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Thursday, Aug 28, 2014 - 22:16 SGT
Posted By: Gilbert

The Three Amigos II

Special Notice

It has come to our attention that in the recent post "The Three Amigos: Amigo One", it was not explicitly mentioned that Mr. Neuroscientist had diligently striven to work profanities into his daily conversation, which had apparently gone completely unappreciated by his ungrateful guest. bert's blog is aware that this omission might have caused irreparable damage to his carefully-cultivated reputation, and apologizes unreservedly for the unintentional oversight. Yes, I'm very very sorry, you chinese f**k b**tard.


Getting out of New York's supposed to be easy - get on the reliable if not exactly sparkling clean subway, and transfer to AirTrain JFK from Jamaica Station. Clearly, then, the thing to do would be to exit midway, and chance the bus on a whim. Still, had it not been for that, I would not have made the acquaintance of a nice fellow traveller in the same straits, who was kind enough to allow me to come along on his Uber charter, nor get some much-needed exercise with the celebrated 200m Last Call Luggage Sprint event. As it turned out, "last calls" aren't quite that final most of the time, but it can't be bad to get the ol' blood pumping once in a while.

As the plane circled over the city for a last time, I took in night Manhattan, with Central Park superimposed upon a grid of light. Sure is so much neater from high up.

Thanks to the hub system of modern air travel, I would spend more time in transit than in the air on this trip, but I guess Minneapolis is as good a place to layover as any. Unfortunately, it was night, so no Mall of America visit, and after being ousted from the excellent business travellers' section in the arrival lounge - they were closing - I staked the surroundings for a good spot to wait it out, and after some exploration claimed a pillar by the baggage carousel that had both staple necessities - a comfy carpet and a power point.

The wifi was kinda spotty, but of greater concern was the family two pillars down, of whom kids - I'm not sure exactly how many - split their energies between running about while laughing loudly, and watching some gameshow on a tablet that was turned up to max volume, and laughing loudly. The ladies one pillar down tried to shush them to no avail, as the parents merely carried on talking loudly in some unintelligible language, and after finally remarking that they "couldn't stand this screaming", they crossed to the opposite side of the hall.

As for me, I resolved to wait the infernal din out to my own satisfaction. I'm not sure who won at the end, but I'm happy to report that I made it through the night without once abandoning my post. Pity about the intermittent shuteye, but it was the principle of the thing. My duty discharged, I proudly staggered back to the lounge, and availed of a bagel and some chocolate milk before the hop down to SFO.


San Francisco

"Money lives in New York. Power sits in Washington.
Freedom sips cappuccino in a sidewalk cafe in San Francisco."

- Joe Flower



As recommended


I had the entire row free to myself on this leg, which could be a sign that Americans don't much fancy waking this early either. Since Mr. Chemical Engineer was busy, I had to make my own way down to his house. There was a moment of confusion as I tried to figure out where the turnstiles to the Caltrain system were supposed to be, before realising that it was effectively run on a honour system; certainly, a huge departure from systems with insurance for freeriding, but they've a budget surplus nowadays, so it seems it works.

Finding his Menlo Park residence was a cinch, given that it was just off the main road, and I was greeted at the front door by a taped-up napkin, with instructions written in Mandarin to get the key from the shoebox - so those dreary high school lessons paid off after all. Moved by my friend's faith in both the honesty and foreign language illiteracy of the locals, I got the key, turned it in the knob, and...

The door wouldn't open.

Or, it did open far enough for me to see that the bolt had been successfully withdrawn, and I ran through possible scenarios in my mind. Was there another bolt on the other side, or some armed magnetic security gizmo? Not wanting to make our reacquaintance by destroying his door and/or summoning the cops, I sat waiting on the doorsteps for some time, before I figured what the heck, how much can these things cost anyway, and put my shoulder to the plow.

Turns out it was just a stuck door.

I immediately spotted my copy of Mr. Card Game lying about (N.B. I arranged for it to be sent here, after the publishers ran out of money to fulfil international deliveries. This got some customers quite mad, but as an amateur designer myself, I figured they deserved some slack), and not seeing any new directions, settled on dozing off on the couch.

Eventually, Mr. Chemical Engineer returned, and the requisite initiation ceremony began in earnest:



Well, I am ashamed to report that we didn't manage to get very far despite starting with 27 lives each, but to my relief, Mr. Chemical Engineer put his controller away calmly after his Blaze ate it for the last time. It was acceptable.

By this time, the sun had about set, and after some probing, I decided that I wouldn't mind some Asian food, thanks. Korean it was, then. This being Californian surburbia, one isn't going to get very far without a car, and I was soon strapped into his spacious Prius for a drive-round.

Here, I should mention the extreme difference in feel that this place had, in contrast to New York. While nominally the same country, NoCal was simply... wider. Slower. More laid-back. Even leaving aside the higher proportion of ethnic Asians, I could now truly understand why Mr. Neuroscientist had said that he would have much preferred to be based here. Sure, New York has its draws, but after a few days there, I can see how staying for the long-term can get... trying.


Same mistake not repeated


Made a cursory spin through Stanford, the campus of which was rather larger than my impression (it turns out that it's the largest in the U.S.), including a drive past their copy of Rodin's Gates of Hell, which was remarked upon as "creepy". Well, I thought, you really ain't seen nuthin' yet.

Unwilling to return so early, we continued through downtown Palo Alto to the cinema, which seemed to operate on the same endearing trust as the trains. Not that there were too many patrons, though - we nearly had the place to ourselves for Guardians of the Galaxy. Hmm, looks like Batista's hit the big time - good for him, the return of Evolution got stale pretty quick. Other than that, well, I won't be rushing for the sequel.

Mr. Chemical Engineer then picked up a bottle of Sutter Home as an introduction to wine culture, and I must confess to being bemused at a guy requesting to cut the queue, before the alcohol sale hours were explained.


San Francisco, Proper

"I prefer a wet San Francisco to a dry Manhattan."

- Larry Geraldi


The couch was better than I dared to hope, and I was up and raring to go by nine. Mr. Chemical Engineer had taken the day off to get his visa renewed or something at the consultate, which happened to close by one; uncertain of whether this included their lunch hour, we thought it prudent to set off.


Yep, it's the Bay Area all right


On the way, I enquired about the general absence of motorcycles (with cars so cheap, there's no need for them), of stray cats and dogs (animal services over here are very efficient), and of water (it's not that bad); spotted a couple of Google Shopping vans too (good luck, Amazon, with Uber getting into the act too; that said, I tried to give a local online bookseller my business, only to find that even with free delivery considered, they were still significantly more expensive. Can't help you there, OpenTrolley)

Since I hadn't brought identification, I was told that I had to wait in the lobby by the apologetic concierge, who on seeing the souvenir NYU tee I was wearing proceeded to inform me proudly that his son would be starting there this fall, and how was it over there? I mumbled that I was out of there already (which was, in a strictly geographical sense, accurate)

Mr. Chemical Engineer, having been here for some years, had already seen it all, but indulged me with his best tour guide impression. The first thing that hit me about San Francisco, other than its relative freshness compared to New York, was that it was cold. I mean, I had spent some time in Quebec City, and I don't recall ever coming close to shivering there. When they say microclimate, they mean it!

Got pawned walking up a steep street for nothing, considered hopping on a cable car but thought better of it, before popping over to Chinatown to load up on those fortune cookies (photos free on purchase). Since my load - including the board game - had by now by far exceeded the capacity of the bag I arrived with, I was only too happy to acquire a huge olive duffel bag from one of the stores, along with some other impulse buys.


Don't ask


On to Fisherman's Wharf, where we eventually managed to save on the cut-throat multistorey carpark fees. Lunch at Boudin's, where I regretted not being able to finish off the soup bowl. Exhibited ourselves to the sea lions at Pier 39, divested ourselves of some quarters on classic (and I mean really classic) games at the Mechanical Museum (for the record, we beat the free play score on the clown head toss), and partook of the magic and left-hander shops.

A pop over to Ghiradelli's later, it was time for a relaxing road trip, across the Golden Gate Bridge and up towards Pacifica. After a while, I had to admit that the crazy housing prices could be worth it, if for the magnificent views alone. I recall some fetching spots in Europe, China and Anzac, but for sheer, primeval beauty, California takes the cake.

We debated going for a drive-in movie, and talk might have at some point turned to patronizing one of the many "gentlemen's clubs", where, it is said, the ladies may dance unclad in the raiment of the World; of course, hardly being gentlemen by any measure, we wound up in front of the television by ten, watching a rerun of an old X-men cartoon. Same old, same old.


San Jose

"One day if I go to heaven, I'll look around and say,
'It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco.'"

- Herb Cain (with some justification)


My last day here was largely spent on more of the same scenery pr0n, but I really wouldn't have minded more of it, had I the time. This time, it was in the other direction down Highway 1 towards Big Sur, but no less breathtaking. At some point, Mr. Chemical Engineer complained about his music CD skipping - okay, I get it, I'm tone deaf.


Photos simply don't do it justice


Before that, I had loaded all my stuff into the boot, and we had breakfast at Stacks, before enjoying the local farmers' market (where Mr. Chemical Engineer revealed a fondness for kale drinks), and the Stanford bookstore (where I couldn't help but snag an autographed copy of Boxers; Saints was available too, but as it was half the thickness but 80% of the price, I couldn't help but wonder if it was an afterthought)

But yes, the drive. Really, I wouldn't mind a cross-continental road trip one day, there's something about being just able to sit back and watch it all go by (helped by cheap gas). There were a few traffic jams, and being stuck behind a slowpoke more than once (though I can understand the reluctance to step on it on the cliffside roads), which meant that we reached Lucia just a bit too late for fish & chips. Spookily, my smartphone went into a reboot loop there, which fixed itself once we drove away. Something in the air?

Did quite a bit of chatting on the long way back, including the confirmation that we were able to recall all our high school classmates (along with the non-intuitive realisation that the names of those that we interacted with the most, were more likely to be neglected in a listing). After a reckoning of accounts on a napkin during our Indo Cafe dinner (nasi goreng for me), it was time for parting yet again. Maybe we could finally fish or something when he gets back.


(Back To) Montreal



As can only be expected of Silicon Valley's airport, San Jose International didn't bother with any of that "terms and conditions", "thank our sponsors" or time-limited crap that the other airports imposed on their wifi - hook up, and you're good to go. The rows and rows of check-in kiosks further removed any worries I had about printing my boarding passes quickly. No skimping on electronics here!

Midway stop this time was Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson, busiest airport in the world, and for all the warnings, I thought it was pretty okay. Got a taste of American patriotism here, when I was asked if I would like to "support the troops" after picking up (another) T-shirt. I was about to explain that I wasn't exactly sold on quite a bit of U.S. foreign military policy, and moreover that I wasn't even American, but then recalled my days as an Army grunt. Fine, you can have five bucks too.

Eyed the Mexican jumping beans, but refrained this time, as with the horribly overpriced magazines; apparently, their over-the-counter cost is six times - or more - that of their subscription rate, to encourage lock-in.

As my flight got delayed, Mr. Diplomat had already been waiting for some time in Montreal when I finally landed (N.B. Well, he's not exactly a diplomat, but as he's entitled to a legit diplomatic license plate, that's what I'll call him). Had lunch with the parents, before making off to his apartment, which Mr. Chemical Engineer had talked very highly of. I'll just say that it exceeded all expectations.

Since I had only a day to spend here, we didn't tarry, and I got a tour of the city centre - their malls are spacious - and a drive-around the neighbourhood, including Mount Royal, the English-speaking Hampstead suburb, and the casino. It seems that they're displaying table histories for roulette to facilitate betting strategies nowadays (almost certainly doomed, of course). Other than that, the virtual horse racing, with simulated 3D riders, was a real eye-opener.


Habitat 67


Had trusty ol' claypot rice and wanton noodles at the Montreal Chinatown (reserved diplomat parking), where we once again bumped into my parents. Made one last acquaintance with the ever-present potholes to see the city after dusk, before whiling away a couple of hours playing pool back at the condo.


(Back To) Quebec City

Mr. Diplomat had to return to work, but was kind enough to take time out for lunch, after which I rejoined my parents at the Berri bus terminal for the reverse journey. Despite there being only twelve hours or so to the flight out, they had gotten a room, which I probably would not have bothered to. Finding dinner was tougher than expected, with commerce coming to a halt wholesale by the evening here, though I did get to try out poutine at last (would try again)

Had some rest till three a.m., when the pre-arranged cab arrived. My dad struck up a conversation with the fairly young Russian driver (whose mother was Canadian), that had them swiftly in agreement about the effects of U.S. intervention in the Middle East and elsewhere (i.e. self-interested, bad). Not wholly surprisingly, the cabbie was of the opinion that Putin didn't want war over Ukraine, but that the U.S. was forcing his hand, and also that Gorbachev was "dirty" for selling off their strategic reserves of nuclear fuel, before living it up in the West. History heard from the ground can be instructive...

Eight-hour wait back at JFK, where we tried out the Central Diner; it was (probably justifably) remarked that the place was grubbier than most - and horror, without free wifi! - which I suppose is a sign that New York knows that it is in a position to tell potential visitors to take it or leave it. Caught the two Despicable Me movies, Draft Day and Million Dollar Arm during the long thirteen hours to Narita, where my parents got off, leaving me to enjoy the company of two nice Japanese girls on the final leg of the long trip. I was home.



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Next: The Untold Adventures


Related Posts:
The Three Amigos: Amigo One
A York Day Out
Shiftless
Davydov And Pratchett
Reminiscences: A Review
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