This is New York, New York!

New York, NY.

I had a hard time in New York city, constantly reminding myself that I wasn't in an American movie, or a character on FRIENDS, or Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and The City! Instead, I was a little English lass, living as a traveller in a small hostel on the upper west side - with a whole bunch of other tourists. Still, I did have a lot of fun daydreaming and seeing the sights of the ol Big Apple - even if I did have to travel by metro, instead of by the quintessential 'yellow cab'...




*

After another arduous, overnight bus trip (this time 17 hours from Chicago - and I would write about it, but I have already blocked the horror of it from my mind... delays, over allocation of seats, obnoxious female greyhound employees, passengers who stink... you get the point), Karlos and I finally arrived in New York City. The final destination of our US adventure, and a place I had dreamed of visiting for as long as I can remember. I had been sleeping on the bus (as best I could) and woke with perfect timing - suddenely realising "that's Manhattan!" as we drove over the Manhattan Bridge towards downtown. All I could think was "du, du, du, du-du..." - that blasted New York, New York song! It played in my head the moment I arrived, like some sort of theme song. I think I may even have sung a line or two on the train at some point... but it was excusable - I was excited!

We were stoked to find out that our hostel was just 2 blocks from a subway stop - ding ding! We dumped out backpacks and wasted no time in exploring the city... first stop was Ground Zero.



It was kind of surreal visiting Ground Zero. I had never been to New York city before, and so had never seen the twin towers of course, but I had a pretty good idea of what they had once looked like - and we all know that horrific scene as the towers collapsed - so to see the massive construction site spread out before us was pretty sad. A dozen or so men were also stood on the street corner spouting off about a conspiracy theory that the US government knew about the attacks before they happened, ignored warnings etc, and therefore the tragedy could have been prevented. I wasn't sure how I felt about this, to be honest. I really don't know enough about the politics involved, and for various reasons have always found it preferable (in life in general) not to get too weighed down by that stuff. This is in no way meant to sound as careless as it comes across - I consider it quite the opposite in fact. I don't trust a single thing the media tells us, and so I rarely watch/read the news or care much about current "issues." If something affects my life directly - I will find out all of the facts about it, generate informed opinions and then plan any necessary courses of action etc based on that. I therefore felt removed enough in this situation to simply walk on... admittedly surprised, that after almost 9 years there were still men on the street corners, passionately fighting for the "truth" in this case. I hope they get the support and answers that they need, from the people who can give it.

Next we caught the Staten Island ferry (which is totally free by the way - my favourite word at the moment!) and cruised passed the statue of liberty, getting great shots of ourselves next to the NYC skyline... it had been a long day though, without any sleep on the bus... so after falling asleep on the ferry, we decided to head back to our hostel for a nap.



A few hours later, after the sun had long set - Karlos talked me into heading out for some drinks and fun times. We found a nice little bar on Amsterdam that served good strong drinks - so we stayed there all night. It was a lot of fun... but admittedly ended in being one of those "I'm never drinking again" morning afters. Why do I keep letting this happen to myself? They pour drinks really strong over here (truth) so I end up drinking more alcohol than I would in the same number of drinks back home (theory).



After a really slow start to the next day, and a hangover cure of McDonalds (pretty shitty goodness wherever in the world you are) we hauled our asses to Times Square, faught our way through crowds of kids in Toys R Us, as I avoided glares from Karlos as to "why the hell did we come in here," before finding ourselves on Broadway (like how I keep dropping these big apple place names? eh eh) in the Ripley's Believe it or Not museum. That was a real laugh, in a nice air conditioned room - perfect to escape the city heat for a couple of hours and reminding me that the one thing NZ needs to get onto, is interesting museums for kiwis to get lost in... great way to spend an avo. Rather than explain the museum - I would be here all day - here is an interesting link: http://www.ripleysnewyork.com/buy-tickets.cfm?gclid=CN22i_Ci5qICFQ4EZgodrjEQww




Anyway, that night we were keen to see some live performances in NYC... and after figuring that Mary Poppins or The Lion King were probably not Karlos' style, we settled on going to see some standup comedy, off Broadway. This was awesome fun. Lots of african american men taking the piss out of themselves and all of us - and I spent most of the evening trying not to pee my pants laughing, or catch the eye of one of the comedians - just in case I get ribbed in some way. Karlos got a little bit of stick for his facial hair, but only in a "wouldn't wanna mess with you kind of way." Hahaha. He looks so hard these days, it's a shame - he's the sweetest thing to make fun of - those comedians missed out, I thought! Hahahaha. Anyway - the night ended with a big ol slice of pepperoni pizza and two happy chappys returned to our abode.

The next day we did the 'tourist must-do' visit to Central Park, which is waaaay bigger than I realised spanning over 50 blocks from north to south. Our first stop was of course to visit Strawberry Fields, to "imagine," and after that we wandered south to the Bethesda Fountain for a splash and a gawk at all the fit bunnies exercising down there (I hated them and their buff, tanned bodies the bints). We then listened to someone playing the harp as we mosied down literacy mile (complete with statues of various english and scottish writers, squirrels, joggers and their iPods, and thick green trees). This brought us to central park south where we then joined 5th avenue and wandered passed designers stores, had a nosey at the new iPads in the Apple store (want want want), bought a new pair of Aviators for $8 (Karlos sat on my last pair), and went into Trump Tower. We eventually made our way to Rockefeller Plaza and found a nice place for lunch - soup, salads, fresh bagels - gobble gobble. Eating in America can be healthy at times, but always cheap, so we were happy.



As if this wasn't enough for one day (we should be stick thin with all the walking we are doing DAMMIT) we headed down to the south street seaport to visit the BODIES exhibit. I am watching my tourist dollars, but this was worth the US$20 to get in. It was a science exhibit, basically consisting of a lot of different rooms with various human body parts on display. Not for everyone, perhaps. Grown men have aparrantly fled from the exhibit clutching their stomachs - but I found it thoroughly educational and interesting. Where else can you see an exhibit like this, I wondered? God I love New York!

It was very tastefully done - bodies had been dissected, drained of fluids etc, treated, and covered in a type of plastic so they were colourful and appeared less gruesome than you may imagine. The first room was various bones - so lots of different bones were on display under glass, and skeletons were also positioned around the room for you to look at (but not touch). Next room was muscles - same deal. One box would have a slab of human muscle and an arrow saying - these are your leg muscles - and so on. This time the skeletons around the room would still have tendons and muscles attached to them so you could start to get a picture of how the body is made up. Next few rooms were body organs, and it went on. I enjoyed the exhibit, learned a lot - but was grateful for the fresh air outside when we got out!

We had big plans to walk the Brooklyn Bridge next, seeing as we were downtown - but had already made plans to catch up with friends that evening, and had already seen so much that day - that a nap was in order! It was a good nap, and a good evening catching up with Tyson and his girlfriend Sarah (NZ friends of Karlos) followed it.

The next day was our last - we ventured into Central Park again, getting lost on the way to the MET, before we eventually gave up and caught a metro to Brooklyn to tackle the Brooklyn bridge instead. This was a great way to end our time in NYC - walking over the bridge towards Manhattan, watching the cityscape get bigger and bigger, closer and closer, with every step - until we were lost inside of it once more - making our way back to our hostel one last time, to collect our backpacks, and ride the metro all the way to JFK airport - for a flight out of NYC, and out of the USA...




*

Having had an intense 4 days exploring the city, I had yet another hard time on our departure - was the long list of things we managed to see and do longer than the list of things still to be done? Probably not, I figured. After all, this is a city that never sleeps. A place where there is a multitude of things to see and do at every corner, any day of the week, and any time of day. In order to fully appreciate NYC, I think I would have to live here for a lifetime. So dillemah over - I left NYC, and at the same time - the USA, realising that I/we had explored as much as we were able - and for all of the stuff we missed... we'll be back some
day.

~ Comet xo

This is Chicago, Illinois!

Chicago, Illinois.

Chicago is a place I have always wanted to visit. I was aware I wouldn't meet any flappers, or hoodlums, or bump into Bugsy Malone in Fat Sam's Speakeasy... but I could imagine...

We arrived in Chicago after a very pleasant flight from Montana, via Collorado. A really uneventful and luxurious journey after our recent "Greyhound" experiences! It was a really warm evening, made even warmer by the weight of our backpacks, but we were pleased
with how easy it was to navigate the city's public transport system. If anyone is planning on designing a public transport system (say YOU, Auckland!) then a visit to Chicago to model theirs would be recommended. On the trains, clearly spoken, audible announcements advised us of upcoming stops. There was no need to quickly try and read what station we were at, on a sign blocked by dozens of commuters, or to fumble with a crumpled metro map... we knew what stop we needed, and Chicago's well designed public transport system announced when we arrived.

We hadn't arranged a place to stay for the night - we were to be staying with Hilary and Kevin Marren for a few days, but not until tomorrow - so we walked the streets in search of a cheap looking hotel, avoiding anything with the words "Plaza," "Suite," "Grand," and "Resort" in their name. We didn't have much luck. It was a Monday night and ALL hotels were booked; we
couldn't understand it. Turns out... this very day there was a major conference happening in the city - many hotel rooms had been booked long in advance. Damn. We continued to wander, rather aimlessly. It was hot, dusk, we each carried 25kg+ of baggage, and I for one was not in the mood. It is moments like this I always think to myself - what exactly IS the attraction of travelling. It's painful and frustrating at the best of times...

But before long, we were saved. A very nice gentleman crossed the street to ask if we needed directions. Like literally crossed the street. He saw us doing the usual tourist thing, huddled over a miniture street map, turning it clockwise, anti clockwise, and so on - and he thought 'they probably need some help.' What a nice man! You would never experience that in England, no way. Americans are incredibly friendly, I tell you. Anyway, we accepted his help and so he proceded to walk the streets with us, pointing out hotels that he knew would be too expensive, and trying to find us hotels that he knew would be cheap.

Eventually we found a hotel that our friend recommended as a cheap place, and so we parted ways. We waited in line at reception, but before we had even got to the counter, our friend was back! "I know a cheap place, that's just by my house," he said. "If this place is full, I can drive you there." Lo and behold, the hotel was full, so off we went with him, beyond grateful for his kindness.

On the way he pointed out all of the city's major sights, and I relaxed in the backseat letting the night air rush in through the window to cool me down, as I watched the sun set over the city. Half an hour later, we had checked into our cheap hotel, quickly freshened up, and was enjoying a beer in the pub next door - saying to ourselves once again: "travelling is awesome."

*

Our time in Chicago was lovely. It was so nice to stay with our friends, Hilary and Kevin, and especially so as they gave us a real insight to the best the city has to offer. I enjoyed long chats in the sunshine with Hilary, eating the quinessential American breakfast of bagels with cream cheese, and discussing her theatre experiences in the city. I enjoyed riding the city metro and looking at Karlos with wide, knowing eyes whenever a louder than life itself american lady came on who we would try to ignore. I enjoyed spending hours wandering the city streets, admiring the tall, impressive architecture, and the modern city parks. I enjoyed taking tourist snaps in The Bean, and then climbing The Willis Tower to enjoy a birds eye view of Chicago, flanked by Lake Michigan. I enjoyed sitting in Millenium Park, listening to the opening night of symphony in the park, and watching hoards of other people walk by, with the same intention. I enjoyed wandering through the exhibits of the Field Museum, and stumbling across a Maori Pa...



It was in Chicago that I felt a sort of hankering for New Zealand. It was unexpected - but nice. I'd been telling everyone that "we're from New Zealand," as it's easier that explaining my actual background... and I am certainly proud to say I live in such a beautiful country such as New Zealand is. But it was in that moment, on seeing that Maori Pa, that I actually felt a strong familiarity and a sense of belonging in the thought of NZ. At last! It did not give me a desire to return home. Nor did it make me miss home. But it did make me feel pretty happy with the feeling that I may just be ready to offically become a kiwi when I do eventually return to NZ. I will remember Chicago for the lovely time we had with Hilary and Kevin. But I will also remember Chicago for giving me that.

~ Peace and love, Comet xo

This is the MIGHTY MONTANA!

Bozeman, Montana.

If I could describe Montana in one sentence it would be: "you should go to Montana." It is a stunner of a place - fresh air, wide open skies, green meadows, rugged mountains, crystal clear rivers, wild animals, and friendly folk who like to drink. I felt as though we had stumbled upon a hidden gem of a state. Somewhat off the beaten track, and just waiting to be enjoyed...

But before I tell you how much I loved Montana, I will firstly tell you about the hideousness that was our 31 hour bus ride to get there. That's right - thirty one hours - you did not read that wrong.

We really didn't have a choice - it was US$250 to take a bus from San Francisco to Bozeman (Montana), or US$500+ to fly. Flying would have been ideal - comfortable, and quick - but we are travellers on a budget, so every dollar counts. And so, with reluctance, we took ourselves to the Greyhound Bus Station, downtown San Francisco, knowing exactly what we had in store - 31 hours of discomfort, bad smells, and bustling along with all the other crazies who like to ride the greyhound. Everyone looking at each other through sideways glances as we all queue for the bus, anxious to get a seat next to our partners, anxious to get a good seat, or anxious simply to GET a seat.

So after managing to score a seat next to each other, we spent the next 31 hours stopping at every foul gas station between San Francisco and Bozeman, dashing in and out of public toilets that left me feeling like I needed a shower afterwards, and selecting the healthiest food we could between plastic wrapped twinkies, hershey's chocolate, and endless rows of cookies. We spent 31 hours trying to sleep as much as possible, between people coughing, the scrunching of crisp packets, knees knocking the backs of our seats, babies crying, americans talking incessently, and strangers asking us for our email. There was the constant fear that if we do decide to use a garage's restroom the bus could leave without us, but the even greater fear that if we didn't use a garage's restroom, we may be forced to use the shit bucket in the cupboard at the back of the bus, should nature call between rest breaks. It was literally hell. A cold and dirty, hell.

The seats reclined enough for you to relax, but not enough for you to sleep. And I was even so fortunate to be biten by some kind of spider somewhere along the way. Three times. Once below my knee, once above my knee, and the third bit on my rib cage. This could only mean that said beastie must have been crawling on me UNDERNEATH my clothes. *shudder*



We also heard a story that on the same bus, the night before, our unfortunate driver had encountered a woman who was tripping out on some kind of hallucinogenic. She jumped up in the middle of the night, screaming that she was on fire and tried to jump out of the bus. Only the bus was moving, and so the door would not open, resulting in her getting her foot stuck as she tried to break through. Eventually the bus driver pulled over and she ran off the bus, ripping off her clothes before rolling around in the mud. This put out her "fire," but she then started to freak out that spiders were crawling all over her. This scene ended with the cops arriving, her biting both the cop and the bus driver, and finally smashing her own nose in with a rock. Thank god that didn't happen whilst we were on the bus - but these were the type of nutbars we were subjecting ourselves to.

Aaahhh "but this is travelling," as they say. "They" being the bastards that never actually have to travel with such rodents. Surviving such a trip is pretty euphoric though, I must admit.

*

Anyway, arriving in Montana was like a breath of fresh air, literally. And we were lucky enough to be staying with the darling Story family, on their ranch! Staying with locals is always my prefered way to visit a place - you get to have a true experience, instead of a tourist one. And the Story family were beyond and hospitable, making our visit extra special. I tell you, if all Montanans are like them, it just might be the greatest place on earth. Within seconds of arriving in Bozeman, Judy and Mark had pounced on us, taken our bags, put them in the boot of their hummer, and whisked us off for steak and beers... our hideous bus trip was forgotten within minutes and we began enjoying ourselves instantly.

We spent the next couple of days having a blast in Montana with the Storys - Judy, Mark, Shandy, Jayden, Cissy and Tim - and only wishing Jin were with us, and that we were staying longer.

Day one we were woken to a BBQ breakfast, fresh berries, and tales from 6-year old mountain girl Jayden, before being bundled into the car for an afternoon of clay pigeon shooting!! Woo hoo!! This was mountain country, so what better thing to do than shoot guns for an authentic experience?! On the way Mark and Judy pointed out deer and elk grazing in the meadows, in the distance, and told us to keep our eye out for bears too. Mighty Montana, I dubbed it.

On arrival at the shooting venue I discovered we were to be firing shot guns. Not air rifles. Shot guns! Wooo I was excited! We were joined by the lovely Cissy and her boyfriend Tim, and after we had all made sure we were wearing ear plugs - we set off on the course. Karlos had a go first - and was a natural - BOOM, went the gun. I gulped. I didn't realise a shot gun was THAT powerful - his whole head and upper body jolted as he pulled the trigger, and then the barrel smoked... but I was still more excited than scared - so up I went without questions when Mark said it was my turn.

Mark showed me how to load the gun, hold the gun, aim and take fire. I held the gun against my cheek, resting it on my shoulder, and called "pull" for the clay pigeon to be released. I was calm and steady. Click went the trigger, BOOOOM! went the gun. Woah! Thank goodness for my ear plugs, but that gun kicked me in the shoulder a LOT harder than I had anticpated. "You done being scared now," Mark asked. What? Done? I had only just started being scared, I thought - that hurt! Hahahaha. The second time I held the gun tighter and pulled the stock closer to my cheek. Click went the trigger, BOOOOOOM went the gun. Not as painful this time, as adrenaline had kicked in! I was shaking a little.. ok, a lot! And had missed my target, but I was having a LOT of fun.



I didn't keep up with the rest of them - I had to stop about 2/3s into the course as my shoulder was hurting, and a headache was setting in - I had fun watching the rest of them hit targets though. And they were all really nice to me - Cissy even said I should be proud as most girls are too scared to pick up a shot gun, let alone fire one. So that made me smile a lot, and really made up for the fact that I was a lousy shot! Hahaha. I should have worn my glasses... I have a feeling that may have helped! I did hit one pigeon... but truth be told I think it was a fluke!

Anyway - after the adrenaline of shooting had worn off - we all went to a local sports bar to drink beer, eat chicken wings, and laugh ourselves into the evening. We had only met the Story family the day before - and we already felt so much love for them. We felt like we were at home with this lovely family. We fell in love with Montana, officially, later that same day...

Cissy and Tim kidnapped us, and we took off with a box of beers and some mango punch in the back of their jeep to a place between the mountains called "Mill Creek." Cissy's gorgeous doggy, Macy, kept me warm on the back seat - and we drove passed some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen, listening to country music, and feeling the alcohol warm our cheeks. I felt peaceful, and happy - enjoying being in the mighty Montana, doing as Montanans do.

Mill Creek was stunning, words wouldn't do it justice - we arrived to a camp fire and Tim's parents, who cooked us a delicious BBQ, whilst we continued to get drunk. I think I said "I love it here," about 20 million gazillion times. But I meant it each time. We sat inside the log cabin, eating BBQ food, discussing how to behave should we meet a bear, before someone utted the words... marshellow and chocolate. Before the night was through I had experienced the infamous American "s'mores" - called as such because once you eat one, you just want s'more! One word - yum! We roasted marshmellows on the campfire, before sandwiching the sticky gooeyness between two cinnamon crackers... and chocolate! All I remember from the rest of the evening is more stars than I knew the sky could hold, happiness, and new found friends. I'd probably remember more than that, if we hadn't stopped at a local bar in Bozeman before heading home. Authentic experience in Montana - check!



For the rest of our time in Montana we enjoyed driving through Yellowstone National Park, seeing buffallo, elk, and coyotes, and watching the eruption of old faithful; we ate more BBQ food; drank more bear; and stayed up late into the night listening to Mark's stories from his hunting days.

When we eventualy left Montana I felt both happy and sad. Happy from a wonderful few days - and sad it wasn't longer.

To anyone planning on visiting the USA - be sure not to miss the gem that is Montana.

~ Comet xo

This is San Francisco, California!

June 7, 2010. Northwest of the California state.

My eyes stung, and my head lolled lazily from side to side. 9.5 hours on a bus is never fun. But overnight? That just plain sucks. Our seats reclined and we'd brought along a sleeping bag and pillow to share, so catnapping was possible, but actual sleep - no chance. So, with much pain, we hauled on our heavy packs and shuffled our way to the nearest starbucks...

Ding! A shot of java, and some irritable conversation later - we were on the street again. Our eyes were now open for a new day.

*

San Francisco. California, U.S.A.

"Take me down to the Paradise City..." San Francisco you are so pretty! I remember the very moment we first arrived in San Francisco. We'd left LA at 1am Monday morning, and arrived in San Fran just after 10am. I opened my eyes from one of the many naps, just in time to see our bus pull round a corner and the San Francisco bay opened out before me. I turned to see if Karlos was seeing what I was seeing, but he was still sleeping, so I left him to it and turned back to the view... a large stretch of brilliant blue water, flanked by one of the prettiest cities I've ever seen. Tall, sleek sky scrapers, stylish bridges, and a waterfront screaming "get down here now and find thee a bar!"

Despite how pretty this city was, I couldn't believe how irritable I got on the way to our hotel. We already had a room booked, and with map in hand I had a rough idea of what direction we needed to go in. But I was tired, and my pack was heavy, I needed a shower, and if you think the city makes the public transport system easy to figure out - you've another think coming. I'm usually pretty good at figuring public transport systems out, having previously navigated myself around cities such as London, Paris, Bangkok and the like, but whether or not it was due to the nearly 48hrs without proper sleep, San Francisco's array of underground trains, streetcars, and buses had me stumped. Karlos figured things out by asking people in uniforms, and once we'd gotten ourselves onto the street we needed to be on, he then spent the next mile or two trying to flag down a cab. I was NOT happy to discover that the street our hotel was on actually stretched for about 6 miles, I was NOT going to walk it, and I did NOT want to carry my backpack anymore. I was a total bitch about the whole thing, but we are both allowed to be from time to time, and Karlos handled it the right way by telling me to stop snapping at him and then called a cab.

And breeeeath. An hour later our backpacks were at the hotel, and we were down the road, outside a cafe, drinking a chilled glass of sauvigon blanc in the sunshine. What a difference and hour makes! A french family chatted over lunch, at the table next to us - and I would spend the next 3 days in San Francisco amazed at the number of French people there are here...

*

For anyone visiting San Fran, my personal recommendation would be to make your first spot to visit - Pier 39. On our first evening in town, we met a really nice man on the street (who just so happened to be a guard on Alcatraz island!) who walked us there and gave us plenty of advise about the city in general. Pier 39 is probably best to visit in the daytime (which we did also) as it is full of delicious eateries - seafood restaurants, fresh fruit stalls, chocolatiers, icecream parlours, coffee stands, hot donut stands, hotdog stands, you name it - it's there. It is also home to a large number of sea lions, who are very entertaining to while away an hour or so watching. There are some real characters amongst them, I tell you. They laze on water barges and play, and fight, and roll over each other, and attempt to woo female sea lions, and bark, and splash and belch, and push each other off into the water - it's a sight to behold!

And of course, across the bay is Alcratraz Island. We joined several hundred other tourists one day, catching a ferry across the bay, to tour the old prison. It was fascintaing. The island is so cold, and windy, even in the afternoon sunshine - it gives it a very eerie feel. Your ferry ticket includes entry to the old prison and an audio guide, so you can take your time going in and out of the different cell blocks, and listening to stories from ex prisoners, and guards. The conditon of the prison is pretty run down these days, due to weather damage and such like, but you can tell it would also have been pretty harsh back when it was operational. The wind whips straight through the prison, and straight into the barred cells - no wonder so many attempted to escape. They say that those who broke the rules went to prison. And those that broke the prison rules went to Alcatraz.

We also got to see the cells where 3 of the prison's convicts escaped from. Out of all of the escape attempts, these three were never found, and to this day it remains a mystery as to how they escaped the "inescapable." How they escaped their cells is a question that can be answered. Behind the air vent in their cells, the prisoners spent over a year chipping away at the stone wall with a metal spoon - this widened the hole behind the vent, in order for them to eventually crawl out of, into the space behind their cells, and up the water pipes, into the ceiling, and away... but where to from there? Who knows. I for one would not to be keen to get into the icey cold waters of San Francisco Bay... but who knows really what I'd do if my other options was to rot my life away in Alcatraz prison. I left the island feeling a mix of guilt and anger, over somehow feeling sympathy towards those criminals.

Another 'must do' that we did, and that I would recommend for anyone visiting San Francisco, is to walk the city streets. Not only is the city full of beautiful buildings, trees, and nearby harbours to explore - walking in the city is a real workout. And by workout, I mean WORKout. Sheesh! So many hills! We took a walk up Lombard St one morning, and it sure got our hearts pumpin'! We also walked the Golden Gate Bridge, which took best part of an hour, due to stopping continuously to take photos etc. It was a great thing to do to be out in the fresh (and by fresh I mean windy as fook) air, by the water, yet still in the heart of the city. People watching on these excursions is always a highlight - how many morons are there out in the world? Too many. A bike lane means - if you're not on a bike - don't walk there idiot!!!! I spent much time on these walks realising that no matter where you are from, or where you live - there will always be those amongst us that are a sandwich or two short of a picnic. Is keep to the right too hard for you to understand? Or do you simply think that refers to everyone else but you? I would really like to know that.

Anyway - if walking the city's streets, parks and gardens, or exploring old prisons, or watching sea lions, isn't your thing... San Francisco is literally bursting at the seams with coffee shops, and restaurants. From Italian joints in North Beach, to Chinese fare in Chinatown, to the fresh seafood in Fisherman's wharf - and everything in between. You could come to San Fran simply to eat, and while away your hours watching the sun set over the bay. It really is a beautiful place.

~ Comet xo

This is Californication!

Hollywood, Los Angeles. CA

The sun had long set. I didn't have my glasses on, so everything ahead of me looked like a finger painting. Little smudges of colourful light. My shoulders were tense enough to snap under the weight. My feet ached with each step, and I could feel the sting of an oncoming blister. I wiggled my little toe around in my shoe, but knew it was too late to avoid the inevitable. Squeaky skin. Rub, rub, rub. I'm probably going to make it worse doing this. Do I have a blister already perhaps? Ouch. The backpack's hip strap is sitting potentially a little too high and cutting right into my stomach, giving me obsessive thoughts that my navel peircing will be torn out by the slightest wrong move. Step. Step. Step. Step. Alternating standing on pavement cracks only, and then standing on no pavement cracks at all. Crack, crack, crack, crraaaaa... damn. Missed it. No crack, no crack, no crack, no craaaa... *jump* no crack! Ouch. Don't ever jump with a 25kg backpack on. I need longer legs. Who am I competing with exactly? My feet? Anything to distract my mind from the pain (in the ass of carrying a heavy backpack) I guess. How much of a percentage of my body weight is 25kg exactly. 40% maybe? Not enough. Keep walking chubby until it's 50%. Why am I so mean to myself? Fuck this walk seems a lot longer than usual. 2 miles. Is that more or less than 2km. More. Ow. Ow. Ow. I told Karlos a minute ago that my bag feels heavier than usual. Will I piss him off if I tell him I think it's actually getting heavier with each step I take? Probably. He didn't seem too interested the last time. Seriously, what the hell. I think this pack is actually swelling and about to burst. And you know what, actually, I couldn't give a crap at this point if someone held me at gun point and asked me to hand my pack over. Fuck yeah! I'd say. Take it, mate! And then I'd watch them, roaring with laughter, try to lug this heavy son of a bitch. I mean what more do I need than a toothbrush and a credit card? Next time I travel I'm giving myself a 2kilo limit. This is ridiculous.

And on it went...

As I maintained such a conscious awareness of our walk, I also began to marvel at the contrast... It was exactly one month ago when we first arrived in LA together. It was a sunny afternoon and we had bounced along Hollywood Boulevard with a spring in our step, despite our heavy packs. Everything was new and exciting to me and I couldn't wait to explore. The Hollywood sign winked at me in the distance - partly because of the sunlight hitting it, but also as it said "welcome" to me. Jinny led us the way and excitedly pointed out places of interest. This time however, a month later, it was completely different. The sun had long set as we made our last walk along Hollywood Bvd, towards the metro station. The streets were dark, no Hollywood signs were winking at me, and Jinny wasn't walking along with us. Instead she was at home, without us.

Our time in LA was just the best and, whilst we were excited to be moving on and continuing our adventures, we were sorry to be leaving. I couldn't help thinking how poignant it was - that the streets were bright on our arrival, and dark on our departure... but we'll be back LA, to light up your streets once more... ;-)


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A tale from the City of Angels:

"Are you alright miss?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm ok..."

"Bit shaken huh!"

"Yeah..."

The bus driver pulled to a stop and everyone crowded around my seat. I, however, had already made my move whilst the bus was still in motion. There was no way I wanted to stick around in that seat after what had just happened... I was shaking like a leaf, and felt so far out of any comfort zone I had ever known. This was completely new territory for me.

"Who the fuck goes around shooting guns at moving buses!"

The bullet had hit my window, inches from my head, and fortunately ricoched. Thank you to whoever invented reinforced glass, is all I can say. The bullet had left a large, shattered mark on the window, and this was the only thing that made me certain of what had actually just happened.

I do remember the moment it hit. Kind of in slow motion... I know, I know, I'm totally turning on the drama - but it really was. It sounded like a stone had hit the window at first, hard and fast. Shards of glass even flew at Karlos and me, making me think that the window was about to completely shatter. But it didn't. And when I turned my head to see the mark on the window, I instantly had that sinking "what the..." feeling in my stomach. That was no stone.

Karlos was looking out the window as it happened. He couldn't tell if it was the car that passed us, or perhaps someone across the street who had fired the shot... all I could think about was that there was some sniper out there placing a target on my forehead. Karlos reached and held my hand in our new seat; this was his way of saying "I can see you're shaken, but it's ok."

The bus driver, and everyone else on the bus, were really sweet. And we eventually pulled into the North Hollywood bus station with giggles, watching everyone line up to take photos of the 'impact zone.' I guess you can never control the nutbars of this world, and all we can really ever do is not let the "what ifs" of life dictate the things we do, and don't. Que sera, sera. So, albeit with shaky nerves, we boarded a train for the final part of our journey and sat waiting for the next crazy to entertain us... we didn't have to wait long. Oh how I long for the day I no longer need to travel by public transport with, what I have dubbed, the "minions."




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This little scene had the potential to ruin what had otherwise been a completely wonderful time in the city of angels. Almost, but not quite... let me reflect:

After our southern adventure, we headed back to LA LA land for some more fun. And fun was had indeed. If I can describe L.A. in a sentence it would be this:

Los Angeles is crazy beautiful."

It is beautiful because of the people; everyone is so open and friendly, and even the bus drivers have the time to help you. And it is beautiful because of the large department stores, that sell everything you need, and some, and are so cheap. And it is beautiful because of the organic supermarkets, and Italian restaurants that sell giant slices of delicious pizza, and Irish bars that sell pints for $2.50, and all the bars that make strong cocktails. And it is beautiful because it has some of the world's biggest and fastest rollercoasters. And it is beautiful because the sun is almost always shining, and the streets are lined with tall palm trees, and purple blossom trees, and white roses, and you don't need to travel very far in any direction to find great entertainment and good food. But it is mostly beautiful because of the people.

And it is crazy because people fire guns at your bus as your travelling, and yell right into your face as you casually walk past, and old men pole dance for you on the metro, and street buskers plug their electric guitars in on the train and then expect you to tip their noise, and old men's pants fall down and they say it's because they saw you, and seedy old british men hand you wads of dollar bills and tell you to tip the dancer at the titty bar, whilst every other male in the place are more interested in you and your girlfriend, even though you do both have clothes on. And it's crazy because you walk up the street and have to cross because a mad man with a gun is on the loose and the cops have closed that bit. And sometimes the streets smell like urine, and the roads have more holes to fill than a nympho's sleepover, and litter is strewn everywhere. But it is mostly crazy because of the
people.

LA is a place of contrasts - people living on the street, outside the theatres of the stars. Mega mansions vs. cardboard boxes. Rich men driving along in their porsches, as crazy shoeless drug addicts run wailing down the street. Beautiful women without makeup, and ugly women who are perfect.

To write with retrospect, I initially wasn't sure what to expect of LA. I'd imagined everyone tall, tanned, blonde and surgecally enhanced. I imagined myself pale in comparison. And I imagined Karlos would see all of these "hot" women and sigh at what he is missing out on. How wrong could I have been. I didn't find LA to be a place of beautiful people; rather, I found it to be a place full of people brave enough to look how they want, and do what they want. You can be anything you want to be in LA and the city of angels reminded me that we are all beautiful in our own way... if we own it. During my time there I barely wore makeup, practically lived in my demin skirt and t-shirts, and left my hair to do whatever the hell it wanted (it changed daily). If I dressed up, this involved sticking in some hoop earings. But I looked great anyway, because I felt great - I was happy and confident being me. I am blonde, and natural, and I am usually a little bit ruffled - and this makes me a beautiful person because this is just who I am and I am not hiding.

LA also awoke my desire to be an actress once again. And not just because we did a bus tour of Beverly Hills and saw all the mega mansions of the rich and famous (want!) - but because we did a tour of the Kodak Theatre, and got to go behind the scenes and imagine we were at 'Oscar night.' I walked down the large, red carpeted staircase, imaging throngs of admirers yelling out, "we love you, Hayley!" "breathtaking performance," and "oh, you're bound to win best actress!" And I walked into the theatre and peered down at the stage and imagined the host saying: "and the oscar goes to..." And myself saying: "Words cannot describe what this means to me. I would like to thank the academy..." And I imagined myself clutching that golden statue (who looks strangely like an alien) and taking the "winners walk" and posing for the cameras of the press who are saying: "Hayley, you're a star!"... and making my way to the venue of Elton John's post-oscars bash, to drink martinis with my fellow actors, and to talk about our next projects, and what we want to achieve... I mean, Who wouldn't want all this - actor or not. LA has a strangely enticing appeal that allows you to let down your hair and join all the other overtly confident residents saying "I am going to be a star!" LA encourages confidence. And it encourages you to dream. LA is a place where you feel 'anything is possible.'

And I'm sure to go back.

This is the Mighty South USA!

I had been driving for a good few hours, so when the sun finally began to set and Karlos agreed to take over, I was grateful. I pulled into the dusty forecourt of a little gas station, somewhere in the state of Mississippi, and marvelled at the dark pink, dusky sky. The air was warm, still slightly muggy and heavy, but with a cool breeze that hadn't existed in the daytime, or in the air conditioned car. As we changed seats, I took my time to breath in the cool night air, enjoying the warmth of my sun kissed skin and the protection of my cardy from the nip of the breeze.

I noticed that the clouds were arranged in strange, but pretty, grid like patterns, and the tall bush surrounding us had turned a deep green - mysterious and alluring. I also noticed that I was actually taking the time to appreciate my surroundings. I felt more present than I had done for a while. This is the USA, I said to myself. The mighty south of the USA. And here I am exploring this country. A country that is far more beautiful than I ever imagined it would be. I have a car, a backpack, my buddy, and an open road ahead.

"You good?" Karlos asked.

"All good." I replied. And I really was.

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Southern USA, May 2010

~ Over 5000 miles, in 2 weeks.

The last leg of our southern route was extremely varied. We cruised with aligators on humid swamps in Mississippi; had rock n roll dreams in Memphis, Tennessee; explored the peaceful, green countryside of small town Arkansas; drove along the long, dry, stretches of prairie land in Oklahoma, and met the families of local Indians; before finally reaching the rugged, orange desert land of old town New Mexico. The diversity was amazing.

We got into a routine in our life on the road: drive to a place, find a place to stay around midnight, stay the night, explore the next day, drive to a place, find a place to stay around midnight, explore the next day, drive to a place... and so on. We took our turns at driving - often 6 hours at a time, between us - and also took our turns at gazing out the window, marvelling at the long stretches of straight roads, and the gradual changes as we moved between states. We fell into the routine of stopping at the "next gas station," to use the restrooms, and I would wander through these strange smelling shops, that all looked the same, only knowing we were in a different state by the sounds of the foreign accents. Each would shelve the same strangely processed foodstuffs, and every now and then there would be an old man, sitting in the back of these crummy, small town gas stations, playing pokie machines, and leaving me wondering as to his story.

No matter where we were driving - through the lush green fields of Louisiana, the flat, dry plains of Oklahoma, or the orange, mountainnous desert land of New Mexico - each small town we reached carried the same thread of America: donut shops, hamburger restaurants, and giant neon billboards advertising "girls." Many of these small towns, these "pass through" towns, have merged into the same memory for me. "Oh, there's another MacDonalds... another Starbucks... another Taco Bell... another roadside motel..." But once we had passed those small, skirting towns, we got into the heart of the state(s), it was there we saw the heart(s) of America...

Some highlights from our trip:

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A swamp, somewhere along the Mississippi river.

Before we left New Orleans, we were determined to experience life on the Mississppi river. So we drove a while, before finding a small fisherman's village and a sign saying "swamp critters tours." That was us.

We asked some locals in the nearest store, "how do we get on the critters tour?", and were advised (in the lovliest southern accent) that we had to make a telephone call. So a telephone call, and 15 minutes later (including time spent sitting in our air conditioned car to avoid the sweltering heat, and the stench of crabs and fish "for sale" that were piled nearby) we were boarding 'Swamp Queen I,' ready for our Mississippi aventure.

Our boatman knew everything there was to know about swamp critters and the flora found in the river, as well as the struggles local fisherman have faced throughout the years. He was fascinatating. Baby aligators swam alongside our boat and he threw marshmellows to them, whilst pointing out snakes, turtles, and interesting birds.

We passed shrimp boats sailing back into the harbour, and our boatman waved out to them amid murmours of "best catch this season," whilst I looked on, expecting Forest Gump to walk out of the boat's cabin.

After an hour or so cruising along and taking photos of the swamp from all directions and angles, I sat back in my seat. I relaxed in the afternoon sun, skin gleaming with the humidity, nostrils filled with the smell of water lilies, and and I happily listened to the tales of this local man, feeling happy that he was sharing his home with us. A place so far from what I would otherwise know.




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Memphis, Tennessee.

After the truly wonderful time we had in New Orleans, the one thing we were grateful to escape was the heat, and the humidity. Memphis heard us - we reached the state of Tennessee to a (slightly) milder climate, and our first sighting of rain in almost a month. So good. Not that the rain stopped my hair from curling, as I'd hoped the weather in Memphis would do - but I was happy to see it none the less.

Ok. To anyone planning on going to Memphis, I have one word: Elvis. I myself have never been a huge fan, I confess. I mean, I know who Elvis is, and I am familiar with some of his biggest hits, but he has never really 'shook me up' (see what I did there). This all
changed when I went to Graceland however (to those who are unsure - Graceland was Elvis' home, and is now open to the public for guided tours).

Graceland, for starters, is a beautiful house surrounded by beautiful gardens. Elvis had the money, and the inclination, to deck the house out in a full-on 70s style - so to tour through the house is fascinating in itself. There was some trippy decor in there I can tell you - carpet covered walls and ceilings, an indoor waterfall, a 7-seater couch, and so on. If you didn't mind the odd blimp bumping into you now and then (seriously - some tourists types are about as smart as shit. "Excuuuuuuse me." "Err, no, I won't actually.") then the walk through the house is a lot of fun. You even get to see the piano Elvis played on the morning of his death - I have some kind of morbid fascintation with stuff like that.

There were also several rooms bursting at the seams with music awards, memorabilia from both his music and film careers, and evidence of his various charity work. Being there and learning about this man's life, was pretty special. In a nation that celebrates their talents and worships their pop idols, Elvis is second to none, and we were getting a true slice of American culture. I stepped around the lady sobbing into her hanky and left Graceland thinking that not only was Elvis talented, he was a generally good bloke, actually. Good on him, I thought. Well done little Elvis. Not a bad looking chap either, in his day. Elvis had suddenely become 'cool' for me.

As much as I had begun to appreciate Elvis, I was really in Memphis to pay homage to Mr Johnny Cash... so the rest of our time here was spent searching out a peice of his history... much of which was found at the famous Sun Studios, where I eagerly held a microphone he had once sung into, and on a wall in a Hard Rock Cafe, somewhere along Beale St. But even in both these places, Mr Cash was far outshone by the legacy of a one Mr Presley. The closest I would remain to Johnny Cash, would be through his music...



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A freeway, somewhere between between the states of Arkansas and Oklahoma.

After a busy day passing through country-bumpkin Arkansas, driving through ranges and dodging deer, paddling with turtles in fresh water creeks, and supping beer in a small town bar - we hit the road for Oklahoma. We hadn't been on the road long before my eyes slowly fell shut, in time with the sun going down.

I woke up in pitch darkness to the sound of Karlos yelling: "holy shit!"

My eyes quickly searched for their focus, as my brain caught itself up with 'where are we' and 'what's happening.' Karlos, meanwhile, quickly slowed and pulled us to the side of the freeway, saying: "there's a dead body."

My first thought was "do I remember him hitting anything/one," shortly followed by, "what the hell?!"

It wasn't long before Karlos explained that he had simply seen the body. He couldn't be sure if it was dead or not, but given that we were in the middle of no where, on a freeway, and he was face down on the ground - this poor man's chances didn't look good. As we sat on the side of the freeway, I anxiously pushed the locks down on all the doors, whilst Karlos called the cops.

About an hour later, we'd left our phone number with the cops, filled our heads with possible answers to this the poor man's fate, and finally found a road sign saying "motel." By this stage it was after 11pm, so we pulled off the freeway eager to get ourselves a room and off the road for the night.

You can only imagine how happy I was to discover that this motel we were fortunate to stay in was quite possibly the shittiest of motels in the history of accommodation. Beetles in the air con, bathtub falling through the floor... 'welcome to life on the road... I guess...'

But these things do make great stories!

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Anadarko, Oklahoma.

We waved goodbye to Robyn, and walked back to the car. What a totally unexpected afternoon, one of those spontaneous days that end up surprising you, and reminding you to always be open to who might cross your path.

We'd arrived in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in search of some native american culture. Karlos thought there may be a pow wow or something happening and was really keen to meet some american indians. At our first stop however, the visitor centre, we soon learned that any cultural celebrations would be likely to take place on weekends, and we were passing through midweek so our chances were next to none. Instead, we were pointed in the direction of the town's museum, and were hopefully that we'd find some interesting artifacts there.

When we first arrived at the little, off the beaten-track museum, I kind of rolled my eyes. It was in an old railway station and as soon as we walked in I could see it was chaos. Room after room filled to bursting with various, miscellaneous items, that I had no idea how we'd make head nor tail out of, let alone gain any cultural understanding of the place. It looked like a series of junk room. Robyn, the extremely friendly curator, offered to show us around, for which I was grateful.

It wasn't long though before I realised we were somewhere special. Robyn had a great enthusiasm for all of the local artifacts. She was the only staff member here at the museum and was currently in the process of sorting and organising, hence the chaos. But she told us many stories about the local town as we moved from room to room, and esplained the history behind many of the artifacts and the local people. We also learned that Robyn was married to an american indian from the Kiowa people. Her story in itself was fascinating - she told us about the culture of the Kiowa people, and her experiences as a white lady being a part of this group. Some of the
trials and tribulations she had experienced as a result of being an 'outsider' were amazing - and Robyn's story was inspiring, reminding me that no matter what life throws at you, be true to who you are.

And so, after several hours, we finally bid farewell to Robyn. We wished her all the best and went on our way, carrying a peice of her story with us, to always remember as a part of our journey.



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Albuquerque, New Mexico.


One of our final destinations on the southern adventure, was a beautiful little town in New Mexico called 'Albuquerque.' I was surprised when we arrived and awoke the next morning, to discover that this little town had so much to see and do. Some of the country's best vineyards were here to visit, along with endless streets of markets and handicraft shops. Karlos and I were more interested in seeing the land, however, so drove ourselves to the entrance of "the world's highest and longest cablecar ride" and bought ourselves two tickets.

About an hour later, we were several hundred feet in the air, looking down on a canyon of sizeable rocks and scattered trees that from our height looked like tiny plants. My ears were popping, and what - still higher to go! After I'd accepted that the glass box we were travelling in was not going to shatter under my feet, and the relatively thin cable carrying this box was not going to snap, I relaxed and enjoyed the view, keeping my eye out for bears and other wild animals. It really was something. The town was spread out in the distance, below us, and as we climbed higher and higher to the top of the Sandria mountains the terrain became more and more beautiful. Orange rocks, turning red and yellow depending where the sun hit them, and thick green trees getting denser and denser the closer to the top we came.

At the top of the mountain it was very windy, and we even found a small patch of snow on the ground, left over from the skiing season. We made our way to the mountain top cafe, and enjoyed an all american lunch as we watched the day float by...

The dry, orange terrain of mountainous New Mexico was a far cry from the green fields of our usual home - but we felt at peace here, in the calmness of nature.



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After two weeks, and over 5000 miles, we drove back into LA just as the sun set over the city. Hoards of cars were heading out of town, as it happened to be a holiday weekend, and we drove past them, happy to be on the free-flowing side of the freeway. I was happy to be returning to LA, on our way back to Jin's place. We had covered a large terrain and seen a great many things on our southern adventure, but life on the road can take it's toll after a while - it would be nice to settle for a while. Even if that while, for us, would only be another week, before the next adventure begins...

Down in New Orleans...

New Orleans, Louisiana. U.S.A.

It was 6pm. I sat outside in the garden, rocking gently back and forth on the rocking chair. The old fashioned kind - White wicker - just like on the porches of American movies. It was 6pm but still so warm. Humid, and probably around 30 degress, I guess you'd call that hot, really. The air was heavy and clung to me, and a sweet smell of orchids filled the air. A little cat I had nicknamed "kitty" lazed nearby, and Karlos sat on a wicker couch next to me, beer and laptop distracting him. I was peaceful. Still fighting my stomach virus, but otherwise really peaceful.

6.05pm the clock said. Time for tea? Time for a shower? Time for a walk? I pondered these options for a moment or two, before realising - it really wasn't time for anything. In this lifestyle I'm living, time is nothing more than a number. A countdown to sunset, but no longer indicative of anything more than that. We had no agenda, and no timetable, and so I continued to rock gently back and forth and breath in the sweet, warm air. Happy to be here, in New Orleans...... when we were ready, we'd get up. And it was this presentness that kept me peaceful.



***

After what had been an eventful and rather sickly 48hrs in Houston, (we did manage to go back to NASA to finish our tour though) we drove even further south, to New Orleans, in search of a streetcar named desire...

I truly fell in love with New Orleans the moment our car cruised into the city streets. She's a special place.

And it wasn't just the architecture, the raucous, bawdy culture, the witchypoo voodoo, street after street pouring out live music, and the beignets (read best doughnuts in the world) that I fell in love with - oh no. This is truly an amazing city - a city that has experienced such hardship over the years - hurricanes, floods, oil slicks - yet continues to show her visitors the best time. This isn't a wealthy city, but it is rich in spirit. And every city path you walk, every wall you pass - radiates easy, breezy, good times...

"Enjoy New Orleans," a local passerby yelled down the street to us.

"Oh we will!" we replied. We already were.

Our first stop had been to find a place to stay. We cruised around back streets looking for cheap hostel style lodgings, thanks to the directions from our trusty GPS (aka Lori), but we figured that if these 'wooden shacks' looked dodgy by daylight, then they probably weren't going to be the ideal location for drunken walks home... at night. We were starting to get a bit desperate to find somewhere so we could ditch the bags and start exploring - so when we eventually found our hotel we really thought we'd struck gold!

For a start, it was the cutest, and I mean THE CUUUUTEST, hotel in the world. It was a pink building on a quiet street, 3 blocks from Bourbon St. Boom! The moment we walked into the lobby we were surrounded by the smell of orchids, and the friendliest hotel staff I have ever experienced. Locals of New Orleans, all retirment aged, white haired males, who took great care in ensuring we were happy, and saw the best the city has to offer...

Our second stop was to find a bar. And we didn't have to walk far. On the corner of a street with gas lanterns burning, and inside an old colonial house, complete with oversized bay windows and wooden seats with tattered cushions, we found a bar. A bar playing our kind of music and serving cold beer - Coronas, with large wedges of lemon jammed in. We found ourselves a window seat and watched the horse and carriages clip clop past outside. Smells of horse manure drifted in through the window and lingered in the heavy, humid air, before a new smell swung by. Spilt ale. The flower from a nearby tree. A passerby's cologne. This city was kinda dirty, and grimy, in an incredibly endearing way.



And the rest of our days in New Orleans were much the same... feasts for the senses. We walked the city streets, gazing in the windows of colourful voodoo shops and occasionaly stepping in... only to find exorcism kits and to swiftly turn around again. We walked the city streets, passing doorways spilling out jazz music, and we walked the city streets watching buskers and street artists, and avoiding tauts who wanted to shine our shoes, or guess where we were from for a quarter. We walked the city streets to the banks of the Mississippi river, and around Jackson square where we tiptoed around horse dung, and crowds of people, and then found a seat in the bustling Cafe du Monde, amidst pigeons and coffee addicts, and sprinklings of icing sugar from the delicious beignets. We walked the city streets and hid from the blasting afternoon sun under the canopys of market stalls, buying fruits. We walked the city streets at night - on Bourbon St - past strip clubs, and jazz bars, and venues playing live rock music with barmaids wanting to serve you shots from their mouths. We walked the city streets at night and met friendly souls, and bought slices of hot pizza, and ran to bars playing music that we loved... we walked the city streets of this place, together, and we breathed the air of this place, and found something that cannot be named. A place that is warm, and lovable, and full of any colour you can imagine. A place that must be experienced.

New Orleans shares herself with anyone who wants to sample a piece of her. And I for one took a healthy slice for my memory bank. We spent 3 days there and I will never forget her... the streetcar named desire no longer runs, but my desire to return runs deep.