On people November 13, 2000 but also about wine, beer, pubs, irish coffee, movie theatres, and climbing.

Sid got up early on Monday to make it to the clinic for his immigration examination. When he got there, they told him that he was not supposed to be there on that day, as they left him a voicemail on his work phone at five o'clock on Friday, that the examination was re-scheduled. (On Friday five o'clock we already enjoyed being stuck in a traffic jam towards Sacramento.)

So Sid repeated his early rising on Tuesday. Overall, he got more successful than I, for he managed to convince the doctor that it was pointless to test him for TB, when it was clear that it would turn positive (due to inoculation).

Elections had been ruling the media since the beginning of the week -- our, American elections, of course. We cannot vote yet, but we take interest anyway -- we live here and result will affect us nevertheless. I must admit that I don't quite orient myself in local politics, so our "family" party affiliation leans towards Sid's opinion. But we rooted for Bush, only no one knows yet, what the real result will be.

I went to a climbing gym in Santa Clara on Tuesday. They present themselves very upscale and official, but their bouldering area is nice. A chap was climbing there (his name was Alfy), about as good as I was, and so we got to talking. And to climbing. Finally I wore myself out again that I could hardly hold the car wheel. Alfy had recommended nearest climbing area, Castle Rock on Skyline Ridge.

I checked it out there, at Castle Rock, right on Wednesday. Skyline is the mountain chain that separates us from the ocean, which was source of much clouds and creepy weather. I walked around some, it turned out to be a collection of interesting bouldering rocks. It seems to be granite, but it has some sandstone structures -- large holes, almost small caves, rather round holds, and it's beautifully rough. I laid my hands on the rock, but since I still had my hands stretched like a chimp from the gym, I did not really feel like climbing.

Wednesday we were also invited to a dinner at Kren's. I don't even know well how George and Sid met, but it is not important. They live in Los Altos Hills, practically "around the corner" from us, and they own a condo in Monterey for the weekends. They let us stay there in the summer and I'm not surprised at all that Martina (George's wife) wants to move there once George retires. Martina claims that George and Sid are both nuts the same way, which both gentlemen deny vehemently (each claiming, "I am not nuts like HE is!!!"), but we, the wives, know better. Martina threatened me with her teenage daughter Madlenka. I was slightly afraid to have dinner with and American teenager, thinking that she could be more horrible that typical Czech teenagers, but Madlenka behaved in a way that make me think, if all American teenagers are like this, then I simply love them. For most of the evening, Smudla kept me amused. He is a mop-like puppy (officially the smaller schnauzer kind there is), but very sweet, for I was up to some mischief, while he politely left Sid alone (for Sid made faces like he was not going to play any thumb biting games). I normally don't dig dogs that much, but after five years with Guláš (my old Czech cat) I have been feeling some withdrawal.

Our dinner, as far as I remember, went quite successfully, only as more and more wine disappeared in us, our debates turn ever more sophisticated. I think we left in the right moment, to be able to leave at all. Sid got even so excited that he CARRIED me to the car!!! (finally there's a man that will CARRY me!!).

Thursday morning I had some difficulties unburying myself, I stumbled out of my bed when Sid was long working. I expected a terrible hangover, but it must have been a very good wine (California is famous for it).

So on Friday I was back at the gym, to keep in shape. I met a girl there, who did not only climb beautifully, but she was actually quite pretty. (I don't know what it is, but American women seem awfully ugly. Of course I'm not complaining, for it results in pleasant thing happening, like Sid's colleagues telling him how beautiful woman he married.) And I was right again -- the girl in the gym was from Ukraine! I showed her a move, which I was not able to complete any possible way, she did, and what's more (!) she let me try it again, watching my back. That was the worst thing about this move, I had to hang down by my heel and reach around a corner with my hands. It was throwing me sideways where you end up falling flat on your back.

For the evening, Sid and I planned a movie show. It surprised me with what devotion Americans go to the movies. By seven p.m., we had a problem finding a parking spot, tickets for new films must be reserved ahead of time, despite running in several theatres simultaneously (a movie theatre here often means a complex of up to twenty individual rooms, rolling one film after another from early afternoon to midnight). Our show was sold out, of course, so we had dinner first. We chose an American restaurant named Tied House. It has its own beer brewery, looks pretty much like a pub (no glittering dining lounge) and they serve huge portions. But most important - they offer drinkable beer.

I shall not write much about the movie, "Red Planet". If you ever had the temptation to try it, don't. It was a stereotypical sci-fi full of bad physics, with a mandatory happy ending. I had one more issue with this movie; I hate flicks that make you always wait for some monster to jump you, so poor Sid must have gotten some bad blue spots on his forearm. In the end, no monster ever jumped.

	A very strong coffee!

	Sunset in SF (Alcatraz island behind)

After a family meeting we agreed to join Sid's friend the dentist on a trip to San Francisco, to have a cup of coffee. The dentist is Chinese and so we imagined his girlfriend to be a little Chinese girl. But we live in California. Our group thus consisted of Stone (the dentist, his full first name is Kingstone!!!), his friend Aňa -- blond and pretty -- you may start suspecting something -- Aňa is Polish, her sister name is Goša and Goša's husband Ed is, for a change, Iraqi from Chicago. I had no clue why we had to venture all the way to San Francisco for some coffee, but when we arrived at the Buena Vista pub, I stopped wondering. It is located on a beautiful corner with a view to a cable car terminal, and Golden Gate Bridge. It seemed perpetually crowded, which always and everywhere distinguishes a good pub from a bad one; all those people seemed local -- not many tourists -- which is another good sign. It took us a while before we captured a table in a neighborhood of a company that was more than relaxed. Goša commented it that they must have been served some really strong coffee. I naively took it for an euphemism and laughed politely.

It was not euphemism. Irish coffee is made in a cup by inserting three sugar cubes, dripping some coffee onto them, adding a big shot of whiskey, and topping it off with whipped cream. It's warm, sweet, and very, very GOOD. We were served by Emma. By the look of her, a pioneer old lady who worked the premises since the big fire of 1906, and who sports a very peculiar sense of humor (I saw her smiling only once, while she was punching keys on a register). I bet she can, if needed, personally bounce every one customer out of the pub.

I thing that we managed three rounds during our late lunch. Sid, who would be unable to speak with his hands tied, knocked a tray with some coffees from Emma's hands so skillfully, that it was not just me who had wet back. Fortunately the company at the next table was far beyond the point where anybody would be bothered by some whipped cream behind a collar. Ed wanted to order them some drinks to compensate, but Emma resolutely stopped him, saying they were boozing since the morning and they should go home.

Eventually we, too, rolled out of the pub and took a walk through a part of SF. I was not much impressed by a section with cheap gift shops, but we progressed to a pier with sea lions, and watched sunset over Alcatraz and Golden Gate. America is incredibly intense, and some sunsets here balance on the edge of a beautiful piece of art, and complete kitsch.

On Sunday I dragged Sid out to climb at Twister. It's a small climbing gym not far from where we live. Sid did three routes and seems to continue to be willing to climb with me; this is going well. I wrestled with gri-gri (a foolproof belaying apparatus), which everybody insists upon, and which I don't like much. But they all take safety so seriously, and I will have to adapt.

Copyright © 2000-2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.