Act I, Scene I

Plans for heading North bright and early put on hold by a wonderous trifecta: the Bay Bridge newly closed for maintenance, the Labour Day long weekend, and absolutely fabulous weather. It means it took me three hours to get from South San Francisco over the Golden Gate. That would be "Bridge", not "Branch", esteemed friends at Tom Tom, but good guess.

Once over the bridge things picked up. I didn't stop at the bridge, but it was very impressive. The south half is completely fogged in, and the north half isn't. So driving north you see the second tower just looming above you out of the fog as it evaporates around you. By then it was lunch time and a nice place called Cafe Del Soul served up an excellent Hummus Yummus wrap, all organic. For less than yesterday's enchilada. Including organic yerba mate. And surrounded by hippies and large electric fans (wouldn't be Earth Friendly to run the A/C, I suppose.)

Did I mentioned it was Labour Day and the weather was nice? Highway 1, the Shoreline Drive, is absolutely packed. It takes forever to get all the way up to Point Reyes; every single nook, cranny, shoulder and bare patch is covered with cars. If you like driving, by all means hit this road though. It's nice -- there are frequent pull-outs where you're supposed to let faster traffic pass you. And people do it, with astonishing courtesy and awareness. I finally eased off after I could start smelling my own tires on every curve.

It is very scenic. The Cabot Trail has nothing on it, sorry Nova Scotians. But rather slow going, since for the most part you can never get above 40mph and it's not because of traffic. So progress for this day was quite limited, and I'm now in a dingy motel in Ft. Bragg after a full day. Dingy, but free wifi-N; I hope this is a trend.

At the sit-in pizza shop, waiting for my order. Little girl is messing around with the salad bar, is asked not to by aproned employee. Does it again, further intervention. Mother doesn't like the way pizza girl is telling little daughter girl what do to -- meanwhile daughter girl sticks her fingers in the dressing/etc. Pizza girl goes balistic; unfortunately things are said, content not specific, maybe something like "You can do what you want back in your country but you don't do that here". Hilarity ensures as mother hears this as "Why don't you go back to your own country".

So the ideals of the american dream. I am there, a Canadian, witness along with other customers a French mother and South American father, and their two children fully trilingual, to a comment by an overworked hormonal pregnant California girl misinterpreted by a Pakistani family. Do I mean the dream of multi-culturalism? No, of course not. The Pakistani father was fully americanized, it seems, as the family expressed only the willingness and intent to sue, sue, SUE.

Maybe tomorrow I'll get further north, further away from traffic, from people, and from exulted Labour Day silliness.