New York - Part 2

So where was I? Flew into New York. Crap airport hotel. Subway to Soho. That’s right, we’d just checked into our hotel and already we were impressed. The dining room was open all day so we could drop in whenever we liked for a juice or a hot chocolate, or just somewhere to sit and eat a sandwich.

Having settled in, we headed off for our first “real” day in New York. We stopped for lunch at an Italian restaurant close to the hotel in SoHo. The food was fine, but the service was disappointing. I like to imagine our tip was received with similar disappointment. Then we jumped aboard a Subway and headed north.

I quickly became very attached to my subway map, and soon learnt the various routes and stations with savant-like exactitude. What I didn’t master was finding my way out of the subway stations. Those subway stations are huge. They are usually at least the size of city block and two levels deep. I’d suggest that people who enjoy using the word labyrinthine would certainly describe them as such. They were labyrinthine (see what I mean?). It is very difficult to predict which street you’ll end up on, and which way you’ll be facing, when emerging from a subway station.

We got off at 42^nd St and headed to Times Square. It may be a geometrical misnomer (I’ve seen squares, and that there ‘taint one), but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a terribly exciting place to be. Mind you, there’s only so much of having a 20 foot tall Daniel Radcliffe grinning maniacally overhead that even the most durable of constitution can stomach.

If you weren’t aware, Times Square is where it all happens in New York on New Year’s Eve. People gather to watch the ball descend atop the New York Times building. The ball in question is some monstrosity of coloured lights that really didn’t excite me. But I guess that really sums up the fundamental problem with New Year’s Eve. The excitement and anticipation is always just a little more that the reality can sustain.

I’m told (well actually I read) that one million people gather in Times Square to watch the ball drop on New Year’s Eve (and yes, I’m smirking when I write about the ball dropping an descending, but can we please just move on). Now, Times Square is essentially an intersection. If one million people are going to be standing at an intersection to watch a ball drop (stop it!) then I think I’d prefer to be somewhere else. In fact, I’m also told (well, overheard in this instance) that the smart people head to Bethedsa Terrace in Central Park.

Central Park. Now there’s something. I had no idea just how big it is. And how full of healthy people doing healthy things. Things like running and riding bikes and skating about on rollerblades and rowing boats on lakes. Except for one guy who’d evidently pushed the healthy activities a little too far and so on our first foray into the park we were greeted by a guy having a good old chunder.

I also had no idea how many huge rocky outcrops would be scattered through the park.

But it’s the size that really amazed me. 834 acres. Let me put it into perspective for you. Take a regular photograph. That’s 6 inches by 4 inches. It’s a lot bigger than that. But, if you take that photograph, and cut it in half lengthwise, and then in half again – you’ll have a long and skinny photograph. Now, take about 28,000 of those photographs and lay them side by side to form one row. Then, make about 28,000 rows just the same. That’s how big central park is.

If that didn’t do it for you – check this out. I’ve laid Central Park across North Melbourne. You probably want to click on this to enlarge it ...

Now do you get it?

REFLECTIONS ON TIPPING

Before I continue with my loosely chronological reflections on our US trip, I’d like to pause for a topical sojourn in tipping town. No? Not working? Well, I just thought I’d write something about tipping.

If you had me pegged as the type to object to tipping, you’d not be alone. And you’d be in good company – for I also had me pegged as a tiny tipper. However, you’d be wrong. You and me both. I am a big fan of tipping.

Why the seemingly inexplicable about face in my stance on tipping? Well, let me firstly correct your mistaken notion. I had no stance on tipping. I thought I had a stance, but it turns out I didn’t. Secondly – it’s all about service. In theory, tipping provides incentive for good service, and empirically, it seems to work. Sadly, very rarely in Australia have I experienced or witnessed the quality of customer service that is so commonplace in America.

In fact, outside of New York, the customer service was almost always excellent. Service in New York was a little more variable. We still had some excellent service in New York, in fact probably some of the best for the trip, but we also had some pretty average service. I have a theory that this reflects the nature of tipping in New York. I believe that city people are more inclined to tip as a matter of course without regard for service. In fact, tips are often included on the bill in New York – which I very much dislike. Once tipping becomes so entrenched and accepted without regard for service, it no longer acts as an incentive.

And if you don’t like that one, I have another theory. Serving staff on the west coast are much poorer than in New York. Whilst the purchasing power of a dollar may be the same coast to coast, that does not mean that it’s value is the same to everyone. Someone fighting to keep their family fed will work harder for a dollar than someone with a comfortable living.

And if those two still don’t do it for you, let me try one more. Serving staff on the west coast are predominantly Mexican. Could there be a cultural factor in play? Is there too much drumming into the heads of white American children that they are better than anyone else and should never feel inferior to another person? Doesn’t great customer service require that you put the customer’s interests first? Occasionally we came across a waiter in New York with that air of superiority as if to have us believe we were privileged to be allowed within their hallowed halls. In such cases we tipped very poorly.

And that’s the other beauty of tipping. One the one hand, it generally drives good service - but when the service is poor, there’s some satisfaction in leaving little or no tip. Just leave the cash on the table and scarper.

I wonder how precise most people are with their tips. If, like me, you get most of your American culture (is that an oxymoron?) from television – and more specifically from sitcoms like Seinfeld and Friends – then you would expect that tipping involves a reasonable about of deliberation and calculation. We typically rounded to the nearest five dollars. Up or down.

In further support of my belief that tipping works:

• You don’t tip for takeaway
• Service at takeaway places is generally pretty poor (much like in Australia)

I have also wondered whether tipping could work in Australia, and for four reasons, I don’t believe it could.

Firstly, to initiate a tipping culture without raising costs requires that basic wages are reduced. I really can’t see that happening because …

Secondly, Australia is a welfare state with complex employment laws. Australians by and large feel a sense of entitlement. Entitlement to a job. Entitlement to fair pay. The balance of power between employees and employers is much different in Australia to America.

Thirdly, Australians reject any notion of class. This is the same cultural issue that I suspect drives better customer service on the west coast than the east coast of America. The problem with excellent customer service is that nasty word “service”. To genuinely put a customer’s needs ahead of your own is very difficult proposition for a culture that rejects notions of class and servitude. It also makes Australians difficult to serve, because many Australians feel just as uncomfortable having something perform menial tasks for them as they would performing menial tasks for someone else. When a washroom attendant handed me a paper towel to dry my hands, I was torn between appreciating the service but at the same time feeling that I was taking advantage of a less fortunate individual.

Now, as a multicultural society, this aspect is not insurmountable. There a plenty of cultures represented in Australia who don’t have the same hang-ups preventing them from subserviating themselves to customers.

Finally, I don’t believe tipping could work in Australia because I’ve seen it in action. Many, if not most restaurants offer at the very least a tip jar. Some even add gratuities to bills. But I’ve not witnessed any appreciable difference in service from such establishments, and certainly nothing approaching the standard quality of American service.

Before I sign off, let me offer a final two observations and tie them back to tipping.

• Most Australians have a fairly jaundiced view of American people.
• Most American people I met or otherwise observed in America were pleasant, friendly, and not in the least loud-mouthed and obnoxious.

What’s going on here? My theory is this:

• Pleasant and friendly American person comes to Australia for a holiday
• Australian customer service is exceedingly poor by American standards
• Once pleasant and friendly American becomes increasingly grumpy as they are faced with consistently disappointing customer service.
• Now gumpy American begins complaining
• American has accent
• Nearby Australians witness this gumpiness, find the accent a little grating, and create mythology about what terrible people those bloody yanks are.

New York - Part 1 (and a touch of San Francisco)

For better or for worse, we’re home from our trip, and for the very life of me I can’t conceive of how that could be better. So, for worse, we’re home from our trip. However, blog years are something akin to dog years, and in blog years we’re still leaving San Francisco on a plane headed for New York city.

But before I proceed, I forgot one last highlight from San Francisco. Actually, I’ve very likely forgotten plenty of tasty nuggets, but one that recently re-emerged in my mind is walking up Lombard St.

For those who don’t know, Lombard St is famous for one block with a 27% incline and eight hairpin turns. For those who do know, the same applies, you just don’t need me banging on about it. Although, to be honest, I was pretty succinct in my description, so I don’t know where you get off accusing me of banging on.

Anyway, you now know something of Lombard St, which leaved only for me to reassure you that we walked up it. And we did. Be assured of that. We stood at the bottom and looked up. We walked up. We stood at the top and looked down. There’s really not much else to do.

But back to the task at hand, which is to continue onto New York. The Big Apple. The City That Never Sleeps. Gotham City. The Melting Pot. The Jolly Splendid Metropolis.

Our journey was a lengthy one for three reasons. Firstly, we stopped over in Denver for almost three hours. Secondly, New York is three hours ahead of the west coast. And finally, let’s not forget that it’s a bloody big country to be flying across. 4,152 kilometres with a landing and take-off in the middle equals over 6 hours of flying time. Add all these together, and we left San Francisco at 9:00am, and didn’t land at La Guardia until 9:00pm.

In the interests of saving money and confusing our pursuers, we booked our first night at an airport hotel. It seemed like a good idea at the time, being the time I booked it, but not so much at the other time – when we arrived. Our first taste of New York was slightly disappointing. We waited forever in the restaurant at the hotel to be served the worst pizza I had ever eaten (a title later lost to Hollywood, but that’s not for now). I was also surprised to find that the drapes didn’t close fully. The tracks stopped with about an 18 inch gap in the middle. (I was even more surprised to find that the drapes in our other New York hotel were the same. Is this to ensure that the city never sleeps?)

Still, I don’t imagine it would be fair to judge any city on the basis of a cheap airport motel.

There’s a lot to love about New York, and one of the things that particularly appealed to me was the public transport. Sure, there are more comfortable and convenient ways to get about, but there’s nothing like public transport to really get yourself embedded in a new city. After our first night, we shuttled back to the airport, where we bought 7 day metro cards and began our journey. We caught the M60 bus from LaGuardia to Astoria Blvd in Queens, and rode an N train across to Manhattan, leaving a 15 minute walk to our hotel. The only downside was lugging our cases up the stairs to the platform in Queens, and then up the stairs again from the Prince St subway station. We later discovered that the Canal St station was closer to our hotel.

And so we arrived at the Hampton Inn in SoHo (that’s South of Houston if you’re wondering). Whilst the room was not so luxurious as the Grand Hyatt in San Francisco, this was our favourite accommodation of the trip. The tone was set when we arrived, well before check-in time, and were greeted with “Hello. Yes your room is ready. Would you like some coffee or juice?” The staff at this hotel were delightful, and the buffet breakfast was a welcome relief from cereal in paper bowls. Our only complaint – those blinds that don’t close.

San Francisco - Part 3

I start this post in a phenomenally bad mood – having just finished typing it and then losing it. Bloody stupid Blogger. And what I’d written was so insightful, witty and elegant. You’ll need to trust me on that because the spark has gone and all I can hope for now is insipid, tedious and ungainly.

So where was I? I recall three final highlights from San Francisco – in no particular order.

Firstly (remembering this is in no order), we discovered Ghirardelli chocolate. More importantly, we discovered that Ghirardelli were running a promotion and handing out free chocolate squares as we entered the store. Now, I like to think that I enjoy chocolate as much as the next guy, but I have no idea who the next guy is. What I don’t believe is that I like chocolate as much as the next girl – particularly if the next girl is Suzy. Anyway, I still prefer good old Cadbury with its glass and a half of full cream milk in every 200 gram block. However, I would never knock back a free chocolate, and so we made sure to visit all three of the stores within Ghirardelli square and accept our free chocolates in each. The kids made sure to complete this circuit many times during our stay.

Secondly (still in no order), we visited Alcamatraz. And how is it that the officialdom of nomenclature overlooked that middle syllable? Two little letters that alone may be baby’s first word, yet in Alcatraz can raise a word from a bit of fun phonetic frottage to an exquisite oral joy. Let’s say it together now – Alcamatraz. And I have Jesamine to thank for introducing me to this pleasure, just as you may now thank me.

We were ferried across to the Rock, where we toured the old prison with our audio guide headsets. I’ve not had a lot of experience with audio guides, but I’ve heard enough to know that this was particularly good. The narrations are provided by ex-guards and inmates, with a backdrop of prison sounds creating an immersive experience.

One particular joy was a woman who was clearly not a regular user of headphones, shouting to her husband “Are you up to the bit about the spaghetti?” We knew she was shouting. He knew she was shouting. But she had headphones on.

Third of the unordered highlights - Jesamine had her portrait sketched by a street artist in the Fisherman's wharf area. Not a particularly good likeness, but it was cheap (though of course not as cheap as the signs would have us believe). Which reminds me, when we unpacked our bags in San Diego, the clay portrait Connick had done at Santa Monica was broken - despite being wrapped in an almost full roll of toilet paper. Bummer.

And now, some final observations from San Francisco:

• I saw quite a few Prius taxis
• Some of the police cars were in pretty poor condition
• The buses are insufficient for the patronage they attract. We waited at one stop and watched 3 buses drive past because they were too full to pick us up. We then missed our stop getting off because we couldn't push through the crowd to reach the doors in the 15 seconds that the bus stopped.

We finished our San Franciso visit as it began - at the Les Joulins Jazz Bistro on Ellis St. It was not the same band as on our first night, and they were late arriving. Imagine my disappointment when the piano player turned out to be the same hack from our first night. Strangely, he played better, but the band didn't work together at all. The food was still great though.

This concludes another leg of our epic adventure. Next stop, the Big Apple.

San Francisco - Part 2

We commenced our time in San Francisco with two days of hopping on buses, and hopping off buses, and hopping on buses, and hopping off buses ... Lucky for us San Francisco offers hop-on-hop-off buses. The accompanying commentary was not great, but it was okay. The big advantage of the bus is the sense of orientation it provides. After a couple of loops of the city, you get a good feel for where things are.

City Hall was one of the first, and most impressive, of the landmarks we passed. The current building is a replacement of the original, destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. Apparently the monument on the roof was all the survived of the original building. It later fell off the back of a truck and was destroyed. Now that's a spot of bad luck.

The building stands intentionally taller than the United States Capitol, and displays more than it's fair share of gold leaf. An amazing sight for tourists to gaze upon, but I still couldn't help wondering how the hell the local council structure their budget to be able to afford this granduer without a revolt by the ratepayers.

The building looks like this (not my photo) ...



San Francisco is filled with beautiful Victorian architecture - including the famous painted ladies on Alamo Square. Which look a little like this (not my photo) ...



Our first hopping off point was the legendary Haight Ashbury district - which may lay claim to primary credit for my adoration of this crazy town. Haight St is just the very place to be if you're shopping for second-hand clothes, smoking paraphenalia, hats, fetish wear, antique clothing, books, musical instruments, and other stuff both weird and fulfilling of wonderous desires. One of my favourite clothing stores on Haight St would have admirably outfitted both Prince (as known presently, formerly, or prospectively) and Captain Jack Sparrow. It sold the most perfectly formed top hats I've ever seen.

From one of the second-hand stores I purchased just the leather jacket that I never managed to procure as an Arthur Fonzerelli devoted pre-teen (though I do recall owning a black vinyl jacket lined in astonishingly scarlet satin). Being a cold city, this jacket was functional as well as smashingly attractive.

In my new jacket, I looked precisely this cool ...



Now if only I'd purchased that second-hand leather cod-piece I had my eye on ...



The Booksmith on Haight St is a bountiful buffet for the bibliophile. A cornucopia of comprehensive composition. It brought my fiscally conservative personality into direct conflict with my love of a good book (or twenty). The result ... despite the apparent evidence of my extensive library - I'm still at heart a massive tight-arse and left empty handed though heavy of heart.

Another stand-out was the Haight Ashbury Music Centre. A music shop as I remember them from a forgotten era. An era when music shops could afford floor stock. Hundreds of guitars hanging on walls. I felt young again to just stand there in slack-jawed wonderment.

As the buskers along Haight St make clear, there are far more people in San Francisco who own guitars than can play them.

Another noteworthy sight from the open top of our tour bus was a black girl being handcuffed on the street by more policemen than was probably necessary. I have no idea why she was being arrested, but Obama is still alive so I'm ruling out presidential assassination.

We crossed and recrossed the Golden Gate Bridge. It can be cold and windy crossing the bridge on the open top of a tour bus, but it can be tolerable when you've got a heavy leather jacket and the foresight to lose your hair so that it doesn't blow into your face.

Did you know that the Golden Gate Bridge is painted International Orange - the same colour as the pressure suits worn by NASA astronauts?

Did you know that the cables supporting the 2km span are almost one metre in diameter, and contain 27,572 separate wires? In total, there are 129,000km of wire in the cables.

I'm what's known in the trade as a trivia-trove.

Anyway, here's what the bridge looks like when Jesamine sits in front of it ...



And at this point, I'll leave it for another day. Goodbye.

San Francisco - Part 1

I've lost count of the days, but at some point we wound up in San Francisco.

Just as I had no idea how much I'd loathe Las Vegas, nor did I know how San Francisco would agree with me. Frisco is my kind of town.

One complaint though - the place seems overrun with Australians.

Our San Franciscan lodgings, the Grand Hyatt on Union Square, were excellent. Large room, comfortable beds, electric blinds on the windows - but no free internet! Something of an anomaly for a US hotel in this day and age.

Having dropped off the rental car, we set out in search of food. In the wrong direction. A couple of dollars to a helpful homeless guy set us off in a better direction.

Homeless people are a feature of San Francisco. Not in the way the entertainment industry would use the word - "Come see San Francisco, now featuring more wretches and toothless crones than San Diego" - but certainly the homeless are prominent and plentiful. Some busk - generally pretty badly - and many just beg. For some, it's a fine line.

The accepted wisdom, as espoused by the travel affionados, is not to give money to the homeless. I don't understand this. Will this make the problem worse? I don't think this is a career choice for these people. San Franciso is cold. Mark Twain allegedly said "The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco." Living on those cold streets can not be a choice, no matter how many brothers spare dimes. That said, I would like to sully my frugal reputation by suggesting we were handing out cash on the streets willy and/or nilly - just to the occassional busker or to someone who gave us directions.

On the corner of Powell and Geary, you can likely find a guy drumming on an array of upturned buckets, pots, and pans. He doesn't play as a drummer would - well, not as I would - but he hits away at the various targets with a pair of sticks, and he sings along. He may not sound great - but he's real. (Not my photo)



Another favourite we came to avoid, was this guy (again, not my photo) ...



The internet tells me his name is Norman Yancey, and you'll find him outside Ghiradelli Square. The internet tells me all manner of things about him that may or may not be true. What I do know is that he holds a guitar, he'll strum an A chord and an D chord, and he calls out rhymes. "Hey pappa, you got a dollar for my supper". Then he laughs a little too raucously, but nonetheless infectiously. As you move on, you'll hear the same rhymes called out to the next passers by - and he'll laugh just as hard. I don't know if he can even play the guitar, but he holds it well as we cross the road and he calls "look out for that bus, and bring be back a couple of bucks"

Even along Haight St, where the buskers took themselves a little (even a lot) more seriously, there was not much actual talent. A little disappointing, but still, I love the whole atmosphere of a city where people perform in the open air.

But back to our search for food, and we found ourselves at Les Joulins Jazz Bistro on Ellis St, listening to Bohemian Knuckleboogie. Bandleader Mike Pitre plays a mean pocket trumpet, and sings with real Dr John growl - but the piano player was woefully disappointing.

The meal was delicious.

This concluding our first night in San Francisco, I may need to leave it there. Unfortunately getting out and seeing things on this holiday is making it very hard to find to time to write about things.

Night all

Day 16 - Road Trip

The local youth have been celebrating spring break while we've been visiting the USA, and what better way to jump on the spring break band wagon that with a road trip?

To Cancun?

No?

Frisco?

A little less traditional for spring break, but why not?

And so we picked up our rental car and bid Vegas farewell. Actually, Vegas can fare as it damn well pleases. I felt like an animal escaping a zoo.

'Twas a lengthy and largely uneventful drive. Driving on the right side of the road is easier to adjust to than driving on the left side of the car. I don't know how many times I turned the wipers on to make a turn.And I never really got used to looking to the right for the rear-view mirror.

Leaving the artifice of Vegas quickly reveals the harsh reality of the Mojave Desert. The Mojave Desert, named for the local people, is defined by the Joshua Tree. What a great name for an album. What? That preachy do-gooding pretentious wanker. What? Sorry, I thought you said Sting.

If you like the look of Yucca Brevifolia (that's ET for Joshua Tree - he was a botanist wasn't he? And one hell of a telecommunications engineer to boot) then you'll love the Mojave Desert. If that's your bag, then chances are you'll also like Enya.



Besides Yuccas, our desert trek was made very slightly interesting by the sight of substantial snow on the distant mountains, and by passing somewhere within the vicinity of Edwards Airforce Base - where Frank Zappa lived as a teenager during the late 1950s. In fact, he wasn't just living as a teenager in some bizarre fantasy - he was an actual teenager at that time. Later in life he wasn't a teenager.

Knowing that Frank Zappa once lived somewhere near by but not being sure exactly in which direction might not seem very interesting - but such is the nature of driving through a large desert.

The desert becomes less well, deserty, around the town of Mojave, where the land rises to the Tehachapi mountains. The pass through the Tehachapi mountains is notable for wind turbines. Lots of wind turbines. No, really, I'm talking LOTS of wind turbines. Like, 5000 wind turbines.

(Take what you think is a lot of wind turbines, multiply it by, like, 10, say, and that's how many wind turbines there are ... with thanks to Chris Lang).



Driving through the Tehachapi pass provided some beautiful vistas (you may know these as "views", because you're not a pretentious bastard like me) - which I enjoyed alone as the family slept.

On the other side of the Tehachapi mountains we descended into the San Joaquin Valley, from which is produced a significant portion of the United States' agriculture. Hundreds and hundreds of miles of plantations as far as the eye can see. Whilst mostly plantations, we also passed one dairy farm - and quite a dairy farm it was. We were alerted by the odour, which we immediately blamed on Connick. But then there were cows. I don't know how may cows, but certainly in the thousands. Oh, to be a manufacturer of three legged stools and wooden buckets in the San Joaquin valley.

The California Aqueduct follows the interstate for much of the trip through the San Joaquin valley. I didn't see Donald Duck at Disneyland, so I took great interest in the California Aqueduct. Over 1100 kms of concrete lined channel. By gosh that's quite something.



Despite such an impressive delivery system, the region has clearly not been without its water problems - both climatic and political. Quite a few dead plantations stood with signs proclaiming "Stop the Congress Created Dust Bowl" (or something like that).

The road down into San Francisco was lovely, through velvety rolling hills. The road surface, on the other hand, was appalling. I doubt that local drivers would ever know if they had a flat tyre. The surface really made the car rattle and hum ... now there's a good album title. What? Not again. That sermonising Irish git. What? Not Bob Geldof?

One of the pleasures of west coast driving is a near-total disregard for red lights. The right turn of red is allowed by law, but to speed the flow of traffic I took some further liberties with this. Probably lucky I didn't have far from the motel to the Hertz drop off. I also noticed many intersections where all arriving traffic faces STOP signs. I'm not sure who gets right of way, so, again, probably lucky I restricted most of my driving to highways.

Did I mention driving across the Golden Gate bridge? Turns out I didn't - it was a different bridge. But we did cross it a couple of times on the hop-on-hop-off bus later in our trip.

But that, as they say in the classics, is not for now.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Days 12, 13, 14 & 15

I've not read Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Lothing in Las Vegas, but I think I will.

Vegas is NOT my kind of town. I can't explain why it's not my kind of town, but I think it's got something to do with the lack of reality and originality. It almost certainly has something to do with me being no longer young and carefree - not to mention being cautious with my money. I can imagine enjoying Vegas if I was 21 and single. I can even imagine surviving Vegas if I was 21 and single - almost.

At 39 and married with children, Las Vegas made me suddenly and severely depressed.

I cried a lot in Las Vegas.

At first glance, it's certainly impressive. Everything exists on a grand scale. All of the world's most iconic monuments reproduced and thrown together along a couple of miles of "strip". But they're just repoductions. And they're not faithful reproductions. They're reproductions calculated to find an economic sweet spot where visual impact is maximised on a budget. It all feels like Emerald City in the land of Oz - and the man behind the curtain is a shifty bastard!

The most appopriately named casino in Vegas .... The Mirage

So, after a long ride on a Greyhound bus, and a short-ish ride in a taxi - we arrived at our castle. And let me firstly say that my romantic notions of Greyhound buses were shattered. But I can't blame Greyhound for my unrealistic romantic notions. I don't know that Greyhound ever did anything to create the images in my mind. Music and movies are to blame for that. Why should I assume that vagrants fleeing across vast tracts of land to escape their past and create new lives with nothing more than the clothes on their back and perhaps a battered guitar case would be doing so on luxury coaches? Sorry, my bad, but I get it now.

As I said, we arrived at our castle, and in typical Vegas style, first impressions are impressive. Which is no great surprise. For an impression to be other than impressive would require at a minimum some mangling of our language. Of course, what could be more fun than mangling a language? They don't call English a manguage for nothing. In fact, they don't call English a manguage at all. Or, if they do, I've not met them.

Our hotel - Excalibur - is vast. Almost 4,000 motel rooms and about a dozen turrets. All themed in medieval style.

The second thing you notice is the smell. My talents with describing odours are limited - so I fear I can do not justice in describing the smell. It's not a particularly bad smell. It's almost a sweet smell, in a disinfectant sort of a way. I presume it's a cover for the smell of smoke - of which there is plenty in the air. For me, not liking Vegas, the smell quickly became associated with my
overall distaste, and so every time I entered the building, it triggered my feelings of entrapment and revulsion.

Visual impression. Check. Olfactory impression. Check. The next thing we find is a very friendly chap directing us to what we assume to be the check-in desk. Another friendly face at what we still assume to be the check-in desk offers us cheap show tickets. We choose 4 passes to the Tournament of Kings, including an alleged 5 course meal (according to the friendly face), for the kingly sum of $50. Seems like good deal. And to receive our tickets, we just need to attend a short presentation - no more than two hours - at a motel 5 minutes down the road. Now, I have been to Queensland, so whilst I may not recognise the smell of a medieval themed casino, I can smell a timeshare presentation from 100 kms away at 1 part in 1000. Unfortunately, I'm also a sucker for a cheap show ticket, so we agreed to show up at 1:45 the next afternoon - with no obligation - to receive our tickets.

We took our first stroll down the strip. Plenty of street performers are happy to pose for photos in return for a small tip. One of the Michael Jackson's was even creepy enough to pass as a real paedophile.

Still in search of a bargain, we visited a "Tix4Tonight" booth to buy some cheap passes for dinner. If your not familiar, the theory here is that each night you can buy unsold show tickets at reduced prices. They also sell tickets for discount meals. Of course, Vegas being Vegas, things are not always as they seem. The small print on our tickets, which I read as we sat down to eat, specified that a 15% gratuity would be charged on the undiscounted price. Can it really be a gratuity if it's a contractual obligtaion? It can in the English manguage.

So, we've got gambling (obviously), we've got smoking (not surprisingly), but two other vices are on constant display in the city of sin. Firstly, alcohol. Everyone seems to be sipping from a receptacle better suited to fighting forest fires. Some are shaped like plastic guitars (and close to full size), some are shaped like the eiffel tower (and, again, close to full size). And won't those enormous novelty cups come in handy when it comes to packing your suitcase for the trip home?

The other conspicuous vice is sex. At every street corner along the strip you find at least four short Mexicans snapping credit cards and pamphlets into your hand, advertising attractive ladies who can be at your hotel within 20 minutes. If the pictures on the cards are anything to go by, then Vegas has some incredibly hot ladies. If the chaps handing out the cards are anything to go by, then I'd doubt the pictures on the cards are anything to go by. Curiously, I saw as many women's clothing shops in Vegas as I saw casinos - yet looking through these cards you'd get the impression that there are no clothes to be had. Only strange ethereal points of light, and I'm still unsure whether they are intended to hide or to accentuate the rude bits.

But it's not just the cards on the street corners. Every casino seems to have dancers in lingerie, and girls delivering drinks to gamers in lingerie, and girls dealing cards in lingerie. And the breasts are all impressive (though no doubt only cheap replicas of the real thing). There are billboards advertising strip shows. Sex is everywhere. And it gives me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. And it's not just the employees. There was a lot of very impressive cleavage and short skirts and high heels, and I love to see it, and yet I can't help feeling I'd be better off if I didn't.

And does any city need a shop four stories high dedicated to M&Ms?

So, on day 2 of Vegas we met our tour group for the timeshare presentation. The friendly person who loaded us onto the bus assured us that he valued our vacation time, and that we would return as soon as possible. We were bussed to the Grandview. Now, the guy who booked us in told us it was five minutes down the road. They must have forgotten to drop us off the first time past, because it was 20 minute trip, and I'm sure that no-one trying to sell us timeshare would lie to us.

We waiting in a designated waiting area until, and when our names were called, a very friendly agent gave us some lunch and then a lenghty tour of the motel. It looks very nice - for a place sitting on its own nowhere near the rest of Vegas. By this stage our two hours was up, so we were getting impatient, and we were sat down for the sales pitch. We made it quite clear that we were not interested, and had only attended for the promised cheap tickets. But on she went. And we said no. And on she went. And we said no. And so she called in the big gun. All gold rings and chains. And he sweetened the deal. And we said no. And so he sweetened some more. And with barely concealed impatience we said no. And he made one last pitch. And we said no. And so he stamped an all important slip of paper to confirm that we had put up with his nonsense.

By this stage our friendly representative had turned nasty and refused to speak to us. We were ushered to the next stage, and another almost firendly person. We made clear that we were fed up, that they'd already taken more than 2 hours of our time, and that we wanted to get back to our holiday. "But it says here that you didn't arrive until 2:22pm". Aha, the five minute bus trip that took twenty minutes isn't included in the "no more than 2 hours". So, we answered some questions about how wonderful the sales presentation was, and just how low the final offer we refused was. Then we were ushered to another friendly person, who filled out yet more paperwork, and finally gave us our tickets. Well, not tickets as such. Vouchers to obtain tickets - subject to availability.

And what a fun bus trip back, with a bus full of passengers seething with hatred for the Grandview Las Vegas. Actually, it was probably good to blow off a little collective steam.

By the time we returned to our motel, our "no more than 2 hours" had been 3 hours and 20 minutes.

So, to understand just what's involved in selling timeshare, let's recap how many people chanelled us through this labrynth.

1 - the guy who directed us to the desk in Excalibur
2 - the guy who took our $50 and signed us up for the tour
3 - the guy who loaded us onto the bus
4 - the bus driver
5 - the person who led us from the bus to the waiting area in the grandview
6 - the lady who showed us around and tried to sign us up
7 - the big gun who tried really hard to make the offer look good
8 - the lady who surveyed us
9 - the lady who printed our tickets
10 - the bus driver who returned us to our motel

That's 10 people, or, as I like to call them, cunts, who presumably all received some payment for this unsuccessful attempt (with the possible exception of cunt number 6, who may work for commission - but probably still receives some retainer).

We spent the rest of our time in Vegas fending off offers from other cunts throughout the motel who attempted to feed us back into the machine. I employed my right to dimiss them less than politely.

And the silver lining from this dark cloud? The Tournament of Kings show was really quite good. I'm still having trouble indentifying the five courses that the friendly man at the desk (cunt number 2) promised. We had soup, we had a main meal, we had dessert. I don't claim to be any mathematical genius, but that sounds like three courses to me. I had a glass of coke. Perhaps that could be considered a fourth course.

This has been a pretty long and somewhat vitriolic post, but I'm not yet done with Vegas.

Whilst sitting in the spa at the motel with Jesamine and Connick, a guy who'd clearly been drinking for too many consecutive days and with a chip the size of a Las Vegas margarita clearly upon his shoulder, decided to lecture me about how Jesamine really can't stand me (I believe the proof being that his daughter can't stand him - and I can her point). It was a little uncomfortable, but I have a pretty good sense for which drunken idiots to needle, and which to smile at and nod along with. And so I smiled and nodded, and when his brother joined us, I smiled and nodded some more. Still, I felt it was only a matter of time till matters took a sour turn, and verily did a member of the resort staff arrive of queue and request that they leave the spa. Much agression ensued. And many were the security staff who arrived to herd them from the resort.

And herd they did. There must have been nearly a dozen security staff eventually - but never using undue force. Just herding.

For our last dinner in Vegas, we caught a shuttle to Rio Casino, and to Gaylord's Indian restaurant. This was one of the best Indian meals I've had.

We wandered home through many of the casinos, marvelling at the vacuous and ostentatious fixtures. Indoor fountain anyone? How about a canal complete with gondolas passing under four or five bridges? On a second floor?

No one can deny that Vegas is impressive.

Days 9, 10 & 11 - San Diego

Can you feel my blogging energy waning? One post per day for 8 days, and suddenly a single post to cover 3 days.

We left the tour group behind in Anaheim - and left poor Rachel emotionally distressed. We caught a Lux Bus to San Diego - a trip of about 1 1/2 hours.

Our hotel is nice. The service leaves a bit to be desired.

First day here we explored the city on foot. We found a medical centre, and spent far too long waiting (some things are universal, or at least trans-continental) for a doctor to look at a rash under Jesamine's arms. With the appropriate antibiotics in hand (at least the doctor provides these, rather than sending us to a pharmacy), we found a lovely Indian restaurant for an early tea (or dinner, as the locals would have it). Actually, we found a number of nice looking Indian restaurants - but ate in only one.

One of the great illusions of dining in America is that it's cheap. It certainly looks that way at first glance - but when you add the tax and tip, we typically end up spending more than we would in Australia. And that includes sharing meals.

We found Horton Plaza - the local shopping centre - where we ran into the Flemings. They had also bussed to San Diego from Anaheim. It's a small world as they say (though they're not often geologists nor astronomers, so what would they know anyway?)

I purchased a book for $3 (plus tax). What, with that and my $15 t-shirt and $13 cap, I'm practically keeping the US economy afloat on my own!

Next day we found a Supermarket (Ralph's, for those with a perverse interest), and purchased some fresh fruit. We also revisited Horton Plaza, where we stopped for a movie. Scream 4. I think I recognised one of the house exteriors in the film from our Universal Studios tour.

We met the Flemings for tea (again, that's dinner locally) at the Old Spaghetti Factory. It was a longer walk than we remembered from our first day, so on the way home we took up the offer of a ride on the back of a pedi-taxi - i.e. a bicycle with a trailer. Suzy giggled the whole trip as this poor bugger tried to pedal the four of us uphill to our hotel. He gave up with about two blocks to go - which was still a pretty impressive effort.

Today, being day 3 of San Diego (and day 11 of our US trip), we visited Old Town San Diego. Given the local tourist advisor had warned us off visiting Mexico - this was the next best thing. Some amazing old houses. Lots of colourful (colorful in local-spell) markets. Jez and I toured the Whaley House - one of America's most haunted houses - and every bit as dull as I expected.

We then caught a taxi to Coronado, and checked out the Del Coronado hotel. Very impressive. Unfortunately the hot Southern Californian weather has left us temporarily, so a little too cool for swimming at the lovely beach.

In contrast to my earlier comment about the cost of dining, we got lunch at KFC/Taco Bell. For less than $5 I ended up with 1 hard taco, 3 soft tacos, 1 burrito, and a large coke (soda in the local tongue).

We caught the Ferry back to San Diego, and I believe I'm now overdue for a swim on the hotel pool.

Thanks for you attention.

Day 8

Disneyland is an exciting, wondrous and magical place. And I've had my fill.

You CAN have too much of a good thing, and at the end of a 6-day pass, the sheer decadence has worn me down. Even the California Screamin' rollercoaster, over so many rides has progressed from thrilling, to exciting, to enjoyable, to somewhat dull, and finally to a little annoying. It's like gorging on block after block of chocolate. It's like seeing a great comedian perform the same routine time and again.

I don't mean that I now regret our time at Disneyland - only that I don't need any more for a little while.

And so I've left the family there for their final hours, and headed back to the motel to catch-up on a couple of days blogging. Tomorrow, we leave for San Diego by bus.

I won't run through the rides of the day - suffice it to say that we explored some of the less thrilling adventures with shorter queues that hadn't really been on our to-do-list. Though we did coax Suzy onto the Hollywood Tower of Terror early in the day - which was great.

To take a few steps back, the day started with the girls' final dance performance at California Adventure Park. Yet again we parents were a little emotional and a lot proud.

Today was also our farewell dinner - at the Rainforest Cafe. This is a little different to the Hot Spot in Traralgon - and even a little better than the Royal Exchange. It's a themed restaurant, with as much attention to detail as any of the Disney rides. Modelled on ancient ruins overgrown by rainforest, it includes a number of wall height fishtanks, and a few animatronic animals (including a couple of sizeable elephants). It was a great way to finish the official dance tour. Awards were awarded and speeches were spoken.

It turns out we'll be crossing paths with at least a couple of the other families who have overlapping further travel plans. In fact, our bus to San Diego is thanks to the Fleming family.

In closing, let me assure you that this was the eighth straight day of perfect blue skies, and after a couple of warmer days, was back to something in the mid twenties.

I realise that this post is out of order, but I thought I'd get it out of the way while it's fresh in my head. Now, onto Day 7 ...

Day 7

Day 7 provided a rare opportunity for a sleep in. Whilst not a "free day", the girls were not performing till late in the day. We decided (well, Jez and Rachel decided) to do a little more shopping, so we booked a car to take us to the "Block at Orange" - the sort of shopping centre where all the shops have "outlet" at the end of their name, but nothing is noticeably cheaper.

We were picked up in a Lincoln Towncar, which I obviously find very apt because my middle name is Towncar.

In the afternoon, the girls performed in the Street Parade through Disneyland. They found it hard going - an hour or so of rehearsal and then dancing continuously for 2 km. But we loved it.

One thing I will say about Disneyland, is that you hear an awful lot of the Hawthorn Theme song.

Jez and Rachel were apparently interviewed for some TV show or other just prior to the parade. Unfortunately they have no idea who or what or why - so I doubt that we'll ever see it.

Connick purchased a sword or two from Disneyland. We're getting these delivered - and I sure hope they get through customs (or do I?)

Connick and I finally caught the fireworks display. It is very impressive. And to think that it's happening every day! (Except of course when technical difficulties intervene)

We also saw Fantastica - a show combination of live action, lights and water on the river front. The premise of the show is that it's Mickey's dream - but I couldn't help feeling someone may have slipped Mickey a Mickey.

A few other observations about America I've collected along the way:
- McDonald's thick shakes are topped with whipped cream - which seems a mite unnecessary
- Our money is much better, and getting rid of 1 and 2 cent pieces was a good idea.
- The line between domestic pickup (ute) and monster truck is very blurry
- There seems to be an issue with buskers that turning up for gigs. Sometimes there's just a DVD playing.

Anyway, let's call that Day 7, which along with the Day 8 I posted earlier, concludes the first leg of our journey.

Good night.

Day 6

Another perfect day - if not a little too warm - and off to Hollywood.

We drove past a few notable locations, including the Venice High School that served as Rydell High for Grease. Our first stop was the Santa Monica pier, where Connick sat for a personalised sculpture (not a great likeliness, but still pretty cool). Jez and Rachel danced their own unique dance to a busking steel drummer - and then had a play on his steel drum.

We drove along some notable streets, including Sunset Strip where the famous nightclubs are, including the Whisky A Go-Go and the Viper room (once owned by Jonathon Depp and the place that River Phoenix allegedly took to the pavement like a duck to lead pellets).

The girls performed their dances outside Madam Tussauds on Hollywood Boulevard. It was very exciting with a huge billboard announcing "Welcome Danceworks 114 from Traralgon Australia".

It was also bloody hot!

We toured Madam Tussauds, and took photos in amusing poses with the waxen-folk. Some are very likelike, though I'm not sure they did justice to Angelina Jolie's breasts. Halle Berry's, on the other hand, were looking very swell (get it?) until I peeked into her top and they were a little incomplete and marred by seams in the wax (are they really wax? It feels more like plastic)

I was a little disappointed they didn't have wicks in the tops of their heads.

The girls headed off for a dance workshop at "The Edge". We parents headed to Farmers Market/The Grove for a short trip. This looks like a great shopping area, and one we may try to revisit when we return to LA in a few weeks.

Connick and I attempted to buy some fruit from a fruit stall, and ended up filming a commercial for sunkist mandarins. It will probably be on Youtube at some stage. Connick was very excited by his fame.

Jez and Rachel kept the bus entertained/annoyed with their singing all the way home.

By the time we got back to hotel, too little sleep and too little fresh fruit was catching up with me, so I took some Cold and Flu tablets and turned in for an early night.

Stay tuned for Day 7 ...

Day 5

Our first free day!!! No wake-up call!!! Another day of perfect blue skies!!! Plenty of exclamation marks!!!

We took advantage of our first free-day with a sleep-in. I still woke reasonably early - because our room heats up pretty quickly under the Southern Californian sun (actually, it's the same sun we have in Australia - but it behaves a little differently when it's over this side of the world).

We caught a bus to Santa Ana for a bit of shopping. Not much for me and Connick to see, but I did manage to find a new splendid hat and an equally splendid t-shirt in JC Penny. Jez and Rachel have a new favourite shop here called Forever 21 - and they bought ... ummm ... clothes or something.

We headed over to Disneyland late in the afternoon, and stayed till after midnight. We saw the World of Colour show, which is a really impressive use of sprinklers and torches (btw, that's my "u" in colour, not Disney's, and I'd like it back when you're finished reading it.)

I don't believe we managed to lose anything on this particular day!

Day 4

This morning we had a 6:30 wake up call, to head into Hollywood for our visit to Universal Studios.

It's a bit of a rush, because Universal only opens from 10am to 6pm - which seems a bit odd. We had to buy a new pass for Connick (having lost his along with his Disney pass the other day), but we at least got a discount off the retail price.

Driving into Hollywood is interesting. There are some iconic buildings to see - like Capitol Records - and of course the Hollywood sign. There are a lot of areas that look less than desirable to live in. We were held up by a four car accident on the freeway. Four crashed cars, two police, and about 14 tow trucks.

The girls again made all of us parents proud with their dancing.

Despite the limited time, we saw most of what there is to see at Universal. The studio tour includes a new King Kong segment, which is a highlight. The pick of the rides would have to be the Simpson's virtual roller-coaster - followed by the Mummy roller coaster.

The Waterworld show is impressive - though not everyone's cup of tea (not Suzy's for example).

Rachel managed to lose her purse today at Universal Studios - luckily someone handed it in with cash intact. So, that's Jesamine's phone, Connick's tickets, my hat, and Rachel's purse. We are fast becoming known as the loser family. Oh, and I just realised that I deleted all of today's photos off our memory card without downloading them. Lucky we hadn't taken any more photos, so the files seem to be recoverable. In fact ... yep ... I've got them back. Phew!!!

It feels like we've done so much less today - but I guess it's still been a pretty full day. The fireworks finished a while ago, so I know that it's after 10pm.

Tomorrow is our first "free" day. I believe there'll be some shopping, and then into Disney for some queuing.

Day 3

Another beautiful day in Southern California. So beautiful, in fact, that I'm getting rather sun burnt about the bits that I keep overlooking with sunscreen.

One important fact that I overlooked in my day 2 post was that Connick has managed to lose his 6-day Disney pass and his Universal Studios pass. Did we not stress enough how important is was to look after these things? And Jesamine's not off the hook either - having managed to leave her phone on the bus from the airport.

We've got Jesamine's phone back, and so far Disney have been good with providing Connick complimentary passes. Not sure if Universal Studios will be so accommodating tomorrow. Unfortunately Disney have not provided me with a complimentary splendid hat. Lucky I brought a spare!

Today the girls danced at California Adventure Park. Again we were all very proud parents. It was a better stage, and a better performance.

Lots more rides at both parks for the afternoon. Yesterday Jesamine came up with the great gag of waiting till the lights go out in the Haunted Mansion, then laying on the floor pretending to be dead when the lights come back on. It was ever so much fun yesterday, so she did it again today. Sometimes you just can't keep a good gag down. Much like a bad meal.

Anyway, we returned for an early night rather than hang around for the fireworks. The plan was for a nice relaxing spa, but I got blogging and that boat has now sailed. In fact, the fireworks have just finished. Didn't sound like they suffered any technical difficulties today. Neither did the rides for that matter.

Well, I didn't make it to that spa, but it's only 10 past 10pm, so there's still time for a reasonably early night in readiness for a 6:30 wake up call in the morning. Tomorrow we're off to Universal Studios.

Night all.

Day 2

Somehow it feels we've been here for a looong time. But I still don't have that feeling of being in another country - I'm pretty sure that I just took an extraordinarily roundabout route to the gold coast.

We had our early wake up call for the first day, for breakfast in Goofy's Kitchen.

Did I say breakfast? Then what the hell were those peperoni pizzas and hot dogs doing there? And how did anyone conceive of a peanut and jelly pizza? And that glass of orange juice I ordered - I'm sorry waiter but you seem to have brought me a bucket. And no - I don't need it refilled.

We had many characters come by for photos - and I must say Cinderella was very cute. Some to think of it, so was Aladdin.

Back from breakfast and the girls got ready for their first workshop and performance as Disneyland. Having seen them off, Suzy, Connick and I caught a taxi to the local Target for a spot of shopping. We bought a couple of cheap phones to keep in touch. Cell phones mind you - but certainly very mobile. Is there something wrong in the world when for $20 you can buy a phone, have unlimited calls to mobiles (sorry, cells) for 10 days, and then throw it away. At least we're here for a bit longer, so we might buy some more credit (sorry, airtime) and make it really worthwhile for the phone company.

Connick bought a Nerf gun - because he assured us it was ever so much cheaper than at home.

We also stocked up on cheap cereals, snacks and bottled water (24 bottles for $4 ... bargain). I don't recommend the US version of Cheerios. Very bland compared to our Australian 4 grain Cheerios.

We caught a bus back, and found that by appearing a little clueless and failing to have correct change, the driver waved us through on a vastly reduced fare. So, not entirely dissimilar to the tactic I employ when using trams in Melbourne.

The girls' first performance at Disneyland put a tear in most of our eyes. I blame the long flight and lack of sleep for leaving us in an emotionally fragile state. Imagine being 13 and dancing at Disneyland! Imagine being 13 and doing ANYTHING at Disneyland! I wouldn't suggest that dancing troupes on slightly obscure stages are big crowd pullers at Disneyland - but we did hear some very positive comments from a few of the non-parents who stopped by to watch.

In the afternoon, we hit the rides. But Monday was a very busy day. We decided to start using fast passes. For those who don't know, every two hours you can get a fast pass ticket for one ride. The ticket allocates a time, usually a couple of hours later, when you can walk straight to the front of the queue. You return at that time and walk smugly past the regular queuers.

What you don't expect is to find that the fast pass will have you return more than 7 hours later!

The wait times seem to have a lot to do with the rate of, what the Disney folk like to call. "technical difficulties". During our first two days at Disneyland, I have experienced most of the good rides having "technical difficulties".

Our fast pass ride on the Soaring Over California ride was a long wait - because the ride had been experiencing "technical difficulties". It is nonetheless a very cool ride.

I had my own "technical difficulty" on the California Screamin' rollercoaster - when I forgot to remove my splendid hat. Actually, I did remove my hat. I removed it by thrusting my head forward through the air at a rather cracking pace. Still waiting for it to turn up in lost and found (my splendid hat, that is - not my splendid head).

We had tea in a Mexican restaurant in Downtown Disney, then raced back to the park for the 9:30 fireworks display. We were running late, but lucky for us so were the fireworks. Due to - you guessed it - technical difficulties.

When it did start, we were becoming quite impressed - what with Tinkerbell flying across the sky and all. That was until the show came to an abrupt and unexpected halt - followed by an announcement that "we're sorry that fireworks show can not continue due to technical difficulties".

Suzy and I raced across to Space Mountain - one of the rides we'd been unable to get a fast pass for due to "technical difficulties". Another feature of the rides is that for those without a fast pass, there's always a sign telling you how long the wait will be. It turns out these signs are not always very accurate. A 25 minute estimated wait time was pretty close to one hour in real time. And that's adjusting for the time dilation effect caused by the speed of the rollercoaster.

When Jesamine, Rachel and I turned up for our 11:15pm fast pass on the Indiana Jones ride, it became a long wait as they sorted out some "technical difficulties". Suzy had also had a long wait for this ride earlier while they addressed some "technical difficulties". Luckily for the attendant and fellow queuers, we had two insane 13 year old girls to to liven things up. Jesamine and Rachel were in fine form, keeping everyone amused with their "Ossie" accents and refusal to give a straight answer to even the simplest question.

"So, are you sisters?"
"We're twins"
"Really?"
"Yes. We're born 11 days apart."
"What?"
"Well, we're mostly twins - but also mostly not twins"

Much merriment ensued.

Anyway, it made for a late night, as we eventually got on the ride and left Disneyland some time after midnight.

And can I just say before closing - the weather here is unbelievable. Warm days with clear blue skies. And still neither mosquito nor fly to be seen.

For those not on Facebook - we salute you

I know that some people are not on Facebook, and I applaud your efforts to resist change and maintain your own privacy. On the other hand, uploading photos to a blog is time-consuming and tedious compared to Facebook.

I've put on five photos here - but I make no promises that I'll be putting many more on. Facebook just makes it soooo much easier.

About to head through customs

In the departure lounge

At Goofy's kitchen for breakfast