Ventura Highway in the Sunshine/Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay

We have been without the interwebs for a few weeks, but we have returned! More photos, readers. Or shall we say, viewers. Before we continue, however, we'd like to issue a formal statement: we have been alerted to the fact that it's a common misconception that doughnuts are a breakfast food. Don't believe this! The cakes are a lie!

Onto the photos:

First stop, the Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve:

Here's Nancy looking wary about the precariously perched camera.

Here's Nancy freaking out about the camera, which is falling off its dubious perch.

Let's just hold the camera.

This was effectively the only poppy we saw in the poppy field. Isn't it gorgeous?

That's right, we went to the poppy fields just before poppy season and saw only a handful of poppies. We weren't quite as miffed as some of our fellow poppy-viewers. We overheard an elderly Chinese gentleman with limited English language skills haggling with the ranger about the $10 parking fee.

"No poppies! Two dollar!"

We were impressed with the park ranger's response:
"Look, dude, I don't charge you $30 when the fields are full. It's $10, non-negotiable".

We were equally impressed with the old man's retort. "Two dollar. No poppies!"

The Joshua Tree. Unique to the Antelope Valley. And Israel.

We finally found one of these little buggars. They made SUCH a racket at night, but were impossible to find.

And finally, we bid our farewells to Palmdale, CA and hit the road! Special thanks to our hosts in the AV, for hosting us as long as they did!

A street in Ventura

We made a brief stopover at Pacific Coast Highway. We had intended to journey from Ventura straight through to San Francisco on the PCH; unfortunately, part of it had collapsed into the Pacific Ocean. Then again, perhaps this was a good thing, as it took us just under 23 hours of driving (spread over three days) on the shortcut routes.

Just past Ventura.

We picked up a scruffy vagabond hitchhiker on the way. Just kidding, Mum and Dad! We do know her, and she didn't have any communicable diseases!

Before the clothes came off. Nothing like skinny dipping in the Pacific.

We drove through a swarm of bees. Upon stopping, we found the bus covered in fragments of bee bodies. This one was in the windshield wiper. 

Five hours and too many hills later, we successfully made it to Santa Barbara. Extra special thanks to Archie, Ralphie, and our other hosts in SB, for being immensely hospitable hosts, providing us with a shower and a safe place to stay, and, most importantly, introducing us to Cajun cuisine!

The van comes to rest ("Thank God," says Willie) in the hills of Santa Barbara

The harbour

Santa Barbara was a beautiful city, friendly with a laid-back feel. It would be a wonderful place to live, were it not for the fact that it is a huge fire corridor... Alas, we could not stay forever. Although we decided to stay an extra day, the time soon came for us to take to the road again.

Preparing our maps

Goodbye, Ralphie and Archie!

We ventured from Santa Barbara inland, to the Hollister State Vehicular Recreation Area. The site was $10, a good $20 cheaper than anything else in the vicinity. We could not comprehend this discrepancy, until we realised that the "Vehicular Recreation" referred to dirt biking. Jet skis on land, just as irritating. And so, coupled with the beautiful ecological diversity, the deer, the owls, and sundry other fauna was the constant bzzzzzzzz of dirt bikes and heavy-duty 4X4's. Fortunately, our campsite was far enough away from the bike tracks that we were able to sleep.

 

...And build fires!

Preserving a tradition that began over 200, 000 years ago: man make FIRE!

A note to other motorists.

We arrived safely in the Bay Area, after a fruitless visit to Santa Cruz (all the rides were closed for the off season on the Boardwalk. We probably should've called in advance to let them know we were coming...). On our first night, we attended an art show called Art Murmur. Also attending were more indiekids ("hipsters" for the Californian demographic) than you can shake an ironic mustache at.

Our original plan was to spend a few hours in Berkeley, then make our way to Alameda. However, we were met with more enthusiastic and warm hosts, who were happy to show us the East Bay sights. As such, we ended up at the Berkeley Farmers' Market (the Bay Area is supremely supportive of community agriculture, sustainability, urban farming, and local business, we soon found), and at Dolores Park.

This is Dolores Park. Rather, this is the gay side of Dolores Park; so we were informed by our all-knowing Berkeleyite tour guides.

Just look at that line for the toilet.

The above picture reveals a lot about the park. For example, there was a 40-minute wait for the bathroom (as shown by Nancy's indignant facial expression). Behind us was an extremely camp gay man who complained bitterly for twenty minutes about a woman who had cut in the men's line to the bathroom, inciting a catfight. This, we were today informed, is what is known as a "hyphy" situation (Urbandictionary.com defines "hyphy" as "crazy, high-energy, temperamental". A word that comes straight outta Oakland). While we at first sympathised with the man behind us, when the time came for us to stand in line, we began to understand exactly what frame of mind that girl had been in when she ran into the men's.

More New Zealand-made wares

After Berkeley, we headed to Alameda. It is a lovely area, almost quaint, but really too close to San Francisco and Berkeley to lose its edge to suburbia.

An example of Alamedan architecture

Later in the week, we marched in defiance of war! Allegedly, there were 3,500 of us, chipper and outraged, aged from toddlers holding Crayola-scrawled peace signs to the octogenarians toddling next to us. Our involvement in the protest was to use our voices. We used our voices to sing loudly and raucously, to the twiddly-twanging of an unnamed jovial banjo player: our very own radical musical Santa Claus. We covered such golden oldies as "We Shall Not Be Moved", "We Shall Overcome", "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?", and "Give Peace a Chance". 

Note our banjo-playing companion

The gentleman leading the chants had a very strong accent, which, oddly, made him sound a LOT like The Count from Sesame Street, especially when he said r-r-r-racist! THREE r-r-r-racist wars! Heh, heh, heh...

1, 2, 3, 4! We don't want your r-r-r-racist war!

It seems we have acquired a taste for protests! Next up, protesting nuclear power plants on fault lines, Thursday at 12.

Later that afternoon, we ventured into the Castro, into the heart of Gayville, USA.

Nancy: It was a very, very strange experience, because heterosexuals were the minority. Suddenly, I felt that I truly had nothing in common with everyone apart from our sexual orientation. And while I maintain morally, ethically (spi-i-iritually, physically, for those of you who have seen the munchkin song performed live) that this relaxed, "it's nothing" attitude towards sexual identity should be the norm universally, I missed the momentary glimpses of recognition, of shared experience in the faces of our fellow queers (reclaimed word, Mum and Dad!). It almost didn't exist. It has been barely 40 years since SF gay populations faced serious persecution, but it has receded in memory as have the hairlines of those who lived it. Homosexuality simply is in the Castro. It defies and simultaneously does not crave definition: it just exists, and in abundance. 


I don't even know true persecution, I suppose. Auckland is hardly a judgmental city, but hell, we saw genitals on display on 18th St. that day (hence the lack of photographs for this segment). Auckland blushes conservatively by comparison.


I found that everyone else's experience was one to which I could scarcely relate. Paradoxically, I felt almost alienated, surrounded by so many other gay people. I was in a crowd of individuals who I didn't know. A good thing, I maintain, but different.

We have a packed agenda for the weeks to come! We will endeavour to update as frequently as technology allows!

Ta-ta!

The Quest Quotient by Nancy Howie and Steff Werman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at thequestquotient2011.blogspot.com.