Goodbye to the Hotel California
Feb. 22nd, 2004 01:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kleenexwomanAll right, so I'm sure that everyone wants to hear about my amazing California vacation. Here it is, broken down for you in a handy day-by-day guide.
Saturday
We hang around the house until noon, getting things packed and fussing over sunscreen. The plane ride is about six hours, which translates into three cans of tomato juice and two films. We fly over Las Vegas and I pretend that it is a nebula and we are in space.
We land in California and I make rapturous comments about the air while Brian acts like a monkey and Dad makes a big deal about what kind of car we get.
We drive through Los Angeles and into San Diego. Dad futzes with the radio, looking for a good station. There are none; it's all either Spanish DJs or the Eagles, which is not so bad the first three hundred times but palls eventually.
It turns out that our fabulous resort is right next to a racetrack. But they do have free coffee! And a heated pool! Which is broken.
We go to sleep early because California is three hours behind Michigan.
Sunday
I sleep until ten (one in the afternoon, Detroit time) while Dad and Brian take beach walkies.
We go whalewatching, which is really, really cool. I get saltwater all over me while Brian makes bad whale sex jokes, mostly involving the fact that Moby Dick was a sperm whale. Ha.
Eventually, we see whales, which is cool. I catch glimpses of their backs and tails and get showered a little with whale breath, which smells like fish. We also see dolphins; they swim near the sides of the boat and jump, which is really cool.
It turns out that Dad has gotten nauseous from the boat ride, so we go to the hotel. Dad crawls into bed and whimpers while Brian and I throw ashtrays off the balcony.
Monday
San Diego is not a very warm place; today is the only day it gets over 70. We sit around in the sun for the entire day. I whinge at Brian about forgetting sunscreen.
We go to meet Howard, Dad's friend, for dinner. Howard has lived in San Diego for fifteen years. He is a very cool guy.
That night I have a weird dream about whales and vaudeville. I put it down to the guacamole.
Tuesday
Dad takes us to Pacific Beach. Brian and I walk up and down the main strip, looking in the shops. I want to buy a shirt that says "Coma mierda cabron" and translates this as "Have a nice day". Brian doesn't get it, not being a Spanish speaker. Brian and Dad then go for a run on the beach while I play tag with the tide.
Pacific Beach is the coolest place I have ever been. There are millions of little thrift shops, surf shops, and hole-in-the-wall pizza places. You can wander in butt-naked if you like and the owners will greet you with a cheery "Yo, wassup?" I want to stay and be a beach bum but Dad says that we have another dinner date with Howard.
While going to the restaurant, we get lost in downtown San Diego. This is not as bad as it sounds because there is not much downtown to be lost in.
Wednesday
I'm not sure how to spell it. It's either Tijuana or Tiajuana, depending on who you ask. Anyway, we go there, taking something called a Mexicoach. I am wriggling with glee at the prospect of going to Mexico, but Dad assures me it is not all that great.
And it isn't. There are about a hundred little hole-in-the-wall shops, all selling leather bags, fake silver jewelry, and little knickknacks. Dad gets us traveling bags which, the man assures us, are fireproof, waterproof, and bulletproof. Impressive.
I try to sell Brian. "¿Te gustarías a comprar mi hermano? Es muy trabajado, no es perezoso. Cincuenta dollares." Nobody wants to buy him.
Thursday
The pool is finally working, so Brian and I go diving for pennies. After we dry off, Dad demonstrates his ping-pong skills. We play ping-pong until dark, when Howard shows up and takes us out for steak. We also go to see a movie called "The Fog Of War" which is a documentary about Robert MacNamara, who was the Secretary of Defense during the Vietnam War. Brian falls asleep.
Friday
Howard takes us for a ride in the San Diego hills. Does anyone remember the brushfires that ravaged the area a while ago? Well, we do because we spent an hour and a half looking at charred black trees and scorched boulders. Very impressive.
We end up at Julian, a little town in the hills whose economy is based on pie. We each have about three pieces of pie at three different places. All of the pies are delicious. This is worth driving an hour and a half for.
I want to go to the desert but nobody else does, so we compromise and drive around in L.A. for a while. I barf and Brian takes a picture of it. Nice.
Saturday
Another six-hour plane ride, which is not as nice as the first one. We end up with a two-hour layover in Chicago, so Brian and I explore the airport. There is nothing to explore so we take naps.
And there ya have it folks, my amazing California adventure. Note that we managed to avoid Disneyland, which is in itself a Herculean effort.
Saturday
We hang around the house until noon, getting things packed and fussing over sunscreen. The plane ride is about six hours, which translates into three cans of tomato juice and two films. We fly over Las Vegas and I pretend that it is a nebula and we are in space.
We land in California and I make rapturous comments about the air while Brian acts like a monkey and Dad makes a big deal about what kind of car we get.
We drive through Los Angeles and into San Diego. Dad futzes with the radio, looking for a good station. There are none; it's all either Spanish DJs or the Eagles, which is not so bad the first three hundred times but palls eventually.
It turns out that our fabulous resort is right next to a racetrack. But they do have free coffee! And a heated pool! Which is broken.
We go to sleep early because California is three hours behind Michigan.
Sunday
I sleep until ten (one in the afternoon, Detroit time) while Dad and Brian take beach walkies.
We go whalewatching, which is really, really cool. I get saltwater all over me while Brian makes bad whale sex jokes, mostly involving the fact that Moby Dick was a sperm whale. Ha.
Eventually, we see whales, which is cool. I catch glimpses of their backs and tails and get showered a little with whale breath, which smells like fish. We also see dolphins; they swim near the sides of the boat and jump, which is really cool.
It turns out that Dad has gotten nauseous from the boat ride, so we go to the hotel. Dad crawls into bed and whimpers while Brian and I throw ashtrays off the balcony.
Monday
San Diego is not a very warm place; today is the only day it gets over 70. We sit around in the sun for the entire day. I whinge at Brian about forgetting sunscreen.
We go to meet Howard, Dad's friend, for dinner. Howard has lived in San Diego for fifteen years. He is a very cool guy.
That night I have a weird dream about whales and vaudeville. I put it down to the guacamole.
Tuesday
Dad takes us to Pacific Beach. Brian and I walk up and down the main strip, looking in the shops. I want to buy a shirt that says "Coma mierda cabron" and translates this as "Have a nice day". Brian doesn't get it, not being a Spanish speaker. Brian and Dad then go for a run on the beach while I play tag with the tide.
Pacific Beach is the coolest place I have ever been. There are millions of little thrift shops, surf shops, and hole-in-the-wall pizza places. You can wander in butt-naked if you like and the owners will greet you with a cheery "Yo, wassup?" I want to stay and be a beach bum but Dad says that we have another dinner date with Howard.
While going to the restaurant, we get lost in downtown San Diego. This is not as bad as it sounds because there is not much downtown to be lost in.
Wednesday
I'm not sure how to spell it. It's either Tijuana or Tiajuana, depending on who you ask. Anyway, we go there, taking something called a Mexicoach. I am wriggling with glee at the prospect of going to Mexico, but Dad assures me it is not all that great.
And it isn't. There are about a hundred little hole-in-the-wall shops, all selling leather bags, fake silver jewelry, and little knickknacks. Dad gets us traveling bags which, the man assures us, are fireproof, waterproof, and bulletproof. Impressive.
I try to sell Brian. "¿Te gustarías a comprar mi hermano? Es muy trabajado, no es perezoso. Cincuenta dollares." Nobody wants to buy him.
Thursday
The pool is finally working, so Brian and I go diving for pennies. After we dry off, Dad demonstrates his ping-pong skills. We play ping-pong until dark, when Howard shows up and takes us out for steak. We also go to see a movie called "The Fog Of War" which is a documentary about Robert MacNamara, who was the Secretary of Defense during the Vietnam War. Brian falls asleep.
Friday
Howard takes us for a ride in the San Diego hills. Does anyone remember the brushfires that ravaged the area a while ago? Well, we do because we spent an hour and a half looking at charred black trees and scorched boulders. Very impressive.
We end up at Julian, a little town in the hills whose economy is based on pie. We each have about three pieces of pie at three different places. All of the pies are delicious. This is worth driving an hour and a half for.
I want to go to the desert but nobody else does, so we compromise and drive around in L.A. for a while. I barf and Brian takes a picture of it. Nice.
Saturday
Another six-hour plane ride, which is not as nice as the first one. We end up with a two-hour layover in Chicago, so Brian and I explore the airport. There is nothing to explore so we take naps.
And there ya have it folks, my amazing California adventure. Note that we managed to avoid Disneyland, which is in itself a Herculean effort.
