Montreal

It has to be said that although we realised in advance that Montreal was French-Canadian, we had very little idea of exactly HOW French it was going to be. I presumed that being a bilingual city, all signs, menus, ads, etc would be in both English and French, but this was true probably less than a third of the time, and we found ourselves quite bamboozled by the masses of untranslated French everywhere. Bits and pieces of my high school French resurfaced, and I was able to figure out the simple words in written form, but fell apart whenever anyone spoke to me (actually, as I seem to recall, that kind of happened in high school French anyway)... On our first night there - after a 6 hour train trip, then about 2 hours of being lost, grumpy and tired while we tried to find where we were staying - I was happy to collapse onto the couch and relax, and even happier when I came across an episode of America’s Next Top Model in English with French subtitles. An excellent way to try and get to grips with the language again.

In Montreal, we had our first Airbnb experience, and it was fantastic. Airbnb is a website that lets you book accommodation in other people’s apartments (either their own while they’re out of town, or an empty apartment they rent out to travellers), and it allows you to stay in places that are often way cooler than hotels, for a fraction of the cost. The apartment we stayed in first in Montreal was in Mile End (apparently the desired hipster location), and it was gorgeous - huge comfy couches, an office with free wifi, art work on the walls, our own balcony, wooden floors - but really cheap (like $30 each a night cheap). Our host Johanne had even left maps, city guides and some 'welcome to Montreal’ beers for us! If you’re planning on doing any travelling, I would totally recommend you check out www.airbnb.com. We’re now in our third place booked through them, and each has cost us less than a private room at a backpackers yet been more spacious and better equipped than a hotel. Yay Airbnb!

View out onto our shared veggie patch in Montreal

Relaxing on the comfy couch after finally finding where we were meant to  be staying

Our first day in Montreal was spent wandering around the neighbourhood we were staying in, starting off with souvlaki for lunch, then ending at a cosy little vegetarian cafe called Le Cagibi for dinner (the first of I think three meals there - their food was that good!) I discovered a record store that was selling old issues of Maximum Rock n’ Roll, so I bought a bunch of early 90s ones and, coupled with the awesome book I got at Amoeba Records on the history of the San Francisco and East Bay punk scenes, I’ve been immersing myself in the glory days of 90s punk. If only this trip involved a time machine as well...

The next day I finally caved in and bought a second-hand laptop, as Sam’s was on its last legs and refusing to connect to the free wifi, so we weren’t able to check emails, load foreign currency onto our cards, or - gasp! - update the blog. Even the damn laptop is more bilingual than I am, so instead of pressing 'escape’ and 'caps lock,’ I’m learning to press 'echap’ and 'fix maj.’ My second - and most triumphant - purchase of the day was a pair of brand new, shiny 14 up Doc boots for $40! Apparently Dr Martens had printed the wrong size in a batch of boots, so they were all being sold off cheap, and I tell you it was a struggle not to get a pair in red and in white as well (yes, I know I already have boots in those colours, but what a bargain!)

We happened to be in the city while one of the biggest music festivals, POP Montreal, was on, and we hadn’t realised that the band we were there to see was actually playing as part of this, so we stopped in to the POP Montreal Headquarters to pick up tickets and find out what else was happening during the four day festival. As it turns out, there was also an art exhibition running at the HQ, and Sam was hugely stoked to see some drawings by Nick Blinko.

Sam and the Nick Blinko skeleton drawings

Now equipped with tickets and festival information to keep us entertained for the rest of our stay, we walked down to the waterfront to explore Old Montreal. Packed full of beautiful architecture and narrow cobbled streets, Old Montreal really gave off the 'wow, we could be in Europe’ vibe, especially at dusk with all the buildings lit up dramatically. The rest of the night went downhill from there, as we made an ill-conceived decision to go to the Ile de Notre-Dame and try our luck at the Montreal casino. Surprisingly, Sam was more enthusiastic about this than me, and no wonder, because he came away richer while I came away poorer, and also had the worst meal of our trip so far. When there’s only one vegetarian option on the menu, and it’s watery cream of broccoli soup in a little plastic pottle with some crackers on the side, it’s an omen that your luck has run out and you should probably stop gambling.

In front of a fountain in Old Montreal

Thursday night’s meal at a Japanese restaurant called Oishii was a definite improvement, but it was still no Jizo (their teriyaki tofu sushi means that I can probably never actually move away from Dunedin). In hindsight, I should have had a more substantial meal than udon soup, but who could’ve predicted that we’d befriend a bartender wearing a GBH t-shirt who would cement our newfound friendship with free (and unrequested!) shots. It seems that it is my fate to experience being hideously hungover at least once in every city we visit. The bar was called Les Katacombes, and aesthetically it was one of the coolest bars I’ve come across, with hundreds of carved skulls lining the walls and columns, and a mezzanine floor that encircled the whole bar and gave a great vantage point for band-watching. We were there to see Samiam play as part of a POP Montreal event, a pop-punk band whose music I didn’t really know, but ended up enjoying a lot (also kind of cool was the fact that the singer used to be in Isocracy, a crazy East Bay band I had just been reading about earlier that day in the aforementioned punk book). No-one ever listens when I tell them that I can’t do shots, and Kevin the bartender proved no exception. Not wanting to be rude and refuse something that had already been poured (and then poured again and again), I gave in, warning Sam that we both knew where this would end, and he may have to be in charge of getting us home. Which he later did with much navigational skill. Oh, and a ‘what are the chances of that moment’ - about four or five years ago some Finnish punks passing through Dunedin had stayed at Sam’s flat for a couple of nights, and one of them, Jonne, just happened to pop up again in Montreal at the gig! Small world indeed...

Sam and Jonne

Friday involved moving from our first Montreal apartment to our second, which we did with much hungover grumbling and hasty packing (we had decided while we were travelling to extend our stay in Montreal from four to seven nights so that Sam could see one of his favourite bands - Inepsy - play, and the place we were already in had been booked by someone else for the additional nights unfortunately). Apartment two was a bit further away, but really cool as well, and had the added appeal of a five week old kitten in the host’s apartment next door. Quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen - she went to bite my thumb, but her mouth was too small to fit, so she started licking it instead, awwwwww...

We weren’t good for much of anything on Friday other than napping, so I’ll pick up the tale again on Saturday... Where Sam makes me walk up a mountain. Boo hiss. It started off pleasantly enough, as we strolled along a meandering road with a slight incline and checked out all the swanky mansions on Mont-Royal Boulevard. Even the bike track through the park at the foot of Mont-Royal wasn’t too bad. Then we arrived at some stairs. Then there were more stairs. Then I demanded that we stop for a rest. Then there were more stairs. Then I was pretty sure I was going to have a heart attack. We finally made it to the observatory at the top of the mountain, and weren’t even rewarded for our efforts with a cafe in which to have a nice sit-down and a beer. The view was passable, but I swear that’s the first and last mountain I’m walking up on this trip. Or possibly ever.

A very forced smile for the camera while atop the mountain

After much recovery time and band-aiding of blisters obtained on Mount Doom, we then set off for the Inepsy gig at the Royal Phoenix bar. For those of you who know Inepsy, Sam has done an in-depth and informed review of the gig on punkas.com, which you’ll probably find more insightful than anything I’ve got to say. My own impression, not knowing a single song before the show, was that they sounded like a punkier version of Motorhead, which was pretty cool. I had an awesome time, managed to dance a little bit (being mindful of the thrashing and flailing boys all around me who seemed determined to take someone out) and had an entire jug of beer spilt down my back (not mine this time thankfully). The best bit was hanging out with the band afterwards though (along with a lovely drag queen from one of the opening bands who I think I spent the most time ranting to), as not only were they thoroughly nice people, but they also gave Sam a bunch of free stuff, and signed it too, thereby providing him with a 'fave band’ experience to match my Rancid one. My own highlight of the night was when I went to go into the toilets and saw a boy leaving, and thinking I had got the wrong bathroom asked him if these were the men’s rooms. English was obviously his second language, as he replied that no, the toilets were bisexual. After a second or two of confusion, he corrected himself and said that they were unisex, but I was repeating that one all night...

Fun times partying with Inepsy - for once Sam is the most conservative looking person in the photo

Sunday was our last day in Montreal, and truth be told I was starting to get a bit over it by then - there’s only so much I can take of a city with such an excessive proportion of hipster. The rolled up jeans worn with boat shoes and no socks look was everywhere, and it was hurting my eyes. Or maybe I was just jealous that these hipsters could be cooler than me in both French and English. Either way, I was ready for New York City. We briefly visited the POP Montreal arts and craft fair (verdict: too much expensive craft, not enough art, and where was the vintage clothing that was promised?), and then I went back to our apartment and casjhed out for the night, while Sam went back to Les Katacombes for round two with Kevin and co.

Au revoir Montreal, I’m disappointed I didn’t meet anyone called Thierry who ate too much sugar, and get the chance to use the only solid phrase we all remember from 4th form French...

Toronto

After three cities in which we would arrive at an airport or bus station and have to figure out what to do next ourselves, it was completely awesome to be met at Toronto Airport by the familiar and lovely faces of our dear friends Matt and Shiloh (well technically Sam didn't know them yet, but they were soon to become his dear friends too). It quickly became apparent that we probably couldn't have negotiated the route ourselves anyway, as it involved three different modes of transport (bus, subway and streetcar) and the use of Canadian coins, which Matt thoughtfully provided for us. If only each city had such a top-notch welcoming committee...

We went out for a late dinner at a place just across from where we were staying called 'Shoeless Jacks,' where Matt introduced us to the joys of the Canadian beer Steamwhistle, and I had some kind of amazing wrap thing with jalapenos in it. If you like jalapenos, then Toronto is the city for you; I think ninety percent of what I ate there included them, and we also came across such gems as jalapeno popcorn and jalapeno flavoured peanuts. In fact, on the whole, although Toronto wasn't somewhere we would live (it reminded me a bit too much of Auckland for some reason), the food was absolutely the best. To add to the list of things Dunedin needs: all-night hotdog carts, where you can get a veggie dog with all the trimmings for two dollars. Two dollars! Two-four nachos, you have been replaced in my affections...

View out of the window we're were staying

With Matt and Shiloh at work for the next couple of days, Sam and I did some Toronto exploration on our own, wandering through Chinatown and the downtown area, where we were most pleased to overhear lots of Canadian conversation involving the word ‘aboot.’ We went to Dundas Square (a smaller version of New York's Times Square, with huge screens everywhere, and where apparently some pretty cool free gigs happen each year – sadly, none were scheduled while we were visiting), and found a really cute little art supplies shop where we had to restrain ourselves and limit our purchasing to the bare minimum. It's quite frustrating while travelling knowing that although I may have the money to buy something, I also have to take into consideration the practicality of lugging it round for the rest of the trip. On that note, I think we're going to have to send a box of stuff back to NZ soon, because records and books are not conducive to manageable suitcases.

Dundas Square

In front of the CN Tower

After a blissful shower (our first since Las Vegas, as the shower in the hotel in San Francisco was broken, and then the hot water in Matt and Shiloh's building was turned off for repairs for the first day and a half in Toronto. Although I'm not known for my rigorous adherence to cleanliness, even I was starting to get a bit desperate for a shower at this stage), it was time to catch a bus to Hamilton (an hour out of Toronto) for the Mudhoney show. Cue excited whoops... In our usual fashion, we were running late and made it to the bus exactly two minutes before it departed, and ended up taking our seats at the show about 30 seconds before Mudhoney played their first chord. And so began the weirdest gig I've ever been to...

Mudhoney, from our terrible vantage point

 Because Mudhoney were opening for Pearl Jam, it was in this huge awful arena called Copps Coliseum, and the whole thing was seated, even the area directly in front of the stage. To get decent seats, we would have had to pay upwards of $400 each, so we opted for the $100 crap seats behind the stage and about a million miles up. As we were going in, we were dismayed to see huge lines for everything (ATM machines, bottled water, vending machines, the merch stand), and so figured we wouldn't have time to waste standing in line to get beer. Curiously enough, and in direct opposition to a gig in New Zealand, there was no line for the bar, and we were served immediately. It was a complete travesty how few people actually watched Mudhoney - at a sold out show of 19000 people, only about 400-500 were even in the stadium while they played. Jerk Pearl Jam fans obviously don't appreciate good music. Although it was the worst venue ever in which to see them, Mudhoney were great, and played most of the songs I wanted to hear (set was waaaaaay too short though, maybe only 45 minutes, but highlights included ‘You Got It,’ ‘Touch Me I’m Sick,’ and ‘Judgement, Rage, Retribution and Thyme’), and they seemed like they hadn't aged at all, with Mark Arm bouncing round furiously, all flailing limbs and energy. About three songs into it, and after sculling my two super-sized beers, I thought screw this, and left my seat to go and dance at the bottom of our section. A security guard approached me and I said to him “You're going to tell me to get back in my seat aren't you,” and he surprised me by replying no, and that I could dance there up until Pearl Jam came on, and just not to fall over the railing. Hooray for casual Canadian security. I was later joined by another Mudhoney fan, and we yelled and whooped and made up for the unappreciative crowd around us. 

The few Mudhoney fans (or more likely Pearl Jam fans wanting to get to their seats early)

We decided to stay for some Pearl Jam songs to see what the fuss what about, and the contrast between the two bands was obvious. I’m not sure what they were like back in the day when they played, but there was barely any movement or energy, and they definitely seemed their age. Their music was certainly at home in the bland arena rock environment, and the songs sounded very slow and same-y. I did like the song 'Even Flow’ when I was in high school, so enjoyed hearing that, but didn’t recognise much else, apart from a snippet of ‘Jeremy’ that we heard as I was buying a Mudhoney t-shirt at the merch stand while we were leaving. Such a pity that we couldn’t have been in Toronto five days earlier, when Mudhoney did a 400 capacity show at the Horseshoe Tavern, which sounded like it was more our thing. There’s something wrong with watching bands play in a venue that usually hosts sports games...

The crowd for Pearl Jam

The next day we just hung round the apartment recuperating and catching up on internet chores, and then when Matt and Shiloh arrived home from work we got pizza, beer and started in on the pre-Kyuss partying. We managed to make it to the show in time to hear the last few songs of opening act The Sword, and then Kyuss - minus naughty bass player Nick Oliveri whose recent arrest meant that he had to be replaced by Scott Reeder - took to the stage. The sound was phenomenal, and they played a great set - yay for ‘One Inch Man’ and ‘Rodeo’especially! Afterwards we went back to the apartment and continued drinking, and our parents were lucky enough to receive what were probably overexcited and slightly ranty phonecalls at about 1am where we were (but something more sensible like 4pm their time). The night then dissolved into many rounds of hypothetical questions, in which Shiloh stumped me with ‘would you rather be covered in spiders, or have to have one big, live spider in your mouth?’ I mean really, how do you choose between two such tempting options...

Fun and games at Kyuss

On Saturday we headed to Kensington Market, a cool little area full of quirky shops and stalls, where we found an amazing yet overpriced army surplus store (no Sam, buying a gas mask would not be a good idea, we have enough fun going through airport security as it is), and a hipster version of Acquisitions called Blue Banana that had heaps of interesting bits and bobs. But best of all was the Halloween store we came across on the way home. Halloween is a huge deal in the US and Canada, and they have entire stores dedicated to it that open up months in advance. All the staff were in costume, there were enormous models of creepy clowns and zombies that moved when you went past them, and there was not just one Michael Jackson costume, but an entire Michael Jackson section! I could be a different era MJ for like the next five halloweens! MJ aside, I think my favourite costume was the Edward Scissorhands one, complete with bladed gloves.

It was then time to head back to Matt and Shiloh’s for the pre-UFC warm-up. We had been informed upon our arrival in Toronto that Saturday night was UFC fight night (Ultimate Fighting Champion for those of you not in the know), and that we would be expected to participate enthusiastically in this ritual (well, Matt was insistent, Shiloh was rolling her eyes). Luckily all it required was watching TV, drinking beer and perhaps pumping our fists in the air when something exciting happened, so we thought we could endure it in the name of experiencing new things. However, Matt’s enthusiasm was catching, and while we watched the pre big fight matches at home (we were heading to the charmingly named bar ‘The Dog’s Bollocks’ for the main one later on), we somehow got caught up in the whole thing and I was soon repeating fight statistics and making - surprisingly correct - winner predictions. Shiloh cooked us a fabulous yet unfortunately timed dinner, as we found ourselves eating during the bloodiest of the UFC matches we’d see all evening, and I slowly started to lose my appetite for the gnocchi in a rich, red tomato sauce as the blond fighter’s hair became dyed red with the other fighter’s blood.

Still feeling a bit hazy after last night’s antics, I thought I’d maybe last an hour or so at the bar before wanting to head home, but I was not to get my wish, as Matt and Shiloh’s friends had a penchant for ordering rounds of shots. It seemed that it was going to be another long night... Some jalapeno poppers helped, as did the $10 pitchers of beer, and after the main UFC event (a shocker - the guy everyone else was cheering for and who was predicted to win went down in the first minute. If only I’d had money on it...) we headed on to more bars. There had been talk of a tranny bar which put on some good drag shows, and although some of the boys were reluctant, the girls talked them into it, but we were thwarted at the last minute by an unexpectedly high cover charge. The boys breathed sighs of relief, and we found another bar nearby. This one was not without its drama either, and in the first five minutes Shiloh and I were befriended by an intense Canadian girl who wanted to be our new BFF and was very Single White Female, then Shiloh got crushed in the door of the toilets as a girl who looked like she was OD’ing had to be dragged out. Another couple of bars and some entertaining boozy photos later, then it was finally last call for drinks (this happens in Canada at like 2am), and home time. Home time did not mean bed time unfortunately, and I don’t think we crawled into bed till after 4.30.

Watching the big UFC fight at the Dog's Bollocks

This is why Sam and Matt were not in top shape the next day

The next day Sam and Matt in particular were sorry sights, and although there had been vague plans to go to the zoo, these evaporated fairly quickly. Instead, we had brunch at a diner (can it still be called brunch if it doesn’t happen till 2pm?), then spent the rest of the afternoon in various states of napping and laziness at the apartment. The day was most noteworthy for Shiloh revealing a certain hidden talent (in addition to her swing dancing of course), which had me in fits of giggles. When Matt and Shiloh went to Jamaica, they stayed at a resort that ran all these weird workshops and couples activities, and they participated in one on the art of towel folding (yes, there is such a thing - apparently when you stay in fancy hotels, they will often leave towels on the bed arranged in a witty or decorative manner. Towel origami, if you will). With very little encouragement from me, Shiloh was eager to show off her newly acquired skills, and an artful swan was soon produced using only your standard bathroom towel. At this point I may nearly have been in tears from laughing so much. I’m sorry Shiloh, I’m sure your towel swan will come in very handy some day and I will be forced to eat my words...

Shiloh in full swan-making mode

Voila! The finished swan, definitely not an ugly duckling...

So ends the Toronto rant. There may have been some delicious Indian food for dinner, and I bought a much-needed suitcase, etc etc, but after you’ve encountered the towel swan, there’s really not much more that needs to be said... Cheers to Matt and Shiloh for an awesome Toronto experience, and for the plethora of ridiculous in-jokes that accumulated over the course of five days (a special nod to ‘my left foot,’ although the one that Matt favoured the most probably should not be repeated here).

Montreal next, where it turns out that the most important phrase I learned in four years of high school French was “Je ne parle pas le Francais”....

San Francisco part 2

The next day found us - me in particular - slightly more jaded than expected. We later discovered the reason for this in Canada. Turns out that we’d been unfairly berating Americans for drinking light beer. When we first ordered room service beers in Vegas, they delivered us light ones, and we were horrified, given that light beer in NZ is generally not much stronger than drinking water (I may have been known to refer to it as ‘weasel piss’ in fact). After that, every time we ordered, we made sure to specify “NOT light beers,” or “the strong ones” or something similar. We kept seeing Americans carrying boxes of Coors Light, or Bud Light and feeling superior in our NZ capacity for handling alcohol. The percentage was never written on the bottle/can in the US, and when we got to Canada and went to a bottle store, we discovered that what the Americans and Canadians call ‘light’ is actually 4% beer (ie: the NZ standard). Which meant that every unexpectedly rough hangover we’d had so far was due to us unwittingly demanding extra strong beers, most of which had been between 6 and 7%. Nice to know for the rest of the trip, but up until our second last day in Toronto we were ignorant of this rather important fact, so prepare for more hangover whines till we hit Montreal...

Best random discovery of the day in San Francisco was Rasputin Records, which somehow hadn’t found its way into Andy’s Book of Cool Stuff To Do in the States, and yet turned out to be cooler than all the other music stores that had. The SF branch - we encounter one the next day in Berkeley too - had five floors of awesomeness, and the best thing was its stringent organisation. Each floor had a specific genre or theme, so we happily headed to the vinyl floor, the punk floor, and the t-shirt mezzanine and bypassed everything else. Wallets much lighter, yet now with shopping bags in tow (yay, two Gits records and a Descendents t-shirt for me, and something Inepsy related for Sam), we carried on our merry way to a day of exploration in  Golden Gate Park.

Unfortunately a lot of the day was already over by this point, and the Conservatory of Flowers was closed (yes, not something I’d normally be into, but they had an exhibition of carnivorous plants that actually sounded quite interesting in the brochure), so we went straight to the California Academy of Sciences. The main attraction there was the four story rainforest, which is similar to the butterfly thingy at the Otago Museum, but each floor represents a different rainforest - Madagascar (no lemurs sadly), Borneo, Amazon and I forget the other one. Despite the unbearable heat and the spiders that I steadfastly refused to look at (Sam tried his best to cajole me, but it was never going to happen), it was an amazing experience. Also, I think I may have discovered a new love: miniature frogs. They were about the size of a fifty cent piece or smaller, came in an array of insanely bright colours, and quickly became the highlight of every exhibit for me. Apparently snakes, lizards, big spiders etc don’t eat them, as they seemed to cohabit quite casually in the same glass enclosures as those guys. Don’t be surprised if I return to NZ and decide to become a crazy miniature frog breeder. 

In the rainforest at the California Academy of Sciences

Miniature frog! He's the little red and blue guy in the middle, possibly so miniature you can't make him out

Sam on the living roof at the California Academy of Sciences

Next stop in Golden Gate Park was the Japanese Tea Garden, which maintained its air of tranquility even though we raced around it like mad things because it was nearly closing time. Sam climbed what seemed to me to be a gravity-defying Japanese bridge, but managed a rather relaxed-looking smile at the top, and we both loved the raked stone gardens, meandering pathways and abundance of squirrels. The general verdict was that the Golden Gate Park experience was fantastic, but may have benefitted from an earlier arrival (yet another theme of our trip). After one of those typically oversized American meals you’ve all heard about (this one was on Haight Street at ‘All You Can Knead,’), the rest of the night was spent lolling about in out hotel room doing nothing much of anything, which was probably what we needed at that point.

Atop the bridge in the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park

Squirrel! The first one we've met who seemed eager to pose for a photo rather than run away

Our last full day in San Francisco started off early (a first), and we made it to Chinatown bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the actual morning. Chinatown was slightly disappointing though; I’m not sure what we had been expecting (the outdated guidebook I’d photocopied seemed  rather excited about the place, which may have been better in its heyday), but what we got was store after store of exactly the same $2 shop kind of goods, but at tourist-inflated prices. We wandered for about seven or eight blocks, got a few good photos along the way with some pretty street lanterns in the background, but ultimately left fairly quickly. Sorry Chinatown, maybe we didn’t find your best streets or something.

Chinatown

Our Sunday night adventures in Berkeley hadn’t been enough, so in the afternoon we decided to get the BART back again and have a wander round in the day time. We were also planning on doing Oakland (on the way to Berkeley), but  were somewhat unsure on how this would work with the tickets getting on and off the BART, had no map of the area and also were starting to run out of time yet again (I swear time passes faster here). Next visit, next visit....Had been looking forward to listening to various Oakland-related songs while actually there, but oh well...  Berkeley involved more record stores (another Amoeba and another Rasputin), at which Sam befriended a really knowledgeable and friendly fellow record fiend called Cameron. Sam and his new friend Cam perused the punk bins thoroughly (this took far longer than my own perusing), and I ended up finding the book section and reading an entire book on the history of band t-shirts and they were still not done. This bodes well for me having extra credit up my sleeve to spend time in vintage clothing stores without complaints from the boy...

Finally we were back out into the light of day, and took a quick walk round the UCAL campus at Berkeley. We must have timed it just as lectures were finishing, because it was fairly packed, but we managed to fight our way through the crowds and find some beautiful scenery nonetheless. On the whole, the Berkeley vibe was definitely more intellectual than SF had been - every conversation we overheard in Berkeley involved words like ‘analytical’ and 'postmodern,’ whereas in SF it usually involved the screaming of expletives - and its laidback, university feel almost made it seem like we were back in Dunedin.

Resting on a tree stump at the UCAL campus

In need of a place to pee (or use the bathroom, as we’re meant to - but keep forgetting to- say), we found a brew pub with a bar on one side, and a glass wall showing the brewing process on the other. I made the mistake of ordering a 9% beer pitcher, thinking it would be the equivalent of a jug in NZ. It was at least double a NZ jug (I couldn’t even carry it myself), and at 3 in the afternoon, not the world’s best idea. The bar was also noteworthy because we met some Americans whose only impression of NZ was 'Flight of the Conchords,’ and who couldn’t seem to grasp that we weren’t into it. One of them also insisted that we must know his friend Matt, “cos he’s from NZ and don’t you know everyone there?” Which may have been funny if he was joking, but he actually thought we would know this random Matt, and kept trying to describe him (“Yeah, he’s Matt, but we all called him ‘Metres’ because whenever he had to say a distance, he’d say it in metres, and we were like hur, hur, hur. You gotta know him!”). Everyone told me before I came here that I would be harrassed by Americans about Lord of the Rings, and I’ve been incredibly disappointed because I would LOVE to be harrassed about the Lord of the Rings, given that it’s possibly the only NZ related thing I’m hugely into,  but no, the only comments have been about Flight of the Lame-ass Conchords and the Rugby World Cup (which we haven’t been able to give our true opinions on, as we tend to get asked about this at customs and immigration in airports, and they are ultra scary and you don’t want to say the wrong thing, so we just nod and smile our way through RWC rubbish).

Fuelled by our fancy brew-pub beer, we had a stumbly, yet pleasant trip back on the BART to SF, where we managed to catch a couple of exhibitions ten minutes before closing time at some cool little art galleries near our hotel that we had been meaning to check out. The Australian street art one was particularly impressive, although the curators seemed more impressed with Sam's jacket, and even insisted on taking a photo of him (not the last time this was to happen). We ended up at a lovely Chinese restaurant for meatless chicken stirfry. Cheap as, but the restaurant itself was beautiful, with plants everywhere, a fishpond and cool Chinese statues and things: for the family, very Chan’s from what I can remember as a child.

I really liked the paintings on spraycans that you can see behind me

Fishpond at the Chinese restaurant

Determined to fit as much as we could into our last night in SF, we realised we hadn’t yet done a tramride, so embarked on this at about 11.30pm (I love that cities in the States are open most of the night; Dunedin, sort it out!) Also Dunedin, bring your trams back, those things are great, and would have been a far better investment than your ridiculous stadium.... We rattled up and over a bunch of iconic SF streets, saw the crooked street (unfortunately not well enough to get a decent photo), a beautiful nightview of the East Bay Bridge, the lovely SF neighbourhoods in the area and enjoyed every minute of it. One of the coolest things we’ve done so far.

On our late night tramride in SF

The night ended back at Minx (totally our local if we ever move to SF) with a few PBRs - although not too many, as being a veteran of flying by now (but still hating it), I knew that the next day would be less traumatic if I refrained from the beers somewhat. As it turned out, the flight was fine, helped along by the fact that the inflight entertainment thingy had ‘Dexter’! Apparently the cure for fear of flying is to take anti-anxiety pills and watch endless episodes of a tv show about a serial killer....

Coming soon -  Toronto, jalapenos everywhere you look, and Andy discovers a sport she can actually get into watching (thanks Matt!)....

San Francisco

Let me start this off by saying that San Francisco is the coolest city ever, and Dunedin, if you're going to lose me, chances are it will be to SF. Apparently we fit right in too, as we had a few instances of tourists coming and asking us for directions!

After the lack of sleep in Vegas and the slightly traumatic turbulent flight to San Francisco, we arrived at the Hotel Mithila (more of a backpackers than a hotel, and the shower didn't work the entire time we were there) around 4pm and went straight to bed. Later on that night, we had the first of what I predict will many amazing veggie burritos, and discovered a store right next door that sold cheap beer and American scratchies, so we were sorted. It may not be Taz, but our new favourite beer - while in the US at least - is PBR, which at $10  a dozen certainly meets our stringent price requirements.

PBR is the new Taz

First stop on day one was the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, or SFMOMA, which pretty much allowed us to tick most of the boxes on our list of artists whose work we wanted to see some day. They had a fantastic Yves Tanguy painting, and I was most excited to see my first Rene Magritte (the Belgian Surrealist artist who painted the iconic images of the man in the bowler hat, and whose work was the focus of my Master's thesis). The Marcel Duchamp urinal was another highlight, but unfortunately the Jeff Koons sculpture of Michael Jackson and Bubbles had been put into storage six months earlier (and no, they would not take me down to see it especially, even though I'd come all the way from New Zealand. Apparently that phrase only works for meeting Rancid).

We then wandered up Haight Street, encountering some impressive street art, gorgeous old SF houses and cool vintage clothing stores along the way.

Street art on Haight

Andy on Haight

Every street in this neighbourhood looked similar, so many cool old houses

At the very end of Haight, we lost Sam to Amoeba Records, a huge record store with a ridiculously large punk section (this will become a theme throughout the trip). Nico and I looked around too for about 20 minutes, and then went and sat in Golden Gate Park to relax and wait for Sam. Excitement ensued when we came across our first squirrel, who was even carrying a nut! Ah the little things...

From there, it was on to Alamo Square, which those of you who grew up in the 1980s will recognise as the Full House houses. Sam did his best Uncle Jesse pose, and we celebrated with a few PBRs (which certainly would have been the subject of a morality lesson and cheesy father-to-daughter talk from Danny Tanner).

The episode where Uncle Jesse went punk

It would seem that the slight downside to San Francisco is that it is a city full of dogs (thankfully most of them were little ones on leashes), and the entire time we were there we saw one cat. One! We had to take a photo of him since he was so vastly outnumbered. Nico and I were tempted to catnap him and take him back to the hotel since we miss Ferret so much, but common sense prevailed.

American kitty

The next day, Nico was off to stay with some family in Texas, and Sam and I took a streetcar down to Pier 39. We decided to make the most of our City Passes (pay $79, and get unlimited access to buses, trams, etc and entry to about 6 different attractions), so started off with a trip to the aquarium. It was pretty cool going through an underwater tunnel on the travelator thingy and looking up at all the sea creatures, and we got to pat a stingray. Probably something we wouldn't have bothered with if it hadn't been included in the pass, but decent nonetheless.

Pretty jellyfish, slightly tired Andy with a horrendously unwashed fringe

We were looking forward to doing the SF bay cruise, and although it was slightly marred by conditions that deteriorated as soon as we got out on the water, it was still really amazing. Turns out I'm fairly relaxed about coping with bumps and 'turbulence' on a boat. We got a great view of the city, and then went under the Golden Gate Bridge, before circling Alcatraz and heading back into shore, about an hour all up.

San Franciso skyline in background

It was certainly not hat weather by this stage

Looks like an escaped convict from Alcatraz if ever I saw one

We walked back along Market Street after our cruise to check out the Warfield Theater where would be seeing Rancid play again that night. The plan was to go back to the hotel, have dinner, get ready and then head along to the gig about 8pm. After we saw the lines of people that were already queuing up, we realised we'd need to get there way earlier, and unfortunately the part of our pre-gig plan that ended up being cut was eating dinner. I did warn Sam that this may not bode so well, but we thought we'd be fine if we only had one or two beers at the show then had dinner straight after. So by the time the first band started, we'd already had two beers, and then for some reason moved on to rum....During H2O's set, a hardcore guy the size of a bus slammed into me at running speed, and although I was just annoyed at the time that he spilt my full beer over me, it resulted in very bruised ribs for the next few days.

Rancid were even better than last time, the venue was beautiful (kind of like the Regent Theatre or Sammy's in Dunedin), and they played for at least two hours. During the second hour things got a bit hazy, I went off and danced down the front I think, lost my favourite hat, and obtained a number of bruises I only became aware of the next day. Good times.

In hotel room, pre-Rancid

Outside show, pre-Rancid

During Rancid, hat still intact, beer kicking in

Post Rancid

Apparently we got pizza and made some friends afterwards (our camera testifies to this), but it was pretty much straight back to the hotel (Sam tells me I had to be dragged) with no stalking of Rancid this time. Which was probably a good thing, cos god only knows what I would have ranted to Tim Armstrong in that state.

Inevitably, the next day didn't start till 4.30pm. Our plan was to go to a gig at Gilman St in Berkeley, the famous all ages punk venue where Rancid, Operation Ivy, Green Day etc started out, and where the Vibrators from the UK and a few other bands were playing that night. When we finally got round to checking what time the gig started, we were most disgruntled to find that it had started at 5pm, and would only go till 10pm, so we were fast running out of time. We hurriedly grabbed a coffee, then hopped on the BART (train) to downtown Berkeley. We had taken a quick look at a map, and vaguely knew where we were going, but as with most of our other map reading experiences, we severely underestimated the distance from the BART stop to the venue. After asking some people at a bar, we were given directions and told it was not within walking distance (pfft, Americans seem to think nothing is within walking distance and can only be reached by driving an SUV). When I mentioned that we were probably going to be late and miss a punk show at Gilman, a weirdly blinged out old hippie dude with a young blonde on his arm said "Yeah, twenty years too late," which I grudgingly admit was quite a good call. And so it was - we walked for about an hour (through some pleasant leafy neighbourhoods at least, none of the dodgy vibe of our lost-in-Vegas walk) and arrived at 10.20pm, missing the gig entirely. Some sad-faced photos outside Gilman St were the only product of our walk. I did perk up though when we wandered aimlessly for a bit more, and I caught sight of the Golden Gate Fields sign (racing track featured in famous Rancid song, near where Tim grew up, and which I'd been hoping to locate). A friendly security guard took our photo, and then we headed back into SF, slightly more contented with our adventure. The rest of the evening was spent at an incredibly cool little bar right by our hotel called Minx, which was playing one of my favourite movies, 'Cry Baby,' with subtitles, while cranking a mix of Descendents, Rancid, Misfits and old 60s girl groups in the background. They had a stuffed raccoon in the corner, and $2 PBRs, so we settled in at the bar and enjoyed some nice rants with the very styley, tattooed, leopard print-wearing patrons.

Gilman Street

Gilman Street venue in background

This is not Churchill Downs, this is not Hollywood Park...

  Okay this is Andy signin off for now... Until next time, see you guys later... Sorry, I really wanted to say that - we do need to start getting ready for the Kyuss Lives show tonight though, so it's perhaps a fitting place to end the blog for the time being, more tales of SF to come soon...

Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Andy's Official Best Day Ever...

He totally started the hug, I'm just hanging on so tight to prevent myself from shaking...

Matt Freeman admonished me for having such a decrepit t-shirt when  he signed it. 

Hangin out with Lars down in Vegas

I'll start this off by reassuring you all that I didn't win any money in Vegas, so will in fact be returning home at some point. It turns out that winning money was unnecessary, because I met Rancid, which in my eyes is a far better prize (in fact, at a wishing well we were at earlier in the day that was the exact wish I made). For those of you who don't have Facebook, you can see how the glorious moment looked above. There will be more about this later (and expect me not to shut up about it when I get back too), but I guess I'll do the chronological order thing first...

The boys calmly drawing at Brisbane airport before our flight to LA. I was too busy worrying to get any drawing done.

I surprised myself by coping relatively well with the 13 hour flight, especially after discovering a little game called Bejewelled on the inflight entertainment thing which kept me busy for at least a few hours, and the sleeping pills took care of the rest. Huge planes feel somewhat safer and far less claustrophobic than the ones I've previously been on and I didn't get any jetlag either, so I was very proud. Not entirely over the flying thing as hoped though - the flight from Vegas to San Francisco was less pleasant due to turbulence, and Mel, I found myself picturing your face telling me to 'just breathe' a lot!

Once we landed in LA, we somehow managed to select a shuttle with a driver who had driven Joey Ramone around back in the day (verdict was that he didn't like to talk, and looked like a praying mantis), and who also delighted in telling us in detail about recent murders that had occurred at the train and bus stations we were due at later that afternoon. On the plus side, he did give us an impromptu tour of Rodeo Drive and Sunset Boulevard (Dad you would have loved Sunset, there are giant Les Paul guitars every few metres which are decorated by different artists). LA is strangely flat and sprawling, and driving round we felt more like we were playing Grand Theft Auto than seeing a real city. We only had a few hours before we had to be at the Greyhound Station, and back in Dunedin I had already made the executive decision that the thing we most wanted to do was go to the Hollywood Walk of Fame and look for Michael Jackson's star. This was achieved, despite the sweltering heat and heavy, falling apart bags (oh yeah, those bargain packs I was so pleased with buying arrived in LA with two broken straps and a broken zip, so I will have a cheesier but hassle-free mini suitcase with wheels very soon to see me through the rest of the trip).

Unfortunately there were no roving Michael Jackson impersonators for me to get a photo with, although  we did see a very lifelike Samuel L. Jackson

Enjoying our first American vegetarian pizza and beer at the Snow White Cafe  in LA

We managed to get ourselves across town on the Metro underground train thing (loving the trains!) to Union Station, and then to the supposedly crime-ridden - according our slightly crazy shuttle driver - Greyhound Station and on the bus for Vegas. After hearing that Greyhound was the cheapo US bus company, we were pleasantly surprised to find that it was air-conditioned, had seatbelts, a toilet and more legroom that I've ever encountered on a New Zealand bus, so we settled in quite happily for our six hour journey through the desert. I managed to get about four hours into my desert music playlist (Queens of the Stone Age, Tom Petty, Sublime and Bad Religion for those who are interested) before the bus broke down. And then got going again. And then broke down. Repeat times four. Apparently something was wrong with the onboard computer that ran everything, and we needed to keep stopping and waiting for it to recharge. We finally rolled into Vegas about two hours late, so it was just straight to the hotel for us, bypassing all pokie machines. After being somewhat surprised we were allowed to stay there (totally the kind of fancy hotel that if it existed in New Zealand would not have let in three sleep deprived, unwashed kids in punk t-shirts), we thought we'd make the most of it and ordered room service. Oh the decadence.

Paris Las Vegas Hotel at night

La faux Tour Eiffel

Day one in Vegas pretty much just involved us stumbling round in awe at the ridiculousness of everything. Our hotel, Paris Las Vegas, had a 50 story replica of the Eiffel Tower and a half life-sized Arc de Triomphe, as well as a ceiling painted to resemble the sky at twilight (surely just a gimmick to make you feel better about gambling at all hours of the day). Every hotel on the Strip was more extravagant than the last, and that's not even including the various attractions inside, most of which we didn't get a chance to do (slightly sad about missing the Venetian gondola ride, not so much about the Adventuredome roller coasters). In need of coffee, we ended up in the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace, which is possibly the most overblown mall I've ever seen, albeit with some kinda cool tacky fountains.

Sam in front of the Roman fountain at the Forum Shops

 Highlight was definitely coming across the Martin Lawrence Art Gallery, which had a few original Dalis, Chagalls, Warhols, etc, as well as some really impressive contemporary art. I was particularly pleased when the curator noticed my Rancid t-shirt and told me that Tim had been in there the night before, knew a lot about art and was an incredibly nice guy. From that moment on it suddenly became time to prepare for the Rancid show that night (starting at 7pm - seriously America, it is not time for gigs when it's still light outside). After a speedy first gamble at our hotel (like subsequent speedy gambles, it was neither quite as speedy nor as lucrative as we had hoped), we set off along the Strip in the opposite direction to the part we'd explored earlier and headed for the House of Blues at Mandalay Bay. Along the way we encountered the Sphinx, a pyramid, the Statue of Liberty, King Arthur's castle - just your standard Vegas landmarks.

Excalibur

This is when our first piece of luck occurred. Unbeknownst to us, the House of Blues venue where Rancid were playing was actually inside the Mandalay Bay hotel, not next to it as we had assumed. In our typical not-wanting-to-ask-for-directions-we'll-figure-it-out-ourselves Kiwi manner, we confidently wandered along a driveway thing and through some gates into what we thought was the side entrance. We quickly encountered a security guy who thought we were trying to sneak in without paying, but rather than being told off, he was charmed by our accents and general naivete ("No we already have tickets, we came all the way from New Zealand for this gig, can you please tell us where the actual entrance is?"), and said that if we came back there after the gig, he might be able to arrange it so that we could meet the band. That definitely had a ring of too good to be true about it, and I figured that perhaps he was just some random hotel employee toying with the silly tourists. I was shortly disabused of this notion when I saw Matt Freeman (bass player from Rancid for the uninitiated) hop onto the tourbus about ten metres in front of us. Right, so come hell or highwater, I was going back to that side entrance at the end of the gig and not leaving till my new best friend Robert the Security Guy let me meet Rancid (as it turns out, we had to miss 'Ruby Soho' to accomplish this, but we were first in line for Rancid greeting privileges).

We managed to find the actual entrance to the gig without any further drama, Sam was stripped of his studded belt and we all had to go through metal detectors (and this is only for a gig at a venue that was probably smaller than Sammy's in Dunedin), and finally we were there. The opening band H2O had already started, but we were in time to hear 'F.T.T.W' and 'Guilty By Association,' two of my favourites. The House of Blues seemed to have the world's most arbitrary drink prices - we paid $11, $5, $6 and $13 for the same drink at various points throughout the night depending on which bartender was serving us (and possibly on which one of us they had taken a shine to...). Well I guess it really goes without saying that Rancid were amazing, it was of course the best show I've ever seen - sorry Faith No More, you just got bumped from top spot - and we were really close to the front. They opened with 'Radio' and then it was all a blur from there (I should actually try and find a setlist online), including some cool acoustic versions of songs. The crowd was not at all violent or pushy like I'd expected, and it seemed like the band thought it was a really good gig as well, and we were rewarded for our impeccable behaviour with an extra long set. I believe I even left a few slightly boozy voicemail messages for some of you that may have been totally incomprehensible except for some ranting and Rancid in the background. Hope you enjoyed.

As soon as the the last song started, we thought we'd take our chances on Robert the Security Guy, so raced back to the side entrance to wait. Lo and behold, Robert was a man of his word, and after hanging round for about 15 minutes or so, we caught a glimpse of Lars. Who then actually started to walk towards us. It may have been at that moment that I had kittens. He was friendly and happy to take photos, and signed our tickets too (or a US dollar bill in Nico's case). I was pleased enough with that and thought all my Christmases had come at once, but Robert told us to keep waiting, and we ended up meeting Matt and Tim too. Who both signed my favourite old faithful Operation Ivy shirt! I nearly hadn't worn it to the gig because it was so full of holes I was scared it would get ripped off my back and destroyed, but decided to at the last minute because at least it would have met its end at a Rancid show. Now it's still with me and is even more prize possession number one.

He saw my Hellcat tattoo! And was impressed!

Okay, Rancid rant is over, I'm aware that ninety percent of you don't care, and the other ten percent are jealous and don't want to hear about it, but I had to indulge... While we were waiting for Rancid, we got talking to a couple of girls from Vegas who were also lined up to meet them, and they turned out to be the loveliest people ever and - excitement! - we made our first American friends. They drove us to the 'Welcome to Las Vegas' sign because we hadn't seen it on the way in, and then to a bar afterwards where we had some interestingly named beers (sorry, the specifics escape me now, mine had something to do with squatters though) and much dissecting of the Rancid show took place. Turns out they were far more practiced at the stalking thing than us, and had met a bunch of bands - I seem to recall a photo of one of them with the Strokes - and they regaled us with tales of their exploits. They were then awesome enough to drive us back to our hotel (don't worry Mum, one of them was sober because she was on call at a hospital), where we assumed we would go to bed. Vegas got the better of us though, and we went out partying again at about 2am, and lost a bunch of money to a rather evil and addictive Lord of the Rings themed machine (thankfully I don't remember exactly how much and probably don't want to know). We also got a photo outside the famous Flamingo's sign. NB: All night-time photos taken in Vegas are terrible, this may be on account of not knowing how to get the night-time camera settings working properly, or it may be due to the interestingly named beers.

Sam in front of the iconic Vegas sign

Me and Nico are the two little silhouettes in the foreground. Meh, who needs to see us,  the sign is way cooler.

Day two in Vegas did not start till 3pm. We justified this by pretending we had slept in so long to avoid the daytime heat. Our 3pm lunch was followed by a nap, and the day started for the second time at 6.30pm.We then foolishly embarked on what we thought would be a short stroll to Old Las Vegas to check out a punk store that was open till 8pm. The walk took over two hours, the store was shut long before we even found our way there, and we ended up overheated and dehydrated in the middle of a bunch of quicky wedding chapels and dodgy looking tattoo shops. We eventually found Fremont Street though, which is the main street of Old Las Vegas, and the day was slightly salvaged with an awesome vegetarian burger, sighting of a Michael Jackson impersonator who moonwalked, and some more gambling. We had learnt our lesson this time though, and caught the bus back. Distance is very deceptive in Vegas - a hotel which looked like it was about a 2 minute walk away would actually be half an hour, and there would be a multitude of street escalators, bridges and crowds of people to contend with.After an amusing double-decker bus trip (bus driver was an unintentional comedian whose microphone voiceovers about safety on the bus and the tawdry sights of Vegas had us in fits of laughter), we got back to our hotel about 11.30pm, just in time to do the Eiffel Tower ride before it closed for the night. It was incredible seeing Vegas from up high, the lights and monuments are just amazing, and once again our amateur night-time photos don't do it justice.

Me at the top of the Eiffel Tower with the Bellagio Hotel in the background

Las Vegas lights from the top of the Eiffel Tower

I'd like to say that was the end of the night, but once again Vegas intervened, and we ended up not getting any sleep until we arrived in San Francisco the following afternoon at 4pm. Booze wasn't even to blame this time, we started drinking coffee at 1am and hit the gamblies for 'one last go,' once again with disastrous results. Sleep deprivation was not an ideal condition for negotiating Las Vegas airport with all its security, rules, red lines to get behind, then in front of, beeping metal detectors and surly airport people. I may have actually been pleased to get on the plane, but then it must have been an omen that their safety video experienced technical difficulties and we had a bit of a turbulent flight sitting in the tail of the plane. A definite relief to get off that flight.

Next blog: we arrive in San Francisco, finally get some sleep, and discover a beer that will satisfactorily stand in for Taz while we're here....