Pretty much everybody who reads this will know everything in this post, but I need some closure on this blog, so here goes nothing.
The Saturday after Thanksgiving my hosts had an excellent Thanksgiving party. I won't go into too much detail on the party (you know the deal) but there was some fabulous food and banter going. And fishing, which is very relaxing. But during the night after the party disaster struck. Food poisoning is my best guess, but I'm not a doctor. Again, y'all know the deal here so let's skip the two days of suffering (the first canceling my Six Flags trip, the second cutting short a day up north).
The drive was long, straight, and boring. I got on the 5 North less than a mile from the house and sat on that road for about 350 miles or so. The first part of the drive had the city and the mountains, which gave the road some character, but then the latter sections were in the central valley and were straight, flat, boring. And there was a mist obscuring any view there might have been. I made amazing time up the road (even going slower than most of the other drivers due to my great respect for the law), listening to the audiobook of dune and chugging sickening amounts of blue Gatorade to rehydrate my weakened body.
I arrived in Santa Clara in the early evening for a lovely meal with some old family friends. Afterwards we went to a 'British pub' nearby. British my ass. The decor was about right but far too clean for your standard British pub. It was also spacious, didn't smell, had staff welcoming to outsiders, ice hockey on the tv, and just generally didn't feel British. It had some British beers on tap though. Just a quick note here - I love the style of American barmen. Not only is flair actively encouraged in the making of ones drink, but no measures are used so good banter with the barman can get you some generously boozy drinks. If beers and bottles aren't your preference, of course.
The next morning I was away sharp, heading north again. I had lunch with my brother's godfather, a Pixar employee, who then gave me a tour of the building. Just like what is shown in the DVD special features, but better seen in person, especially if you're meeting some of the folks who work there. Then north again to the godparent's house for a lovely dinner and Wall-E on blu-ray.
The day after was a trip down memory lane (until lunch, that is). Starting with visiting my paternal grandparent's old house, then the church where the paternal grandfather preached for many years (yes, that does make my father the son of a preacher-man), with a hall dedicated to him and the memorial doors my father produced. After that I headed to the old neighbourhood. The old house (pictured) minus the big ol' tree that made is so nice in the summer, the ivy people down the street, the park where I used to play, my primary school. All different and yet so much the same. Memory is such a funny thing. After all that I decided to go visit the cheese factory that I loved so much as a child. This was a bad idea.
The cheese factory is a ways out of town by the back road. There's some lovely scenery, but not much else. At the cheese factory I had a delicious lunch of cheese and fresh sourdough but the pond which is exactly as I remembered.
Fed and sunned, feeling full of cheer and cheese, I headed back to town. On the way I stopped to take a photo of this very northern California landscape and locked myself out of my car. Now there's a hard pill to swallow. 500 miles from the spare key, without mobile reception, miles from the nearest phone. Crap. I hitch-hiked into Petaluma (I'm so glad somebody picked me up. So many drove by. I don't really look like a shady character, but you can't be too careful these days, eh?) and called the AAA and local locksmiths. No one would help me as I wasn't on the registration document. $25 for the taxi back out there, a lump of concrete from the side of the road for the window ($110 for a self installed replacement, with a employee discount. Sigh...), and I was away again.
Heading south now, to a wee town called Morgan Hill. It's near Gilroy, the garlic capital of the world, with it's famous garlic festival. The next couple of days, whilst staying with my godmother in Morgan Hill, I went to a Christmas concert, spent lots of money at the outlet malls, spent time with my Sister, and cleaned the glass from all the nooks and crannies of the car, taping a bag over the window.
Then it was back down south for me, with my sister and her gear in tow. Another uneventful trip (thankfully), made more bearable by the company of my sis and the bottomless coffee served in Denny's (take note Brits, please).
The last days in the country were spent in a flurry of activity. Shopping, packing, getting my sis on the plane, getting myself on the plane.
The plane. Is it really too much to ask for a peaceful trip through LAX? I was there two and a half hours early (having learned from my last solo through the airport). My flight was not as punctual as I was, leaving me to stand in a huge line of passengers to be transferred. I feel sorry for these check-in attendants having to face angry and abusive asses 'cause there was some serious rain over Newark. Not really their fault, is it? For the most part people are nice, but airports seem to collect mean people as customers. Anyway. After 2 hours I got rescheduled from the 10.25am flight (running 2 hours late) to the 8.25am plane (running two hours late). So effectively the same departure time. Except that I had to queue forever (and remove half a pound of luggage from one of my bags to make the limits) and now had to high-tail it through the airport. Again. So much for duty-free. And breakfast.
They'd changed the movies available on the flight, which was nice. And they turned the TVs on before take-off to keep me busy for the additional hour and a half sitting on the tarmac. Got through Bullitt, Philadelphia, and Catch me if you can before touching down in stormy Newark.
Off the plane, I see that my connection to Edinburgh was delayed by an hour and is still on the board. 5 minutes. The exact opposite end of the terminal. Worth a shot. Or not, as it turned out. Sweating, breathless, and desperate, I reach the gate.
"The plane is gone sir"
I should've known. Off to find an info point to discover my options. Another queue (only half an hour, this one!).
"We've booked you onto the same flight tomorrow sir"
"Tomorrow?"
I guess I sounded downbeat enough for her to look again.
"We can put you through Manchester, but it's tight. Your bags might not make it"
Fine. Risk my bags, long stopover in Manchester, get into Edinburgh on the 12th as planned. I can deal with that. Rush through the airport (not that anything was open anyway) and I'm away again. On a punctual flight.
Boring flight again, can't remember what I watched or ate. Mind on other things, one would assume.
Manchester Airport. I'm surprised people complain about Terminal 5 at Heathrow when there's Manchester sending innocents to different terminals from their bags then suggesting they check their bags aren't magically in that terminal. The bags man (perhaps the single most effective person in the airport that day) informed me that, "If you didn't lose your bags in Newark, you've definitely lost 'em now. Just file a claim in Edinburgh".
At least he was straight with me. Had to spend a long stopover in one of the most boring airports I have had the displeasure of passing through before finally getting a stupidly short flight to Edinburgh where I was met by my lovely, charming girlfriend and my journey was over.
Some quick final thoughts:
Brits - be friendlier, especially when you want someone to buy something from you. Customer service is a positive force.
Bring in the bottomless coffee/soda. How many people can actually manage enough for you not to turn a profit?
Swear less. The Americans seem to be able to do it, even the rougher ones.
Take pride in your country. Properly. Not just for the football.
Americans - does high-fructose corn sugar really have to be in everything you eat?
Do you really need servings that large? I'm not exactly what you'd call a light eater (or a light anything to be honest) but your small sizes were fine for me. I feel sorry for small people trying to get small food.
Go on, be a little more socialist. Just a little.
There's probably a lot more to add to these lists, but it's always better if you find out for yourself, no?
Go on, you know you want to.
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