Notre Dame @ Stanford

College football is one of America's foremost religions. In many ways it's bigger and better than the NFL, the professional league. It's certainly a more interesting institution. The only thing Americans love more than their country is their college football team. These loyalties are fiercely proud, often born and bred and life-long. A fair-weather fan is no fan at all. At Stanford Stadium, for the last Stanford game of the season, we saw babies in team jerseys and ninety-year-old men in Stanford caps. There were more than fifty thousand people in attendance.

Stanford Stadium

The weather is fair in Stanford at the moment. The team is ranked fourth in the country, and their quarterback is one of the best in the league. In fact, Andrew Luck was the runner-up for the Heisman Trophy (most outstanding player in collegiate football) both this year and last, and he is widely expected to be the number one draft pick for the next NFL season. Fans of poorly performing NFL teams have been running "Suck for Luck" campaigns, urging their teams to lose any remaining games so as to increase their chances of being allowed the first draft pick. This kid is twenty-two years old, the same age as my younger brother. He has the whole world at his feet. Watching him lead the final game of his college career, and take a knee to end it after they'd easily defeated Notre Dame, was enough to give anybody goosebumps.

Andrew Luck (12)

The majority of college football players, however, will not have the chance to play professionally. Some of them may barely take the field throughout college. For all of these players, college football is as big as anything in their lives is likely to get. How do you top playing in front of tens of thousands of people and being watched on television by millions, all to a soundtrack of brass bands and national anthems?

Sidelined

At the end of the game thousands rushed the pitch to farewell the seniors and celebrate both this battle and the war. We left through the Tailgating area, where people park their cars and RVs the morning of the game, and spend the day drinking and barbequing with friends and family in anticipation of the evening ahead. We caught the Cal Train back to San Francisco, an hour away, and fell asleep dreaming big dreams.

The Golden Gate Bridge

We didn't jump off, but as we walked across it I couldn't help but contemplate what it would be like to do so. Thousands have tried to commit suicide by jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge, and only a handful have failed. The deck is roughly seventy-five meters above the water, and the fall takes around four seconds. Most die on impact from the trauma of their injuries, while others drown or succumb to hypothermia. Often their bodies are pulled underwater and simply swept out into the ocean, never to be recovered. Those who survive hit the water feet first at a slight angle, though they do not walk away unscathed. A plastic-covered stainless steel net will soon be constructed below the bridge as a suicide deterrent, but it may be delayed due to funding issues. Here's hoping it works.

The bridge is so beautiful, and we made it out there on a sunny but windy day. It gleams in the sunlight, and the colour is mesmerising against a blue sky. The air was chilly though, and halfway across I would have given anything for a beanie. I don't know what the wind speeds out there were, but it sure felt like it was blowing a gale.

I seem to have developed a strange predilection for spotting marine life, though Daniel never believes me. I told him I could see seals or sea lions in the waters below. They were just dark specks, really, but I managed to capture a few of them with the telephoto lens as proof.

There was obviously a feeding frenzy of some sort happening, because there were a few seals, lots of birds and even a couple of dolphins. The dolphins were easier to spot because their movements are more distinctive. The seals just sort of float around a lot, and they look uncannily like driftwood from seventy-five meters above.

Alcatraz

About the same size as our flat

San Fran from across the Bay

On the ferry

Cells

Released

Something we wish we HAD eaten...

On our last day in San Francisco the Fairmont Gingerbread House was formally unveiled for the holiday season. They'd been working on it all week, and each time we walked through the lobby our mouths watered at the scent of gingerbread that was wafting throughout. It smelt even more incredible than it looked. And it looked pretty incredible.

Hansel and Gretel eat your heart out

Daniel looking not at all suspicious

This twenty-foot-high confection contains 7500 gingerbread bricks and 1200 pounds of icing. It's decorated with 650 pounds of colourful candy pieces. Unfortunately we didn't get to sample it, and by the time Christmas has come and gone I highly doubt it will be edible. Such a waste!

San Fran: A Day on the Town

As hard as it was to tear ourselves away from our view, we decided we must find the strength to do so. We managed to spend a whole day out and about in San Francisco. We started by walking and then walked some more, and then a little bit further - all over this city. If you've been here, you know what an achievement this is. San Francisco resembles the Himalayas.

Steep as Steep

That angle may not look too bad, but these streets are hundreds of meters long at that gradient. It hurts. And it hurts even more the next day. After walking through Chinatown - it's the largest outside of Asia - and admiring the busy markets and festive lanterns hanging across the streets, we worked our way down to the Embarcadero Center. It's a strip of shops that begin near the waterfront and it was also where Occupy San Francisco was camped. Alas, we were not there to revolt against capitalism but to embrace it. And go ice skating.

Holding on for dear life

I've been on a few outdoor rinks in my time, the first at Marble Arch in London when I was a teenager. I love them and the festive feelings they espouse. If you ever went skating at the long-gone Mirrabooka rink then you'll remember how the condensation would drip from the roof, leaving holes in the ice that would eventually refreeze and grow into bumps. You don't get that problem at an outdoor rink. Instead you get hundreds of small children and their parents, all clutching the edge while trying to walk (the worst thing you can do on skates) and inevitably introducing their bum to the ice.

On our feet

Once our ankles were sufficiently painful we continued to walk along the waterfront, right around to Fisherman's Wharf. It was craaaaaap. Mum said that it was a must see and when she visited (back in the dark ages) it was wonderful. Now it's nothing more than a tourist trap with the obligatory Bubba Gump Shrimp Co restaurant, Ripley's Believe It or Not and a wax museum. Americans seem to actually think these are valid tourist attractions. There was nothing of any real cultural value at Fisherman's Wharf, though you could get a good view of Alcatraz from one of the docks. I think it must been because we've seen so many amazing things and been to so many incredible places, but we just have no time for kitschy tourist "attractions" anymore. We're way too high brow. Fo' rilla.

Unfortunately, the famed cable cars felt a little like a tourist trap. They're expensive to ride and we were going to have to queue for nearly an hour to get on one that would take us back to our hotel - I'm assuming the wait was because of the holiday season madness. We stupidly decided to walk back to the top of Nob Mountain, and we felt like Edmund Hilary and Tenzing Norgay when we finally made it back.

Things We Wish We'd Never Eaten #6: Room Service

Given that we were treating our week in San Fran as a honeymoon, we went a bit wild. With room service. Each morning we breakfasted by the window in our room. Why wouldn't you? There was no view from the restaurant downstairs. We were really lucky actually, and the first few days were incredibly clear. There was a lot of fog later in the week, but it was equally gorgeous in its own way.

Eggs Benedict with a swimming pool full of hollandaise

The photo above shows some of the best eggs benny I've ever had, and the biggest bowl of hollandaise I've ever seen. Also, all the breakfasts in America come with potatoes. It's a bit weird really. Most mornings we indulged in the Fairmont Spa Breakfast. It came with a fruit smoothie, tea or coffee, an egg-white and vegetable omelette, breads, granola, yoghurt and fresh berries. Yummm.

The Spa Breakfast

The room service desserts also deserve a mention and a picture. Below is some lemon and raspberry concoction of pure deliciousness. Notice the fancy cutlery.

Dessert of the Gods

I'll finish with a funny story that's not technically related to room service. Thanksgiving was the Thursday, and although we'd already decided to eat at the hotel we left it until Wednesday to enquire about a booking. Daniel rang to see if we could reserve a table at the buffet.
"I'm sorry, we're fully booked" the guy on the phone said, sounding bored.
Daniel asked "are there seats available for the set menu, then, by any chance?
"No, they're booked out too."
"Oh ok, never mind, thanky--..."
The guy interrupted him. "Are you a guest of the hotel? You're in room, oh, 2303? Oh, Mr Kippin?"
"Yes."
"Umm, let me talk to my boss and I'll call you back, Sir."
His boss rang us back five minutes later and said they could seat us at whatever time we wished. It was nice to be on the receiving end of some reverse discrimination. We filled our bellies with beet carpaccio, cauliflower soup, pumpkin risotto, scallops, turkey and pumpkin pies for dessert, and magicked away a bottle of very nice red wine in the process.

A Very Good View of San Francisco

San Francisco marked the half-way point of our trip around America. It was also the week of Thanksgiving and we hadn't spent more than three nights in one place up to that point. We were likely to be exhausted. Knowing all this in advance we decided to splurge, to treat ourselves a little in a style befitting a honeymoon.

The Fairmont is to San Francisco what the Savoy is to London. It sits atop Nob Hill, which should really be called Nob Mountain, and has been on the National Register of Historic Places since 2002. In fact, the United Nations Charter was drafted at the Fairmont in 1945. The famed Penthouse Suite has been the San Fransisco residence for every U.S. president since William Howard Taft. It's simply iconic, and a perfect choice for a honeymoon.

The Fairmont Hotel

We decided to counter all of our Motel 6 rooms by booking a Tower Suite for six nights, pulling the honeymoon card in the hope they would look after us. And they did. There are two parts to the hotel. The main building is eight stories high, but the Presidential Suite occupies the whole top floor. Then there's the tower, which was added in the sixties. It has twenty-four stories, but the very top one is a function room with its own elevator. Our room was on the twenty-third floor. I tell you what, there's nothing like getting in an elevator with some pompous old geezer who looks down his nose at your sneakers, waiting for him to press the button to his mid-level floor and then smiling at him while selecting the highest floor on the panel. Joy.

The room was set up for our arrival, with the lights on and classic Christmas music playing softly. It was nearly sunset and with one look at the view we realised we weren't going to see much of San Francisco. At least not up close. 

From the Golden Gate to Alcatraz

From Alcatraz to Embarcadero

I remember Mum or Dad asking me during a phone call why we weren't out and about seeing the sights, to which we replied that we could see them all from our room. The inside of our room was equally lovely. Just being able to sit on a couch was luxury enough, let alone being able unpack all our stuff. We even had our very own entrance hallway. The bathroom was marble and there was a separate area with a dressing table. I've always wanted a dressing table.

Apologies for the mess, but I think it took us all of ten minutes to spread our stuff everywhere. It took us a hell of a lot longer to pack it all up at the end of the week, but it was so worth it.

Accommodation

From Moab we drove back to Las Vegas, leaving before the sun came up and finding ourselves in snow when it did. If my memory is correct, the highest elevation sign I saw read 7886 feet above sea level. Upon arriving in Las Vegas we returned our trusty hire car - a sad moment. We then boarded a rather small plane for our flight to San Francisco. Because we hadn't checked in online early enough, Daniel and I were seated at opposite ends of the plane. I think it was the first hour we've spent apart during this trip.

Many of you may already know where we stayed in San Fran, so I feel this post is a necessary precursor - a caveat of sorts. Apart from in the big cities, which are understandably more expensive, we've been staying mainly in roadside inns and motels. These do exist in the big cities, but they tend to be located in less than savoury areas or too far out to be convenient. A number of motel chains exist in America, and we've been frequenting Motel 6s and Super 8s. I've already mentioned a number of the nice places we've stayed, but I've not really mentioned these.

They cost anywhere from $40 to $60 a night, depending on the location and whether they've been renovated since the 1980s. They're as sparse as a motel room can be. When there's fresh air in the rooms they're fine, and often bigger than your usual hotel room. The problem is that most of them smell like somebody has smoked themselves to death inside, and that's in the non-smoking rooms. In any case, they've been doing wonders for our immune systems. We're certain that the Motel 6s are solely responsible for the fact we haven't (yet) been sick.

We've stayed in dozens of motel rooms, yet none of our ten thousand photographs document them. I would only have needed to show you one photo, as all the rooms of each chain are exactly the same. Ineptitude at its finest. What I really wanted you to see was the infamous Motel 6 bedspread. They look like someone ate a rainbow and then threw it up on the bed. Sometimes they smell that way too. We were well and truly ready for San Francisco.

Arches National Park

Now that our tire was fixed we were good to go and see the true reason we came to Moab - Arches National Park. We got back from our ride around 1430, and we scoffed down a late lunch. Subway never tasted so good. There were only a few hours of light left, but we were excited to explore Arches in the late afternoon sun. More than 2000 natural sandstone arches can be found within the park, even though 43 have collapsed since 1970.

The arches themselves are so beautiful but there are also other rock formations, petrified sand dunes and great views of the La Sal mountains. To get into the park you wind up through some cliffs, and you get a good look at Moab. There are a few hiking trails and campgrounds, but both the desert ecosystem and the rock structures are delicate and activities are carefully regulated. In 2006 a climber scaled Delicate Arch, and doing so has been explicitly banned since.

Moab from the entry to Arches NP

Arches was wonderful to see, but it's no Olympic National Park. The mountain biking was definitely the highlight of the day. We finally did some laundry that evening, and afterwards we debated driving through the night to get to the Grand Canyon at sunrise for a proper look. With our tire fixed we would have been able to make it, but we eventually decided not to try. A wise choice I think, even though it would have made for a great story.

Daniel's Two-Wheeled Revenge

Our day in Moab was busy busy busy. After driving back from Monticello with a patched tire, much more quickly than we'd driven there, we went straight to the Moab Adventure Centre. Moab is a small town but it plays host to many thrill-seeking tourists, predominantly during spring and the fall. There's something to whet everybody's appetite in Moab, whether it be 4WD-ing, dirt biking, kayaking, canyoneering, rock climbing or mountain biking. Daniel had booked us in for mountain biking and, much to my chagrin, he hadn't chosen the easiest trail. I was terrified, and he seemed pretty pleased with himself. I'm certain it was payback for the horse riding.

When our guide arrived she announced that we had her all to ourselves. Our timing has been excellent this trip - we've missed peak season but not yet been exposed to true winter weather. She drove us out to Dead Horse Point State Park and we chatted along the way. She'd been born in Salt Lake City but had got out of Utah as soon as she was old enough and never planned to come back. Then her husband taught her how to mountain bike and they began spending each spring in Moab, eventually settling permanently. According to her, Moab doesn't really feel like Utah.

The trail we were supposedly going to be riding (or trying to ride) took us along the edge of Canyonlands National Park, Utah's answer to the Grand Canyon. There were two options. The first was a relatively simple four mile loop. The second was a nine mile loop, but she said she doesn't take many people along that one. The first couple of miles overlapped, so we'd be able to make a decision once we knew how we were going to handle it.

The Trail

The view (and the ride itself) was breathtaking. Unfortunately that meant the view was also extremely distracting, and we often stopped to take it all in. We could see across the Canyonlands to the snow-covered La Sal Mountains. At one point we even crawled to a cliff edge on our bellies and made the mistake of looking down over the drop. Again, our timing was good as we'd backed off a few minutes before the wind picked up.

Don't look down...

Canyonlands and the La Sal Mountains

I'm running out of adjectives, and I need to get more creative with them. The [insert appropriate adjective here] expanse of the Canyonlands made us realise something very sad. I don't think we got the full impact of the Grand Canyon on our helicopter trip. What we saw was nowhere near as grand as the Canyonlands, and was probably just an easy tick of a box for lazy tourists. Making it even worse, we'd been only an hour from the main Grand Canyon lookout on our drive from Las Vegas to Monument Valley. We hadn't really realised because we weren't organised and were driving to a GPS, not a map, and insofar as we were aware of it, we weren't sure if our tire would hold out or if we had the time. It's probably the biggest stuff-up of the trip so far. Bummer.

The riding itself was actually quite enjoyable, especially once we settled into it. Daniel looked as pleased as punch ... until he was the first one to stack it. Daniel insists that he didn't fall off, but I think being tangled up in the bike on the ground counts. I admit, I also came a cropper, but I managed to land on my feet and run it out. Pure talent.

Runnin' Rebels Represent

Nonetheless, our guide seemed happy with our sick skillz and we continued on the nine mile loop. At this point I was a wheezing mess and kept holding the other two up. It might have had something to do with the altitude - in any case the cold wind certainly didn't help. I think it was the first asthma attack I've had, and given that it was almost halfway through the trip I don't think it's a bad effort. After nearly two hours on the bike I could barely walk. Once the jelly-legs disappeared, though, the sense of achievement arrived.

Life Elevated

Thanks to the limitations of our pathetic spare tire we meandered from Monument Valley to Moab, a small adventure town in southeast Utah. It was like driving through a dream. The Utah slogan is Life Elevated, and it's easy to get high on the scenery of this fascinating state. The lowest point in Utah is 2350 feet above sea level, and the highest is 13528. The below photos are just a teaser - wait for the next two posts...

 
It was Saturday afternoon when we arrived in Moab, and the only tire shop in town doesn't open on the weekends. We'd been giving our spare tire a workout, blissfully ignorant as to the likelihood of it blowing, but we had a 500 mile drive back to Vegas on Monday morning. We had to arrive by lunchtime to make our flight and, even if the tire was likely to hold for that distance, 50 miles an hour wasn't going to cut it.

The old boys in the local auto store put us in touch with the guy who runs the tire shop in Monticello, an hour out of Moab. We'd actually driven past it earlier that day, but we're idiots and didn't stop because it wasn't hire company-approved. As it turns out, we had no choice but to go back to Monticello and get it sorted Sunday morning. It cost us $40, which the hire company reimbursed anyway.

A Western Wonderland

Leaving Las Vegas was like being able to breathe again. There are some extraordinary cities in America - good, bad and ugly - but I'm just not enjoying them as much as the wide open spaces that abound here. Compared to places like Vermont, the Olympic Peninsula and the rugged western coast, the cities seem stale and not as distinctively 'American.' Our next destination was Monument Valley, near the border between Arizona and Utah, and it is hard to think of a more iconic and recognisable landscape.

We left Vegas well before sunrise and our first stop along the way was the Hoover Dam, which straddles Nevada and Arizona across the Colorado River. A perk of travelling at this time of year is that we often find ourselves alone at tourist attractions and able to enjoy them without interruption. We had the entire Hoover Dam to ourselves. The road that crosses the Dam itself is now only a tourist route - a large bridge has been built next to it as a traffic bypass. You can walk along the edge, and it affords an wonderful view of the Dam.

Hoover Dam

Driving through the Arizona desert yielded a surprise - snow. It was naive of us, but this wasn't something we were expecting. Even though signs by the road told us our elevation was more than 5000 feet above sea level, it was so jarring to see snow-covered red rock.


If there exists a generic road-trip checklist, we ticked something off it today. We were just outside of Tuba City, Arizona, i.e. the middle of nowhere, when a warning light appeared on the dashboard. We pulled into an empty car park to investigate further, but the problem was not hard to find. The moment we opened the door our hearts sunk with a whoosh. Well, actually, our hearts sunk but the whoosh came from elsewhere. Years ago, when I got my first car, Dad insisted on teaching me how to change a flat tyre. As usual, I paid no attention, and so it was lucky that Danny happened to have been at that lesson too. And that the car came with an instruction manual. Less fortunate was it that our spare tyre happened to be a space saver.

Flat tire

Real man stuff

For some reason Danny didn't appear to relish this golden opportunity to exercise his man skills. Perhaps it didn't help that I stood there watching, laughing and taking photos. It wasn't long before we were back on the road, albeit limping along at a maximum fifty miles per hour. Have I mentioned how fast they drive over here? Out on the Interstates the speed limit is eighty miles per hour and everyone does the obligatory five to ten over - you do the math.

It was near sunset when we reached The View Hotel, Monument Valley. It's the only hotel in the Valley itself, on the Navajo Nation. This was the view from our balcony:

If you don't know the Valley from countless Western classics featuring John Wayne, you may well have seen it in Forrest Gump. The Mittens, as they're called, were bathed in the sunset light. We got up early the next morning to watch the sun rise behind them, casting them as silhouettes as the sky yellowed. It was spectacular but so cold.

The hotel, restaurant and store (where I bought some gorgeous turquoise earrings) are all obviously run by Navajo people, and the restaurant serves an array of local specialties. Our favourite was the frybread:

Navajo frybread with honey

I can't remember the exact details, but it's a fried, leavened bread that was, in this instance at least, made with blue corn. The light in the photo doesn't do the colour justice - it was the most delicious shade of smalt blue. You eat it drizzled with honey and it's just to die for. I might try and find a recipe when I get home.

Things We Wish We'd Never Eaten #5: In-n-Out Burger

This post come to you courtesy of Daniel himself, who feels that he is too often being maligned by me and would like some input of his own. I still retain editorial control over all content.

IN-N-OUT is a west coast burger institution, dating back to 1948 in SoCal. The menu is simple, the decor is retro-simple, the food is super fresh and the stores are ALWAYS packed. The chain has a cult following with fans ranging from Tucker Max to Gordon Ramsey.

The IN-N-OUT chain is privately owned and controlled by the Snyder family that started it all. As such, the quirks of the chain are consistent store-to-store and state-to-state across 250+ locations.  The best example of this has to be the Bible references that are printed in discreet places on wrappers and cups.

I have two theories on this little detail:

1)   They are selling a religious experience.

Being a burger aficionado, feel free to check my references, I am fully qualified to say that In-N-Out is an out of body experience.  The burgers, the shakes and the fries individually are beyond good, probably the best I’ve ever eaten, but together its just exceptional. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be too surprised to see a Jesus face in the oil splotch of an In-N-Out chip bucket.

2)   What they are selling will lead to a religious experience.

This is the theory that Sarah will most likely side with. A double-double meal (w/ shake) comes with (for the almighty sum of ~8 bucks) a whopping 1655 calories,  just a Mars Bar shy of your RDI… As such, it seems only dutiful that with such a heart hardening serve of deliciousness, they also provide you with some counseling and guidance for the after life.

Either way I’m not fussed, but burgers will never be the same again.

The UNLV Runnin' Rebels

For the first half of our trip the NBA lockout remained unresolved, and it seemed unlikely that we would get to see a game. Our next best option was the NCAA (National Collegiate Athletic Association), and we went to a University of Nevada Las Vegas home game on our last night in Sin City.

College basketball, Vegas-style

UNLV Runnin' Rebels

The Division 1 team is currently ranked 18th and easily defeated the Canisius Golden Griffins. It was great fun to watch and a great atmosphere to soak up, but the level of basketball wasn't awe-inspiring and the Wildcats would have taken them down easily. Daniel devoured some stadium junk food and gleefully added a Rebels t-shirt to his ever-growing collection.