Vacation 2012: Wild Turkeys, the Black Hole, Flamenco Dancing, and the Hells Angels

Welcome to Vacation 2012, officially underway.  Friday was mostly a travel day, where I suffered the usual TSA indignities along with countless other proletarians that seemed to jam the airport. The atmosphere here was a little strange. Much more bustling than a usual Friday afternoon. The business people, forced to mix with the WalMart crowd, looked very worried, as if one of the unkempt worker-types (who by all rights should be taking the bus) might touch them or bump them from a flight. One particularly Banana Republic-clad chatch looking guy, anxiously pacing up and down while barking instructions on his newly released smart phone. That guy needed to back up and let it go, because he was stressing me, and no doubt some wife or secretary was extremely worried on the other end about the volcano that was going to explode when that guy returned home. The others were no doubt looking forward to fabulous destinations, like...Jacksonville...or other meth lab locations. You can tell where people at the airport are going just by looking at the gates, without even looking at the gate label. The party people are going to New Orleans or Las Vegas. The worn, beaten, humorless looking people who look like there's a permanent gray sky wherever they go are going to the East Coast. People who look like they should star on a Cops episode, or 80 year olds who have skin made of saddle leather, are on their way to Florida. The Southern travelers? That's generally anyone in a group with one or more family member, or women saying things like "mama my legs are sweating." Those traveling to the West resemble tall hobbits : emaciatedly thin, eco-friendly, Birkenstock and breeches-wearing earth dwellers, wizened and slow-moving due to their exclusively plant based diets (including copious amounts of mary jane).

Yes, it IS good to be so much better than everyone else.

I knew immediately I arrived at the correct gate for the Oakland flight when I found the one that looked like the yard at San Quentin. The place was filled with Raiders Fans, which is kind of one and the same. By all rights I should have been shanked after about 10 minutes near the gate. Imagine Newport Yacht Club during the season. This was the exact opposite. But fortune blessed me and I managed to survive the wait and made it onto the Southwest flight. This one actually served the peanuts, unlike the last flight where they announced that because one guy was allergic, they couldn't serve any peanuts. At all. Where the hell did all this nut allergy come from? I didn't know anyone for about 30 years with a nut allergy, much less something that could shut down a whole plane from enjoying the one and only perk Southwest Airlines makes available. Was anyone allergic to peanuts in 1969? Not that I knew of. We ate them everywhere. And peanut butter. Now kids can't trade their lunches, and every school cafeteria has a "nut free zone." Chris Rock once said no one in Somalia is lactose-intolerant, and I bet no one there has nut allergies either. Oh, and the peanut sacks all say "produced in a facility that processes peanuts and other nuts." Really? The bag of peanuts, you say? Wow. Either the FAA has so dumbed down its regulations that next they'll be telling us how to sit in a chair (which they do for emergency exit rows) or attorneys at huge law firms billing hundreds per hour are doling out some really incredible lawsuit-preventative advice. Either way, its pretty brilliant stuff. But we did enjoy some uplifting moments. First, when the pilot pointed out our passing over the Yosemite Valley. Even from our height you can see the dark forest, the snow capped peaks and the cragged terrain, all giving way to the Central California desert (or valley, depending on whether you work for the local chamber of commerce). The other was when they announced that one of the passengers was celebrating his 92nd birthday. He had been a fighter pilot in World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. The passengers broke into unbidden applause. I saw the guy in question later on, who looked like he was about 65. Remarkable.

The Oakland airport has improved considerably over the years, from the time when it made remote Argentinian airports look like O'Hare. Its now just like a real airport, just like what happened with Hobby. Eventually I made it to the rental car counter, where to my satisfaction they had reserved me a new red Mustang convertible with white stripes. Exactly what I need for my look. You can't represent in a Subaru.

Off I went down the 880 to Pinole, weaving in and out of Oakland rush hour traffic, past the "Black Hole" where the Oakland Raiders and A's play, along with countless motorcycles speeding in between traffic lanes and scaring the hell out of me and no doubt everyone else. At one point I saw a Hells Angel blaring his Harley right past everyone. Kind of like seeing an endangered species. I had no idea the Hells Angels was still a thing. Turns out not only are they still around, they've got a web site. Who knew? It seemed an appropriate sight while passing through Oakland, which these days resembles Detroit in RoboCop. Or just Detroit.

But eventually I arrived at Chez Ligocki, with Kimberly, Taffy and Rocky waiting to greet me. We feasted on a lovely, homemade dinner of pork and beef sausage meatballs and sauce, quinoa pasta, and salad with tomatoes grown in their garden. Quite a lovely way to end the evening.

The next day I set out to run into downtown Pinole, and at the outset discovered that a herd ("covey" "flock" what's the right word) of wild turkeys were chasing me down the street. Certainly not what you'd expect while jogging in an urban environment, but California has always been a land of possibilities, so why not? I returned to enjoy yet another awesome home cooked meal of scrumptious scrambled eggs and cheese, blueberries, and oatmeal. When Terry could join us after his tennis match, we headed out to Tilden Regional Park. The Bay Area boasts spectacular natural scenery and the communities long ago created an extensive park network. Berkeley's biggest park, Tilden, is no exception. In fact, Kimberly and Terry held their wedding in the Park many years ago. I was a "bridesman." Don't judge me. Today we saw no weddings, but did hike two miles out to Inspiration Point and enjoyed panoramic views of the entire Bay, including San Francisco, Oakland, Marin County, Angel Island, and Richmond. We enjoyed a really clear day with temperatures in the 70s. I very easily adapted to daytime conditions that weren't in the upper 90s with 80% humidity. No doubt the weather keeps people from leaving that might ordinarily flee the taxes, crime, and sky high living costs.

After our little hike we enjoyed a nice, healthy lunch at Fat Apples in El Cerrito (I think). I had some really good chili and a spinach salad. Looks like they serve great breakfast, and the bakery had a huge case full of great looking pies, cakes, and cookies. We then went home and crashed for awhile, Terry and I enjoying some college football. Then we headed into the city for a flamenco dancing show and tapas as LaLoLa Restaurant on Mason Street. This small, intimate Spanish restaurant features excellent food. We enjoyed a variety of dishes, including lamb chops, pork ribs, beans with sausage, chicken with salad, and an excellent cheese plate. The real treat, however, was the flamenco guitar, singing, and dance performance held in the basement. Terry's tennis friend David plays guitar for a monthly show at the Restaurant. This evening featured a dancer from Malaga, Spain, as well as a native San Franciscan. I'd not seen flamenco dance; it differed from my expectations. It struck me as almost balletic, rather than other more interactive dance forms. Both dancers displayed real focus, power, and artistry, and David's outstanding guitar performance really set the stage. The crowd, which noticeably filled with Spanish and similar-looking people, enthusiastically enjoyed the show. They really knocked us over too.

The next day, after running for about a half hour at Hilltop Lake Park, Kimberly treated me to another great breakfast of eggs, miniature strawberries (which I've never heard of), yogurt, and bacon. If the whole journalism thing doesn't work out, she could turn this into a pretty good bed and breakfast. Terry had another tennis outing planned, so Kimberly and I headed into Marin County in the Mustang, sans top, to explore Mill Valley and Tiburon. Mill Valley has long been a favorite, sitting near Muir Woods and nestled in the redwoods and maples. It boasts a number of local shops and good restaurants. We had lunch at Piazza d'Angelo, a place that Kimberly and Terry first introduced me to many years ago. We sat next to the open window facing the town plaza, enjoying the Japanese maples and the passers-by. I had an almond covered sole with salad, Kimberly had a salad with wine vinaigrette and grand padano cheese. We walked through the town, particularly enjoying the local park, located in an old growth redwood grove along the creek running through town. From there we headed to Tiburon, just on the Bay north of Angel Island. The town seemed quite larger than Mill Valley, or at least much more spread out along the road heading by the Bay to the ferry landing. We walked around some to enjoy the sun as it sank in the late afternoon, and watch the fog rolling over the Golden Gate Bridge. Lots of families were walking about as well; we enjoyed watching an elderly lady who had walked down from the hill with a bag of dog treats (and a toblerone bar), passing out treats to the dogs running through the bayside park.

After Tiburon, we headed back home where Kimberly made a really great, spicy roast, with green beans and peas. We also enjoyed some Cowgirl Creamery cheese we bought in Mill Valley. I visited Cowgirl Creamery in Point Reyes with Kimberly and Terry many years ago, then again while on my vacation a couple of years ago. So enjoying some with Kimberly and Terry again brought back those memories.

Ugh, ok. That about covers it. We've been pretty active since I arrived, but tomorrow its on to Yosemite and my dance with rat-borne death. Apparently the local news now is reporting that perhaps thousands who stayed in the Curry Village cabins in July and August may be at risk, but that the Park won't be closing or restricting access any further than it already has. Good to know. Of course, you can't sue them so what do they care?

Question: if I'm listening to the Marshall Tucker band past midnight while I'm in San Francisco, should I be worried?

Next-on to Yosemite, and hiking, hiking, hiking.