Only in San Fran

We’ve been back 3 weeks, so I thought I’d share some ‘only-in-SF’ highlights with you.

1. A man trying to break into a car on a Friday night on a main road.

My friends and I were sat at the bar watching this older gentleman try to break into a car with a crow bar for around 30 mins (apparently he left his keys inside). No passers-by said anything, so eventually a friend who I was with went out to help him.

Surely it’s his car, right? It’s on a main thoroughfare he has two scared, yappy little dogs with him… and, we’re all thinking it, he’s old, so he wouldn’t lie… right? After they eventually got in however, he sat in the car for around another 15 mins before he was able to start it. He looked like he was bent down so he may or may not have been hot wiring the car. Queue ‘I immediately regret helping that guy’…

2. Golden Gate park in the rain

Just a beautiful site.

3. Bright and vibrant architecture

Never gets old.

4. My first view of Golden Gate bridge

Always exciting to catch your first glimpse, creeping over the hill there from Cole Valley.

5. The legalisation of Cannibis

Now officially legal after Californians voted for prop 64, aside from a ‘medical referral’.

6. Politics

Little Trump pinatas to smash the crap out of.

7. Dog walkers

They make a killing in this city! Just something that feels so American.

8. Huge Donuts

Hopefully you can see the scale of this massivo donut. No biggie, just a mid-morning snack.

You’ve been listening to Lizard, reporting on all things quintessentially San Franciscan – over and out.

In Search of Fondue

So, I’ve tried to come up with some ridiculous pursuits to fill my time… because I’m not very good at being at being unemployed (I know, I know, you’re all jealous I’m not working, but I was made to be a minion).

So, I decided to search craigslist in search for the best fondue pot I could find. This is for my upcoming birthday in Feb which is now a 70’s theme… based purely on the fondue pot. This is the little beauty I wanted:

Here she is in all her retro glory. And, at a very reasonable… $5!!! Genuine 70s, here I come. The owner was in Lake Merrit across the Bay in Oakland. Apparently it’s nice there, so I decided to make a day out of it.

The journey begins…

BART

This stand for ‘Bay Area Rapid Transit’. Lol. It’s like a slow-moving underground carpeted slug. However it does get you from A to B and is always entertaining. This is the station I left from on 24th and Mission St (I find them eerily quiet like I’m going to get stabbed at any moment) and the luxurious interior (you are right, I looked like a creeper taking these pics):

I had a stroll around Lake Merritt, which is a little heart-shaped lake near Oakland downtown.

It has a lot of history, so after I walked a good bit and stopped for 7 mini donuts to recompense my body for the exercise, I went to the Oakland Museum:

I saw a very informative display on the history of California, which had some interesting and moving pieces of community engagement, such as this display on ‘How do you fix a broken system’:

Highlights include: “Love is the resin”. Lovely sentiment, appalling spelling.

 

 

Another interesting display asked ‘What does California’s border with Mexico evoke for you?’. This had some very moving responses:
   

The main reason I came was to see the exhibition on the black panthers, which was a civil rights movement founded in Oakland in the 60’s. You can see some marketing below and Malcolm X:
 

Isn’t it amazing what you can learn whilst looking for a great fondue pot?

Finally the time had come to rendez-vous for my fondue (I know it rhymes). My ‘vendor’ hadn’t actually told me their name but this was our text exchange:

Inevitably, she actually changed her outfit (at lunch??) so we had trouble finding each other, but we met, she was lovely, and I have a fondue pot!!!! The pot has a $5 sticker on the bottom, so unfortunately, with inflation since the 70’s, she probably didn’t make that much of a profit. In fact, neither did I as it cost me around $8 to get there.

I am so excited however, that I’ve invited so many people to my fondue party that I may now have to buy another pot. Also, this pot runs on the fuel of… a tealight. Will it melt cheese? Who knows. Will it melt chocolate? (According to various fondue blogs I’ve now read) Maybe. Was it worth it? YES.

Luna the Polydactyl Cat

We’re leaving our airbnb this weekend to move into our new apartment, which meant saying goodbye to Luna – the cat with opposable thumbs. Yes, they exist.

I didn’t know either. Having never seen one, it was a little scary as she comes at you full throttle. She lives upstairs with the owners and is very forthright (or ‘ornery’ as the Americans might say). She likes to parade about in front of our door until we let her in and then she headbutts our legs until we stroke her. This is less than ideal as Richard is incredibly allergic to cats.

When we were lying in bed the other night, we heard a tapping at the window… It was Luna trying to break in. A cat with clubbed-paws hammering on the window is more scary than you might first imagine.

Here she is in all her polydactyl glory:

This is my friend Lisa, holding Luna who is straining for freedom. I think Luna knows deep down that she’s special. In case you can’t quite see it, here are some more snaps:

  

And the money shot:

I believe a cat with opposable thumbs, is in fact, unstoppable. Here is a list of things Luna can do and is yet to realise:

1. Open a door
2. Pick up a fork
3. Carry a manbag and reach inside to get out her wallet full of cat money
4. Make a bed
5. Turn on the washing machine and actually turn the knob to the correct setting
6. Zip up a little cat jacket when it’s cold out
7. Play a playstation
8. Hitckhike
9. Snap her thumbs whilst she’s listening to jazz
10. Change a light bulb

Funnily enough (or tragically) I am not the first person to come up with #2:

 

And one final thought:

You can forward your Luna fan mail direct to me and I’ll make sure she gets it. Who knows, she might write you back.

And She Returneth to the Bay!

As fate would have it, I have returned to the Bay, *Queue I left my heart in San Francisco.*

As many have said, there’s something magical about the Bay that beckons from afar (…aaaand, Richard got a great job opportunity here, so it was a hard to pass up).

I’ve been back a week so I thought I would start by summarising what I’ve missed and what I haven’t.

Things I’ve missed:

•  Breathtaking views: with the rolling hills, there is no shortage of amazing views which completely change your perspective of the city. This is from the adorably-named Billy Goats Hill (apparently there used to be wild goats roaming around), in Noe Valley where we’re airbnbing:
  
  
• The weather… JUST KIDDING – WTF San Francisco. Worst storms in 25 years? Not cool.
• Cute cottages and unique architecture: I forgot how much I loved the bright colours and unique features of SF housing! I laughed when listings referred to them as Victorian – but they actually are! Circa 1837s-1901s. This is my old house on Elizabeth Street:
  
• Generous free pours in bars; no 25ml limits here.
• Lush green plants and succulents everywhere – especially now the infamous drought is over:
  
• How quiet it is – even at rush hour there’s just so many less people than London.
• Oversized portions. It didn’t take long to devour this ‘flight of beignets’ at the wonderful Brenda’s soul food:
  
• Plentiful bagels dripping with cream cheese:
  
• Chatty salespeople: I popped into a newly opened Penhaligan’s (the British perfume store) to ask about how business was doing and ended up chatting to the sales woman for around 20 minutes about how much the city had changed. She ended up saying that she thinks SF will ‘fall like Rome’ and pointed me to a documentary called the four horsemen about the upcoming apocalypse. Yet to watch…
• Amazing Mexican, Chinese and Vietnamese food – so good!
• Bulk buy stores – they’re..so…big…
  
• Random store fronts with scary manikins like this one:
  

Things I haven’t missed:

• How expensive things have gotten – what a shocker!! (I guess it doesn’t help that the value of the ‘Great’ British pound has plummeted… however, it may not be long before Trump’s exploits have the same impact on the dollar). A one bed in this city is around $2,500 and the price of groceries has literally sky rocketed. I found Almond Butter (granted in wholefoods) for retail price… $16!!! My good friend Scally did share these words of wisdom however: “you have a great life and you’re going to be happy but almond butter is expensive”. Yes my friend, yes it is. I have spent the rest of my time here in pursuit for reasonable almond butter and I’m happy with the results. **
  We’re going to play a game now where you guess how much these grocery store staples are and scroll down to find out (fun!!):
  • orange juice
  • a small box of pecans
  • pine nuts
  • pesto pasta to go
• Bathroom stalls in the US… come on man, even I can see over the top:
  
• Ridiculous conversations among wealthy tech people, such as: “the crab shortage is really inconvenient for me”. Actually happened.
• Scones which are a triangle shape. Look it up people, it’s not a f**cking scone.
  
• Homelessness. Still a major issue here. It’s really sad to see and astounding how used to it you get when you live here.
• Ant infestation caused by the bad weather. Apparently this causes bugs to come indoors, which I find very bizarre. No mind about snow, cold or boiling temperatures but a bit of rain and the colonies march indoors en masse:
• Valley girl accent – ‘nuf said.
• Reading my blog introduction from 6 years ago which says I’m on the ‘wrong side of 25’. Cringe #wrongsideof30

 

——

Quiz answers (excl. tax):

• orange juice $6.49
• a small box of pecans: $7.41
• pine nuts $17! Breaking news; apparently there is a world shortage on pine nuts
  

   Photo credit: Elizabeth Murray of Fishponds © ® ™

• pesto pasta – $9
• **BONUS PIC: I have since found almond butter in Costco for a very reasonable…

To whatever the future holds.

So, this is the last post I write of my SF journey, as I’m tapping away however many thousands of feet above the Bay.

I came to San Francisco with nothing but an itch of dissatisfaction. I didn’t know why I wanted to leave London or really why I was called to San Francisco, but I was, and it was the best decision I ever made. That’s probably because it’s the biggest risk I ever took.

I have come to believe that risks don’t really fail. Even if it doesn’t turn out as good as you wanted, you live with the knowledge that you tried. You tried to change; yourself, your surroundings, your life. And that really does count for a lot. 

I came here as a much younger self! I came in the age of working with a hangover, being unsure I’d ever find a relationship again and thinking I had no skills. I leave having started and sold my first business, with a career that I love and with a generous, caring and brave man who surprises me every day. Brave enough to come across the ocean to give life in the UK a whirl. 

I remember crying, alone, at a diner on day 3, wondering what on earth I’d done. Here we are 3.5 years later… what an adventure.

I am feeling so blessed for my experiences. I have tried to do everything I could with my American life, and mostly, I have. I hiked the Grand Canyon, hiked up river at The Narrows at Zion, Bryce, Monument Valley, The Arches, Big Sur, Yosemite, Lake Tahoe. I went to Nashville, Chicago, Portland, San Diego, New Orleans. I went to prison (not to stay). I fell out with a good friend and made many more. I moved house 6 times and jobs 5 times. I started my business as well as freelancing.  I was terrified and extremely ill with a random undiagnosed illness for 6 weeks. I did wine tasting, glass blowing, my first facial, presentation pitches, ran trainings. I even found my spirit animals with a shaman (it’s a turtle and panda. The panda wears a waistcoat. Yeah, it’s a bit Pixar).

The beautiful bay, those beautiful bridges, those hills and views are genuinely etched in my memory. There’s no place like the world in San Francisco, but there’s also no place like home (Dorothy ® ^TM). 

I made amazing friends who have touched my heart. I am surprised and relieved by how close you can become in a short space of time. I am forever reassured by the generosity of people, especially other expats.

The most important thing I learned which will stay with me for the rest of my days, is that we can start again at any stage. I didn’t know I could. You can take whatever you’ve got and go somewhere new, build new relationships, become a different person, or even someone you’ve always aspired to be. That knowledge makes me feel much less fearful of what the future holds- because if there’s one thing we know, it’s that we cannot control what’s coming. No matter how many plans you make, life may change them at the drop of a hat. Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn’t. 

So, here’s to taking what’s left and making a song of it; to whatever the future holds.

Over and out one last beautiful time.

Liz x

Big Sur Road Trip

Well, I’ve been a very busy bee this week just gone, entertaining my very lovely ex-roomies (since married) from the UK, Emily and Nick.

So, off we went to Big Sur for a weekend of nature and glamping. It was Richard’s last day at work that Friday, so our poor little designated driver had to make the 3 hour drive down the coast, despite a chronic hangover and having fallen asleep on his bathroom floor beside an issue of Rolling Stone magazine featuring Justin Bieber, still laying beside his drunken little hands. His room mate discovered him the next morning and after realizing he wasn’t in fact dead, she made the great decision to obtain immediate photographic evidence:

So, 3 very happy campers and one unhappy hungover one, arrived at their destination Friday evening to settle into their fancy and vastly overpriced log cabin:

(It was during the journey that we’d discovered that Richard failed to pack many of the essentials I’d asked him to pack from his garage, such as my back pack and hiking boots. Not wanting to kick a dog when it’s down, I took it in my stride and only complained for around 30 minutes of the journey, instead of the whole duration. Lesson 1: don’t ask a drunk person to pack for you).

I’m happy to share the news that we finally made the 8.8 miles Andrew Molera loop hike. This- as you would obviously recall from 2 years ago- is the hike that I attempted to do with my sister, Alex, when she visited from the UK. That hike started badly with us having to wade across a freezing river because the bridge was down, which felt like a million knives stabbing my legs (by the way, the bridge is still ‘down’ 2 years later- wtf? apparently it’s for ‘trout migration’ so apparently no one has told them trout can swim under bridges).

Once my sister and I (barely) survived the river-crossing, we realized we had no idea how hard or long the hike was or where it went. So we asked 2 of those mental people that run hikes. As in they don’t walk, they run it. And they said it would be fine.
Lesson 2: don’t take advice about how physically challenging something is from mental people that run hikes.
Lesson 3: don’t take advice about how physically challenging something is from anyone that looks remotely fitter or younger than you.

Two hours into said hike, having run out of food and water, becoming severely sun burned with the sun now setting, I came to terms with the fact that we would die in the wilderness and no one would find us. I remember thinking, ‘at least I’m with family’. Then I remembered that I now hated my sister for forcing me to do the hike and not bringing extra food supplies because I get a major case of the hangry. She should know better.

ANYWAY, this hike was much better and no one died. Just look:




H-A-P-P-Y campers.

Live life, Ride free

…Are the words written to me by a man, called Wild Wilson, currently in prison in Northern California.

I am just back from my second trip into prison and it is a true privilege to have seen and had access to this forgotten world. Prison is made up of men who have made mistakes, who have both caused and experienced monumental grief and tragedy, and some of which, choose to spend their lifetime(s) changing. These are men society would like to forget, but who, after decades of reflection, confinement and systemic punishment, hold great wisdom.

There is no excuse for the crimes they have committed, and they know that better than anyone. Hearing the tragic stories of their childhood makes it easier to understand how the things that happened, did. Some of them grew up in war. Many were asked by their mothers to kill their abusive fathers. Many were foster children. Many were unloved. Many were in gangs. One was forced by his father to shoot corpses for practice. Most saw or experienced abuse first-hand and many, or all, have shed blood or taken life.

Many have become great men in the face of adversity. To move from what they refer to as ‘being a monster’, to being the people they are today, takes a capacity that is unfathomable. To change, in a system, where they are broken, made to feel completely worthless, where their humanity is stripped in so many ways, takes strength and courage and a commitment that is hard to comprehend. You do not look people in the eyes in prison. You never show emotion or vulnerability. Humanity is hard to find- and our common humanity is what is rekindled in such a powerful way, through AVP (alternatives to violence project) – the workshop that I have been participating in.

In this program, they get to play. Most of them haven’t ‘played’ a game, or acted ‘silly’ in so long that it is hard to control them or stop them laughing. They get to look at people, they get to tell their truth, they get to be acknowledged. Some of them cry. Being in the presence of such a release of pain and suffering (after literally years without an outlet) is one of the most humbling experiences I’ve ever had. Their being so vulnerable in such an environment is testament to the safety and trust that is created through out the program.

I have learned many things from talking to these men:
Every single person in this world wants to be loved.
Hurt and pain lead us to do terrible things.
Everyone is in a pursuit of inner peace.
Forgiveness is one of the hardest things to accomplish, especially forgiving yourself.
Justice doesn’t exist.
There is goodness in everyone.
Love is deep and pervasive and can be found, and created, in the strangest of places.

If these men can be hopeful, then so can I. One of the younger guys, who was extremely bright, said that if he died tomorrow, he would be sad he didn’t get to do a lot of the things that he wanted to do but he would be fulfilled because he wasn’t just ‘doing his time’, he was living his life. If a man, with no freedom, surrounded by cement and barbed wires can reach for the silver lining, then I can try to do the same and I can try to do it every day I get to be alive on this earth.

We all have ‘adjective names’ which are based on alliteration and affirm something good about ourselves. So —

Yours truly,
Lovely Liz

The Renaissance Fair

This weekend I traveled South to Casa de Fruta to see the ‘Renaissance Fair’, which inspired me to write a new blog. This is a classic example of America at it’s best. It’s called the ‘Renaissance Fair’ but is about another time period in history, called the ‘Medieval Period’. I mean, you can’t blame them- Americans didn’t really have either.

Ultimately this event seems to be an excuse to dress up like a slag and get your baps out- all ages and varieties welcome. It definitely attracts the fantasy-loving folks who watch things like Game of Thrones, and this is there real life chance to get a piece of the action.

Cleavage aside it was quite fun. There was jousting (staged of course), awful English accent imitations, a stand up comedian and turtle racing. There were even big fat drunk men lolling about in the hay- who knows if they were actors or not. For $10 a beer, I imagine they might have been.

With a mere $500 lifetime entry ticket, so you can go every year until you die, it’s well worth the visit.

Arrived in Chicago from my Grandparents’ on Thursday and did a whilrwind tour of the windy city.

I walked to Milennium park and saw the bean and a cool light structure with residents’ faces on them which spurt water:

Then I was starving so went looking for places to eat on the ‘magnificent mile’. I asked a lady with a pram on a street corner where was good to eat (I thought she must be a resident) and she said ‘we’re looking for lunch too, let’s eat together’! So we did. She is an Israeli-Russian mum from St.Louis visiting Chicago. I can’t imagine the stories she has to tell about growing up. I had just met her and she was like ‘watch my kid, I need to go to the restoom’. I love it when random fun things like that happen when you’re travelling.

Then I went to the art institute and saw the Picasso exhibit among other things followed by an architectural tour of Chicago by boat with a cheeky mimosa in hand. I highly recommend this tour.

Finished off with a skytour in the Willis building (previously known as the Sears building) which was the tallest building in the world for 28 years. It has the most area inside in the world after the pentagon!

Fun fun fun!!

Checked Out

So, it’s that time of the year again- the annual trip to see the family in the Midwest. You know the drill- teetotal, tractors and church. Here’s a little pic from last year to wet your taste buds- it’s my turkey hunting get up.

I have been raring to go from Monday and apparently failed miserably at hiding my excitement to be leaving work. One of my colleagues actually had to tell me off in a meeting yesterday because I wouldn’t concentrate, and my boss, Director of Programs, told me I might as well not have come in this week as I have been so unproductive.

Uh, just because I’m reading a rolling stone magazine at my desk and eating popcorn does not mean I’m being unproductive. Besides, there’s a simple solution to increasing productivity. It’s called a pay rise. So go get me one, yeah.

I’m at the airport now, flight was at 6am, so I left the house at 3.30am on a shuttle. The deal with the shuttle is it picks up every man and his brother and their 5 suitcases, and then after an hour of pissing around, finally goes to the airport, which is actually a 15 minute ride away, but it takes around an hour and a half. Unfortunately, that’s what poor people have to do to get to the airport. That picture of that super helpful shuttle driver man, surprisingly, is not actually a reflection of reality.

So, having got 3 hours sleep, we boarded the plane, about to take off, when they realized there were severe rainstorms in Chicago, so we’re delayed 5 hours. Why do they seem to find everything out at the last minute? I swear that just before we die we’ll find out that all forms of group transport, public or private, were actually designed as an experiment in the 60’s to test human tolerance, and it’s a big joke that no one has figured it out yet and the experiment is now the longest running in human history. All the scientists drink expensive wine and laugh about it every night. And the bus drivers. And pilots.

Well, at least now I’ve watched the sun come up over San Francisco airport- cos that’s always been on my bucklet list. Not. Is 7:30am an unreasonable time to drink when you’ve been up for half the day already?

More farm pics coming folks… watch this space!