Recovering March 22. - 31., 2002 ... from house hunting = getting used to no driving around homes for sale on the weekend. For some reason it's quite hard.

	Californian infant at a restaurant thanks to our strict ban on smoking, one can leisurely eat out with a baby - David, Julie and Annabelle

A home located, selected, contract signed ... and what's next? Somehow we imagined that everything thus ended and peace would reign thenceforward. Indeed, for several first days we walked the earth with happy, idiotic smiles. Kept going through our photographs in an endless loop, and forced ourselves on every available friend, telling them (again) how wonderful house we had bought.

Then a weekend came and our knees stopped trembling with joy; we realized instead that there was an infinite wasteland of almost four weeks opening ahead of us, during whose all the paperwork had to get processed (a mortgage, inspections, insurance etc.), and during whose STRANGERS would still live at OUR HOME!!! Just imagine how unfair that was!!! What was worse -- we could not figure out what to do on such a weekend? A kneejerk reaction urged us to pick up a list of houses for sale, put them into a computer map, eliminate those near a freeway or located in odd quarters, construct a route and DRIVE OUT. Or not? What have we actually used to do BEFORE househunting?

We used to go on hikes and walks. So, where to go this time? Would you have guessed? Obviously, to a park near OUR HOME. We felt a little bit like nuts, as we parked in an alley and stepped onto a public trail towards Guadalupe Creek. If you watch an aerial photograph, you can see large green areas southeast of our house that I claimed to be fields, while Sid insisted on water reservoirs. And in fact, in a little while we arrived to a system of small ponds. Their surface was alive with wild geese and ducks, and being disturbed by two people in inflatable rafts. Surroundings bore clear signs of recent raging of "environmentalists", who cut and destroyed all "non-native" vegetation and planted only officially sanctioned and truly original Californian plants -- well, we shall see how nature will take it. We also met an old man with a fancy cane, and several other people walking -- everybody greeted us from afar and looked vastly friendly. We congratulated ourselves (again) for choosing this neighborhood for our home.

	Golden Gate and San Francisco

For Sunday, we planned a trip across Golden Gate, where Sid was promising a terrific view to the City. I thought of stopping by my friend Julie in San Francisco, check out her new baby; we had a lunch with them. Because smoking is banned from all public spaces and restaurants in California, one can easily take a newborn to a pub. I must admit I was expecting this visit to have certain contraceptive effects, but Annabelle disappointed me there. A baby who expresses her disagreement by a mild frown, and otherwise more or less always smiles (or sleeps peacefully in her stroller), seems to be the simplest thing in the world.

The more trouble emanated from my Hippo. While I was happily pushing through crowds on Haight Street and bulged my eyes feeling like at a wondrous ZOO (a free one, too!), Hippo was moaning in a low voice. This street is said to have given life to hippie movement -- honestly, inside this mixture of dyed heads, tattooed limbs, beads, rugs worn in place of coats, leather garments, suspect smoke from who-knows-what weed, strange shops, paintings sold on the street, roar, squeals, yelling, cigarette butts and feverish air -- even today, quite something could get born. Alas, my Hippo was in an asocial mood and demanded to flee.

	From Marin Headlands, the City is really right at the palm of your hand.

We still had to complete our planned trip that we did not want to miss. There are not so many days when you can photograph San Francisco without a fog or rain. This time, neither smog was present -- simply an ideal combination -- once you push through crowds at Marin Headlands, who had exactly the same idea. To escape the hordes, we kept driving farther, to a lighthouse at Point Bonita, which we photographed before across the strait from SF side. There, cuddling against a crazy howling wind (see, San Francisco simply cannot offer NICE weather, there's always something, like cold or windy), we hiked some in the vicinity of the lighthouse (which was off limits).

Our bank sent us their congratulations in the following week. They quite clearly like our new house (it had to be appraised before funding our loan) and they would happily seize it, should we fail to pay the mortgage. But the important thing is, they would give us the money bag. More inspections (termite and house) were impossible to have arranged, for Easter holidays kicked in here and schools had holidays, and inspectors took time off.

Easter is of no great social importance here (being a Christian tradition, other religions or even atheists would certainly be terribly inconvenienced to have to endure a national holiday, would they not?) -- some families with kids organize an egg search on Easter Sunday; the eggs get hidden by an Easter Bunny (an egg-bearing rabbit); we simply omitted any traditional exercise. Well, that's actually not completely true -- I look beat, wearing a brightly red strangulation line on my neck. Sid is, however, completely innocent about it..

	Point Bonita suburbs of San Francisco in the background

During the Easter weekend, we tried hard not to think about our house, and to pretend a normal life; we went to the mountains. Weather was great, sun was shining, and Mrs. Smartpants carefully covered her whole face, ears, even nose holes and lower jaw with sunscreen (remembering burns from Dachstein glacier), but she somehow missed her neck. While enjoying my skiing experience, I never thought of the sun. Snow was wet and heavy, I had enough to do not to fall (especially when riding out from shady forest into a sloshy plain, which was tough). Then I managed to pick up a fight with a ski lift bearing a poetic name of Iron Horse (the lift had won), losing one ski temporarily in the process. Fortunately for us, the local ski lift crew watches out - the upper end operator was already expecting us, he slowed the seats down to let me exit on my single ski, and people few seats back brought me the missing piece. Then we found out that we had left some extra hats and gloves under a tree on the other end of the resort, and were bound to another lift-hopping trek. I mentioned it already a few times here, but every time I'm pleasantly surprised how things don't get stolen in America. Feeling hot while skiing? You toss your jacket off onto a seat at a bar, somewhere on the slopes, or at a lift; if you don't forget, you will find it in the evening.

	Marin Headlands looking towards Point Bonita

I found, on our way home, mostly strange burning sensation about my neck; a look in a mirror revealed a wide crimson line -- just like after someone strangled me with all might... And so we rejected any outdoor adventures on Sunday and went to a cinema. I still twitch, after a year and half in California, whenever we don't go out on "such a nice" day -- but it is nice here over ten months out of a year. Besides, sun was the last thing I would need this time, and I let Sid convince me to got to a movie. He chose for us to see Amelie, which shocked me a bit -- reviews for this film mentioned "a young girl who decides to do good deeds and finds her love" -- which evoked some choking reflexes in me, and definitely not an urge to spend my afternoon with it.

I don't feel like writing a review about it -- I would not come up with anything better than a young girl who decides etc... -- but make sure you see it. Let me put it this way -- we are waiting for a DVD to buy it, AFTER we have seen it. Amélie (the movie, and the character) are both smart and witty, there are no mannequins who look like made of plastic, plot twists have unexpected, yet gracefully logical solutions, and even the happy ending is not over-sweetened.. It simply is a movie that lets you forget that those STRANGE people still live in YOUR house...

Copyright © 2002-2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.