I’m not sure where to begin or what to write about first, because I am literally in a whirlwind adventure. I started this trip by giving into the whim of my dream of living in Italia. So I booked my ticket, packed up and figured what will be, will be. It’ll either happen or it won’t… and I won’t find out sitting on my arse at home. Regret renders fear in my mind and taking advantage of opportunities excites me. So on that note, my route wasn’t direct to Italy; spurred on by a Californian road trip with friends and an invitation to a hen’s party in Las Vegas.
It is nice to leave your home country with a friend in the seat next to you on the plane, especially when it’s indefinite and without a schedule and when you’re the planning type of girl. The freak out is lessened and those little blue pills do wonders to throw you off into sleep where you hope you aren’t drooling, snoring or farting on the plane.
Snitch* and I landed in San Francisco and picked up her brother, The Gannet*, who’d flown down from Whistler to join us. We also picked up our wheels for the next two weeks, a Jeep Patriot we nicknamed Ron Burgundy. In the evening No. 2 joined us from the U.K. and our awesome road trip foursome was complete.
Since I’d been before, I threw out suggestions of where to go and what to do. We cruised along Fisherman’s Wharf, visited the Painted Ladies at Alamo Square, walked through the scent of weed in Haight Ashbury and I put a leash on my credit card in Union Square; particularly at Anthropologie, that store is my Kryptonite.
My favourite part would have to have been the bus trips, where the most colourful characters shone bright. No. 2 and I accidentally made eye contact with the lady who juggled handfuls of bags as she waddled onto the bus, confessing her ferreting tendencies.
“Once my church found out about my hoardism, aint nobody wanna help me carry anything.”
Once she had noticed a glimmer of acknowledgment, she went on about her ritzy neighbourhood and how everybody throws away their designer sunglasses, so she scores big time. When she quietened down, she muttered a mantra under her breath “I don’t need it, but I want it.”
There was also the angry tram driver and the chick in her early twenties with “my friend in Fresno County” whose facetime conversation had me biting my tongue, so that I wouldn’t laugh out loud.
After two nights in the ‘family room’, we tetris-packed Ron and squeezed in, ready to set off north east; leaving the chill of San Fran across the Golden Gate bridge. Incidentally, every time we did jump into the car, Lorde would belt her iconic hits through the radio. It really did put its Kiwi stamp on our tour.
We stopped in Sonoma for lunch, en route to Lake Tahoe. The sun was warm, the food was delicious and the wine induced laughter and encouraged games of ‘would you rather?’ when we were back on the road. For some unknown reason, I caught myself reading all of the signs aloud in an Amurrrican accent. It was probably as annoying as the kid in the back who constantly pesters ‘are we there yet?’
At our pit stop I slunk through the aisles of the grocery store, inspecting the goods and seeing if the local officers were filling their basket with donuts. Sadly they weren’t. My ‘are they like that in real life?’ bubble was burst. I wished they’d accompanied us on the four lane freeway, as we had a moment with a merger. It kept No. 2 laughing for at least an hour and me chomping through a bag of Goldfish crackers.
I’ll leave you with that for now. Part two takes a dramatic turn in Lake Tahoe; where our roadie is uplifted by skiing, but stumbles at happy hour. Until that blog post, make good choices!