Never Say Never (1/4)

	To America!

I never wanted to go to America (read: USA). I felt that everyone was crazy about it, but other places were fine as well, and, mostly -- outside I had less chance to meet Americans. Having made my experience with Americans who crowded into Prague right after the Revolution, to "write a novel" or otherwise save the world, I have put them into a category I kept reserved for Jehovists, drummers, and leftist youth. I'd rather not socialize with them -- better yet -- avoid them completely.

Our river trip in July 2000 changed everything. Suddenly I turned an airfare ticket in my hands; I was going to "see" how this America REALLY looks like. Sid would not, though, fit into this category of bohemian Americans, Jehovists & leftist youth etc., and still he likes America a lot.

So I went to review Hippo's America. I took careful steps, going only for a vacation, only for three weeks. That's what the following pages are about. There were consequences, and those are then included in my Journal.

Starting with Monterey Bay

	Monterey

MONTEREY is a coastal city and if the name seems familiar, try to remember that you used to read about it in Cannery Row, or Tortilla Flat. The famous street can still be found in Monterey, even includes a whorehouse mentioned in the book (selling souvenirs nowadays), and Doc's house. The Doc has a little exhibit at the Monterey Aquarium (since he was featured by a real-life person).

On the grounds that I have been an inland animal, we first headed for the ocean. It was hot in Palo Alto, a typical July weather ruled on the coast. Kids sunbathing on blankets (about two on several miles of beach), or running in the surf. The "normal" visitors slowly walked along the water line dressed in sweatshirts, and I (wrapped in my windbreaker) started dreaming about a wooly hat. Californians (at least in these parts) enjoy eithties most of the year -- and would not bother to dress warmer for just a few winter weeks. However, during the really hot summer days, inversion forms over the immediate coast area, where a thick fog sits like a heavy lid. Underneath, air temperature approaches that of the ocean water, which is sixty degrees. Well, since locals would not dress for December, July for sure can't make them, can it?

	Pacific Coast near Carmel Meadows

However, the coast is beautiful, and - thanks to the low temperatures - you don't have to push through a crowd of red bellies, nobody yells at you selling icecream or similar beach treats, and you're safe from crying children (at the density of two younglings per two miles of beach, these creatures appear cute and lovable). Near CARMEL (Steinbeck again), we visited a rocky and sandy beach with a "natural chapel" - a large towering rock - where weddings take place. None was happening then; instead, a small, somewhat drifty-looking man was, posing with an electric guitar for a photographer. The drifty artist smiled sweetly at Sid and the photographer said bitterly "... they probably don't know who you are." We hurried by, to avoid bursting into laughter right in their faces. The photographer looked ready to drown our offence against his friend's in blood. A little way down I made Sid kiss me passionately. It might not have been very nice from me, but I have to admit that I did not like the (no doubt famous) artist's slobbery look a single bit -- I felt the need to indicate that Sid was already taken.

	This is naturally a sea otter in the Aquarium, you can't get so close to wild ones, mostly because they rarely get out on a shore...

A Treasure Island could be seen from the beach (it seems to me that we have too many literary references here, but in fact I know very few places one could write about so easily like about Monterey Bay). A couple of otters made us stay in one spot despite the biting cold. A sea otter is about the size of a very large, fat cat, and he's got it all worked out. Most of his life, he floats on his back in the sea. When he finds something to eat, he would serve it on his own stomach and have a fun meal. If he is a she and has a baby, it gets a ride -- on mommy's stomach. This couple was probably a mom with a grown up pup. Breathless, we watched her dive into the foamy surf among sharp cliffs. During some moments, we even thought that she would drown there (the surf seemed to throw her right onto the rocks), but she always resurfaced. Twice she even had some catch; then the young would jump on her noisily and grab it. By the way, being an otter female is probably no leisure feat. Same as offspring, males, too, let the females feed them.

Carmel would certainly enchant every European. Not only it is not made of geometrically aligned boxes as local custom would have it; it really has the air of an ocean bath small town - including galleries, coffee shops and so on.

We came mostly for Monterey, where, besides above mentioned attractions, we visited the Aquarium (I recommend highly, as Monterey Bay prides itself on deep ocean canyon, which is a rarity this close to shore). Creatures behind the glass are very interesting and aquarium guides are eager to answer your questions. You may, however, begin to associate fish and clams with similar thoughts like those of one guide who, after being asked for a name of a particular fish, lifted his gaze to some faraway horizon and said: "I don't quite remember this one, but is tastes great steamed with tender greens..." (Martina Kren told me this story). In such case, you can leave the Aquarium and go right next door to the Fishermans' Wharf, and get lured to taste clam chowder. It looks rather repulsive, a white muddy soup with bits floating in it, which invoke the idea that somebody already ate this once, but it is a great food.

	Highway 1 (can you see that I'm trembling with cold? is is July, you know!)

Another useful feature of Monterey (well at least for us) was a fact that we could enjoy hospitality of our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Kren, who's beachfront apartment is a great place to sleep.

We could not resist driving out to HIGHWAY 1. It tracks almost whole California coast of the Pacific Ocean, going over rocky cliffs, and is breathtaking. For this route, I recommend subject your driver to a terrible oath that he will carefully follow all switchbacks over the abyss and refrain from savoring his surroundings .

Two days in Monterey Bay gave me ample room to recover from my jet lag (uneasiness caused by sleep disruption and food pattern changen due to substantial time zone change). We were about to return the apartment key to the Krens, drive back to Palo Alto, and go for the real big trip. What followed can be best imagined as a show exhibition of a sclerotic magician. We turned pockets on all imaginable clothes inside out, practically disassembled our car, but could not achieve a desired trick, i.e., finding the key. Our farewell was, therefore, somewhat nonstandard: "Thanks for everything, but you won't get your keys back." If I ever felt as an idiot, this was just the time.

Rafting on American River

Back in Palo Alto, Sid spent a day on the internet and on the phone trying to arrange a rafting trip for us. It was meant to be a kind of rerun of our washing away, but the local providers were pretty startled by our request. They just could not get how we want to call one day and take a river ride on the next one. This was the first time I encountered the phenomenon of American planning: something like one day trip is to be arranged and anticipated for at least one year.

Eventually we got a spot that we liked, they promised class four river, which we found adequate.

	Although this is not American River, where we rafted, but with a little bit more water it would look pretty similar.

We found the right section of AMERICAN RIVER, and the right campground after dark. As it was not permitted to drive down to it, we chose to be spoilt (and did not carry all our stuff down into some dark canyon, and we did not attempt to erect our brand new = read: never tested = tent). Instead, we slept inside our Wagon in our sleeping bags.

Trucks with rafts kept driving up and down next to our parking spot all the early morning. Owners watched us as if we were weird (perhaps they never saw an unkempt woman crawl out of a sleeping bag before), we slowly packed our things and waited for our guides. They came and told us that there was enough time to go to a coffee shop in a nearby village and have a breakfast. I rejoiced.

	We took a picture of the river, now it's my turn to drive...

My mood even improved when I saw that it was a bar like from Wild West. Swing door, disarray indicating that this was a place that mostly locals go -- no shining uniformity of a mcdonald-esque chain. Besides us, four chaps sat at a table next to ours. To my surprise, they drank their coffee and ate their breakfast -- wearing hats. Cowboy hats.

I had some toast with jelly, Sid ordered some meat and hashbrowns (grated, roasted potatoes). I got first introduced to a wonderful, pleasant American custom -- automatical, free coffee refill.

	We are heading to a volcanic Lassen NP - you can see it on the landscape

We were ready to raft. I have to say that even though the rudder was operated by a professional muscle guy and we were only watching for the bulk of the time, it was well worth it. Unfortunately there is not photographic documentation of us conquering the gorge, as it was possible to purchase one print for "only" twenty dollars. Try taking picture of each other while we were trying hard not to fall out of the raft -- not possible.

In the end we were satisfied, as we both (Sid and I) got assigned place in front, meaning a great view and first row experience of all the rapids. The mere fact that we moved about hundred miles inland from the coast raised temperatures well into nineties, so getting completely wet from head to feet was explicitly pleasant for most of the day, though towards the evening I became quite cold.

Our professional guide was very relaxed and easy, on flat surface we chatted sociably about rafting, forest fires (there were two daddy-o's with three young boys along with us in the raft, and one of them was a fireman), life in general. It seems we were lucky, for a second raft was run by the owner of the rafting company, and she insisted on some kind of organized cheering and having fun by the book ("yes, we're the best, we got so nicely through, and let us all clap together, isn't this fun!!!") which usually invokes a vomiting reflex in me.