War & Peace

"He had the unfortunate faculty common to many men, especially Russians, of seeing and believing in the possibility of goodness and truth, but of seeing the evil and falsity of life too clearly to be able to take a serious part in it. Every sphere of activity was, in his eyes, linked with evil and duplicity. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he engaged in, this evil and deception repulsed him and blocked every road to action. Yet he had to live, had to be occupied. It was too awful to bear the burden of these insoluble problems, and so he abandoned himself to the first distraction that offered itself in order to forget them. He frequented every kind of society, drank a great deal, bought pictures, engaged in building, and above all - read." - War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy

Dear Chicago

So.

2 days in stop start transit.

Another day spent in Anchorage.

And a night in Seattle.

The International Hostel, in downtown Anchorage was good to the Lonely Planet's word.

It was: "less than salubrious".

Then a night at an airport hotel in Seattle, no point cabbing it into town, early flight and all that.

Then.

So I finished up a quick call to home and went to board the American flight to Chicago.

That was 11am.

At 3pm, we were still sitting in Sea-Tac.

Fuel leak apparently.

Still, War & Peace by Tolstoy was going swimmingly but with the time difference between central and pacific it meant that Chicago would not be gained until midnight.

A further delay with bags at O'Hare Airport meant the night being written off aswell and a weary traveller checking in late to another "less than salubrious" Hostel.

Thursday was up early and the Sears Tower, Navy Pier and some bar-hopping of the evening.

The Hostel's a strange one alright, they're all different and though the location, which isn't great is mitigated by the subway / metro, there's a combination of things which just aren't adding up.

Firstly, the methadone clinic next door doesn't really do it for me.

Then the desk staff are a little bit "special" and in combination with the crapness of the facilities, no lockers, deposit and rental for everything. Let's just say I won't be missing this one.

However, despite the inauspicious start and the less than desirable digs, Chicago is actually starting to do it for me.

Lake Michigan has beaches, artifical but what of it, good subway and a pretty decent vibe.

Last night, the bar played shedloads of Wilco and actually ran the: "I am trying to break your heart" documentary, the making of the album: "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot".

That's not bad.

That's the sort of thing I could get used to.

Today, I took a trip down to the National Vietnam Veteran's Art Museum.

Some seriously intense stuff and a very worthwhile visit if you're in Chicago.

Harrowing, especially with alot of the exhibits consciously juxtaposed with the current engagement in Iraq.

Unsurprisingly, there weren't many other visitors.

Tie a yellow ribbon.

Current Listenin'

Wilco - Via Chicago

Ryan Adams - Dear Chicago

There's bear in dem dere hills.

"Stay behind the barrier!"

Good idea I'm thinking.

There we have it, live and large. A six foot plus moose, chewing on a tree in the parking lot of the Wilderness Access Centre at Denali.

Not good. Sure as anything, if there's a moose about, that means bears are also in there and might come out to say hello.

Skirting the beast, I managed to edge to the seperate visitor centre in the interior of the park, keeping a watchful eye on the forest to either side for sight of both friend or foe.

I'd already turned down the invitation from the other inmates of "Train Wreck" in the Hostel for a night of camping down by Savage River. Alaska was surprisingly warm but the night ahead promised to be cold and in the final event, there was snow in the park.

So I was off to the visitor centre to get the lay of the land as it were.

What I found out, Ranger or not, most people this early in the season don't have a clue what's going on.

So, I hiked the front country trails for the Saturday and then returned to Carlo Creek for the Creekside Cafe's 10th Anniversary Celebration chili cook-off. This took place across the road from the Hostel, literally.

Interesting people, these interior Alaskans. And who knew there were so many.

More kept appearing from the forest.

That went on until three am and there were a number of casualties for the early morning shuttle, in fact, I was the only one onboard.

But I had my ticket for mile 53 and couldn't miss out.

So we got yet another bus into the heart of the park, along the roadside, more Moose, Caribou and Snow Hare than you could shake a stick at. I could add this, to the coyote of the day beforehand, the grouse and ptarmigan and a particularly vociferous squirrel whom I did shake a stick at.

But what of the fabled bears?

No trip would be complete.

And lo and behold, there was a grizzly mother and her three cubs off in the distance.

Good. Stay there and we'll stay here.

Back to the Creek, the guys dragged me out and we polished off the remainder of the whiskey supply they had brought to stave off the cold the night before camping out.

Standing by the frozen creek, a lit fire and bottles of Wild Turkey bourbon being passed amongst the group, the topic of conversation turned predictably to politics.

Shane, a Denver native, generally berating the world's attitude to America.

I kept out of it for once.

Downed the whiskey and went to bed.

A small cabin in the woods, with snow capped mountains towering over each side and snow hares bounding past the door.

Mountain Morning

No big deal.

I managed to flag down Alan, from the Denali Mountain Morning Hostel, on the side of the road.

Which was nice.

The Hostel was actually friggin' miles away from Glitter Gulch, the affectionate term the locals use for the tourist trap of the business district that is at the entrance of the park.

We were in Carlo Creek, a good half an hour of a drive away. And the room I was staying in was affectionately dubbed: "Train Wreck".

Not again.

Still, depsite the spartan accommodation, the location was impressive, twisted between the snow capped mountains, the various lodges and the outhouses (yes, you read that correctly: "outhouses") were picturesque indeed (well, maybe not the outhouses).

Sign up for the shuttles in the morning Alan said.

Coincidentally, Alan looked a lot like John Boy Walton.

Fine says I.

Here we are.

Up on Walton Mountain.

(Moose to come later.)

Into The Wild

Departed Seattle with Alaska Airlines in the evening and made it to Anchorage Guest House on the outskirts of town at 1 in the am.

The Russian Taxi Driver of course had no clue where the place was but the trusty lonely planet map and my steely resolve showed me to the location in any case.

Inside, I met Andy.

Who is a nut.

Worse still, he's a nut who likes to think he can write music, solve the earth's environmental problems whilst making a handsome profit and drone on at length about the various ills the Republicans and Schwarznegger in particular, are responsible for.

In the States, I've learned to cut the politics.

Whether you're in Boulder City, Nevada, listening to some guy advocating a parachute-less jump for those convicted of 911 versus life incarceration, or you're being steamrolled by some guy in San Francisco about how big of an asshole Bush is, advancing an opinion either way is unlikely to get you peace, quiet or a cogent, let alone reasoned argument.

Whatever the thinker thinks, the prover proves.

And any criticism from someone who isn't American is generally interpreted as a slight upon the nation as a whole.

But back to the cold.

In fact, it wasn't that cold at all. Anchorage is just coming out of the Spring and the weather was on the whole pleasant, it stays bright until 11pm and doesn't stay dark for long but that's latitude and the earth's position relative to the sun for you.

The States (and Vegas particularly) combined with untimely car insurance and motor tax at home has rendered the credit card temporarily sickly. So, options had to be assessed, instead of the old car rental, I ended up saving about $250 bucks and rode the Park Connection bus up to Denali National Park, home of Mount McKinley.

Alaskan bus driver commentary.

Where would you be without it?

Sane.

Probably.

Dropped off at the Wilderness Access Center by Bill at 9 in the evening and without much clue how the connection to the Hostel was going to work out I struck out into the park.

Headed for the visitor's centre.

Burdened by heavypack.

But I was not alone.

There were moose, caribou, grizzly and black bear invisible and all around as I hiked deeper in.

Into The Wild.

What took you so long?

Ok. Time to divulge on the Seattle experience as we pass northwards before heading southwards and continually eastwards once more.

Time was spent thus.

The home of Starbucks and coffee has naturally given rise and expression to the thinking-man's internet cafe. This is a locale where you can imbibe a glorious beverage, a danish and surf the net.

That was most mornings, including my tendonitis escapade, which you already heard about.

The Hostel was conveniently located on 2nd Avenue, home to some ribald fellows of no fixed abode, but outside of their jocularity, the city was as safe as houses.

It's a smaller Vancouver essentially... Without Stanley Park and convenient access to 4,000 ft mountains.

After the sites, the Experience Music Project, Space Needle, etc., time was invariably spent at Shorty's, a cool little bar in Belltown (which is itself the home of grunge) and so on.

I went to a gig in the Crocodile Cafe, another supposed staple of the nascent grunge scene in the early nineties on the Saturday night and was duly horrified at proceedings.

Still tho', supposedly a gig is a success where a third of the people are ecstatic, a third non-plussed and a third walk out, so I walked out and went straight next door to Shorty's.

Mission accomplished by "Under The Influence of Giants".

Spent the final day searching for The Sound Garden in Magnuson Park. Arriving at said park was quite an undertaking in itself, however all was in vain.

The Sound Garden, the sculptured garden from which the seminal band: "Soundgarden", take their name, was closed to the public. Not only that, but the office that was to explain why it was closed to the public was also closed.

Game, set and match.

Still.

Seattle.

You Rock My World.

Ushuaia

Ushuaia from The Beagle Channel

A small island, a smaller boat...

Sunbathing seals...

The Last Lighthouse

Tierra Del Fuego National Park

The Channel

Snowball fight

End of the road, Alaska - 17,848kms

Ushuaia from a shaky jetty

Says it all really...

Patagonia

Fitz Roy in the distance

Vibrant El Chalten

Looking backwards, start of the Cerro Torre trail

In the valley... Wow.

Cerro Torre

On the edge, Chalten below

Early lookout on the Fitz Roy hike w/ Mike & Graeme

More fun with glaciers

Graeme left, Warsteiner central, Mike extreme right - Chalten Hostel

Lago Argentino, El Calafate

"Getting a goodbye", Calafate Bus Station, 2am

Rosario

Che, Plaza de la Cooperacion

La Bandera from the back

La Bandera from the front

La Recoleta - Buenos Aires

City of the Dead plus Cats

Evita's Tomb, most of the body now returned and cremated...

A study in backpackers - Walking Group Milhouse Hostel BA

Santiago

Cerrar Santa Lucia

The Virgin on the Hill overlooking Santiago

Santiago

Wellington Finale

Esther & Jarlath's House on Knoll Street, Island Bay

Joe. Friendly Neighbourhood Cat.

Fat Freddy's Drop play live in Wellington

"Mes Photos!"

As Andrew from Vancouver cried when two urchins with a broken bottle took his backpack in a park in Santiago.

Yes. There's somethings a backpacker can't live without and that's photos. And a shower every Wednesday. (Hence the little gag: "The only thing wrong with that shower is it's not Wednesday!).

So yeah, the backpacker's are all turning Japanese and I'm resisting, resisting, but here goes my second photo update.

Comfortably Numb

Alrighty.

Blogger lost my last effort at this post so this coming prose will not be necessarily as tight or erudite as could possibly be.

Basically, a strange bruise / lump appeared on my left wrist over the last 2 days. Normally, this would give me little cause for concern but for the fact that this was simultaneously accompanied by a numbing sensation in my 4th & 5th fingers of my left hand.

Not good.

And what with Alaska on Monday and doing some quick checking on the internet as to possible causes, I decided to err on the side of caution.

Needless to say, a long day was ahead.

Step 1 was to contact the 24 hour emergency hanging on a telephone for 20 bleeding minutes only for no useful advice to be surrendered travel fucking insurance. After that debacle, it was onto the Hostel front desk.

Then, we were off to the first location.

Where, inevitably, they sent me on my way to the second location crosstown.

After successful navigation of the myriad bums of Seattle (the only industrial development of any consequence since Boeing pulled out and the dotcom implosion) I managed to reach somewhere that didn't appear on any of my three maps.

The only surprise of the day was that this was in fact the final destination.

But of course, in order to see anyone, it's cash on the barrelhead son.

US $200 upfront of course.

Bring back Dr. Cox, BUPA and the Irish Healthcare system! All is forgiven!

Well not quite, but you know what I mean.

So next up was the actual exam itself and intensive hanging around.

So 3-4 hours later, the verdict was in.

Tendonitis.

Probably brought on by the driving after three months away from the wheel.

So yeah, live with it boy. Live with it.

In God We Trust

It's written on the bank notes.

ON THE BANK NOTES!

Every last one of them.

Talk about a complete abdication of personal responsibility.

God Bless America.

Hostel

Seriously, people who snore should pay fucking double.

And why is it exactly that people who snore are the only ones with the ability to fall deep asleep?

It's fucking disgusting that's what it is.

The US Hostel experience is a good deal worse than what I have found to be the case elsewhere internationally.

Of course, I completely forgot that kids, both US and German, tend to use them as a basecamp to sek long-term lodgings and employment. This tends to leave them in limbo, working all night and sleeping all day and staying way past the ten day limit and jumping from Hostel to Hostel.

Also the general population of the US seems to live a very sheltered ignorance of what exactly a Hostel constitutes. Perhaps this is what comes of a country where only 10% of the population hold passports but I find the blanket incomprehension bizarre.

Hopefully, the Alaskan variant will be more Argentinian and outdoorsy than what I've found in Vegas, SF and Seattle thus far.

On the road...

Yep.

2700 miles in 10 days in a Ford Explorer. A sports utility vehicle for the uninitiated.

It was like driving a truck.

But it was all that was left in Nashville.

So I drove to Memhpis and checked out the two kings.

Graceland and the National Museum of Civil Rights where Martin Luther King was shot. Basically, they've converted the Lorraine Motel into this museum.

Then a night on Beale Street and the road once again.

I stayed in Okemah, Oklahoma the next night. The birthplace of Woody Guthrie, where there is literally nothing and then onto Texas the following night.

Amarillo was just a hotel with a real shitkicking bar. I can't even begin to describe that oneto you guys.

Then it was Grant, New Mexico for a night before finally making Flagstaff, Arizona.

I spent three days in and around the Canyon and after attempting to make sense of that, I drove onto Kingman and into Nevada.

A day in Boulder City and the Hoover Dam was then the scene and finally on Friday, the Mojave desert.

Joshua trees and Rattlesnakes and a big abyss of nothing.

That was kinda cool.

Then Vegas.

Where I proceeded to lose alot of money.

Now it's back to Hostel country and I'm in Frisco right now.

And it's off to Seattle tomorrow and then Alaska for a week on Monday.

There you have it kids. The bare essentials.

I'm going to go walk that bridge right now.

See you later.

Current Listenin'

Tool - Stinkfist

A little bit country...

So I should describe some US experiences to you guys.

Nashville, after the debacle that was US immigration in Miami was nice.

Nashville is very white before Memphis is very black but it's interesting and kind of scary to see so many kids trying to make it. The home of country music is basically a staging area for all these very different talents but sitting with Miss Bethany and Pork and literally drinking in the scene was a real buzz.

Of course, we did get the "I let Jesus into my life, my wife is 400 pounds but we still love each other" speech, and I was only about five hours into my US experience on terra firma but what can you do???

Then John played some redneck songs.

Hits such as: "I can't get over you since you been under him"

Nice.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

An explanation.

I am sitting in Flagstaff, Arizona at approx 1pm in the afternoon having been in the good ole US of A for an entire week. This is the first internet cafe I have actually come across.

The Wi Fi revolution has meant that the concept of the internet cafe has been largely rendered obsolete for Americans.

Bad news for me.

And bad news for the blog.

At least for the time being.

When I get back into Hostel-land, San Francisco and onwards things should be looking up from a net coverage point of view.

But for the time being.

Expect my contributions to be sporadic.

I've spent the last week in Nashville, Memphis, Okemah, Amarillo and Grant respectively.

I've also done about 1600 miles in the old rental car along Interstate 40 West which intersects with the old Historical Route 66 and as such having been getting my kicks.

I've only managed two hair raising moments in the car, so all in all, it's been smooth enough so far.

Flagstaff should be base camp for a couple of days.

Then the Mojave Desert, Boulder City & Hoover Dam and Las Vegas but I'm not sure in which particular order yet.

I'll keep ya posted.

But for now... Take it easy.

"Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy..."

I passed through Winslow, Arizona, this morning but I didn't take the time to stand on a corner.