Touring the Big Country

So I realise I've been a ridiculously lax blogger in recent months- I can only offer laziness and having-too-much-fun-doing-other-fun-stuff as an excuse. Also I can directly blame a certain Norwegian who has suddenly taken up vast amounts of my time. His name is Morten and he is lovely and a half and is now accompanying me in my travels across the Central Americas and Cuba. Unfortunately for the both of us, him being Norwegian and my being Australian means that we couldn't conceivably live any further from each other (I actually looked at this on the map), unless perhaps if he moved to the north western edge of Greenland. Now that's gay. But I reckon if I tried hard enough I could get the Norwegian government to pay me to go to Norway, or get them to pay him to come to Australia- apparently 12 per cent of the taxes that they pay, they get back in the form of 'vacation money'. Paid to take holidays?!?! Socialist geniuses.

So how to sum up the months of March, April and early May in the USA?? It has been craziness and a half. Managed to fit a second trip to Tahoe for more skiing action, with a fiesta of other internationals: 2 Spaniards, a Turk, a Norwegian, 2 Chileans and 2 Aussies to boot. Much beer was consumed, an insane amount of slopes skied on and 1 Chilean froze his balls off running into the frigid icy edged waters of Lake Tahoe for 20 bucks. The same Chilean almost got deported in my last blog- Mathias has a talent for creating his own fun and action.

Needless to say, Tahoe offers vastly superior skiing conditions to that in Australia. At Northstar resort, I skied on runs that went on and on for kilometres, with beyooootiful conditions... by the end all of our leg muscles were ready to cack it, but the awesomness of the whole affair overrode my instinct to faint from muscular exertion. So we skied and skied til the resort closed.

Spring break was another episode of awesome and a half. I joined fellow Aussies, Jamie & Kat, Norway (Morten) and future president of Spain, Paula for a week long roadtrip across the south west corner of the USA. The mainstops: LA, the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Zion National Park in Utah, Vegas and Death Valley California. After a brief frolick through LA's In and Out (an exellent burger chain notorious for secret word commands such as 'animal style' with grilled onions, or the more adventurous 'protein style'- a burger with no buns, wrapped in lettuce, or 'flying dutchman'- 2 patties and 2 buns. Dave, an American that lives down the hall from me in IHouse swears he saw someone order a 24x25- a burger with 24 patties and 25 buns) and numerous other errands, we set off at the crack of for Arizona. We reached the Grand Canyon in the late afternoon. Much to our surprise, it was FREEZING. We were effectively snow camping, yet all we had envisioned was a desert like conditions with cowboys yeehawring down ridges towards the Colorado River below. Yet we were decked out in all the layers we could find, looking like homeless hobos.

As for the canyon itself, it was absolutely mindblowing. Due to its wild exposure and worldwide renown, I hadn't been that psyched for the canyon. Sure, it was going to to be pretty, I had seen all the pictures. But I should have been psyched, because nothing quite prepares you for seeing the grandeur of the place with your own eyes. It is simply massive. The most massive thing I have seen in my life, possibly. The way the sheer cliffs just drop down into this gaping chasm, carved out over centuries by water, ice, wind... it was incredible almost to the point that the whole thing was unbelievable. After watching the sunset, we cooked dinner in the frigid snow and comforted ourselves with hot chocolate (that consisted of 50% Baileys). After a shit sleep (due to frigidness) we woke up and watched the sunrise over the Canyon. Needless to say, it was amazing and made all the more amazing by Kat's operatic renditions of Puccini and our Disney reenactments of Colors of the Wind and Circle of Life, all of which received applause from fellow sunrisers. We then walked down the stunning South Kaibab Trail, following a beautiful ridgeline down towards the Colorado River basin. After our obligatory 'Lost and Found' session with Paula, we collected her from the visitors center and proceeded to Utah.

As we drove from Arizona to Utah, I came to the realisation that America, is in fact quite a beautiful country. It was winning me over, and winning me over big time. Living in Northern California had been the bomb, but as we drove past huge, red monumental sandstone formations, then through snow covered peaks with vast pine forests, then through huge plains with the sun's rays bursting momentarily through the clouds, I thought, 'S*/¿! this place is beautiful'. Along the way to Zion, we were met with one of our biggest obstacles: 8 RVs, all lined up, all identical to one other, bar the front leader, the big boss, the Don. Like a real life game of Gran Turismo, Morten floored it and began overtook them at the correct strategic moments, one by one. We celebrated wildly after we finally overtook the obese leader RV.

The beautiful-ness of the American landscape came to climax in Zion National Park, where we entered to find massive, towering pink-red-grey rocks formations that were simply overwhelming in both size and beauty. As Morten drove down the windy road, the rest of us peered out the windows, making the occasional orgasmic noises when we glimpsed a piece of scenery so stunning that it incited that particular form of sound production. Poor Morty had to keep his eyes on the road though, in order to avoid us plummeting Thelma and Louise style over some cliffy edge.

We spent a day and a half exploring the awesomeness of Zion. On one of our longer hikes, Morty and I managed to get ourselves to the top of the valley, and waded through some decent snow to find 'Observation Point'. Here we observed the Zion Valley in its entirety, whilst a poor bloke who had eaten a dodgy fig puked in a distant corner. He did kindly manage to take a picture of us though. In my opinion, Zion was even better than the Grand Canyon- as the Grand Canyon so grand that it defied comprehension. Too much for my little brain to process. Zion was more accessible, more tangible, more brain-processible. From Zion then, it was off to that infamous desert city- Las Vegas. This was, however interspersed with a most satisfying trip to a Walgreens in the middle of the windiest plain in Utah. Here, we made one of our best finds: Mormons! Real, genuine Mormons! Shopping in Walgreens. Kat accordingly did her duty and stalked them with the best of her Asian kungfu abilities. She monitored their purchases like a hawk, one of which included orange juice. How mormon-ish. We returned to the vehicle feeling more worldly, strangely satisified, and in good supply of weird flavoured lime chips.

Then Vegas. That horrible, yet oddly addictive little strip. After viewing some of the most ridonkulus natural beauty I had ever seen, to enter Vegas, in all its artificiality, was a true shock. It was the pure antithesis of what we had seen in Zion. Fake Paris, fake New York, fake Italy, fake Egypt. We checked into our Pyramid Hotel and spent the day wandering the strip. Unfortunately with Morten being the only one legitimately over 21, life was a bit limited for us in Vegas. That didn't stop us from enjoying the Bellagio's fountain show a few times too many, and from eating through a challengingly HUMUNGOUS meal at Outback Steakhouse, an American diner chain that sells food under the pretence that it is uniquely Australian. Where in Australia it is normal to eat fries lathered 3 inches of cheese and bacon, and to eat steaks the size of your leg, or to cut onions the size of soccer balls into flowery formations and then deep fry the crap outta them; I shall never know. As we struggled with our gargantuan plates, the manager did pay us an exclusive visit. Perhaps rumour had reached him that some real Australians were indahouse.

After visiting the fascinating outpost of Vegas, it was off to Death Valley. It is a blisteringly hot desert, home to the lowest point (not underwater) in the US, a place called "Badwater". It's -85m, and is a salt pan that is blindingly white, but also very cool. The Valley itself is bound by some rather impressive mountains, and from the peak of the highest one of these mountains (I forget the name) to the valley floor, is a distance of over 3 km, which is a drop even bigger than 'that of the Grand Canyon's. We amused ourselves by hurriedly climbing over the Mesquite sand dunes to watch sunset whilst gorging on biscuits. We finally settled on a spot in the sand and played uno until it was darkly. A sweet day.

The trip back to L.A. was mostly uneventful, but punctuated with a few bursts of activity in the form of a real life game of supermario karts with a series of white cars that had questionable driving morals. We returned to Pasadena, L.A. extremely pleased with ourselves, and extremely pleased with America. What a lovely nation.

Next episode I shall tell you the tales of Big Sur Hot Springs, protest marches in the crime capital of california, the incredible beauty of Shasta and Oregon state, Bill Gates, Bill Clinton and the finish of springtime in the Berkelian and Bay Arean world. And then, I can finally get to telling you about where I am now- the incredible, and very very wet Central Americas.

Awesome Snow and the Berkeley PoPos (aka. Police)

After spending almost about a month in the land of America, I can´t help but think that I should have applied for a drop kick university. Why on earth I chose to go to such an notoriously academically rigorous school is now slightly beyond me; as I make valiant attempts to balance academisising, socialising, exercising, adventurising and cheap-skaterising. I managed to achieve the latter two during the first week of school, where in the true style of a diligent student, I skipped my last Anthropology lecture.. Why? So I could join my friends Carrie and Tom for some skiing action up at Tahoe, California's premier skiing/snowboarding destination.

I met Carrie and Tom in the summer of 2009, whilst in New Zealand doing a whitewater kayaking course. To say that they are legends would be an understatement. Between the time that I announced to them that I would be coming the California for exchange, they managed to wrangle me 3 days worth of free lift tickets, a pair of perfectly functional and rather comfy ski boots from a dumpster, and half price demo skis. They also recently bought a house in South Lake Tahoe, a stone's throw away from Sierra @ Tahoe, their home ski resort, which meant that accommodation was all sorted. It all goes to reaffirm that aged-old statement- it's all about who you know. And boy, was I glad to know Carrie and Tom. Carrie and Tom are the exemplary all-America family- they've been married for over 20 years, and have 2 sons.They earn extra awesomeness points due to their love of skiing and kayaking- both their sons are gifted skiers and boaters. Their eldest son, Tyler, is even sponsored by Pyranha (tip top kayaking brand) and numerous ski gear manufacturers. The ratio of kayaks to people in the family currently stands at 4:1.

It was an eventful journey up to Tahoe- along the way, I took numerous shuttle buses, had a quick fish and chips lunch with a new friend I made on the bus, took a tour of the massive UC Davis campus in the pouring rain, and finally got into the Muntz monster 4x4 pick up. And when I say monster, I mean MONSTER. They simply don't make vehicles like this in Australia- you could fit about 6 full river kayaks in the back of this ute/pick up/bakkie without even trying. Climbing into the front seat was like scaling Mt Everest. So we made our way towards South Lake Tahoe in the midst of some of the heaviest snowfalls that California has seen in a while. I'd never seen that much snow it my life- it was puking snow at altitudes of 500m! And instead of taking only one hour and 15 minutes to get to Tahoe, we took over three hours, peetering along at snails pace whilst ice gradually accumulated on the windows.

Puking snow creates powder. And 'lo behold, the next day, I was greeted with mindblowing powder conditions. So much powder I didn't know what to do with myself. Coming from the land of Australia, we simply never get the opportunity to ski on talcum powder- so naturally, when I skied into my first powder bank, I suddenly found myself no longer upright, flailing around in the whiteness which seemed determined to turn me into a yeti. Luckily, a nice Californian came over and rescued from my fate as the abominable snowman 2.0.

The next 2 days of skiing were filled with similar awesome conditions. Admittedly, it was cloudy most of the time, however the sheer quality of the snow made up for it. Visibility was always decent, even when the snow was falling- unlike on Mt Buller where it is not uncommon to suddenly find you cannot even see your own skis. With a heavy heart, I said adios to Tahoe on the Sunday night, after 3 days of excellence.

So back to school I went. And it was hard. It seems that Berkeley is keen to punish anyone that wishes to party/run away on skiing sojourns for any more than 2 nights. I generally consider myself a fairly adaptable person, however accommodating myself to the fact that here, you actually do your readings is something that I a still struggling with. In Australia, tute discussions with fellow students would often begin along these lines:
Angela: "So, have you done the readings?"
Rando student: "Yeah Nah, I haven't done the readings. Have you done the readings?"
Angela: "Nah, I haven't done the readings."
*Both chuckle to themselves. Tutor enters the room*
Tutor: Sooo... who did the readings this week?
*Silence in the room, everyone quietly smirks*
Tutor: *sigh* Alright, I'll summarise this week's readings...

Alas, here if you haven't done your readings, which often consitute reading a whole entire BOOK in a matter of days (for multiple subjects), you are considered a delinquent and a half, ostracised from society.

The copious amounts of reading are, however, interdispersed with numerous raging parties. The Australia Day party, taking place on the respectable school night of Tuesday, took place at Casa Zimbabwe; a massive co-op that houses over 100 people. Nicknamed 'CZ', the complex was gargantuan, hippie, organic, weed-filled pure of embodiment of the Berkeley spirit. Australians from far and wide all over the campus congregated together for fun, frivolity and Fosters, that piece of crap beer that we would never touch back in the homeland. We all brought a token international student, and pretty soon, the internationals were 'Aussie Aussie Aussie- oi oi oi-ing' like true bogans at a Frankston footy match. After rockin' it out to classics such as Eye of the Tiger and Down Under, we decided begin a game of Aussie backyard cricket. We scrambled to the the top of the multi-level carpark and started setting up, however the internationals (ahem, Americans) failed to grasp the simple premises of the game. Eventually the whole affair degenerated into a loud, racous and drunken event (as most carpark sojourns involving beer do) and people decided to call it quits on the cricket. Everyone departed the carpark, however I stayed behind momentarily with my Chilean friend Matías, who wanted a few pictures for posterity. It was at this point that I realised a cop car had pulled up, and there was a very coppish looking woman blocking the entrance to the stairwell. The interrogation began:

Cop: “So, what’s been happening up here?”

Me getting my bogan on: “Aww yeah, we’ve just been playin a game of crickit! It’s 'straya Day!”

Cop: “Cricket... did you guys use a croikey?”

Me in a perplexed bogan tone: “What’s a croikey?”

Cop: “A cricket ball!”

Me: "A cricket ball? Nah!!! We bin usin a tennis ball!"

Cop: “OK, so I don’t have to worry about broken windows or anything like that?”

Me: “Nah Nah, no worries mate.”

Meanwhile, Matías was quietly shitting his pants, as he had a massive bottle of beer stashed in his jacket. Being discovered with alcohol in a public place is an arrestable offence in America, and for us foreigners, it can end in deportation. Luckily this Berkeley PoPo bought my Aussie charm, and wished us on our merry way. Matías and descended down the stairs, where 'lo behold, another cop awaited us in his vehicle. Interrogation 2 began in the same style as interogation 1, only we hit hiccup due to the fact that this cop, in true American style, had no idea what cricket was. He hit me with a look that said: "I will deport yo' sorry ass out of this country if you're pullin ma leg". I stood firm with my big aussie grin and aussie flag draped around my shoulders. In the meantime, Matías had ducked behind the carpark barrier and dropped his massive bottle of beer, hence escaping deportation. The cop finally fell victim to my Australian charms and wished me a good night. Matías rejoined me and summed up the situation with his latino twang: "Angela! We almost got deported!"

The dramas didn't stop there. Jamie (another Aussie architecture student from Brisvegas) had brought with him a massive inflatable kangaroo who we named "Big Kev". However in a fit of violence and jealousy, the one drunken pom who had been slagging off Australia all night managed to pierce Big Kev in the genital area. Thus ended the life of Big Kev, who is now sitting lifeless and deflated in some corner of Jamie's room, collecting dust. Damn poms.

The week ended with much anticipated Stanford vs Cal (UC Berkeley) Rugby match. Stanford are our biggest rivals in every facet. The Cal Store even sells a shirt that has printed across it in huge collegiate letters: "BEAT STANFORD". The shirt would have been apt that day, for we demolished Stanford 99-0. Never have I seen such a poor showing, one sided game of rugby. I could have played better than the entire Stanford team. Needless to say, the quality of American rugby is pretty dismal. And so ends this episode of life in America. Next time, yet MORE Tahoe action and more shenanigans galore.

Bezerkley

If there were a QS world ranking system for the most “crazy, activity-laden, hyperactive, happening university,” I’d definitely put my buckers on UC Berkeley taking top honours. Since moving into Berkeley, it’s been a perpetual state of go-go-go. There’s always someone to meet up with, always an activity (or several million) on, and every night’s a party. In some ways, Berkeley seems to be stuck in a time warp- particularly when it comes to the infamous prolific ganjaweed. When it comes to marijuana this place is still stuck in the 60s/70s and the cops seem to turn a complete blind eye. Our neighbours at Oakland University have even been coined ‘Oaksterdam’. Protesting is considered obligatory- every day it seems some students begin a mini revolution just for shits and giggles, with the justification that is ‘tradition’. Here, if you don’t have enough credits/points you can even make up points by taking ‘deCal’ classes run by students. 200 options, some on the menu include:

We are who we eat: Living in an undead world..with ZOMBIES!!

James Bond: Politics, Pop Culture, Hero

Star Wars Galaxy

The Life & Legacy of Tupac Amaru Shakur

Now that's a quality education.

Everything constructed at Berkeley has been built with grandeur and opulence in mind. The architecture style is ‘Modern Ancient Romanic’- slightly oxymoronic I know, but that’s the best way I can describe it. The main Library- Doe Library- is gargantuan, and is apparently is the 4^th largest academic library in the US. It rivals the Victorian State Library in terms of bookage volume and impressiveness. And, as all my Melbournite friends know, the State Library is no walkover. The Valley Life Sciences building bears a striking resemblance to the Parthenon, and has ‘Zoology,’ ‘Psychology’ inscribed across its tiers in enormous letters. The new sports stadium currently being erected is a fusion of a mini ‘G and the Colosseum. All the buildings are awesome, however the ironically enough, the ugliest building of the lot is the Art Gallery. Its a geometric grey monstrosity that the Soviets would have been proud of. It's the sort of ugliness that one would find at Monash Uni, and it's definately an eyesore at Berkeley. Needless to say, the campus massive, about 3 times the size of Monash, 4 times the size of Melbourne Uni. Classes on the other side of campus require a campus shuttle, or otherwise legging it like-a-mad-bitch up some intense hills. A segue would definitely be handy right now.

I’ve moved into International House, yet another impressive building with many shoebox rooms that house about 600 students. I absolutely adore the place and the people in it. Most of them are foreign postgraduate students, visiting scholars or exchange students. There’s a ‘Great Hall’, Dining Hall, an auditorium, 8 floors of awesomeness- all a bit reminiscent of a modern Hogwarts only without the wands. Since coming here I’ve become well acquainted with Norwegians. I-House conversations would regularly start like this-

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So, where are you from?”

“Norway.”

“Oh cool! What do you study?”

“Sociology.”

-REPEAT X 50.

The Norwegians have taken over with shear number power, no mean feat for a nation of only 4 million people. It is wonder that there are any Norwegians left in Norway itself, as it appears they have all moved to Berkeley. Even my roommate- Rita- is Norwegian. She is lovely and half and threatens to blind with her blond hair and blue eyes every morning.

There is also a fair Australian contingent that has gathered at Berkeley, and we’re doing our utmost to spread the Australian language and boganist culture. Kat (from Uni of Melb) has taken it upon herself to get the entire I-House saying ‘sweet as’ before she leaves. She may just kill herself if she fails. I have also come to the realisation that we are a very politically incorrect people, as using the term ‘gayyyyyyyyy’ to describe something that is crap is not as accepted here. For that reason, Ray (a Perth-ite also from Uni of Melb) and I have taken to explaining in great detail just what we mean when we say ‘That’s gayyyyyyy’. We’ve also taken to using the negative version of this term to describe things that are good. For example, in a message I wrote to Morten (a Norwegian), I taunted him about the amazing snow conditions at Tahoe, describing the situation as being: “definitely NOT gay”. Morty’s caught on well, and has diligently decided to be the first Norwegian indahouse to speak Australian, as opposed to British or American. Hence I feel my efforts at imperial expansion are taking root.

However being underage again is definitely something that is gay. I spent the first Thursday night at Berkeley searching desperately for venues that were 18+ as opposed to 21+. I finally found one, a place called Asheknaz- a brilliant World Music venue that just so happened to have a fully sick Brazilian-Afro-Funk band called Sambàda playing on Friday evening. The place was packed, the atmosphere electric. It was pretty much a mini Carnaval, in Berkeley. There was a group of Brazilians at the front leading a flash dance mob that eventually had the whole crowd moving in sync. I danced so much my feet nearly fell off. If course, the night wasn’t complete there was the obligatory mob high on ganja, and from what I could discern, they were attempting to do their best attempts at a tree-growing-interpretative-dance.

The weekend was punctuated by the Spring Retreat, over at Walker Ranch in Marin Country, which is just across the Bay. It’s a beautiful spot, kind of like the Scottish Highlands of California. The food was delish and there was much bonding between moi and the 65 other residents that attended. Highlights included night hunting for raccoons, a journey that was highly unsuccessful. An invisible species perhaps. Though deers and bambis with evil eyes were plentiful.

I capped off my first week in Berkeley with a taste of some true American Culture-by experiencing the infamous frat party. We are always encouraged at I-House to engage in ‘cross-cultural experiences,’ and this was the perfect opportunity. I entered the massive 3 storey Greek houses thinking that it all those TV shows and movies had been grossly exaggerating what frat parties were really like. But I can now assure you, there is no exaggeration. It is exactly like the movies and the TV shows. Beer pong coming out of your eyeballs, people grinding, making out on the dance floor in a truly carnal manner. It was almost as if they were waiting for people to educate them about the fact in order to actually do the mcnasty nasty, you generally have to take your clothes off. I thought people at Berkeley were meant to be smart. Anyhoo, after some Lady Gaga dancing, I decided it was time to call it quits. Also factoring into the quitting equation was the fact that the cops pulled up and started busting all the frat parties in Greek circle. See, just like the movies! In conclusion- the American frat experience: amusing, but suboptimal.

So that’s your first introduction into the craziness that is Bezerkley. Next time- tales of the awesomeness of skiing at Lake Tahoe, Australia Day parties and my near deportation from America after an interesting encounter with cops who failed to understand the meaning of cricket.