About to go dark for 3 weeks....

... Yeah, the chances of me finding somewhere to update this blog in Yosemite are slim to none, so as I perch here in the Bad Ass Coffee Co., drinking my Earl Gray tea (English comforts!), uncomfortable in my shorts-and-t-shirt-over-damp-bikini after a very brief evening dip in the Pacific, I'll try and quickly get up to speed here before I leave. Apologies if I sound even less eloquent than last time, but I'm in a rush here because I'm yet to pack at all and today has been one of those days when everything has taken at least an hour longer than I'd like it to!

Yesterday was my day of exploring San Francisco. I decided bike was the best way to get around, especially given that I was alone, and didn't fancy sitting on public transport in the heat of this freakishly hot weather that northern California has been enjoying/suffering for the last few days. I managed to stay in bed til 7am, which isn't bad really considering my body clock was convinced it was 3pm. After calling home and eating some of the hostel breakfast I headed out into the seedy streets that surrounded the hostel, only getting harassed by one homeless person this time (result!) and found my way to the bike hire place.

Armed with my bike and its "hi-tech sat nav", i.e. folded map with scribbled instructions packed into a plastic wallet on the handlebars, I headed for The Bridge. I have some great photos of my journey, but I'm without my laptop at the moment so i can't add them I'm afraid - I'll try to illustrate when I get back from the wilderness. It was bloody hot anyway, and although I enjoy the sunshine, it's quite strange to feel like someone's switched a giant hairdryer onto you whenever you go down a hill. Cycling across the Golden Gate Bridge I was blessed with the cooler Pacific winds, and as I made it across to the other side I decided I might as well do a decent ride. All in all I think I did about 18 miles, which isn't too bad given the heat of the day (although I know it's not exactly LEJOG ;) ), and it was great to get out of the city and around some of the pretty suburban parts of Sausalito and then on to Tiburon. My highlight came just after I had climbed this stupidly steep hill ("it's pretty flat after the bridge" said the bike rental guy... LIES!!) and was greeted by two girls, about 9 years old, at a lemonade stall by the side of the road, with their dad, and a sign saying "collecting money for... our college funds". I bought a Sunkist and asked them which college they were planning on going to. "we don't know yet", they replied. I recommended York.

The ferry ride back to San Francisco was very windy but offered some beautiful views of the bay. I toyed with the idea of cycling over to the Golden Gate Park where Jason Mraz was due to perform, in the hope that he might be doing some of his famous pre-gig busking nearby, but looking at the time realised I probably needed to get moving. I took my bike back, collected my things from the hostel and headed to get the train back to the airport.

The ACE (American Conservation Experience) meeting point was the "Reflection Room" - a strange idea, I guess it's like a prayer room but more San Franciscan - and after everyone for the pick-up had arrived we headed to the parking lot, led by Joel, the manager of the Santa Cruz base.

The van and trailer awaited (very Trek America!) and I rode shotgun because nobody else wanted to, and I chatted to Joel most of the way back to the base. I pointed out that the windscreen, which looked like a fly graveyard, probably could do with a clean. I was conscious of using the English version of the word and when Joel replied by saying something about not wanting to use the blades on it, I found it amusing that Americans see the protection of the front of the car as some kind of military situation. They need the protection of a SHIELD, presumably from the threat of their wiper BLADES. Haha.

Arrival at the house was an experience. I vaguely remembered signing something in the contract about keeping my home clean, and wondered whether anybody else who'd ever lived there had signed anything similar.

The yard for a start is littered with bike parts, broken bits of furniture, bin bags strewn across the driveway, and what looks like a child's car seat. I was shown to my room, which is in a flat below the main house, and realised there was a party already going on. And everyone's invited. Oh, except only if you're an ant. Bits of days-old food and unwashed dishes filled the sides of what is optimistically labelled the "kitchen". The whole place is grimy and unkept beyond belief. The paintwork's clearly never really been attended to by anybody taking it seriously. There are bags and bits of outdoor gear and books and God knows what else taking up all the space in what would otherwise be a reasonably sized living space for the inhabitants.

My bed, one of two top bunks in the room, was adorned generously with a faded lilac folded sheet (no duvet, blanket, or even pillow), a folder full of waiver forms to sign, and a well-used tent which is to be my home-from-home-from-home. Above my bed is a neon light half-shaded by a cracked plastic cover. I took a deep breath. It didn't taste clean.

Greeting our new housemates and colleagues I started to realise this wasn't going to be exactly as I'd expected. They weren't as overwhelmingly thrilled with the experience as I had expected them to be. Projects haven't been quite as romantic or exciting as you might think, and clearly BUNAC either aren't entirely in the loop about the Santa Cruz ACE base, or they've actually missold the experience.

I wasn't the only one feeling a little worried. Bea, an Italian girl in the room opposite, went very quiet and with her still fairly limited English expressed her feelings about the state of the bathroom. When I went to investigate I noticed the motorway of ants running along the rippled wallpaper.

We headed to the store to pick up some bread for breakfast, and then a few of us went down to the (surprisingly chilly) beach for a drink, where I listened to more horror-stories about projects gone wrong, miserable experiences. Except, I realise now that they're not really that miserable. They talk about ACE in a similar way to the way we used to talk about Goodricke college - it was so ridiculously awful that it was funny, and we all just got on with it, and I had the time of my life. And so I'm kind of ok with it all. It's not going to be like Trek America. It's not going to be brilliantly organised and excitement-a-minute and a new National Park every other day. But I'm gonna come back with some funny stories, and a tan, and having learned something about patient endurance. So bring it on.

I'll hopefully post again on 17th September. Until then, happy birthday Mum, Leon, Isaac (and happy new baby time Andie and Rich if the little one pops out early).

Unsure in Santa Cruz

Just a quick one... arrived in Santa Cruz last night, discovered that my first project is going to be 3 WEEKS, not 4-8 days as I had been led to believe all the projects would be. We're leaving tomorrow and arrive back in Santa Cruz on 17th September. This is a pretty daunting prospect, especially to someone as used to being in touch with the world constantly as I am. But at least this project is in Yosemite - apparently lots of the projects the guys have been doing over the past 3 weeks have been not so great, and there's a lot of excitement from those who are on this Yosemite trip to be finally going to the park. I will still get time off, but we'll be in the park, camping - not in Santa Cruz - so not so much surfing unfortunately! Also probably not so much internet, or possibly even phone signal. I suppose it will be good for me though...?

Winning so far in San Francisco

It's just after 8pm and I've been awake for 21 hours, hooray me! This is something of an achievement, as I was anticipating crashing out and possibly just curling up and crying in the lounge of Hostelling International City Center, if I even made it that far.

I've yet to eat since getting off the plane 5-and-a-bit hours ago, and it's looking unlikely now that I will before I go to bed. My entire body is confused and I'm too tired to make decisions as complicated as what food to order. I just about managed to buy a snapple in the 7-11 with some of the dozens of quarters the BART machine gave me in change for my tickets from the airport.

Actually the journey was really quite straightforward. Almost too much so. At Heathrow I pined a bit for the days when visiting an airport was so exciting I wrote poems about it (this was in primary school by the way), and mused about how it sucks that growing up means you stop seeing life for what it really is - whether it's the miracle that Clare has actually got eyes, or the ridiculous marvel of a machine that launches you thousands of feet into the air and half way around the world.

Eleven hours on a plane is really longer than is sensible, though. The slightly too-friendly Irish man next to me introduced himself as "James" at the start of the journey and complained about the lack of legroom, a problem which he dealt with by frequently invading my own space.

I passed the time with British Airways' "High Life" entertainment selections (which meant the theme tune to the early nineties Scottish BBC sitcom of the same name was in my head for much of the day).

First I chose A Beautiful Mind. I had a vhs of it somewhere that I'd been meaning to watch for ages, and so it seemed like something to tick off my "to do" list. Intellectual point no.2 for me. (Point no.1 came with my purchasing the Economist at Heathrow, although I've only read one article in it, about the growing population of Africa and how it might be good, but might be bad... or something like that.).

2 seemed like enough intellectual points for the day, and so my next choice of movie-themed entertainment came in the shape of Zac Effron (and alternately Matthew Perry) in the wonderful "17 Again". When my life feels like such a big unknown at the moment, there's something very comforting about watching a film that's so mind-numbingly predictable. (And I'm convinced that every twenty-something has a secret crush on Zac Effron.)

I interspersed the idiot box with a few wanders around the plane, making sure to make the most of the free British Airways alcoholic beverages and snacks. My favourite part of flying across the Atlantic, however, has to be staring at Greenland.

Greenland is just ridiculously, stupidly desolate, hostile and beautiful. Anybody who starts talking about how perfectly suited the Earth is for mankind to live in it should take a look at Greenland. I know the normal projection of the map exaggerates its size, but it's still pretty damn huge, and there's almost no sign of life at all - not human life. Greenland is just not fussed that humans exist - it's too busy being hardcore with all its glaciers and mountains. According to Wikipedia it has a population about half the size of Stockport, but I reckon they must all be huddled together in a tiny corner like penguins.

Anyway, somehow my flight went, we had a beautifully smooth landing at SFO, and I made it through the ordeal of border control (after an 11-hour flight I find their interrogations so intense they make me so confused that I start to question whether I really do deserve entry into the country... and perhaps I have been involved in espionage... I can't remember... and where was I between 1933 and 1945...?).

Cursing my ridiculously heavy suitcase, I walked from the Civic Center BART stop 5 blocks north on Larkin (see how I'm like American already?), past a whole host of questionable characters with shopping carts full of blankets like you see in the films, and eventually found the hostel. Guy on the desk is v.v. gay and reminds me of one of the characters in Milk- which fits, I suppose, given that we are in San Francisco 'n' all. It's all friendly and nice, and I showered enough to wake myself up and decided to go and brave a walk downtown.

I made it all the way to the Ferry Port, where there was a nice view of Bay Bridge, and then caught the Cable Car back up the iconic steep streets. Somehow managed not to pay for the $5 ride - I think the ticket dude thought I was with this middle-aged couple who waved their passes at him. Ah well.

Righty-ho. I'm expecting my body to switch off very suddenly in the next few minutes, and I've not even made my bed yet. I hope none of my roommates snore.