Hello world!

Welcome to nothing much. You should go and look at justbeer.wordpress.com to see what more interesting things I have to say about beer.

San Francisco

Seems that sitting in a car for 10 hours is quite tiring for everyone else… at 6am, I’m roaming the plains of northern California all by my own, taking the air and a hundred photos. Mostly of Mount Shasta. Here, it looks like this

By 9, we’re out the door and (after a cheeky lunch in Wilding, or somewhere) early afternoon has us leaping about right here

Driving over the Golden Gate (again) is one of my favourite things (again). DInner obviously has to be in Chinatown, which looks an easy stroll on my map. Unfortunately that easy stroll takes in Market Street, which Jack & the rest of the crew is convinced is "the ghetto". Not far wrong, either… still, the food’s great when we eventually get there.

Yes, I am going to San Francisco…

The only reason I mention that is because I have been forced to listen to the Momma’s & The Papa’s for about 10 hours straight, as we head south from SEA to SFO. Five hundred miles in one day is my way of breaking the kids spirits, which is what needs to be done on the first day of a mighty roadtrip such as this.

Unfortunately, 500 miles on one road (I-5, we worship thee) also has the effect of sending me slightly mad, so it is with huge delight that I discover that Motel6 in Yreka is not too hideous, that the Black Bear Diner in Yreka is an OK place for dinner, and that the swimming pool they have is just about perfect. No bed bugs either, sweet.

Goodbye, Gottfried

I just read the world’s best obituary, and it starts like this: "Count Gottfried von Bismarck, who was found dead on Monday aged 44, was a louche German aristocrat with a multi-faceted history as a pleasure-seeking heroin addict, hell-raising alcoholic, flamboyant waster and a reckless and extravagant host of homosexual orgies". It onoly gets worse after that, but hell – what a guy.

The man with the best holiday pictures is…

OK so I am a sad old git (according to J) who should grow up and realise I am never going to make the astronaut corps. I don’t really care though. I can still take my daughters along to the Museum of Flight to sit in on a panel session with Scott Carpenter(!), Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan.

And spend a rapt hour gaping at the screen as Gene sits there and says "oh yes, this is me in the lunar module flying down to the moon’s surface… I was pretty excited by this stage". Or Tom Stafford describing how he’d have left Gene floating around up there, if his spacewalk f’d up. Or Scott describing how it felt to orbit Earth in Mercury, sheesh. Good times, even if afterwards I am too tongue-tied to ask them if they’ll take me with them next time they go.

Into the blue

First, last, and quite possibly only-ever Friday in paradise, and what am I doing? Obviousy getting up at 6am, pulling two surly children out of bed, and heading for Maalaea harbour (second windiest in the world) to board the mighty Four Winds II and sail sail sail across the clearest, bluest sea on the planet to the rocky crescent island of Molokini. The remaining half of a caldera that, much like one of my teeth, has slowly crumbled away to leave a place that’s perfect.

With J & P and a hearty breakfast of fruit and bagels under our belts, it’s into the wetsuits and under the surface with us. Utterly amazing – if you’re in Maui, then this is one of the things you definitely need to do.

 

After two or three of the happiest hours of our lives (honestly) it’s back on the boat for grilled chicken burgers and a little sail back to Maui; a sail that’s an hour longer than normal as we’re surrounded by a pod of humback whales competing for the affection of Mrs Whale. Tails galore, spy-hopping, flapping flippers, and a couple breaches leave us open-mouthed. Best morning out, ever.

 

Back to the Breakwall

Much as I hate to admit it, it feels like I have the hangover of doom. Clearly the  Luau Pig is taking his revenge, and this has nothing to do with how many Mai Tai’s and Pina Colada combos I managed to slurp my way through last night.

So: the only cure, aside from spending several hours in bed, is to get up at 7 and steal free coffee from the hotel next door, then wander up & down the beach with my girls and watch the sun turn the clouds pink, and the waves pound the beach, and the mynah birds do bird things. And then go back to bed for a while.

Staying in bed all day is obviously not allowed here in paradise, so after a lazy morning in the Ka’anapali Shores’ pool, we head back to Lahaina for some more different beach. While we’re there, it’d be rude not to hire a surfboard, so while the smalls & J play in the sand, young J and I head for the waves. Here’s the view, as I floated on my fat backside & counted the rainbows over the mountains:

Surfing without our old pal Mark is way harder, but more satisfying when I vaguely manage to clamber onto my feet. One time. That’ll do – lurking on the board watching the locals shred some sets at Lahaina Breakwater again is cool enough. Dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe to round things off. Starting to feel poor. Don’t care.

At the sign of the coconut bra

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to see ferocious yet attractive women wearing little more than grass-skirt-and-coconut-bra outfits. It must be the Fletcher Christian in me. The Luau at the Sheraton seems to be an ideal opportunity. A Luau, in case you do not know, is Hawaiian for "incredibly expensive bbq where we roast a pig in an under-the-beach-oven, with as much booze as you can drink and a Polynesian dancing show thrown in". It’s pretty cool.

Anyway, despite the lies of our concierge (with his "Oh gosh no, you couldn’t possibly walk there. it must be at least half a mile!") we find our way to the Black Rock at Ka’anapali and cough for the table at the front. That we have to share, with a sour-faced trio who thought they had it to themselves, too bad amigos.

The sun sets, a gentle breeze cools the sweltering heat, Pacific waves lap the balmy beach, and a blistering Mai Tai puts everything to rights. Our host for the evening lets rip with fine 50′s lounge music, and the Hawaiian orchestra swing us into the stage show which is unashamedly touristique.  Perfect, and the kids love love love it.

Turns out I am utterly fascinated by swaying hips. There’s a video coming soon on YouTube, so that you can be too.

During the night, I am as sick as a dog. Clearly it is a punishment for my more impure thoughts.

Breakfast at the House of the Rising Sun

*snort* awake at…. 3am. Isn’t this meant to be a holiday? Whatever it is, it’s time to get up & out & on the road for the alleged delights of sunrise at Haleakala.

Children sleep in back (except J, who refuses to move and thus stays in his own bed… or actually, mine. For he has purloined it.) We head through the night past Lahaina, through Kahului (yes, I went the wrong way) and (eventually) over the foothills of up-country Maui towards the mighty volcano.

And man, it is pretty mighty – 10,000 feet up might not sound like a lot but it makes a hell of a differenvce to the temperature. Baby, it is cold up here and I am glad we are from WA and brought all our coats. And a comforter (I am not kidding).

So, by nearly 6, this is where we are. I (heart) my GPS, btw. In the upper car park, and almost the last ones to be allowed up here, for it is pretty much full. How PO’d would you be if you’d got up at 3.30, and not been allowed in? Two tips for any of you who come after me: bring warm stuff to wear, and get outta your lazy bed at least a half hour earlier than you think you need to.

The wind blows, the stars shine brighter than anywhere, the sky gets lighter, and the… sun… comes… up.

A hundred breaths inhale, a hundred cameras click. It’s not like I haven’t seen the sun rise before, but this one is beautiful.

Run like a loon around the top of the mountain – feel sick as a dog (no oxygen up here), the earth clanks as you walk around, a weird metallic sound that’s kinda odd. To the west, the shadow of the volcano lies across the land. Waving my arms, I’m sure I can see me, making my mark at last. But maybe it’s my imagination.

 Driving back, breakfast at Burger King and quick kip before the rest of the day. Good times.

Making Dodge Jealous…

What a way to start the week – driving past the King Kamehameha III elementary school as the barefoot schoolkids kids rock up to the crossing guard for their daily high-five and a hug, pulling up outside the mighty Goofy Foot surf school in Lahaina, and pouring yourself into your wetsuit, ready for the surfing lesson of joy at Lahaina breakwall. All by 7am.

Clearly the only way to do this is the slightly exclusive way, so once J and I are kitted out and have made our way down to the beach, it’s time for some quality time with our personal tutor, Mark. Mark is not entirely of this planet, but he’s a cool guy, right guys. I am variously called Steven, Simon, Stuart… mostly Stuart. What’s a little short-term memory loss though, when you’ve spent the past 7 years surfing Hawaii, right guys? After some stretching, some warm-ups, some explanation of where to go and not go on the reef, we’re into the water and paddling for the waves.

The sets come in as regular as clockwork. J starts to get the hang of things waaay more quickly than me – I’m kinda content to lurk around by the buoy for a while, watching the rainbows over the mountains and the waves rolling in from the Pacific, but old Mark ain’t having that, he really ain’t. He will make it so that I can stand up on this old barn-door - no matter how much it hurts, and how much I have to battle the cruel laws of physics. I drink more sea than anyone else there, and get closer to the reef than I want to.

JJ catches almost every wave and rides ‘em in on two feet. I’m making mostly like a dog. Eventually we both get the hang of it. Honest. Here’s the proof…

and (no laughing at the back)…

Once we’re done, it’s into the little cafe by the bay for Eggs Benedict and a glorious feeling of achievement. Not a bad way to start the week at all. Why aren’t all Monday mornings this good?