for help with directions, and after a couple more phone calls, I eventually arrived at his house for dinner with him and his family.