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Western Diary Day 11: Dogs, Crab, Hats and Beats

Mar 28, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


Our first full day in San Francisco – and it was a good one.  After a comfortable night’s sleep (another plus point for the apartment) we woke to steady rain that had left large pools at the bottom of the wooden steps leading down from the kitchen to the back garden.  The forecast was for it to clear later in the morning to leave a cloudy but dry afternoon and evening.

Tradition dictates that our first morning be spent at the Cliff House at Ocean Beach for brunch.  This was just a 10-15 minute drive straight along Fulton until we reached the Pacific Ocean.  For the majority of the journey we passed an especially verdant Golden Gate Park on our left, whilst from the passenger side of the car, we caught occasional and tantalising glimpses of the towers of the glorious Golden Gate Bridge looming over the equally healthy trees of the Presidio.

We parked a few hundred yards short of the Cliff House to enable us to take in the bracing appetite enhancing air for a few minutes before we entered the bistro.  The ocean presented what was, for us, an unprecedentedly turbulent picture with a swift succession of high rolling waves chasing away anyone brave or foolhardy enough to venture too close to it.

The scene was a busy one – joggers passing in either direction and at varying speeds,  people , like us, strolling contentedly in a wind induced state of dishevelment – but most of all, dogs everywhere enjoying the freedom and excitement of exploring the endless expanse of beach.  We must have seen twenty species, from caped miniature poodles and chihuahuas and striking, enigmatic huskies to imposing rottweilers.  We felt as if we were committing an act of animal cruelty by not having one of our own to exercise.  Momentarily, I contemplated hiring one for the week, because, after all, this is San Francisco and I’m sure it is possible.  I don’t think, however, pets are allowed in the apartment – ah well! (And just as I typed this I’ve spotted a very cute dog in the back garden – think it belongs to upstairs!).

We had a twenty minute wait for our table, giving us the opportunity to check on coming events (Wednesday prix fixe menu and jazz evenings) and look in the gift shop.  We both ordered, tradition again, Eggs San Francisco (two poached eggs and crab on toasted sourdough bread with roasted potatoes and fruit) – delicious.  Feeling replete we took another longer walk in the burgeoning sunshine along the beach towards the south, exploring the bonfire pits on the way.  Crossing the Great Highway for the return to our car, we called in at the Beach Chalet to look at the fabulous murals depicting everyday scenes of San Francisco history.

We abandoned our planned food shopping trip as we needed time to get ready for the evening (and for me to finish my blog).  The mild, partly cloudy late afternoon weather encouraged us to take the long walk from our North of the Panhandle (NOPA) hangout to Club Fugazi in North Beach for the early evening performance of Beach Blanket Babylon.  The near hour and a half  journey took in some of the less salubrious parts of the city (Fillmore and Civic Center) before turning off Market Street to snake through Grant in the heart of Chinatown. 

Inevitably and sadly, there were no shortage of vagrants in the Civic Center vicinity, though we witnessed no intimidating panhandling.  I did purchase a copy of Street Sheet from a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when she dresses as a witch and tempts Snow White with a poisoned apple.  He even had the hunch back and hood.  But he was very friendly and  appreciative of my $2 donation. 

For the unitiated, the Street Sheet is a magazine that has been published by the Coalition on Homelessness since 1989, and is designed to provide information and support programmes for homeless people.  The philosophy is not dissimilar from that of The Big Issue in the UK, whereby it enables its extremely poor vendors the opportunity to earn money for food, shelter and other necessities.

We joined an already lengthy line outside Club Fugazi around 50 minutes before showtime.  I collected our tickets from the box office and took my place in the line.  We were surrounded by around a dozen boisterous and slightly drunk ladies of a certain age taking in the show as part of a bachelorette party.  Whilst we didn’t begrudge them their fun we did hope that their seats were in a different part of the auditorium.  Our prayers were answered as they lurched off to the area close to the stage on the ground floor whilst we were escorted to our seats in the center balcony – having been five times now this is our preferred area to watch the show.  Arming ourselves with a bottle of Woodbridge White Zinfandel and a large packet of pretzels we were ready to cheer Snow White on her worldwide search for a prince.

Once again, Beach Blanket Babylon delivered.  Although we had only been this time last year there was still a lot of new content along with the familiar old staples.  The highlight for me was when San Francisco Giants baseball stars Buster Posey, Tim Lincecum and Brian Wilson (no, not the real ones) burst onto the stage holding the World Series trophy and singing We Are the Champions. The Queen‘s appalled putdown of the upcoming wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton was hilarious and a typical Beach Blanket Babylon satirical slant on a subject that is all too often treated too reverently.

We had decided that we would try the North Beach Restaurant for dinner for the first time, provided we could get in (we hadn’t booked).  The restaurant looked very busy, but on presenting ourselves at the front desk, we were whisked to the only free table, for two, adjacent to the kitchen.  That may not sound the most appealing location but Janet found it fascinating, catching regular momentary glimpses of the frenzied behind the scenes action as the front of house staff went swiftly went about their work.

But what of the food and service?  This was traditional Italian fine dining at its best.  My linguine with porcini mushrooms and scallops was outstanding, as was Janet’s seafood risotto – both surpassing the excellent meals we had enjoyed at the Riva Grill in South Lake Tahoe.  And our waiter was suave, attentive and witty.  We would thoroughly recommend this establishment and certainly intend to dine there again.

I had wanted to visit The Beat Museum on Broadway for some time, so as the night was still young (10pm), we called in.  Although the museum itself had already closed for the day, we spent some time perusing the bookshelves and other fascinating memorabilia, and I bought a couple of books I had not seen before, one the 700 page Hippie Dictionary –  A Cultural Encyclopedia of the 1960s and 1970s by John Bassett McCleary and The Beats – A Graphic History.  On leaving we strolled around the fleshpots and nightclubs of Broadway before fleeing back into civilisation at Vesuvio’s bar on Jack Kerouac Boulevard.   Again, we were fortunate in claiming what must have been the only two seats available, at the bar.  After a couple of drinks we walked down Montgomery through the Financial District before boarding a number 5 MUNI bus at Market to transport us back to the apartment.     

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Western Diary Day 10: Retrieving my Heart

Mar 26, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


For the second day running I feel I need to preface my account of the day with a statement.  A number of people have expressed sympathy and regret about the disappointing nature of both the Tahoe, and particularly Vegas, legs of our trip.  I am grateful for that, but they really should not worry.  I hope that by the tone of my reports, they detect a certain measure of irony and gallows humour, and, after all, this blog would have been very boring if everything went smoothly wouldn’t it? And, on occasions, I have exaggerated a little for dramatic effect, which I think is defensible.

As my “fellow Californians” would say – it’s all good.

We met Janet’s parents for breakfast in the hotel before bidding them adieu and heading off to McCarran Airport for our 1.05 Virgin America flight to San Francisco.

After checking in at around 11.30am, and paying $25 each for our two large cases, we proceeded to security (Janet had to endure the screening booth whilst I breezed through the traditional barrier!) to the gate.  There were a handful of delays, though all – bar one – did quote an estimated time.  Yes, the one exception was ours, “possible weather delay”, later described by the captain as “one small cloud in the Bay Area”.  It was rather like waiting for a Southeastern train back home –  no information whatsoever until an announcement to say we were boarding.  Anyway, we left exactly an hour late, around a quarter of which we recouped on the journey.  

Although, as regulars on Virgin Atlantic, we were disappointed with the pre-flight service of its American cousin, the in-flight service was better than that we had experienced with Southwest (though there was not a lot wrong with that) between Reno Tahoe and Vegas.  The flight was a little more relaxed with seating that was more comfortable.  Furthermore, there was a decent,mini version of the Virgin in-flight  entertainment system. 

A day couldn’t pass at present, howver, without some minoir catastrophe befalling one of us.  On arriving at SFO we were directed to bagage claim number 9 which appeared to be nothing more than a locked cupboard.  After around a quarter of an hour a Virgin representative breathlessly rushed onto the scene, profusely apologising for the delay, and opening the cupboard to reveal a small baggage claim area.  In the excitement, and seeing our bags about to escape my grasp and begin yet another lap of the carousel, I lunged for them only to slam my shin against a solid metal block sticking out of the conveyor belt.  Whilst it was very painful at the time, and exposed a bloody gash, I thought no more of it until I was changing my trousers at the apartment a couple of hours later, when I discovered that it was not only badly bruised but had blown up to the size of an adam’s apple.  Fortunately, as I write this, virtually 24 hours later, antiseptic cream, plasters and rest have reduced the swelling dramatically, and I experience only mild discomfort rather than any pain.

I am trying to keep my rants to a minimum today, but collecting the hire car we had booked and already paid for was the usual battle to hold on to our money against a concerted attack to prise it from us.  Every time we travel to Tahoe we are urged to upgrade to a four wheel drive because an alleged storm is on its way, even when the forecast, in the past, has been for fine weather.  Today, we were pressed to upgrade the compact car, despite explaining that we had purposely booked a small vehicle because the garage space at the apartment could accommodate nothing bigger.  Equally, it was suggested that we buy personal items and passenger insurances, despite the fact we had already had them.

We found the apartment easily enough at 5.30pm and had no difficulties gaining entry and parking the car.  We had expected, from both the written details and photographs, a spacious and fully equipped home, but it immediately surpassed even those expectations.  I will write much more in subsequent days about its features and facilities, but surpass to say that we are already thrilled.  By the time we had gone to bed I had carried out our first shopping expedition to the local Lucky supermarket, which I was also pleasantly surprised by, completed the previous day’s blog on the PC supplied by the owners and “cooked” our dinner of lobster ravioli with roasted garlic sauce (plus two bottles of wine, of course).  Janet had done all the washing that had acccumulated in Tahoe and Vegas (we could be clean once again!), and we had watched three episodes of Celebrity Apprentice on the 40 inch digital TV.  

The rants are / may / should (delete as applicacble) be over – San Francisco has opened up its Golden Gate and returned our hearts!  And after a wet weekend, the sunshine is going to arrive with a vengeance!

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Western Diary Day 9: That Dam(n) Tour and miscellaneous rants

Mar 26, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


Before I start today’s diary I feel I need to apologise in advance to any of my American readers who might be offended by comments I make in it.  I have great affection and respect for the American people but this was just one of those days where everything that annoys me about the country happened, fittingly when the “word of the day”, as you will discover was “dam” (without the “n”).

Our second and final full day in Vegas was largely taken up with an organised tour of the Hoover Dam and luxury cruise on Lake Mead.  We boarded the feeder bus from our hotel at 8.30am and proceeded to the Grand Canyon Airport in Boulder City where, before we were let off the bus, a tour guide tried to sell us a cut-price helicopter flight over the Grand Canyon as an add-on to our pre-booked activities.  Only in America can someone try to sell you something else before you have even started to take advantage of the thin for which you have already paid.  Admittedly, it was a good price though we declined as we had done it before.

Check-in was efficient and friendly, but it was a full forty minutes before the tour finally began, not least because we were directed to the gift shop first (another brazen money making ploy).  Have you noticed also how every ride in an American theme park ends in the gift shop?  And I shouldn’t forget the obligatory group photo, yet another opportunity to rip you off.  To be fair, we have occasionally bought the photo package (usually an assortment of different size prints and key rings), but we resisted it twice today – at the airport and Lake Mead – as well as at the shows on the previous evenings.

Eventually, two hours after we had boarded the first coach, we were on the way to the Hoover Dam, each passenger proudly displaying a coloured  (blue, red or yellow) sticker on their chest denoting which tour they were on and, therefore, how much they had paid.  Our driver for the day was extremely knowledgable, a cynic might say a know all, but his constant use of the word “dam”, witty at first, grated after the fiftieth time.  We had 2 hours 20 minutes at the Dam, most of which was taken up with an escorted group tour which I for one, not being remotely engineeringly minded, found rather tedious if undeniably awe inspiring.  The highlight of our stay came when we were set free to wander around with our cameras taking photos of the Dam and the highest road bridge in the United States.    

The coachload was then separated into its respective coloured groupings for lunch.  Whilst the majority were treated to casino fare, we began our “luxury” cruise on Lake Mead with a sumptuous repast of ham or turkey roll, chips or potato salad and an apple or orange, washed down by a non-alcoholic drink.  It only seemed appropriate in the circumstances that I should decide to pay an extra six dollars for a pre-prepared pina colada (which was actually quite refreshing). 

The cruise, which lasted an hour and a half and took us as close as we were permitted to the Hoover Dam, was very relaxing, though the biting wind rendered trips up on deck to take photos short and challenging.  Disappointingly, the position of the sun at the time also scuppered shots of the Dam itself.  Nonetheless, it was generally enjoyable, though I still can’t get the picture of the mother on the table next to us checking her young son’s hair for nits whilst we were partaking of our banquet, or of the young girl who devoured two enormous burgers, out of my mind.   

The final part of the tour was a brief visit to Ethel M’s Chocolate Factory and tour of the adjacent cactus garden.  We returned to our hotel at 6pm.

Ever since we first visited it in March 2008 we have made Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar & Grill in Harrah’s Las Vegas is one of our essential things to do in Vegas, irrespective of the length of our stay.  Good, wholesome southern style food is served in the restaurant and the adjacent bar is lively and good natured.  The house DJ plays the latest country tunes during the breaks in the performance of the nightly live bands, and numerous TV screens showing country music videos, many by Keith himself, are located throughout the establishment. 

After a 45 minute wait for our table the meal was as enjoyable as ever (Janet had chicken and I had catfish), the Whisky Girl cocktails which seem to contain around half a dozen measures of Jack Daniel’s, were equally typically potent and delicious, and the service by the “hottie” waitress was excellent.

But apart from that, the atmosphere was very different to what we had enjoyed on our previous visits.  The DJ played very few recognisably country tunes (Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl?), the periodic free shots dispensing interludes were accompanied by what sounded like a rap version of The Birdie Song rather than I Love This Bar, the band played competent southern, country tinged, rock and the TV screens, rather than celebfrating the country theme, were showing wall to wall college basketball – like thousands of others around town!

And finally, revellers who were only drinking were continually sitting at restaurant tables whilst others, including ourselves, were expected to wait for those same tables.  And some of those were asked to leave whilst others weren’t.  A very depressing experience, and one that convinced me finally that it was time to have a rest from Vegas for a few years (though that’s not to deny that we enjoyed the vast majority of our stay).

The irritations of the day didn’t end there.  On returning to our hotel at midnight my  room key wouldn’t work! This necessitated our traipsing down to reception where we were lectured by a female robot at reception that we shouldn’t keep the close next to  credit cards and mobile phones (which we hadn’t) before being given a replacement.  And, to cap the evening’s entertainment, as I walked away she droned “have a great day”!!!!!!

And, believe it or not, I will be so glad to get away from those damn slot machines and return to civilisation (California Here I Come)!!!!!

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Western Diary Day 8: Here Comes the Sun

Mar 25, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


At last, undiluted sunshine as we woke on our first full day in Vegas, although the deaths of movie icon Elizabeth Taylor and English cricketer Fred Titmus cast a cloud over the morning.  

This was our third trip to Vegas in the past 16 months and fourth in 3 years, so, with a show booked for this evening and a full day tour tomorrow, we decided just to spend the day strolling the Strip.  Required to collect our Cirque de Soleil “Viva Elvis” show tickets from the Aria box office at midday we had a late breakfast there whilst we waited.  We walked as far as Tropicana Avenue, returning on the other side of Las Vegas Boulevard.

We stopped for a beer outside Planet Hollywood where, at Pink’s, I also partook of a veggie hot dog with cheese (why are they, on the rare occasions you can find them, so much smaller than the “meat” ones?).  By this time, around 2.30pm, the sun was at its most powerful.  Although we were in the same state as the one we had left the previous day, we could have been on another continent and in a different hemisphere.

With spring break still in full swing the sidewalks were full, not just with tourists and people trying to thrust in your hands cards advertising call girls and adult shows, but with numerous celebrities, including around a dozen assorted Elvises, ranging from the ages of 25 and 60 and weighing between 140 and 250 pounds.  In addition, we could have had our photograph taken with such diverse characters as the Fantastic Four, Elmo, Freddy Kruger, Marilyn Monroe and Spiderman.  We also passed beggars with placards inscribed with several variations on the “homeless and hungry” theme, the most interesting of which was “we’re not in Oregon anymore Toto”.

Meeting Janet’s parents at 5pm we had dinner in Treasure Island before getting a taxi to the Aria for the show.  Sad to report but neither of our cabbies this evening had opinions on any subject other than other road users – they were plain nice guys, nothing more.

The show was terrific, more, understandably, given the subject matter, a variety show with exuberant, high energy dance routines than the gymnastic extravaganza of other Cirque de Soleil shows that we have seen, although the athletic performances were no less spectacular for that.   The merging of big screen clips from Elvis’s life  and performances with the excellent singers, musicians and dancers in the company worked very well.  If you’re in Vegas or the show visits your town I would unhestitatingly recommend it.

Following drinks and another break even session on the penny slots, we returned to our room where I intended to complete the previous day’s blog.  The same issue with accessing the wireless network that I had experienced before resurfaced, but my frustration was mollified by the excellent IT support person in the hotel fixing the problem.  I went to sleep satisfied that I had avoided missing my deadline for the first time on the vacation.

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Western Diary Day 7: We’re goin’ to Vegas baby!

Mar 24, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


Hardly a “bluebird day”as the locals call a blue sky and sunny prospect, but the weather augured better for a great day’s skiing (another 3-4 inches of snow overnight),but we were leaving town for warmer climes. The benign conditions meant there  were no delays on our outward journey up the lake and through the Carson Valley to Reno Tahoe Airport.  Arriving on time, and nearly three and a half hours before our Southwest flight to Vegas, we enquired whether we might be able to get an earlier flight.  However, we decided to relax and have lunch at the airport on learning that transfer to the 12.25pm flight would cost us $91 each. We weren’t that desperate to get to Sin City! 

This gave me the opportunity to write the previous day’s blog over a coffee –  a bonus as I had doubted whether, once in Vegas and with a show booked for tonight, it might prove beyond me.  But 1,000 words and less than an hour later, it was foisted on an unsuspecting world.

We had lunch at Brew Brothers – another tradition on these trips, though there wasn’t anywhere else to have a full meal – Janet had a chicken and apple salad whilst I had a veggie burger with mushrooms and fries, plus wine of course.

We proceeded through security and took our seats on the 2.05pm flight. I never cease to be amazed by internal US flights – the matter of fact but organised security and boarding arrangements, the desultory safety demonstration once on board and the sheer energy of the three person cabin crew in carrying out all their duties on the 75 minute flight, taking refreshment orders, preparing and serving them and then clearing them away for 137 passengers.

Janet and I were almost the last people to board the plane, so were inevitably separated.  Janet ended up on the front row, enabling her to disembark first, but not until she had had to endure a journey squashed by the two 20 plus stone and fragrantly challenged women next to her.  By contrast, four rows back I was able to start my blog and enjoy great views of both Red Rock Canyon and the Las Vegas Strip, the latter so dreary by day but dazzling by night.

The captain was a wisecracker, though when he proclaimed “Go Phillies” as we landed, I could not resist calling out above the laughter ” Giants – Champions”! And they still let me off the plane!

Collecting our baggage and walking straight away into a taxi – a clear indication of how slow business is in Vegas at present –  meant we were checking in at Treasure Island a mere 35 minutes after we had touched down, and that was despite the cab driver taking us on a tour of Southern Nevada before dropping us off.  We secured a strip room, and although I had initial difficulties connecting with the hotel’s wireless network, we were “good to go”.

We met Janet’s parents, who had arrived the day before on a ten day vacation to celebrate her father’s eightieth birthday (they are veterans of American travel), and had dinner at Kahunaville in the hotel before taking a taxi to the Rio All-Star Suites and Casino for the Penn and Teller show.

Now they are hugely talented guys and deliver some amazing tricks.  However, and I am being deliberately provocative here, there was something unsatisfying and irritating about the show.  It may have been Penn’s rapid, and sometimes incomprehensible, patter or his repeated protestations about how their act is more honest and decent than others in their field, notably professed psychics whom they dismiss as frauds.  But, as I said, I am probably being too picky here, and there is no doubting that Teller is a great clown in the mute tradition.

It is commonly felt that, with the only possible exception of London cabbies, New York taxi drivers are the most opinionated on the planet.  Now, if you put one in charge of a cab in Vegas, the effect is likely to be explosive.  Yes, we had the doubtful privilege of being escorted back to our hotel by the craziest New York Italian taxi driver imaginable.  

After he had asked me which part of Australia I came from he launched into a scattergun tirade on a variety of subjects such as Middle East politics, the glory of Tony Blair compared to the catastrophic presidency of Bill Clinton, who had (apparently) spent his entire period in office engaging in extra curricular activities, and his affection for the former New York Giants baseball team.  Keeping his eye on the road was secondary, as the number of pedestrians hurling themselves out of his way and the exasperation expressed by other road users demonstrated.     

Finally, yes you guessed it, the penny slots – initial success followed by setbacks, but a break even session overall.  The theory still holds – just.

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Western Diary Day 6: I fall over and Janet loses her backpack

Mar 22, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


A series of mishaps delayed our skiing on another cloudy, snow-filled morning.  Firstly, having plodded from the hotel in our buckled-up boots to the brink of the gondola, climbing over foot high piles of snow deposited by the ubiquitous snow ploughs (which we also had to dodge at regular intervals), we discovered that we had left our ski passes in our room.  So no prizes for who had to trudge back to the room, clambering over those twelve inch snow stashes and swerving out of the way of those pesky but heroic snow dispersal vehicles.

As it was our last day, and we would have to return all of our ski equipment, including the boots, later today, we had our moon boots with us which we intended to place in a locker whilst we were out skiing.  Whilst I had been wending my weary way back and forth from the hotel room, Janet had been attempting to deposit the moon boots in the locker, but finding that the magnetic strips on both her cheque and credit cards would not be read (the machines did not take cash).  However, not for the first time in the morning, she was the recipient of an act of real kindness – a young American couple passing by paid the $6 for her.

Skis and poles collected, we made our way up the gondola to get an early start on the mountain, only for Janet to reveal, on the gruelling uphill walk to the Tamarack chairlift, that she had lost her backpack, complete with phone, cheque and credit cards, and, most alarmingly, her driving licence.  

We could only think that she had inadvertently taken it off whilst we were sat in the gondola being distracted by a Grizzly Adams lookalike quizzing us on the virtues of the British National Health Service.  It transpired also that this fifty / sixty something hulk who lived locally had just taken his first ever trip to Vegas (he hadn’t been impressed because there’s nothing else to do there but gamble – we begged to disagree).

Anyway, I digress outrageously – you are desperate to know what happened to Janet’s backpack aren’t you?. I left her distraught whilst I trudged / plodded / yomped back (again) to the gondola to report the loss.  The guy at the top of the gondola contacted his compadres at the bottom, asking them to look out for it, and the long wait started.  Now the gondola ride is around 15 minutes, so it would take some time before we would know the outcome of their investigations.  Well, despite my faith in the inherent goodness of both the skiing community and the American people, I will confess that I felt it was a goner, so long was the resulting vigil.

Eventually, after around an hour, the message came from the bottom that it had been retrieved and was being held in Guest Services in the village.  Thank you to the resort staff and to whoever handed it in, my faith was duly returned.

At last, we could begin our final day skiing, but that hardly went to plan either.  Now I’ll own up that we are both fair weather skiers – which is why we always ski in March when the snow has given way to the sun – yeah right.  By the time we were ready to go the weather had closed in again and whilst the snow conditions underneath were awesome – to lapse into the Californian vernacular – the dull visibility and bitter swirling wind cutting into our cheeks like needles, was not much fun. In addition, despite repeated reminders that I should have invested in light rather than dark goggles, I just could not see in front of me – at eye or feet level.

So we retired early to the magnificent new Tamarack Lodge for a couple of beers whilst we watched for the weather to improve – which it did, and then didn’t, then did again and didn’t again, all at five minute intervals – well, that’s the way in the mountains.  The upper lifts then went on to wind hold, which finished us off.

It’s at this point that I have a confession to make – I fell over.  However, nobody, including Janet, saw me, so I would be grateful, dear reader, if you kept that to yourself.

Returning to the village, collecting Janet’s backpack and (finally) returning our skis, boots and poles, we took solace in a late lunch at the American River Café in Harrah’s (another two egg all day American breakfast for me!). The remainder of the afternoon was taken up shopping, packing, blogging and watching that great documentary on the Giants’ World Series win again.

Our final evening meal was at our favourite South Lake Tahoe restaurant, the Riva Grill on Ski Run Marina.  It didn’t disappoint – my shrimp and lobster bisque and seared diver scallops were divine, whilst Janet enjoyed steamed clams in a white wine and pepper sauce, followed by Seafood Tagliarini.  A bottle of Charles Krug sauvignon blanc from the Napa Valley was a great complement to the food.

There was one final mild misadventure on our return from the restaurant.  We.had decided to walk there and back – around a half hour trek each way.  We thought we could take a short cut through the car park of the Tahoe Vacation Resort which we would save us a couple of hundred yards.  However, at the end of the car park was a steep – well, steep enough – wall of snow that we had to climb over to get back on the roadside path. Janet managed to negotiate it with her dignity intact, but having planted my left foot on what I thought was a solid block of snow, I sunk into the snow almost up to my unmentionables.  Worse still, only my foot emerged, leaving my moon boot embedded in the snow.  Whilst I dangled my sodden, frozen leg in the air Janet dug the boot out of the snow, no easy task, and foot and boot were reunited.  A deeply uncomfortable walk back to town ensued.

Finally, yes, my favourite subject – the penny slots.  Mindful of an early start, we did not tarry long at our favourite machines, but long enough to turn a $20 stake in to $30 – high rollers or what?

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Western Diary Day 5: The more it snows tiddley pom

Mar 22, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


As predicted, heavy overnight snow and fierce wind speeds on the upper levels of the mountain severely restricted skiing and riding opportunities on the first day of spring (sic).  On the basis of that forecast we had already resolved to take the day off.

Our first tasks were to reserve our seats on the South Tahoe Express bus to take us to Reno airport on Tuesday for the flight to Vegas, and for Janet to book a deep tissue massage in the Harrah’s spa for later in the afternoon.   Breakfast was taken at the Driftwood Cafe, a firm favourite of ours since our first trip twelve years ago.  It was well worth the lengthy wait for a table (we clearly weren’t the only people giving the mountain a miss today). 

And the snow went on falling.

Digestion was aided by a knee deep trudge through the snow piled high on the side of Highway 50, reaching Ski Run Marina in around three quarters of an hour where we bought some Christmas decorations and handmade soaps in the gift shops, and warmed up with coffee at the Wildman cafe.  The beach beside the lake was obscured by around nine inches of snow. 

And the snow went on falling.

The yomp back to the village alongside the main road was even more challenging,  and arguably as much of a strain on the knees and ankles as skiing would have been.  On returning to the hotel Janet retired to her massage, sauna, steam room and jacuzzi appointment whilst I powered up the laptop for the daily blog.

And the snow went on falling.

Out trips to Tahoe always take in a movie at either the Heavenly Cinema or the Horizon Stadiums Cinema.  Last year we saw the fabulous Crazy Heart with Jeff Bridges at the latter.  We had intended to see Rango this time but plumped for Limitless instead with Bradley Cooper, Abbie Cornish and Robert de Niro.  It was enjoyable and entertaining with some great New York city locations, though it is unlikely to figure at the next awards season.

And the snow went on falling.

Dinner was taken at a surprisingly quiet Cabo Wabo Cantina in Harvey’s casino. And, of course, we had to test the gambling theory I posited yesterday – that the penny slots always gave a guaranteed return on your investment.  Well, $20 in, $43 out – I rest my case.    

Oh yes, and the snow went on falling – tiddley pom.

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Western Diary Day 4: Janet falls over (again) and Tony gets lost

Mar 20, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


We woke to learn that the snow had left over a foot of fresh powder on the mountain (nearby Sugarbowl had had 32 inches overnight!), and that today would see a brief respite in the relentless wave of storm systems hitting the west of the country during March.

Although it was snowing and visibility was poor when we set out, leaving both the lake and mountain invisible, breaks in the clouds brought a surprising and prolonged spell of sunshine from late morning onwards. Occasional “wind holds” aside on lifts on the upper levels of the mountain, the majority of the ski terrain remained open, including the all-important gondola in the middle of the village.  The fresh, dry, soft snow which had fallen on the groomed surface meant that appreciable bumps developed on all trails as skiers and riders turned over it.  The term “powder day” was rarely more relevant in our experience.

That said, the day’s skiing was hardly uneventful.  Firstly, Janet contrived to fall twice whilst standing still  – that’s now three nil to me!  But I didn’t exactly cover myself with glory either.  Returning from the Nevada side of the mountain at 1pm we resolved to head down the run that led directly into the new Tamarack mountain restaurant for lunch.

However, if you miss the left fork leading to the restaurant, and the gondola alongside it, you find yourself hurtling towards the farther California side of the mountain, with no way back other than by negotiating a time-consuming and frustrating return via a series of long trails and lifts, taking you back into Nevada – and that’s if the latter are operational (which, at the time I needed them, was the case).    

And that is what this idiot did, leaving Janet waiting outside the restaurant wondering where I had disappeared to.  As I had perpetrated the same felony only last year, she soon worked out what had happened to me, and had the good sense to wait there whilst I reacquainted myself with most of the mountain before being reunited with her over an hour and a half later.  My legs had started to tire BEFORE I embarked upon the additional marathon journey, so I was mighty relieved to see her waving to me at the bottom of the run!

But that wasn’t the only indignity I suffered – staggering back to the gondola for the ride back to the village my saloppettes (ski pants to the unitiated) fell down, revealing the three layers (thermals, tights and underpants) beneath.  Fortunately, Janet may have been the only witness, and it certainly raised her spirits after the long, frustrating vigil at the restaurant.  At least it proved that I had lost weight from last year!

Lunch at Wolfgang Puck’s cafe in the village was highly welcome =- and very late, thanks to this author.  After the customary late afternoon siesta, we roamed the casino and village shops before having dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe in Harvey’s casino.  Good food, great music, delicious margaritas and  friendly service – it is not difficult to see how it long outlasted Planet Hollywood.

I’ll finish with a tip for those wanting to have fun and win each time they hit the casinos – play the penny slots!  Ok, it’ll take a few thousand years for you to become a millionaire, but you’re just about guaranteed to win every time.  Janet and I only discovered them at the Bellagio in Vegas last year when they paid for several rounds of drinks at the bar.  Tonight we walked away with $70 from a $30 stake – that’s 233% profit, pretty good odds huh?

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First photos from Tahoe

Mar 20, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


Here are a handful of photos from our first couple of days’ skiing in Heavenly.

Me!

View of lake from top of Comet Express

Both of us!

View of lake (just!) from window of hotel room

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Western Diary Day 3: Janet falls over

Mar 20, 2011 by Me In My Frightened Silence


I realise that yesterday’s blog was rather lengthy, so resolve to keep day 3 short and sweet.

After coffee and bagels in Starbuck’s in Harrah’s we set off to collect our valeted skis and poles.  The first half hour was taken up climbing into our boots – why is it that with all the advances in ski technology in the past twenty years that getting into – and out of – boots is as strenuous and stressful as it was when we first took up the sport in 1987?

The weather was cold and overcast, and strong winds at the upper levels of the mountain meant that the lifts and runs available were very limited.  We were compelled to take an overcrowded shuttle bus – along with a cacophanous bunch of brash Texans on their spring break – to the Stagecoach lodge in Nevada, which we reached shortly after 10am. The skiing was confined to just a handful of runs, though it was enjoyable nonetheless.  The highlight was Janet’s spectacular back flip from a standing position as she was about to push off on the Olympic Downhill.  One nil to me! 

With a heavy storm approaching in mid afternoon we finished skiing around 1pm and had lunch at Wolfgang Puck’s cafe in the village – even though it’s a fast food outlet that man still puts out great food! My four cheese pesto pizza matched the cajun shrimp pasta from the night before.

The snow set in as forceast around 3pm, and had covered the road at lake level within an hour.  It did not stop for the remainder of the day, dumping well over a foot on the mountain overnight.  Seeking escape in our room I wrote yesterday’s blog and watched a great profile of the Giants’ 2010 postseason heroics whilst Janet braved the hotel’s swimming pool.

We trudged through the roadside snow to Cecil’s Steak and Brew for their excellent Jack Daniel’s drenched half chicken before returning to the hotel for drinks and a modestly successful i.e. breaking even session on the penny slots.  We went to sleep wondering whether the incessant snowfall would jeopardise tomorrow’s skiing plans.

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