Day 2: Sunday 21st October
Last week, I definitely had some work to do that I just couldn’t get around to, so I awoke on the morning of Day 2 with the looming feeling that I couldn’t let myself start to have fun before said work was complete, or I’d at least made a fair old dent in it.
Luckily, it was Tundra cold in the van when I woke up at around 7am, and I was also desperate for a wee (it feels like this is going to be a recurring theme), so I was up, showered and – after cheffing up a bacon, egg and low fat Philadelphia butty which was truly delicious if not nutritious – I was mentally and physically ready to face the day, and the work.
Film set 1
I’d arrived after dark the night before, and the park ranger had seemed pretty keen to check me in as quickly as possible and just dished out an info pack without taking me through any key details, such as the code for the loos. This didn’t bother me wildly as I’ve always been a fan of an info pack, probably originating from when we used to get bumper holiday packs from Eurosites when we went on our holidays to France as kids. Similarly, in my job as a producer, the highlight of going onsite is undoubtedly getting a crew pack through with every single piece of information you could possibly dream of.
Anyway, I studied said campsite info pack thoroughly and noted that, rather progressively, they had actual WiFi in the camp lodge. “Excellent!” thought I.
So off I popped, arriving at the 9am opening time on the nose to set up my digital camp for the morning.
I was not disappointed.
I’d walked into 1989, or more specifically, Murder, She Wrote in 1989. The rush of excitement was unbearable, and heightened further when the camp Hallowe’en committee descended en masse at about 9.30am and started dragging out plastic animal carcasses from wall panels concealed by a fetching array of textured pastel wallpapers from FADS or similar.
The quality of committee chat was so good, it’s my first regret of the trip that I didn’t secretly record it. It was effectively a board meeting to distinguish acceptable levels of terror to instil in children, determined and qualified only by their own (distant) memories of what was ‘spooky’ when they were kids.
It was also a flawless premise to an actual episode of Murder, She Wrote. My mind was in overdrive. Within five minutes, I’d cast myself in as a prime witness and by default, possible murderer.
Needless to say, I struggled to get any work done until the excitement had died down and didn’t end up wrapping things up until 1.30pm. By this point, I’d had a lovely little chat with some of the committee members, and had also elicited that not only did they have WiFi here, they also had Uber. My plans of driving out to Healdsburg that afternoon swiftly changed to ones of wineries and alcohol.
I swiftly returned to Oliver for a light lunch and to switch up the leggings and sports bra vibe for a floaty dress and lipstick.
Uber does not service Cloverdale on a Sunday afternoon.
Dolled up and ready to pounce all over Wine Country, I sauntered over to the lodge to book the Uber.
There were no cars in my area.
I returned to Oliver.
Change of plan and accidentally attempting to purchase a bong.
In my head, I was now going to a winery, so I didn’t let the small matter of not being able to drink at one stand in my way. One that had been recommended to me was the Francis Ford Coppola one in Geyserville which was about 15miles from Thousand Trails, plus there was a vape shop en route and I was fresh out of juice so it all worked out.
I got to the vape shop pretty easily and whilst impressed by the range of products they had available to purchase, was slightly intimidated by both their prices, and the shapes and sizes of their pipes. A bottle of vape fluid at home costs around a fiver – here, in this House of Vape – we were looking at $25, albeit for a bigger bottle but even so. Another American bargain I thought (until I went into the 7/11 shop next door and saw my normal stuff for $3.99. Nice one.).
My current vaping unit has been through the wars and in desperate need of an upgrade so, with a full week ahead in which I’m not entirely sure where I’ll be able to buy food let alone anything else, I decided that I’d treat myself to a new one. There was a fancy silver one, sporting an ergonomic and discreet design so I asked the kind man behind the counter to wrap it up. It was only chance that I asked how the fluid thing worked with it, to which he said “oh nooo, ma’am… I think you’re mistaken. I’m so sorry, you ordered it with such confidence I assumed you realised that this is for cannabis cartridges.”
I have never felt so amateur.
Film set 2 / Being your own designated driver at a winery is shit.
Onwards, ho to the winery, or should I say, the wedding scene from The Godfather 2. Holy god(father), what a place.
At arrival, you’re greeted by a perfectly Corleone gateway: imposing, alluring and in my case, knowing what was beyond, highly dangerous.
The sweeping dusty driveway was drenched with early afternoon autumnal sunlight and lined with olive trees. Could have been in Italy for a moment. Then, you get to the monster sized Walmart-esque car and coach park and you remember you’re in The America.
This is not to detract from the beauty of the place – it really was stunning. After ascending a curved, white flight of stairs, you then face another set of big black and gold gates beyond which the Corleone mansion awaits.
To the right, there’s a pool and ‘cabine’ area which screams PREMIUM PEOPLE ONLY (I looked into a day pass and they were asking for somewhere in the region of $40 plus all the taxes and tips (so, about $8,000). On this day, it was sadly not for me.
I turned left into the tasting bar, and this is where it all became a little bit difficult. It was only $20 for a five glass tasting. I mean, that’s better than Manchester prices, and for the quality of the wine, it felt somewhat criminal that I was going to have to pass it all up.
Taking myself away from temptation as quickly as possible, my feet landed me in the gift shop. This was also a very difficult place to be. Mugs, aprons, magnets, tote bags galore. Items I never actually use, but still struggle to avoid purchasing when they’re put in temptation’s way.
So I removed myself from the gift shop as well, and ended up back in the bar and chatting to a lovely young bartender from whom I gained the all important knowledge that the 0.08 blood alcohol limit in California equates to approximately 2-3 glasses of wine.
I ordered a Pinot Noir, not before sniffing the shit out of every open bottle the bartender had available. He then escorted me and my heady glass to a terrace overlooking the vineyard – not in a romantic way, more in an American service way.
I’ve never made a glass of wine last so long. I faced the sun and closed my eyes and for the first time during the trip, gave myself permission to just stop and be. I can imagine that for the hot young things around me I must have looked a bit special, but I found myself unable to care. It was full on photosynthesis. The wine was a bit too young for my liking and the taste not as great as its scent, but it still felt medicinal.
I’m not sure how long I was there. Timekeeping is becoming a bit superfluous to requirement now I’m alone, and I quite like it that way. Anyway, after the single glass, I had a stroll around the kitchen garden and the vines immediately next to the terrace before returning to Oliver and making the journey ‘home’.
I can’t describe how much I’d wished I’d been there with top pals, drinking ALL the wine, but I can tell you I will never take a designated driver for granted ever again.
Back to base(ics).
Back to camp and back to reality. I’m fast running out of clean undergarments so tonight was Laundry Night. In aforementioned camp info pack, there was a note that you can pay for your laundry using an app (WiFi, talk of Uber and apps for laundry? You’d have thought we were in the land of technological advancement).
The feeling of being dismayed or disappointed is one that I’ve been steadily becoming accustomed to in most areas of life. The difference on this trip is that I have nobody to complain to and in the grand scheme of things, I really haven’t got anything to complain about. I’m in a beautiful country, with nobody to please but myself, so getting wound up about stuff seems pointless and bratlike.
That said, I really had counted on being able to wash my clothes before heading off to Tuolumne / Yosemite, so I was a bit pissed off that the ‘PayRange’ app was not available on the App Store. At least not to me last night.
Being the brave soldier I am, I then started to hand wash all my stuff in the sink next to the machines, mentally – and at one point verbally – re-enacting the whole “plunge, then scrub” scene performed superbly by Nicole Kidman in Far and Away (which after years of not even thinking about, I’m now desperate to watch). I was feeling a bit jaded and despondent, wondering why I’d decided this trip was a good idea.
I was plunging and scrubbing away and a lovely old gentleman approached with his weekly wash. He called me “Missy” which is a term I’m becoming increasingly fond of, and as he put his load in the machine, he told me how he’d just come into retirement and he and his wife were off to tour their homeland, although he’s recently been unwell and he’s not sure how long they can realistically travel for before he needs to start his treatment. We didn’t go into details; the melancholy in his face suggested we didn’t need to.
He said he hadn’t seen anyone hand washing their clothes since he last watched Far and Away (I made this up), and asked me why I wasn’t using the machine. I explained my predicament and that I hadn’t any quarters (ten days here and still haven’t made a cash withdrawal) and as we were wishing each other well, he slipped me enough quarters to wash a load.
A dollar and 75c is about £1.50 right? Not enough to do much over here. Certainly not enough to buy a drink or a packet of crisps in the 7/11. But it meant everything to me at that moment. A perfect stranger with who, I’d exchange but a few words. A simple deed that brought about the realisation that there’s so much magic out there and in people we know not of yet, and if we’re open to it, joy can be found in the most simplistic acts of kindness.
I feel like chicken tonight.
Laundry now on a cycle, it was time to get my Ainsley Harriott on. Tonight’s fajita was to include none other than chicken breast. No cold turkey round here! I’d even bought a special seasoning – tomato, garlic and basil salts. Not strictly what you’d call a Mexican mix but it had flavour so was going in the pan.
Tonight, I went wild card and pre-mixed the lettuce, tomato, guacamole and cheese so it was like a fajita pre-mix. I can wholeheartedly recommend this approach to fajita construction – no messing around with lettuce dropping all over the place. It was like a gastronomic glue, if you will. In sum, best meal prepared so far. Chicken was sliiiightly charcoaled but better that than salmonella.
Hanky panky.
I’d foolishly washed all my pyjamas which were now freshly laundered but piss wet through, so ended up wearing one of my ‘ethnic’ dresses* that I bought in India and had been planning to wear in the desert. Coupled with a H&M knit that’s getting a great run out so far, I was actually very cosy and retired into Oliver with a bottle of Stella Artois.
*writing this made me uncomfortable – is it inappropriate to say ‘ethnic dress’?
After writing up the day 1 post, it was time to get down to business with Hank. The binge watching is getting out of control now. Last night paced through four episodes which had me howling and lusting in equal measure. Why did I not realise how hot David Duchovny is until now? It feels like I’ve wasted years.
Today’s highlights:
- Film set paradises
- Kindness from a stranger
- Almost buying a bong and being secretly pretty chuffed about it
- Chicken fajita
- Fresh knickers
- Hank Hank Hank. Hank. Honk for Hank.
Kershy Ten Bags 