Oh, what a time was had. Let’s
start at the beginning…
Wednesday:
The drive was long, stressful, and tedious. I didn’t get out the door until 9-ish. The strip of road to get
from Berkeley to 5 was quite nice, but 5 was unpleasant. It was hot and went on
forever, with me sticking to the right lanes. I’d started out with about half a
tank, and in some stretch of nowhere I filled it up from two bars. I stopped a
second time due to needing to use the bathroom/stretch at some little kitschy
orchard-barn place. Besides these two breaks I kept plowing on, with my handy-dandy GPS
telling me where to go. A couple of wrong turns were made, but nothing
devastating. When I got into Twentynine Palms I needed gas again, for the next
day’s driving. By then it was around 6-something, I’d already missed the check-in
time, and so I got to the Indian Cove campground, and after a bit of finagling,
found my site and set up camp.
I had
never been camping by myself prior to this trip. It was something of a mistake.
With no one to talk to, play cards with, or build a fire with, there’s very
little to do at all. My campsite was great, #90, surrounded by impressive
boulders and such. I thought of wandering over to other campsites and being
neighborly, but they were all families, and I figured that’d be weird. Perhaps
if they’d been inhabited by other groups of sociable twenty and
thirty-somethings my experience would have been very different. Perhaps not.
Anyway, after a dinner of rolls with cheese I headed to bed around 7:30, very
tired from the day’s drive, and read a bit of Naipaul’s A Bend in the River.
Fell asleep around an hour later, not particularly comfortable, and with very
heavy winds.
Indian Cove. As usual, the photos are not mine.
Thursday:
I woke up with my alarm, around 8:15, well-ish rested. Near my campsite was a
trail off into the rocks. I followed it, a short thing, prior to breakfast and
got some nice pictures of flowers and morning light. I’d decided on the road I
wanted to take earlier and headed out around 9:45 into Twentynine Palms to enter
the Park at the Oasis Visitor’s Center. I was being very careful to drink
plenty of water. After a quick stop in the center to buy a magnet I drove into
the Park and headed towards the Ocatillo Patch – on the way stopping frequently
for signs, exhibits, and miniature side-hikes. It was very photogenic, but even
at my leisurely pace I’d reached the patch before noon. Lots of interesting
rocks, yucca, Joshua trees, and some nice flowering things, though not quite as
many as expected for the Spring season. I decided to take in Keys View, which
was a little busy, and stopped there to have lunch (polishing off the cheese
and more bread). I was debating whether to take the Western fork or backtrack
to the Oasis where, incredibly, I’d forgotten to look at the oasis. Having
never seen one in real life, I decided on the latter option.
When
I got back to the visitor’s center the oasis was dry. And cordoned off. And
dying. I’d gone with the sentiment, ‘you regret the things you don’t do, not
the things you do’ but admittedly this was disappointing. It was too hot to
hike and to backtrack all the way to the road not taken seemed silly – not to
mention that I’d chosen my initial road for the reasons of its being what I
thought was coolest. Perhaps Twentynine Palms had a movie theater where I could
cool off for a couple of hours? Alas it did not. So, hot and tired, I went to
the one public place I could find I knew would have air-conditioning, the
library. By now it was 2:30 or so. I waited around for a good while, wondering
what to do next during the heat of the day. I decided on Fortynine Palms – but
when I got there it said it was a three hour hike, and strenuous – something
not mentioned in the literature. I’m a decent hiker, but I trusted its claims,
especially given a steep ascent it promised. So once again I was flummoxed, and
thus headed to Joshua Tree, the adjacent town. Another visitor’s center
provided more air-conditioning and rest, and finally I found one kitsch-tastic
little shop near the center, since Twentynine Palms had none. The whole
afternoon, however, had been an exercise in using up time. The book had
recommended half a day, and they weren’t kidding. Eventually it was late enough
I could go back to Indian Cove and eat supper, bread with sardines, before
retiring around the same time as the night before. This time, however, since I
was not tired out from a very long drive I didn’t go to sleep until around 11,
and read much Naipaul, as well as enjoying the desert’s stars.
Night in the desert.
Friday:
I got up a little later, and after breakfast (granola and dried pineapple)
began driving towards Vegas. The drive was excellent – I went through the
Mojave and on Kelbaker Rd (I think) drove through a veritable forest of Joshua
trees – as far as the eye could see. Very cool. It took just about four hours
on delightful back roads to get to the Mardi Gras Hotel and Casino. (There was
a big accident near my hotel’s off-ramp, so that took a while.) I got there
around 1:00, I think, a bit early for check-in, but they said no problem and
put me up in nice room. Spacious, clean
linens, no surprises. Walls a little thin, but all in all a nice enough place.
After resting for a bit – and, more importantly, showering for the first time
in days – I headed out on the town. I was staying not far from a monorail stop.
Apparently Las Vegas has a monorail, which was unknown to me prior to my
arrival, and which I decided to take advantage of for the duration of my stay,
not driving once. (I’d made it to Vegas from Twentynine Palms on the same tank
of gas I’d filled up with on arriving to the Park, and, thanks to the monorail,
didn’t need to fill up again until a decent distance outside of town on
Sunday.) I got on the rail around 4 in the evening, and headed to the Strip,
where I wandered from the Flamingo, the point at which I’d alighted, down to
the Excalibur. I took a great many photos, of course, and wandered in and out
of the casinos and resorts. I was struck by the number of shops, especially for
high-end wares. The sheer cash value of stuff on display in that short distance
was somewhat mind-boggling, and this is not coming from some back-country rube.
Also worrisome was the number of people being paid to stand around and do
nothing. For example, at a fancy watch store, there were five vested people
standing there willing to assist your purchase of a $2,000 watch. No one was in
the store. And what sort of rush could ever be expected that would require five
people to be engaged simultaneously? I thought of Veblen, and conspicuous
consumption. This city should not exist. At all. It is capitalism at its most
primitive, base, and wasteful. It is an environmental atrocity.
As
night came on I decided to get dinner and the highly-praised Bacchanal Buffet.
I figured it would be weird to go to a buffet alone, but not quite as weird as
a restaurant, since I could hop up and grab more food and not be forced to
stare into the void of the empty chair in front of me/my soul. Besides, in
casino towns the buffets are part of the experience, I feel.
So I
wandered over to the Bellagio again and got in line, for about 45 minutes, and
paid the Friday night fare, which was around $75. I certainly got my money’s
worth, though – after three trips I’d consumed plenty of peking duck and dim
sum, huge ribs, cocktail shrimp, rabbit, truffle soup, crispy pork tacos, and a
whole plate of desserts ranging from crème brulee to sago and jasmine puddings,
to chocolate cake and ginger squares. Excellent food, I must say. Satiated, I
wandered through the Linq and called it a night around 8:30, heading back to my
hotel after four hours of walking and standing and weaving through crowds of
spring breakers. More Naipaul was read, and then sleep.
Vegas.
Saturday:
Having seen much of the Strip the day before I woke up late and left my room
around 11, walking up the road to Circus Circus. There I took in a free show, a
foot juggler who was quite good, at noon, and explored their weird ‘adventure
dome’ before continuing on to explore the north end of the Strip, from Circus
Circus to the Flamingo/ Harrah’s. It was
very much the same, and I was beginning to tire of taking the same sorts of
photos over and over. Leisurely heading on past the Venetian and the rest of
them I’d ended up at the Linq again, and since it was before 6 pm (it was
around 2:30), and my feet were tired, I forked over $26 to ride the world’s
tallest observation wheel, the High Roller. Not surprisingly I got some nice
photos of the surrounding desert, and with two brief (less than five minute)
stops we made the rotation in just about 30 minutes, as promised. By now, back
at Harrah’s around 4, and decided to take the free shuttle to the Rio, and
maybe get a haircut. First I had an early dinner, at what I thought was an
average American restaurant in the casino, but turned out to be fabulous as
well – some of the best pork ribs I’ve ever had. Then off to the barbers to
kill time and get a much-needed cut, but alas! I was too late, they all closed
around 6. So I now had an unexpected quantity of time to kill in the Rio until
the theater opened at 8:00 for Penn and Teller – the reason I had come to
Vegas. I don’t drink or gamble, so I’m pretty low on vices for ‘sin city’ – it
had all been leading up to this show. I sat around, wandered, looked in at the
shops, and eventually the time to enter rolled around.
The
theater was nice, and my seat was great. I was in D 11, exactly centered in the
first row past the orchestra, just behind the effects booth. I had a great view
of the stage, and enjoyed listening to Penn on bass and Mike Jones on piano for
the opening jazz intro. The seats were only reserved for the first half hour,
so it was important to claim them, even though the show didn’t begin until
9:00. And now, spoilers re: Penn & Teller (Skip to the red text below to avoid):
Background:
I know Penn and Teller fairly well. Meaning: I’ve seen a lot of their work on
YouTube. The first trick was one of their best – theoretically I sort of half
know how they did it, but damn. But it set the tone for the evening’s show in
two ways. But before that, let me say why I like Penn and Teller – they let you
know it is a trick. They introduce you, had you not known already, to
magician’s vocabulary such as ‘palm’, ‘vanish’ and sleight of hand basics. So
the cool thing about their show is that even if you know the basic concepts,
they do tricks where darned if you can’t figure them out anyway. That’s their
supreme talent – telling you how they’re going to do something, doing it, and doing
it so well you don’t see the moves. Back to the two ways the first trick set
the tone for the evening. First: Teller couldn’t find someone who had the right
sort of phone. Penn actually ran out of patter, and the timing was all off.
This became theme number one. Second: Penn made a quip “you may have even seen
us perform this trick on YouTube”. Yes. I had. I figured it would be the
opener, but this became a problem as the show progressed.
After
the phone trick, which despite the aforementioned was still good, there was the
rabbit trick. Again – I’d already seen it, and I felt, upon seeing it the first
time, that it wasn’t great. Seeing it live didn’t help, as Teller nearly
flubbed a critical part. The show next did a lengthy segment on the TSA and
libertarian rights. Preachy, and a wee bit long, but the ending was very, very
good. Along with the phone trick, Teller’s reveal was a highlight. This was a
good example of what I mentioned earlier – I theoretically know how he must’ve
done it, and still couldn’t figure it out. It was followed by a really lousy
“trick” – routine is the better word – of Penn eating fire. This is street
magic stuff. Then Teller did the old card classic with a corner ripped off, and
said two words at the end – but the timing was off, and no one could understand
what the words were. I should note that at this point I was becoming
disillusioned. It got worse with the next bit, a very odd segment with balloon
animals – if there was any trick, I missed it. It was more of a performance?
Thing? There was a hoop trick, which had one really nice move. And a barrel
trick, which, frankly, was pretty lame because I know something about
contortionist barrels. Most astoundingly – and not in a good way – they
actually did the ripped newspaper trick. I couldn’t believe, at this point,
people had paid what they had for this. Earlier they had done a similar stunt
with the cut rope – this is basic, high school magic stuff. The timing was
truly atrocious for a video camera act, so much so that it was embarrassingly
off. People around me were impressed, which is great, I guess, I suppose they got
their money’s worth – but I was so underwhelmed. A group audience trick went
well, rather advanced card counting required, and then we got Teller’s famous
goldfish act, which had two really nice moves, but, like the rabbit, hoop, and
phone, I’d already seen. Unfortunately, seeing it live, I have a better
understanding of how it was done. The
trick’s ending is somewhat lazy, but that wasn’t new.
All
in all, up to this point, we’d been very light on Vegas-style showmanship. I
was hoping for a grand finale – the bullet-catching trick, for example, which,
even having seen it before, would be impressive to view live. Or the inflation
trick. Or the water tank – I wanted a classic piece of showmanship. Teller,
dangling upside-down above a vat of acid or something.
Instead
I got a special vanish. A very decent vanish, but still. It was designed to be
cheesy, and indeed it was. So much so as to be a bit off-putting. I should
mention this was the second act, the TSA being the first, where they
egregiously hawked wares for sale in the lobby after the show. The accompanying
video was so dated, this clearly had been a trick they’d performed for many
years.
I
left having enjoyed two tricks and appreciating another three or four
individual moves. It was something of a let-down. After working together for
forty years, perhaps it is time they hung up the act – or maybe I just saw an
off night. Either way, a disappointment. I took the shuttle back to Harrah’s,
the monorail back to my hotel, and called it an evening. To add insult to
injury, housekeeping had replaced my towels and linens, which now weren’t clean
but sort of gross.
The Penn & Teller Theater
Sunday:
Woke up early based on the long day ahead of me, and got on the road at 7:45,
arriving at Manzanar National Historic Site at 12:30. I’d long wanted to see this site, and pay
tribute. It wasn’t quite what I was expecting, but not at all in a bad way.
Austere, lonely, and vacant, there was lots of good information, moving
tributes, and a pervading sense of woundedness. I stayed until 2:00, having
explored the place thoroughly. I wrote the following reflection on Facebook:
“Since I learned of the
existence of Manzanar I've been fascinated by it. It would be glib to compare
the internment of Americans to slavery, or to the holocaust of native peoples.
It is not a tragedy on that scale. Nothing is. Yet it is one of our defining
moments as a country, for it is one of the most important griefs in our
country's history. A great wrong, perpetrated by us
against our own people, enacted through government policy and with police
oversight. It ranks with suppression of unions at the turn of the century; the
denial at the ballot box if you are poor or black - to this day; it even stands
with the United States Government opening fire upon our own veterans, the
'Bonus Army', during the Great Depression. For Manzanar did take lives, as is
true of any "concentration camp" to use President Roosevelt's own
terminology for that site. I know it took lives, for I went today and stood at
their graves, in a little patch of desert; a patch nearly forgotten for
decades, having quickly torn down the buildings where this crime had been
committed.
At the end of the exhibit the book
asked visitors to record their thoughts on visiting this place. Some were just
names and dates, others told personal stories, many were written in Japanese. I
wrote the following:
"I find it -
'disturbing' is not the right word, nor 'troubling' - *horrifying* that the
sentiments which created this place are again a part of America's public discourse
in 2016. I will fight to ensure such a tragedy never takes place again. 3/27/2016"
Manzanar
left me stunned, and very appreciative for having taking the time to go –
before I left I got two postcards of paintings drawn by victims. I then needed
to drive another four hours or so to Ventura. To put this in perspective, Las
Vegas is at latitude 36 degrees north, 115 degrees longitude west. Manzanar is
around 37 degrees north, and roughly 119
degrees west. Ventura – 34 degrees north, 119 degrees west. I drove 244 miles
north-ish to Manzanar, and then almost
the same amount, 247 miles south-ish. But it felt worth it. The drive to
Manzanar I’d partially done last year, from Vegas to Death Valley, and it was
stunningly beautiful. Likewise, the drive down to Ventura in the evening light
was also gorgeous. It’s funny – excepting Wednesday’s long haul, the drives
were some of the nicest parts of the trip, and they were what I had
dreaded the most. By comparison the
National Park and Penn and Teller, what I was excited for, had both been busts.
I arrived in Ventura at 6:00, and checked into my cute hotel, The Clocktower
Inn. I was quite hungry and wandered to the main downtown, to a restaurant
called Lure Fish House. The meal was very good, even though I was a bit
under-dressed for Easter Sunday dinner. At this point I had no shame sitting
alone in a nice restaurant where everyone else is fancy. I was hungry and the
waiter was kind of a douche bro. After a quick stroll through a closed downtown
I went back to the hotel.
Manzanar
Monday:
My body woke me up too early, and then I received a phone call around 8:00
(thank goodness I’d not decided to try sleeping in). Apparently all trips to
the Islands were cancelled due to winds. I’d come to Ventura to see the Channel
Islands National Park. Would there be availability tomorrow? No. Friday at the
earliest. Well, I couldn’t sit around a wait, so they refunded my ticket.
This meant spending the day, rather unexpectedly, in Ventura - since I was meeting a friend for dinner that evening and my hotel was already booked for two nights. Ventura is somewhat quaint in the downtown, and remarkably full of small antiques stores and thrift shops and the like. After a leisurely morning (finishing Naipaul) I went ahead and explored them, and, as it happens, finally got that haircut. As the afternoon progressed I finished up the last roll of film I'd brought (intended for the Channel Islands) while wandering around the town and chatting with locals. I spent so much time in a local used bookshop I was compelled to by a novel by Miguel Asturias. As the afternoon progressed the wind picked up quite violently, and I could see why they had cancelled the trips. Palm fronds were falling off trees, people were struggling to walk down the street, cars got in accidents - quite a mess. Pleasantly, it was more or less done by the time my friend arrived for a nice dinner.
The next day I drove six hours back up 101 to Berkeley and home. 4,000 miles in total.
Ventura!
