I am over Las Vegas now. I don’t need to return again … ever. I probably will go back because it’s the kind of place you end up having to visit periodically. And that’s okay. I don’t hate Las Vegas. I am just over it.

A few other thoughts:

1. Someone needs to tell Las Vegas that it is not a world-class city like New York or Paris and therefore shouldn’t charge prices like it is. Pricing I ran into: $3 coffee, $2.50 soda, $30-$50 entrees, $15 cocktails, $30 per person cover charges for clubs. I admit I don’t know how to work the Vegas system, so I guess I’m one of the suckers who support all the people who do know how to work the system. Yes, I am bitter about this.

2. We ate food. The best meal we had was at Table 10 in the Palazzo. I had a lamb dish that was surprisingly good.

3. I ate the lamb dish while sitting on the restaurant’s “terrace.” Which was in a mall. The view:

4. Waiters in Las Vegas are pushy. They want you to know your drink order right away. If you don’t know, they pressure you to know. And if you still don’t know, they go away for 30 seconds and come back and expect you to know. Then they want you to leave as soon as you are done with your meal. I think that when you are paying between $30-$50 for an entrée, you should be able to sit there for as long as you want.

5. I wanted to go on a gondola ride, but when I realized it was right off the strip and everyone stares at you while you do it, I decided to take a (blurry) picture instead:

6. This trip forced me to finally get a cell phone. For some of my friends, this should be exciting news. Now when people take out their cell phones and start fiddling them in the middle of a conversation, I can do the same thing.

7. Casinos are fun to walk through. When I wasn’t eating, that’s generally what I was doing: walking through casinos and taking pictures of people. My camera did surprisingly well in low light.

8. Here is a picture of a strip seen through some bushes:

9. The trip home was delayed for an hour because there was fog in San Francisco. I don’t even know what to say about that.

10. Sorry this post is so negative. It’s what Las Vegas does to me. Here is what it does to other people:

(Taken at the gate in the Las Vegas airport.)

Thoughts on Las Vegas so far:

1. This is the best place for people watching, ever. You simply don’t see people like this anywhere else. People like… the 50-something beanpole and his Asian wife, she wearing a beaded Sears pantsuit and he wearing an oversized orange-and-blue paisley suit jacket, dancing ala Studio 54 to a live band. Or the old mob boss in his black dress shirt and his cold, much-injured wife in a 60s mod dress, dancing in careful arthritic steps to same band. Seriously awesome.

2. Star Trek Bar. Yes! I tasted blue beer and talked to a Klingon. Proof:

3. I am seeing far fewer people on drugs/women that are obviously prostitutes this time. What up, Las Vegas? Losing your edge?

4. The weather is… nice. It has been in the high 70s the whole time. I cannot tell you how relieved I am about that.

5. Skyline:

6. Fancy French food in Las Vegas seems like a good idea (in context), but it turns out it isn’t that great. It’s not awful, but the little details are messed up–the appetizer it too acidic or the frites have been left sitting under a hot light too long–and the waitress explains what escargot and steak tartare is to you. Why is this town starting to be known for its food, again?

7. Bellagio Fountains, not without charm:

8. Gambling continues to be a mystery to me. I spent $2 on slot machines and won ten cents. Winning money is confusing. The machine makes noises and then you get a ticket for ten cents that you have to go redeem somewhere. Also, everyone who gambles is sad. Walking through some of those casinos is like walking through a funeral. Aren’t these people supposed to be enjoying this?

9. Ceiling at the Bellagio:

10. Drunk bicycling: A Las Vegas pastime?

I am still over Las Vegas, but since Kyle’s work is sending him out there for a week to fix servers, I figured I would tag along. Ah, the beauties of being self-employed.

I am not sure about being in a desert for a week, let alone in Las Vegas for a week. Las Vegas is a weekend trip, not a week-long trip. However, this time I’m going to do some of the odder Las Vegas stuff. Did you know there is a pinball museum? And I hear there is a Star Trek bar that everyone should check out. The art museum is supposed to be pretty decent too. Vacation! A possibly depressing vacation, yes, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

If you have any suggestions for what to do in Las Vegas besides gamble (not interesting to me) and drink, I’d be delighted to hear it.

On Saturday, I went to San Francisco with Marcia and watched her purchase art and furniture. You can read about our day on her blog.

On Sunday, it was unbelievably gorgeous, so Kyle and I decided to take a trip through Marin and check out the town of Bolinas. I had heard a lot about Bolinas–how it is filled with colorful characters, how you have to drive through country roads to get to it, and how the locals hate tourists and remove signposts to keep outsiders from finding their town.

It was indeed hard to find. It took over an hour to get there, although it’s not far from Petaluma. It was a gorgeous drive; we wound through springtime hills, past quaint towns, flowering trees, and cows. Finally, we ended up passing the fork that goes off to Bolinas and went to Stinson Beach instead. The sign to Bolinas was indeed missing.

And when I got to Stinson Beach, I understood why the locals removed the sign. It was full of horrible people! Well, maybe not horrible. But the kind of people who buy $700 bathing suits and work out in gyms and treat every situation as a personal fashion show and meat market. I was surprised to see them out in Marin with their surf boards and their artfully shredded designer beach wear, standing in line in the the overpriced gourmet grocery store with their plastic tubs of tuna-and-olive salads and Naked juice. Needless-to-say, we didn’t stay long in Stinson Beach.

(As I was standing outside waiting for Kyle to use the restroom, I noticed this odd situation. This woman was hugging her … daughter? … while talking on the phone while her son looked on behind them. They stood like this for something like 7 minutes. It was strange because a. they didn’t move and b. the woman on the phone was so disconnected from the hug she was giving. I don’t quite know what to make of it.)

Bolinas, once we found it, was quite charming. It wasn’t what I expected. The town wound down a road and was full of beach houses, book stores, and hotels. It didn’t have a lot more than that. Maybe it was the beautiful day, or all the flowering plants everywhere, but it started to remind me of Santa Cruz with the surfers and hippies walking around. It didn’t feel like Marin at all.

We ended up walking around downtown and then sitting on the beach people watching. I had originally hoped to watch nature in Bolinas, but there were too many people around for that. So I watched the array of surfers, rich people, college students, children, dogs, hippies, and eccentric locals instead. On the way home, we stopped at the Marin Cheese Factory and tasted cheese and watched a child drag a stick in a pond. It was a good day.

Woman and baby

“Vote for Bolinas
Socially Acknowledged
Nature loving Town

Because
To like to drink the
water out of the lakes
to like to eat the blueberries
to like the bears is
Not hatred to hotels
and Motorboats
Dakar
Temporary and Way
to save life skunks
and foxes (airplanes
to go over the ocean)
and to make it
BEAUTIFUL

– Measure G Ballot Initiative
passed Nov. 4, 2003″

??

Couple and their poodles

Kyle and I were agreeing that it is a waste of money to buy a child a wet suit. Then, right as I was snapping this photo, the child in the middle said, “Hey Marie, do you want to go body surfing later?”

My new desktop

Bolinas Lagoon, with the tide almost completely out. Clams were spitting water into the air like tiny geysers.

Can you see the dog?

This weekend, I went snow-shoeing in Yosemite. It was the first time I have:

Gone camping in a national park

Stayed in a cabin covered with canvas

Done any sort of winter sport

Seen people ski

Snow-shoed

Snow-shoed on an expert trail

Eaten hot dogs in the snow

I had been to Yosemite a lot, but never with friends, and never to stay the night before. The park is much less crowded in winter and just as gorgeous.

El Capitan

The first day, we drove up to the park, found our cabin, and looked around Yosemite. By the Ansel Adams Gallery, a herd of deer were eating leaves in the snow.

We stayed in a heated tent/cabin–a wooden cabin frame covered with canvas. Yosemite at night is nearly as impressive as it is in the daytime. The snow glows in the moonlight, making for dramatic views even in the dark.

Sun setting on Half Dome.

The next day, we went snow-shoeing. As mentioned before, I had never done anything in the snow. In fact, I’ve only been in snow a handful of times in my entire life.

LtoR: Marcia, me, Kyle, Stephanie, Justin

We hiked up to Dewey Point, a 7-8 mile round-trip. At first, snow-shoeing was a lot of fun. It was surreal to see all the landscape covered with snow and to know we were walking on top of bushes. We didn’t see any wildlife–except for a spider–but we saw lots of cross-country skiers, all of whom looked exhausted to me.

Kyle jumping off a rock in his snow-shoes

Unfortunately, the trail we ended up on was somehow an expert level, which was a lot for the first time snow-shoeing. Turns out going up steep hills in show shoes is hard. On top of that, we were in a hurry because we wanted to make sure to get to the top of Dewey Point and back in time to return our snow shoes. I had a hard time keeping up with everyone.

However, at the top of the hill, we had hot dogs in the snow. Justin cooked them on his camping stove, which is a nifty little gadget. Having a hot dog picnic cheered me up.

Justin cooking the hotdogs

Dewey Point is alarmingly high up and there is nothing to prevent you from falling to your death. Kyle was very concerned I would fall, but I thought it was all completely awesome.

A shot of the drop–I believe that circle in the middle is a meadow covered with snow.

On the way back, we took an easier trail, which was a relief for me. Still, this was one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done. It felt like we did 15 miles instead of 8 miles. Despite this, I’m really glad we went. Thanks to Justin and Stephanie for arranging it all.

Kyle and me at the top of Dewey Point

Any day you climb a mountain is a good one.

We stayed in Boulder for two days before driving practically straight home. On the first day, we went around the town, which reminded me of a prettier, more interesting Eugene, Oregon. Lots of dreadlocks, lots of college kids in vintage clothes, tea houses, awesome bookstores. We saw an exhibit on environmental art, which was mostly pictures of caribous and penguins walking on snow. Not sure what that proves, but okay. After that, we ended up at a local brewery eating buffalo steak and watching local sports fanatics cheer football on TV. Boulder made me want to be in college again.

The next day, we drove up to Rocky Mountain National Park and hiked 6 miles to the top of Deer Mountain and back. We had a great time. It was an icy morning that turned into a beautiful sunny day. As we neared the top of the mountain, we encountered snow but by the time we finished the hike, it had all melted from the sun. The mountain is covered in fir and pine trees except for a few deciduous birches and alders that glowed bright yellow like patches of supernatural fire on the mountainside. And, as you might imagine, it was a really rocky hike. I saw a couple of birds, a deer mouse, and a tiny squirrel. No moose or elk, unfortunately.

I have pictures, but they are on my laptop right now. Check back to this entry later on to see some.

And now I am home petting my kitties and typing on a decent keyboard. Home!

UPDATE: Pictures

We spent several restful days in Louisville visiting friends and family and touring the Locust Grove mansion, which is a three-story colonial mansion where revolutionary war hero George Rogers Clark lived. I learned that the reason we use the word “linen” to describe sheets because they used to weave flax into linen, which was used for the sheets on the beds. History!

From there, it was on to Hannibal, Missouri. By now, you know I am a literary nerd, and yes, this was where Mark Twain grew up and where his most famous books Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn are set.

The town is full of empty wide streets and dusty brick buildings, many of which have fallen into disrepair. We stayed at the Robard Mansion Bed and Breakfast on Millionaire Row, a street full of slightly rundown mansions. It’s owned by a nice old couple, Leon and Nedra. We got the Bonnie Blue room, a large suite on the second floor of the mansion. At first, I was a bit bummed we didn’t get the Gone With the Wind room, but then I found out that Mark Twain visited in the Bonnie Blue room once. Apparently, Robard was Mark Twain’s friend and Twain visited the house when Robard’s daughter was dying. So yes, I stayed in a room where a little girl died 100 years ago and also where Mark Twain visited her. I did not see her ghost.

So, Mayberry? It still exists. Although some of Hannibal’s small town feel is self-conscious–it calls itself America’s Hometown, after all–much of it is sincere too. People were sitting around talking to each other everywhere we went. We were maybe the youngest people in the town, however, which weirded me out a bit.

Naturally, I toured Twain boyhood home and museum. The museum was entertaining because it was all in Twain’s own words, which are always a delight to read. I was surprised by how often Twain encountered death as a child. People were drowning in the river, he saw a dead body in an office, he watched a bum burn up alive once, etc. Life was very dramatic in Hannibal in those days. Afterwards, Kyle and I did wholesome things like walk up to the lighthouse to look at the river and eat ice cream.

Me with Hannibal in the background

That night, we took the Mark Twain Dinner Cruise, a deal at $35 per person. We went on a white paddleboat and toured up and down the Mississippi River while eating. The Mississippi is exactly how Twain described it, even down to the islands of thickets that Huck and Jim camped out on. I was impressed. I think one of the signs of a brilliant writer is the ability to make you see what they see.

The dinner cruise was one of the best things we’ve done so far. It was romantic and fun. We had a buffet dinner and watched a man who looks like Col. Sanders play banjo and harmonica and sing sentimental songs about rivers and moons. Old people danced and two little girls kept running up and singing the songs into the microphone.

Later, Kyle and I went up to the top deck of the boat–which we had all to ourselves–and watched the sun set on the river, turning the water all sorts of colors. Then a huge golden moon rose and sat above the treetops, sending a shimmery path onto the water that almost seemed to touch the boat.

The next day, Leon took us on a personalized tour of the Robard Mansion. He and his wife have owned the house for 11 years and fixed it up quite a bit. We heard all about his life as a former pig farmer in Missouri. He and Nedra have been together since he was 12 and she was 9! At the top of the mansion is a glass lookout that let us see all of Hannibal. I was immediately jealous and wanted my own lookout that I could write in and look out on Petaluma.

At the end, we thanked Leon for the tour and explained how we were going to try to get all the way through Kansas that day. Leon told us which highway to take to avoid the small towns.

“You don’t want to speed in these small towns,” he said. “Not long ago, a police officer pulled me over and gave me a $88 ticket for going three miles over the speed limit.”

“Wow,” I said. “I would fight that one.”

“No point,” Leon said. “He’s not only the police officer, he’s also the judge.”

Oh America. You can be so adorable sometimes.

The Mississippi Delta was shining
Like a national guitar

(Pool in the hotel)

I am following the river
Down the highway
Through the cradle of the civil war,

I’m going to Graceland
Graceland
In Memphis Tennessee

(Beale Street in downtown Memphis)

I’m going to Graceland,
Poorboys

(Kyle eating ribs)

and pilgrims with families

(People waiting for a concert)

And we are going to Graceland

For reasons I cannot explain
There’s some part of me wants to see
Graceland,

(Graceland)

And I may be obliged to defend
Every love every ending
Or maybe there’s no obligations now,

(Elvis Presley’s living room)

Maybe I’ve a reason to believe
We all will be received
In Graceland

(Elvis Presley’s grave)

Whoa in Graceland,
Graceland,
Graceland,
I’m going to Graceland
–Paul Simon

When you read a lot, certain places can become somewhat mythical in your mind. Years later when you finally go to these places in real life, they either delight you by exceeding your expectations or disappoint you by being far below them. Mississippi was the latter type.

This is the cradle of the Civil War? For real? The place that Mark Twain and Tennessee Williams and William Faulkner wrote about? Are you sure? The land of Huck Finn and The Sound and the Fury? This, this place of strip malls and kudzu?

Don’t get me wrong. Mississippi is pretty with the rolling hills and large trees. I even saw some cotton. See?

But there’s just not a lot here. We ended up in Oxford, which is where Faulkner grew up and wrote about in most of his books. From reading him, I had different expectations in mind. You mean, this brick building with the white columns tacked on the front is the type of mansion that Miss Emily in A Rose for Emily would live in? But that’s not right! Where are the huge windows with tattered curtains? Where is the Spanish moss hanging from decaying trees? You mean that isn’t really a thing in Mississippi and I should try other Southern states? You don’t say!

At least Faulkner’s house, Rowan Oak, didn’t disappoint. He bought the place in 1930 and lived here until his death in the 1960s. Before he owned it, it was the pre-war home of Colonel Sheegog, the guy who settled Oxford, and before that, the land was the home of some Native Americans. Faulkner was fascinated with its history.

Front of the house

During the tour, I learned that Faulkner wrote the structures for his novels on the walls of his office. I like this because that’s exactly what I would do if I owned my home and didn’t have to worry about getting a rent deposit back.

It makes sense too, because as smart as Faulkner was, the plots of his novels are complicated and he had to have some system for keeping everything straight. Here is a picture of his office wall where you can see the plot to A Fable written in pencil and red grease pen in Faulkner’s own hand:

I left the house liking Faulkner much more than I thought I would. Before I went in, I had the impression he was kind of a mean man, but now I think he was just uppity. And how can you not like someone who says things like this:

All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible.

Quick Facts:

• Miles traveled: 70
• Hotel: Richelieu Hotel in the French District of New Orleans
• Gas prices in the last four states: Roughly $2.89
• Landscapes: Spindly trees and swamps, yet somehow still pretty
• Disappointments: Not getting to go on a swamp tour because it’s booked. No alligators and snapping turtles for me.

I knew I would like New Orleans, but I didn’t know I would love it. Well I do. I loooove that place. Debauchery be damned–and easily avoided–anyplace where I can look at 18th-century architecture, listen to multiple bands for free, eat yummy cuisine, buy a painting by a local artist, and see interesting, varied, fascinating people ranging from the Amish to prostitutes (I have pictures of both) is a place for me.

Now you might be wondering: What about the hurricane? Yes, there is damage, but your average tourist won’t see the terrible stuff that’s on the news. Because I was in the French District, which was above the water, I only saw a few boarded-up houses–nothing that I would call devastation.

You might have also heard that New Orleans is getting dangerous. Neither Kyle nor I felt threatened or uncomfortable when we were there. Rather, we were impressed by how nice people are. There isn’t an apparent us-vs.-them attitude you usually get from locals in a place with heavy tourism. People went out of their way to help us and talk to us. We did see some bums–which is natural for a place where you can buy Hurricanes for $1 and carry them around with you–and the afore-mentioned prostitutes, but nothing scary.

Some things that stuck in my head:

The truffled egg: A soft-boiled egg with the top sliced off so you could see its rich yellow yolk, rolled in truffles and sitting on a piece of toast in a bed of mushroom-and-cream-sauce. Amazing. We were at Bacco, a fusion of Creole and Italian food. “I love when people get the egg,” the waitress said. “It means they really love food.” Flattery! I also had great shrimp at Bacco, although they warned me several times that they leave the head and the tail on when I ordered them. “One lady from New York started crying when she saw the heads, so we warn people now,” the waitress said. The waiter also told us where we could go to hear real jazz bands and escape the club atmosphere of Bourbon Street, which turned out to be a Godsend.

The American chameleon: Walking down the street, suddenly this little guy shot out of the window box and began to stalk a bug. I said, “Is it a gecko?” and Kyle said, “No it’s an American chameleon.” We were about to catch the lizard and put it on different surfaces to see if it changed colors when a local stopped and said, “No it’s a gecko. They are all over Louisiana. They change from brown to green depending on where they are.” Kyle still thinks it is an American Chameleon.

I think he’s probably right.

Musicians everywhere: And all of them really good. I tend to get bored with jazz, but these bands held my attention for entire sets. And there were no covers.

My new hat: Circa 1930 or so, $12 at a vintage store.

It’s sad when the squinting picture is the best one.

Banana trees: I never realized how banana trees have orchid-like flowers that hang down on long cords, which eventually sprout bananas. I don’t think we can grow bananas in California, which is too bad, because they are awesome plants.

“She done run out here!”: a woman exclaimed as a little black girl ran toward her and they embraced. “I done got me some love from this one,” the woman said, covering the little girl’s face with kisses. Adorable!

Balconies:

I just love the balconies.

So in conclusion: Do not be afraid of New Orleans. Go there and have fun.