Reims to Paris

We both found Reims to be a very relaxing city. The cathedral is so interesting and given its history and current restoration it’s the first cathedral in ages that I truly found to be inviting. We took the opportunity to tour the Palais du Tau which is the historic residence of the Bishops of Reims. What a fascinating place. It’s a museum that ably shares the role of Reims in preparing Frances’ Kings to receive the grace to lead. Reims is a little bit Parisian but not so much that you can call it arrogant. We liked it. A lot.

With the distance traveled thus far we thought we were ably prepared to drive the shortish route to Paris. Or rather the airport, skirting the hellish streets of Paris proper. What we learned though, is that Mal doesn’t like multiple bits of data coming at him. When Agnes says one thing and I say another, and the road signs are saying something else altogether.

After a bit of hair pulling frustration we got to where we needed to be, about seven minutes after the time Hertz expected to see their car returned. Which wasn’t bad considering google gave us a bad address. And if you’ve never driven around the road layout for CDG airport, I don’t think my description will do it justice, suffice to say we had the pleasure of going around the road system twice before finally getting our bearings.

Mal was mentally shot for a bit once he handed over the keys. We’d been in a few close calls since getting her, but she was returned with no visible, additional damage. (Thank goodness someone before us had severely scraped the wheel rims and it had been noted on the hire forms).

Our flights from CDG to Zurich to San Francisco had only one wee hitch. The crew booking us in didn’t know what to do with our trekking poles. There was a palaver to navigate before they finally just got a sticker slapped on them and deemed them oversized baggage. I do wish airlines could agree on a single standard for these things.

As we try to recall the last 48 hours through a bit of jet lag, the only thing that really sticks in our minds about our flight to San Fran was the young lady who pushed into the line for boarding. She was on her phone chatting to some romantic chap called ‘Diabolo’ (oh dear). While deep in conversation she was also snapping several pouting selfies (for snapchat) and taking off the top that was the only thing keeping her looking dressed. Her manipulative approach to pushing in worked and we both clucked our disapproval! We are getting old and growly I think. My tolerance for self importance is most evident when I’m in airports, so I’m now setting myself the challenge to give voice to my inner annoyance. Pushy folks get away with their shitty moves cos most of us remain voiceless in the guise of being polite. No more. All I need to practice saying is…’I’m sorry deary, the line you are trying to join is waaayyy back there. Jog on love’.

San Francisco

Getting through customs in San Fran wasn’t all that straight forward and very slow to boot. But once we were through the typically American process we were on our way to find our bags. Round and round we watched the bags go on the conveyor. No new bags were being added to it though…how strange. After about half an hour and a bit of wandering, we found our luggage piled up under a sign. Not on the conveyor at all. Oh well, then it was off to find the rental car place. You have to have faith really, that signage and common sense will intersect and that you won’t spend hours walking in circles. We did find it, after a bit of intuition and a ride on an air train. Waiting for us was a white VW sedan and a new GPS. No cheeky upgrade sales job to an American muscle car, thank God.

Our GPS is no Agnes that’s for sure as she talks in terms of miles, quarter miles and highways. We can’t call her Agnes, so in light of where we picked up this minx, we’ve named her Fran. She’s good too. I particularly liked that when we took a left instead of a right out of the rental car building she drawled ‘You are going the wrong way’. Agnes was never so direct.

Once headed in the correct direction, we drove to a place called Ripon for a head start on the long journey to Mammoth Lakes. La Quinta something or rather which provided a five star bed and a one star breakfast. A super helpful lady from Hawaii helped us the following morning to work the waffle maker. Yes, we got ourselves a small taste of what is driving the diabetes epidemic here. Nothing on offer was unprocessed or close to healthy. All served up in polystyrene plates and cups, and of course it’s use the plastic cutlery or your fingers. Which you could do if you really wanted to make a statement for the environment. It was a sad thing to be honest. But. The folks sure are friendly. Every caricature you see on telly or in the movies is here. In blazing glory.

It takes a little bit to acclimitise to being in the ‘States’. It’s so different to where we’ve been for the last long while, but it’s also eerily similar as NZ has adopted all these recognisable US fast food outlets in our cities and towns.

As we started to put some miles on the road, the scenery became incredible. This is big country, really BIG. Long straight roads for hours led the way to the Stanislaus Forest. Then we climbed. And climbed… 9000 feet or so. The views are magnificent and you get to feel tiny and insignificant in this majestic landscape. Small towns scatter themselves along the highway, and they look just how you’d imagine they would. Folks get about in denim jeans and flannel shirts. They slow drawl while talking about this and that, and Mexican food is just about all there is. It’s cowboy and pioneer country, with a ‘yee-haw’ look and feel that quickly becomes adorable and hardly cheesy at all.

But Hi Ho Silver, were we in darn gone it need of a real cup of coffee. We struck gold in the cutest little organic cafe in Lee Vining, not far from Mammoth Lakes. And what a blessing it was. Proper espresso’s, from a real machine!

When we arrived in Mammoth Lakes a supermarket was a priority and luckily easy to locate. We were in desperate need of getting some real food. As I made my beeline to the fruit and veges a chap smiled at me, and said in reference to his wife yelling at him…’I’m not ten feet into the store, and I’m in trouble already!’ I couldn’t help but giggle. That was my first friendly encounter with the human wildlife here. Several more lively and friendly chats quickly followed with various inhabitants…they are as adorable as their mountainous backdrop.

Within a very short time, we learned about coyotes and why cats here are housebound. And the squirrel things we’d seen running madly across the road aren’t squirrels at all, but chipmunks. They are incredibly cute. We are also advised that if we choose to hang around a dumpster long enough we surely will see the cheeky bears doing their thing.

What a totally spiffing place this is. We can only imagine how glorious it looks cloaked in snow. It’s the tail end of the summer season here of course and only aging tourists like us are wandering (or riding bikes) around in the dying daytime warmth. Pretty soon the temperatures are going to dive and the snow will fall, relentlessly enough for ski season, which opens in November. Already the nighttime climate is dipping pretty low into single digits, sometimes alarmingly into the negatives. Now if only we could figure out where the damn hot tub is in this complex…