Ah, San Francisco. Where Tony Bennett left his heart, and the gays, their underwear. This morning we had a later start than usual, thanks to our gradual acclimatisation to the time difference. So we sat in the Castro to enjoy a fresh orange juice in the warm morning sun. An off-duty drag queen sat darning a costume, happy hand-holding couples strolled up the street with their tiny, overdressed dogs, and an old bear sat in the middle of it all as naked as the day he was born (although, I imagine, significantly more tumescent).
Having gotten the hang of the muni transit system, we decided that today would involve less walking than the previous day. Admittedly, we did overdo it a little, with a packed agenda that would have a triathlete breathing into a paper bag. As if the miles and miles of hillwalking wasn't enough, we even rented bikes and cycled along the sea front, then across the Golden Gate bridge. The official guide suggested that we keep going all the way to Sausalito, but I sensed that Doug's patience was growing as thin as the soles of his overworked shoes. Thankfully, most of the return journey was downhill, and unencumbered by the crowds of gormless tourists that had plagued our outbound slog.
It's Fleet Week in San Francisco, which means that the city is awash with seamen (steady on) as all the naval ships come to the city and give their crews shore leave for a few days. It's a uniform fetishist's idea of heaven.
We watched the airshow from a cafe by the water, and marvelled at how impossible it is to deduce the cost of a meal based on the prices in a menu. Aside from constantly attempting to calculate the equivalent price in sterling, there's the sales tax to think of. Then there's the tip, which here in the US is supposed to be between 15 and 25% of your total bill. On top of that, we discovered a new surcharge called the 'Healthy San Francisco' charge - this was a new scheme introduced by the city's mayor to force bars and restaurants to pay for healthcare for food service professionals. Which is all very commendable, but it does mean that the bill can sometimes run to several pages.
We took the opportunity to have a good mosey around the Castro area, which has a pretty good selection of bars, restaurants and shops. There are some great store names as well, from the 'Squat and Gobble Creperie' to 'The Sausage Factory' pizzeria. Oh, and don't forget the 'Hand Job Nail Spa'. When it comes to naming your business, the smuttier the better. Surely it won't be too long before they stop trying to be funny, and just go for all-out rudeness. Meet you at the 'Fuck Me Harder Pattiserie'.
Where was I? Oh, that's right, shopping. Having marvelled at the extraordinary variety of items available that can be inserted into the human body (not to mention the eye-watering size of them) we moved on to a more mainstream shopping experience.
I was looking for some kind of light walking shoe, and ended up buying a bizarre pair of Vibram FiveFingers. I know that sounds more like something you'd buy in one of the afore-mentioned sex shops, but I promise they're entirely legitimate footwear. They're like clingy, rubberised gloves for your feet and apparently change your entire posture and walking style by "emulating the sensation of being barefoot". I could have just taken my regular shoes off and saved myself a hundred dollars, but figured 'what the hell'. Then I looked down and thought 'what the hell?' From the ankle down I look like an Afro-Carribean hobbit. I'm impressed so far, but no doubt I'll change my mind when I awake in the night with crippling back-ache.
Blame it on the salesman. Unlike a British shop assistant who'd struggle to muster the energy to tut in my direction, the sales people here are so incredibly friendly, you almost feel like buying something out of gratitude. They greet you on your way in, they thank you for your visit when you leave, and they know everything there is to know about every item in stock. Anyone who works in the service industry should be forced to visit the US for a couple of days as part of their induction programme. As a consequence of all this 'super awesome' service, my bank manager and I will be forced to sit down and have a frank conversation when I get back to the UK.
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holiday. Show all posts
Monday, 11 October 2010
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
No pity in the naked city
Here's a news flash for the uninitiated - October in New York can be chilly. Bring a jacket, hell, bring two.
Our second day in the city saw us heading downtown (where the lights are bright) to visit SoHo, Greenwich Village, Little Italy, Chinatown and Bleeker Street - home to the hippy movement. Looking up at the architecture, you're struck by how many fire escapes there are. Ladders, walkways and drop down ramps are stuck on the side of every building, as though the entire city is under constant threat of spontaneous combustion.
Under heavy skies and a constant persistent drizzle, we made our way to Christopher Street and and made a pilgrimage to the Stonewall Pub - birthplace of the modern gay rights movement. It all kicked off in 1969, on the night of Judy Garland's funeral, when the gays decided that their favourite night-spot had endured one-too-many police raids. The bar's regulars decided that they were only going to kneel in subjugation when they felt like it, and thus was born the Stonewall riots. The moral of the story here - never spill a drag queen's drink.
With Beth resigned to a convalescent home for the terminally knackered, we were on our own yesterday, so tripped off to Battery Park to pick up our tickets for the Statue ferry tour. For the cruise across the harour we sat up top, on metal benches so uncomfortable that the Marquis De Sade would have considered them inhumane. The sky was also rolling with grey cloud, giving the entire panorama a rather depressing palour.
We followed the prerecorded instructions about how to disembark the ferry, which seem to be voiced by Reverend Lovejoy, and called in at the visitor centre to pick up our audio tour mp3 players. It's a long time since I took an audio tour, but the experience was not dissimilar to the training level at the start of 'Tomb Raider' - "Walk to the bottom of the steps, take a left and then look at the flagpole." I wouldn't have been too surprised if the voiceover had instructed me to vault over the nearest wall and practice my somersaults.
Although the audio tour felt a little too prescriptive at times (and could have benefitted from a 'yeah, I get it, move on' button) it was pretty interesting. For instance, we learned that Bartholdi, who conceived and designed the Statue of Liberty, was actually just recycling old ideas he'd had for a lighthouse in Egypt, inspired by the Colossus of Rhodes. And there was me thinking that Michael Mann was the first person to repurpose ideas from a lesser work to great critical acclaim.
The voiceover also told us about the challenge of creating a suitable pedestal on which the statue could be displayed. The winning design by Richard Morris Hunt managed to be classic and awe-inspiring, without detracting from the giant green woman that would stand on top of it. As the audio tour explained "It was particularly hard for an architect to design something that would never be noticed". Perhaps Hunt should have tried his hand at copywriting in an agency - producing output so inconsequential, it disappears from your brain before you've even finished reading it.
While the French were busy raising money to pay for the statue, which was their gift to the American people (mix-tapes and friendship bracelets don't have the same impact), the US was facing a similar challenge. Legendary publisher Pulitzer used his newspaper 'The World' to encourage members of the public to contribute whatever they could to the Pedestal Fund, in exchange for a mention in the paper. Suddenly, Peter Jackson's idea of selling credits in the extended editions of Lord of the Rings does't seem like quite such an odd concept.
There's a great display of Liberty memorabilia in the museum, including one startling piece of WW2 propaganda - "That liberty shall not perish from the earth - buy liberty bonds." The image on the poster depicted a decapitated statue. All that was missing was the giant squid/lobster beast from Cloverfield in the background.
Having spent long enough staring up liberty's skirt to qualify as a gynaecological engineer, we took the ferry over to Ellis Island - which during a 40 year period managed to process over 12 million immigrants. Interestingly, the audio tour here directed us to the first floor 'registry room', pointing out that the steps themselves were part of the screening process for would-be immigrants. Doctors would stand at the baloney to observe whether anyone had difficulty handling the stairs. Of course, the helpful audio guide also pointed out that any burger-munchers who couldn't handle the stairs today could always take the elevator.
Our final destination yesterday was Ground Zero, and the 9/11 memorial museum. Although the content was compelling and emotional, there's something strangely distancing about seeing an event you observed in real time, now represented by dust-covered relics in temperature-controlled cases. Only nine years have passed since the towers fell, but the museum concept makes it feel more like a hundred. Perhaps that's what the people of New York need in order for their wounds to heal.
Our second day in the city saw us heading downtown (where the lights are bright) to visit SoHo, Greenwich Village, Little Italy, Chinatown and Bleeker Street - home to the hippy movement. Looking up at the architecture, you're struck by how many fire escapes there are. Ladders, walkways and drop down ramps are stuck on the side of every building, as though the entire city is under constant threat of spontaneous combustion.
Under heavy skies and a constant persistent drizzle, we made our way to Christopher Street and and made a pilgrimage to the Stonewall Pub - birthplace of the modern gay rights movement. It all kicked off in 1969, on the night of Judy Garland's funeral, when the gays decided that their favourite night-spot had endured one-too-many police raids. The bar's regulars decided that they were only going to kneel in subjugation when they felt like it, and thus was born the Stonewall riots. The moral of the story here - never spill a drag queen's drink.
With Beth resigned to a convalescent home for the terminally knackered, we were on our own yesterday, so tripped off to Battery Park to pick up our tickets for the Statue ferry tour. For the cruise across the harour we sat up top, on metal benches so uncomfortable that the Marquis De Sade would have considered them inhumane. The sky was also rolling with grey cloud, giving the entire panorama a rather depressing palour.
We followed the prerecorded instructions about how to disembark the ferry, which seem to be voiced by Reverend Lovejoy, and called in at the visitor centre to pick up our audio tour mp3 players. It's a long time since I took an audio tour, but the experience was not dissimilar to the training level at the start of 'Tomb Raider' - "Walk to the bottom of the steps, take a left and then look at the flagpole." I wouldn't have been too surprised if the voiceover had instructed me to vault over the nearest wall and practice my somersaults.
Although the audio tour felt a little too prescriptive at times (and could have benefitted from a 'yeah, I get it, move on' button) it was pretty interesting. For instance, we learned that Bartholdi, who conceived and designed the Statue of Liberty, was actually just recycling old ideas he'd had for a lighthouse in Egypt, inspired by the Colossus of Rhodes. And there was me thinking that Michael Mann was the first person to repurpose ideas from a lesser work to great critical acclaim.
The voiceover also told us about the challenge of creating a suitable pedestal on which the statue could be displayed. The winning design by Richard Morris Hunt managed to be classic and awe-inspiring, without detracting from the giant green woman that would stand on top of it. As the audio tour explained "It was particularly hard for an architect to design something that would never be noticed". Perhaps Hunt should have tried his hand at copywriting in an agency - producing output so inconsequential, it disappears from your brain before you've even finished reading it.
While the French were busy raising money to pay for the statue, which was their gift to the American people (mix-tapes and friendship bracelets don't have the same impact), the US was facing a similar challenge. Legendary publisher Pulitzer used his newspaper 'The World' to encourage members of the public to contribute whatever they could to the Pedestal Fund, in exchange for a mention in the paper. Suddenly, Peter Jackson's idea of selling credits in the extended editions of Lord of the Rings does't seem like quite such an odd concept.
There's a great display of Liberty memorabilia in the museum, including one startling piece of WW2 propaganda - "That liberty shall not perish from the earth - buy liberty bonds." The image on the poster depicted a decapitated statue. All that was missing was the giant squid/lobster beast from Cloverfield in the background.
Having spent long enough staring up liberty's skirt to qualify as a gynaecological engineer, we took the ferry over to Ellis Island - which during a 40 year period managed to process over 12 million immigrants. Interestingly, the audio tour here directed us to the first floor 'registry room', pointing out that the steps themselves were part of the screening process for would-be immigrants. Doctors would stand at the baloney to observe whether anyone had difficulty handling the stairs. Of course, the helpful audio guide also pointed out that any burger-munchers who couldn't handle the stairs today could always take the elevator.
Our final destination yesterday was Ground Zero, and the 9/11 memorial museum. Although the content was compelling and emotional, there's something strangely distancing about seeing an event you observed in real time, now represented by dust-covered relics in temperature-controlled cases. Only nine years have passed since the towers fell, but the museum concept makes it feel more like a hundred. Perhaps that's what the people of New York need in order for their wounds to heal.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Empire State of Mind
Greetings from the Big Apple, and welcome to a different kind of blog for the next few days. Since the promise of free wireless turned out to be something other than the truth, I'm forced to buy a giant cup of coffee in exchange for an hour of free wireless access. That means that I've got more caffeine running through my system than the Red Bull canning factory, and my internet usage has been severely curtailed.
I'm also doing my best to use the iPad on this trip, and I'm discovering that it doesn't really facilitate my kind of tab-happy web browsing - which means it's tough to keep track of eleventy-three different pop culture stories.
So if you're willing to indulge me, p0pvulture will be your shiny, not-quite-so-orange Judith Chalmers, as I peel back the eyelids of the city that never sleeps.
Our first impressions as we arrived at the Gershwin Hotel is that $300 dollars a night doesn't get you a whole lot of space - the 'Superior Double' may boast stripped wooden floorboards, but there's so little space in the room you have to look under the bed to see them. *Note to self - never look under a hotel bed.
The hotel itself is self-consciously 'arty'; the kind of building that ought to have a giant pair of designer glasses across its frontage (no lenses, natch, just the frames). And maybe it's the close proximity of the 'Museum of Sex', but it looks as though the facade is dripping in giant illuminated sperms. Welcome to the world's foremost bukakke hotel...
Yesterday we hit the town with our friend Beth who rose to the challenge of 'official tour guide' with considerable aplomb, except for the fact that she didn't choose the most appropriate footwear. By mid-afternoon, having walked for about fifty blocks, her feet were red raw - a rookie error for a native New Yorker.
Along the way we visited FAO Schwartz, where we tried out the giant piano from Big. I was half expecting to see a sign like the one in Wayne's World ('No Stairway To Heaven') that said 'No Chopsticks'. Turns out, no such sign was necessary, since it's impossible to make music on a keyboard when five shoeless kids are throwing themselves up and down the keys on their knees.
We also went to the Top of the Rock, a rather exciting-sounding experience at Rockefeller Plaza, which justifies them charging guests $21 per person to ride in a lift. When you work with big banking clients you get to travel to the 50th floor for free. Still, the views were spectacular and I was able to take some great pictures of the whole of Manhattan. Suddenly that new camera I bought in Duty Free at Heathrow didn't seem like quite such an unnecessary indulgence.
The thing that really hits you about New York is the sense of space. It makes you realise that most representations of the city that you see in TV and the movies are studio based - either filmed indoors or on a small-scale backlot. They might be able to recreate the architecture and the major landmarks, but without the sense of vastness that you get with the real thing.
Oh, and here's a tip. When you're trying to balance a budget, stay the hell away from Saks Fifth Avenue menswear department. Some might say that $2,000 is a little pricey for a jacket - until you've felt the exquisitely tailored lamb's leather on your skin, I say you don't know what you're talking about. The only problem is, I have to decide whether I want an Armani frock coat or a new car. Decisions, decisions...
For lunch we took the advice of several friends and visited Carnegie Deli - famous for its gargantuan sandwiches. We ordered the 'Ruben' - a gruesome deposit of sliced pastrami, sauerkraut and melted Swiss cheese that looked like something you'd expect to see on the pavement outside a nightclub. After diligently chomping on it for about half an hour, I got the disturbing sensation that the sandwich was actually regenerating.
There seemed to be more on the plate by the time we threw down our forks in defeat, than there had been when we first began our Herculean undertaking. It's worth a visit, provided your skin is thick enough to deal with some of the most unfriendly service you'll ever encounter. I thought we were going to be put in detention for sitting in the wrong seat.
Today we're going to immerse ourselves in the heart and soul of New York - yesterday was like inspecting the city's hair extensions and nail art. Wish us luck!
I'm also doing my best to use the iPad on this trip, and I'm discovering that it doesn't really facilitate my kind of tab-happy web browsing - which means it's tough to keep track of eleventy-three different pop culture stories.
So if you're willing to indulge me, p0pvulture will be your shiny, not-quite-so-orange Judith Chalmers, as I peel back the eyelids of the city that never sleeps.
Our first impressions as we arrived at the Gershwin Hotel is that $300 dollars a night doesn't get you a whole lot of space - the 'Superior Double' may boast stripped wooden floorboards, but there's so little space in the room you have to look under the bed to see them. *Note to self - never look under a hotel bed.
The hotel itself is self-consciously 'arty'; the kind of building that ought to have a giant pair of designer glasses across its frontage (no lenses, natch, just the frames). And maybe it's the close proximity of the 'Museum of Sex', but it looks as though the facade is dripping in giant illuminated sperms. Welcome to the world's foremost bukakke hotel...
Yesterday we hit the town with our friend Beth who rose to the challenge of 'official tour guide' with considerable aplomb, except for the fact that she didn't choose the most appropriate footwear. By mid-afternoon, having walked for about fifty blocks, her feet were red raw - a rookie error for a native New Yorker.
Along the way we visited FAO Schwartz, where we tried out the giant piano from Big. I was half expecting to see a sign like the one in Wayne's World ('No Stairway To Heaven') that said 'No Chopsticks'. Turns out, no such sign was necessary, since it's impossible to make music on a keyboard when five shoeless kids are throwing themselves up and down the keys on their knees.
We also went to the Top of the Rock, a rather exciting-sounding experience at Rockefeller Plaza, which justifies them charging guests $21 per person to ride in a lift. When you work with big banking clients you get to travel to the 50th floor for free. Still, the views were spectacular and I was able to take some great pictures of the whole of Manhattan. Suddenly that new camera I bought in Duty Free at Heathrow didn't seem like quite such an unnecessary indulgence.
The thing that really hits you about New York is the sense of space. It makes you realise that most representations of the city that you see in TV and the movies are studio based - either filmed indoors or on a small-scale backlot. They might be able to recreate the architecture and the major landmarks, but without the sense of vastness that you get with the real thing.
Oh, and here's a tip. When you're trying to balance a budget, stay the hell away from Saks Fifth Avenue menswear department. Some might say that $2,000 is a little pricey for a jacket - until you've felt the exquisitely tailored lamb's leather on your skin, I say you don't know what you're talking about. The only problem is, I have to decide whether I want an Armani frock coat or a new car. Decisions, decisions...
For lunch we took the advice of several friends and visited Carnegie Deli - famous for its gargantuan sandwiches. We ordered the 'Ruben' - a gruesome deposit of sliced pastrami, sauerkraut and melted Swiss cheese that looked like something you'd expect to see on the pavement outside a nightclub. After diligently chomping on it for about half an hour, I got the disturbing sensation that the sandwich was actually regenerating.
There seemed to be more on the plate by the time we threw down our forks in defeat, than there had been when we first began our Herculean undertaking. It's worth a visit, provided your skin is thick enough to deal with some of the most unfriendly service you'll ever encounter. I thought we were going to be put in detention for sitting in the wrong seat.
Today we're going to immerse ourselves in the heart and soul of New York - yesterday was like inspecting the city's hair extensions and nail art. Wish us luck!
Monday, 20 September 2010
Lost and confused
With just two weeks to go, p0pvulture is now counting down the days to its much-needed (and well-deserved) holiday. But as my thoughts turn to itineraries and days out, I'm reminded just how different some people's idea of a dream holiday can be.The sun worshippers will be packing a bag full of cooking oil and heading to the Canaries, more adventurous types will be stocking up on scorpion venom antidote for a trek up Machu Picchu, and nerds will be looking for a week-long sci-fi event that will shield them for the light of day for 90 hours.
So they'll be gutted to find out that they missed just such an occasion last week, as the Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square played host to a Lost viewing marathon to celebrate the final season's release on DVD. Although 100 foolhardy fans were there for the inaugural episode (widely believed to be TV's most expensive pilot), only 21 remained as the series stumbled to its confusing and largely disappointing conclusion. It's not clear whether the missing 79 people gave up, expired or slipped through a wrinkle in the space-time continuum. I suppose anything's possible.
Apparently short breaks were taken every four hours, and paramedics remained on-site throughout - presumably to deal with outbreaks of alopecia triggered by excessive head-scratching. Or to extricate the larger members of the audience from their seats for sporadic bathroom visits.
One dedicated fan, Donna Lalek, emerged from the darkness to tell reporters that by the culmination of the islanders' adventures, she had "no concept of time any more". Which seems entirely apt, given the show's propensity for flashing back, forwards and sideways.
Donna took a week's holiday from work as a bank administrator to attend the event, claiming that "most people think I'm absolutely insane." After enduring 121 back-to-back episodes, her friends' judgement might not be so far off the mark.
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