Departure - from Vienna to Los Angeles

(It has come as expected. I'm sitting in a worn hotel room in Palm Springs at the edge of the tub and start writing. It's 2.30 clock and the night is over now for 30 minutes. In other words, after four hours of sleep. A drunken American wanted to briefly communicate something probably very important just outside our door and that's enough for me then to end the night. I know when I am awake, I have a problem falling asleep again, and this knowledge keeps me awake reliably.)

Enough time to look back. To a stressful cab ride in Vienna, as the booked taxi did not come. Then, as expected, no neighboring seats on our flight to Toronto. So I sit alone for 8 hours 45 minutes on the way to Toronto. No, not really alone, but next to an Indian family with a constantly moving and anti-authoritarian trained two year old boy. My sense perception is not only based on visual and audible stimuli from the apparently unreasonable restriction of his personality, it then is joined by olfactory perception. Exhausted from crying louder, accompanied by coughing because of the resulting lack of air, he pukes the admittedly not very easily digestible food on the floor next to me. Little India as an exotic addition to a trip to another continent.

Three exhausted people, because I must add his mother, land in Toronto. 8 pm CET and I'm awake for 17 hours. No time for sleeping, for now we will change planes. Appropriately, baggage may not automatically be checked on the long journey to the U.S. There is obviously not enough confidence in the effeminate Europeans and so you have to pick up the luggage to make it two hundred yards later to put it on the next belt. But we have almost three hours time left.

We start queuing at Air Canada, because due to some unknown reasons they issued only three instead of four boarding passes in Vienna. They would, however, have traded a widespread phenomenon, as a dozen passengers in front of me and almost as many behind me face two very relaxed persons from Air Canada. Half an hour later and as it turned out later, now with two boarding passes for me and none for my wife, we start looking for our luggage. Three of the four pieces of luggage actually made it onto the conveyor belt, but my bag is still missing only an hour after landing. Why Canada is considered a successful industrial country, is not completely accessible to me in these minutes. But the restrooms are stylish.

Now it is time for U.S. Immigration, which is already done in Toronto. The pace of advance is hardly measurable, and the line is some 30 meters long. As it measures only about 20 meters, we look at our boarding passes - just 45 minutes left! That is reason enough for an extra helping of nervousness and a short detour to the front of the line. Or at the crease, as it turns out, followed by another 20 to 30 meters. Yes, panic.

The Lady from the security service looks reasonably accessible, and I describe my problem. After she checked the boarding passes, she shows understanding, and we approach the front of the line, which then divides into nine heads in form of U.S. counter clerks (a modern version of Greek tragedy?). Apparently our idea finds new followers, as we often hear desperate words as "15 Minutes to Take Off" and the like.

We soon face Mr. Sanchez on the diplomatic counter for those in a hurry. He asks after a short review of the documents, however, with increasing irritation, why we would bother him here. Well, the lady over there showed some understanding, because our plane takes off in 25 minutes. Misunderstanding, says Mr. Sanchez, looking at the boarding card - in 25 minutes boarding begins, because the quoted time is of course not the departure time.

I just test the nature of the ground if I can sink into, but Mr. Sanchez helps us at least with the atonement by taking a lot of extra time. Please, again these four fingers on the scanning device. And now again the thumb. What is the relationship between these four people with the same family name? Do we maybe look like four brothers? Mia, what is your date of birth and other important issues that are apparently of fundamental importance to the internal security of the United States.

Then he looks at our boarding passes again. According to these passengers are the daughters Lisa and Mia and twice René. This is too much for Mr. Sanchez and he disappears for five minutes. Of course it feels like thirty minutes. He then returns but fortunately not with two hefty colleagues from the other department, but with a boarding pass for my wife. Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Sanchez.

Thus we reach the gate just before boarding, only to hear that the plane is late because a large group of Spaniards obviously managed US Immigration not as elegant as we did. And to learn that Air Canada pilots on the flight to the U.S. are obviously used to distress and willing to postpone the flight by more than 30 minutes behind.

Then again five hours in the airplane seat, where "Clash of the Titans" is of little help against my increasing fatigue. Who has held the view of Mr. Sanchez, for those the Medusa elicits only a disparaging smile. Short run, the adrenaline level rises again, as we see the prices of the only food available in the menu card. $ 10 for a sandwich and two chocolate cookies. I hope no one gets the idea that Austrian Airlines should be restructuring in this way.

A light emerging from the dawn of fatigue is caused by view from the airplane window on LA in the evening sun: The largest village in the world, which even from 10 km altitude stretches almost from horizon to horizon, and somewhere in the middle of it 20 or 30 skyscraper buildings called Downtown. We have arrived.

Arrival at Los Angeles

8 pm at landing or 5 am biological clock in the morning. At least, the immigration procedure is already done and we begin to look after the car rental counter. As it - funny enough - turns out it is about 2 miles from the airport and accessible only by shuttle bus.

Once again a short queuing-up and then Ms. Maria from Alamo Rent-a-car starts her cross-selling. Booked a minivan? Bad choice, because you are only four people. For only $ 770 additional charge, she can offer a superior SUV. It is shorter, but more cylinders. Who could say no? Me, for example.

Which airline have we used asks Ms. Maria in an apparently spontaneous incident. After looking over our boarding passes and a half minute of senseless typing on her keyboard, the charge is reduced to 315 dollars because we were flying Air Canada. What a lucky, though. Although I am dead tired - so stupid I'm not even after three days of sleep deprivation and subsequent waterboarding Guantanamo brand.

I have after all booked a minivan, most expensive class of all in our Austrian catalogue, good woman. Yes, maybe, but not eight cylinders and with more ground clearance. This form of negotiation, I know more from an Egyptian Bazaar and so is my "No thank you" already decided. Maria counters with the prospect of additional insurance for just $ 5 a day. Excuse me, I have already chosen CDW with the most expensive stage. Yes, but damage to the tire or on the windshield is not covered with it and yes that happens most frequently, so the additional insurance is highly recommended. Thank you very much, that I must now also learn this, and NO, THANK YOU. We want the car just as ordered.

Maria changes her behavior from Egyptian Bazaar to service type "Russia 1980" and answers questions about the GPS, or where we can get our car from, only very reluctantly and at best, murmuring single syllables. We find the exit and hear from a guy outside that you simply pick a car right out of line. The keys are inside and the minivans are located in the last row.

These are all Chrysler Town + Country (for us Grand Voyager), significantly longer than five meter, have seven seats and even when we manage to unfold the third row of seats, we still get our luggage with two large pockets, two medium-sized trolleys and a hand baggage not covered. Super. Something that our Opel Astra Caravan, which is three feet shorter and weighs probably a third of this monster, swallows without any problem. We already see ourselves crawling back on our knees to Ms. Maria to pay the premium and perhaps be able to rebook.

But there is one more car at the end of the row. Although at least 30 centimeter shorter, but the last row of seats can be folded down and the baggage fits just into it. Deep breathing. Dodge Journey - the name fits.

The automatic transmission and I meet each other but from the start with great reluctance, and the visibility in the Dodge is just a bit better than in a tank, but I make it to the parking lot exit. There turns out that the Dodge Journey, according to Alamo, is a Superior SUV. Will Maria succeed in the end and we must hope that she is satisfied with $ 315 extra charge? After two minutes of palaver, the crew at the exit leave us with congratulations for a free upgrade. (Later at home I can see on the web page that a Dodge Journey is a minivan and not a SUV and, including its eight cylinders, costs measly $ 24,000).

But now relieved we use our navigation system and go to Holiday Inn LAX, which is only about a mile away. It was probably built in the 70s, not renovated since then and is a little grubby. But they have four beds for us - that counts.

It is now 10 pm local time or 7 clock am at home and we all fall prostrate. Two restless hours later I swallow half of a sleeping pill so I can get four hours of sleep. Then my two blankets, to protect me against the furious air conditioning at 20degrees outside temperature, wakes me because it is too hot lying under them. Two and a half hours in bed with reminiscences of the trip so far and failed attempts to fall asleep again, it is time to get up. At least the subsequent shower wakes me up, because the hot water is not working. Good Morning America.

Day 2 - Los Angeles

(4.30 am: My wife had to use the bathroom in Palm Springs so I can at least sit now on a chair and not alternately on the floor or in the bathtub. My already aching back will thank her continually within the next few hours. More time to recap our first days)

Back to Los Angeles. The family decides to start the day with breakfast at the hotel. 4 x tea, 2 x Blueberry Pancakes, one bagel for my wife and two croissants for me, please. And thank you, Jose, that you want to fulfill all our wishes. We are not used to this at home - the expressed standards are lower.

The most obvious desire for a tasty breakfast, however, seems unattainable for José. My Croissants are tough and certainly not made of this tender, buttery dough. The pancakes are best eaten under a thick sugar syrup layer. And then only the tea. José waters just a lonely tea bag in a large thermos flask, before he fills in the four mugs. A lighter shade of yellow can be seen with some imagination. So hot lemonade for me, and milk in hot water for the other three. The children - despite all anticipation for the pancakes - give up. 15 percent tip on the $ 35 and have a great day too, José.

We pay our $ 15 parking fee, load the giant Dodge just about and then the children give me hints for the automatic transmission: Yes, you can actually start the car again only when the lever is in park position.

But now the Eagles - "Take it easy". Californian is it can be. And to the airport to meet Carol, our friend from Greece we met 21 years ago. We plan to pick her up and have lunch with her.

We actually meet with the help of mobile phones, because her dark, curly hair is now blonde and smooth. Has she whispered 21 years ago? In any case, she is good-humored, communicative American and so glad to see us again. After all, all we have in common is that 21 years ago, we spent a whole day together on Naxos. She now lives alone with a cat, with Michael but it has maintained a friendship and as her profession she trains state economists.

Her favorite restaurant, where once she has seen Jake Gyllenhaal together with Kirsten Dunst, looks more like a Mediterranean Delikatessenbar and the tuna salad is moderate, but extremely expensive. Carol receives a percentage but because she is a member of a regional radio station in the club - what ever that may make for a restaurant for a difference. Jake Gyllenhaal is not there this time, but the desolate parking lot is full of German craftsmanship: BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Mini and a VW Touareg.

A short stopover in the equally overpriced Whole Foods supermarket and then we bring Carol and her orange juice home to their house at the Miracle Mile. In fact, it is a kind of suburb with nothing but small and cute and adorable little houses, some of which originate even from the 1930 years, as Carol points out proudly. We lack a bit of the necessary respect for this magnificent historical significance, but the house is very charming and has the inside rather Spanish-Mexican. Old furniture, elegant arches and an obviously annoyed Persian cat, which now takes over 50 percent of all communication.

Time to say goodbye, the exchange of pleasantries, and I take 20 percent of the Persians cat with me in the form of hair on my pants. Back to the car I wonder what the difference between a fascinating and entertaining day with two Americans and this slightly shallow and artificial encounter may have been.

Sure, we talked briefly about Obama, Bush and Elvis Costello, but there was not this friendly clash of two cultures with a certain mutual fascination. Are we just too old and educated to learn from such an experience?

Am I too late for this trip? In 1992 we wanted to do it, but there was then already Lisa on her way and only now Mia is old enough to do this strenuous trip. The fascination for the new has faded with increasing age. Much is known already and the rest is done by the media. California is not an unknown territory for someone who watches TV.

But, hey, this is my dream trip that I wanted to do for decades, and so it is a kind of test now. On the one hand, a test of whether the fire again can flare up a little and on the other hand the question if our before-the-children-type of holiday with long car trips and sightseeing still fits or if it is uncomfortable as the old, for nostalgia reasons preserved clothing. My mind, my stomach and my back have changed considerably since. And my wife is now in more need of relaxation and perhaps even myself.

Palm Springs

Photo: The pack sizes in the U.S. do not necessarily reflect our habits, but as they say in the U.S.: Size matters

(It is now 6.00 am in Palm Springs and the bathroom of the so called "Comfortable" Inn is too tiny to do some push-ups. Frankly, not only to ease - push-ups are my little mid-life crisis. To prove an attempt to me that I have not grown old . Or not sooo old. Up to 47 push-ups - that's a little emotional support when the back or knee is aching and it's cheaper than a BMW convertible and is presumably more family-friendly than a young girlfriend.)

So let´s recap: We move away from LA and on the freeway towards Palm Springs. "Hotel California" by the Eagles match up exactly. After only an hour slow traffic, we really leave LA behind us . In fact we can not assess accurately, because the exits of the freeways show only the street names where they lead to, but in which city the road is located, one can only guess.

Increasingly the desert takes over its traditional rule, which was ripped from her arms with the help of the transported water from the Colorado River. The traffic is dense, in places, but sometimes you can even exceed the speed limit of 75 mph. And I'm not alone - that gives hope for the rest of the trip.

Palm Springs - a traditional name with the flair of celebrities. Meanwhile, it is basically retirement home for the middle class, whose tanned skin is still not leathery enough and besides shelter for tourists as we are. The Palm Canyon Drive offers as much exclusivity as the tourist boulevards in Jesolo and Las Palmas. Souvenir shops, cheap clothing and bars, which spray lots of water steam in the air to cool down some square meters.

It is the land of extravagance and megalomania. The latter shows an evening visit to the supermarket. The packages are at least twice as large as in Europe. Even the toothpaste tube has 250 instead of 100 ml and the jelly bag weighs 1 kilogram. Then, if an article can not be increased as easy as a coke can, the smallest package size is a 6-pack and mostly a pack of 12. 80 dollars at the checkout counter and the idea that instead of two drawers like in our home they need two storage rooms in US homes.

Four (half!) Subway sandwiches round out the dinner, which is in absence of cozy outdoor seating then served in the hotel room. The emerging bloated feeling in our stomachs - maybe because of the likely 97 % share of fat in the sandwich filling - motivates us for a stroll on Palm Canyon Drive. Since it is already about 10pm and due to the diligent work of water evaporator, temperature drops towards the 40 degree mark. Celsius of course.

By the time I get to Phoenix

Next day starts early for me. At breakfast even the moods of our children darken because a TV set is placed in the breakfast room and tells us a 3-0 in Soccer World Cup match between Germany and Argentina. This adjusts the quality of American Breakfast in the already slightly desolate Comfort Inn: disposable plastic plates, disposable cutlery and cups and disposable plastic toast. As highlights, we obtain the triumph of a German family on the nearby TV, and we may also witness the 4-0 acoustically.

And we learn how to bake waffles in the United States. The mass comes out of a kind of donor donor. The waffle iron must be turned at the first beep, and with the second beep a largely tasteless, but slightly crunchy mass is finished. At least saturated, we start the day and Spain and the Netherlands are the new synonyms for hope.

Sunday, 04.07. 6.00 am Clock Scottsdale / Phoenix, Hospitality Suite Resort

(Today is Independence Day. As this year it turns out to be a Sunday, the following Monday is a holiday. An interesting practice for someone who constantly accuses the Europeans of working too little. Above all, it is already 6.00 am what means that I've actually slept for almost eight hours. "I feel good," James Brown described this status.)

But first things first. The dingy Comfort Inn - the name alone almost ridiculed the guest - behind us we drive to the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway - a cable car to the neighboring 2,600 meters high mountain. $ 93 fare is not a bargain but I am rewarded by my wife with the appreciative remark that she was glad I was not so greedy.

The 11 minutes during lift is impressive: It opens beautiful views of Palm Springs, the entire Coachella Valley desert and estimated 200-300 wind turbines, of which the speaker of the tape in the tramway says they "can provide a lot of households with electricity." This is called precision.

Speaking about this tape: Interesting facts are interspersed with the repeated references to the blessings of the top restaurants and shops below. And then the mentioning of the great achievement of Mr. Francis Crocker, who has built this cable car, where the gondola turns twice during the trip on its own axis, virtually by hand. And who invented it indeed? The Swiss. De Rolle from Bern together with the Austria company Doppelmayr - what two small signs situated in the hill station witness. A little national pride comes to me as a defiant reaction.

Below the desert with a few low-lying spings, which must now provide not only water to palm trees, but to more than 40,000 inhabitants. Onn the top firstly it feels like 25 degrees instead of 42 down in the valley and there is obviously more water because the tour offers a small plateau with impressive trees. The longer one stretches over 1.5 miles, but it is already noon and a 300 miles drive still lies before us. So we turn around early and go back to the mountain station. Remarks from our children, how cool these trees were, witness the attractiveness of the landscape. If only I would not be so tired.

Below we programme the navigation device and head towards Arizona. For this device we are indeed very grateful - in fact, we would be nearly helpless without it. In Europe, I am moving easily anywhere with the use of road maps and signs. Here, however - since the highway exits have only local street names but no cities - this system cannot work.

And a second point is pleasant on this 2-ton monster of Dodge Journey: The stereo is excellent. The instruments are differentiated, the bass rumbles fat, but the highs are not swallowed. But I cannot really cope with the cruise control. Uphill, it can not usually choose between gears and when you use the brakes, the car does not accelerate even more. And you have to slow down frequently because the rule of driving on the right lane applies here - if at all - only as a gentle suggestion. To compensate we must pass on the right side, which in turn does not please anxious co-drivers.


(It is now 6.45 clock am and I sit in front of our room in Scottsdale, overlooking the pool, the sun will soon be seen above the trees and some old ladies shuffling out of their rooms to smoke a cigarette.)

Unexpectedly early - around 5.00 pm - we arrive in Phoenix. A city of about 900,000 inhabitants, but obviously it extends over dozens of miles. We are located in the suburb of Scottsdale and the hotel Hospitality Suites is a real positive surprise. The welcome is friendly, breakfast is included again and the lady at the desk tells us that until 6:30 drinks at the pool bar are free. This is really Hospitality.

So we get into the room, which is actually an apartment and for the first time I am confirmed to have chosen a better hotel category at FTI. The Mai Tai is strong and served in disposable cups, the pool water is about 28 degrees Celsius, rather dirty and thus after 30 seconds history, but my mood is improving nonetheless.

At the pool, I suddenly hear German and it is indeed the soccer-cheering family from Palm Springs, where I presented myself with "Oh what a shame" in response to the 3-0 for Germany. If we now have to accompany them for the next 17 days - oh my goodness. At least I can hear the message (Germans can often be heard well over long distances) that there was a supermarket next door.

The packets for food are huge again, but within five minutes we all take on Mia's proposal not to eat out, but acting very American to use the microwave. It surprises no one that I am the first proponent for this proposal.

Burritos, pasta and two Chinese dishes are our choice and a small 1-liter ice cream for dessert. The microwave is inefficient, but at some point things are yet to thaw and at least three of us are really excited that we have dinner just like Americans. The burritos are limp, but ok, Chinese dishes are even quite good, only the macaroni with cheese are completely tasteless. For three of us Budweiser Ice, which was acquired in the smallest size of about 1 liter, and after that four Strawberry Daiquiri, which - as it turns out - is produced with malt beer (!?). A Country for Connoisseurs indeed.

Yet - we are saturated, in good humor and between tired and unconscious. $ 2 for the maid, that may do the dishes, and off to bed.

(It is now 7.15 clock in the morning, the pool is being cleaned and looking up at the bush in front of me I see a hummingbird. It promises to be a good day and maybe my body has now also arrived in this time zone...)

From Phoenix to Grand Canyon

Breakfast is probably the most disappointing point in Hospitality Suite Resort, Scottsdale: Scrambled Eggs may be no true egg, potato fritters with no taste and yet the inside is thawed, children´s French toast tastes as the wafer mass from yesterday and for the two croissants, which I selected I, a Frenchman would immediately alert the embassy to prohibit the attribution. But the waitress wears a 40 cm tall hat with stars and stripes - it is Independence Day.

Enough of Phoenix - we make a left north bound. First, the Highway plowes through the desert landscape of southern Arizona. Little vegetation, few meters high cactusses and occasionally you see that trailer parks or the poor living scales with wrecked cars in front of the door cannot only be seen in independent road movies.

Nearby to the road is Montezuma Castle (http://www.nps.gov/moca/index.htm), which is in reality a buliding inserted in a rock wall in the construction of the Sinagua Indians. I save $ 5 admission because the building can be viewed only from the outside anyway. Pretty and interesting, but nothing special, so the summarized comments half an hour later.

The landscape is geeting green and then pine forests appear. At the gas station, we discover, however, an approximately 10-meter-high tree that is made of metal and plastic. Why you leave such a thing for a lot of money in the landscape, can only be answered by Americans.

Our Dodge consumes 11 to 12 liters per 100 km at 120 km / h average speed. The highest, which I had him ever faster, was about 140 km/h or 90 mph and then in my mind I see the sheriff already leaping from behind the bush.

After about three hours net drive, we arrive at Canyon Resort Plaza. The ticket for the Grand Canyon, we can buy at the reception; the American charge, typically enough, the prices not per person, but by car.

My nervousness rises - the big highlight is close now. The incomparable, by the mere sight human life-changing wonder of the world - in effect a reverse Medusa. Made out of stone itself, it nourishes the viewer through the mere look and changes his life with new insights and perspectives. So it is basically told at least by the movie LA Story with Steve Martin and by our DVD-Guide, I have consumed at home. No small expectation, then, as I am on my way from the parking lot and already see the first glimmer of rock layers through the trees.

And it comes, as it had to: I am more disappointed than taken when the Canyon shows up really. The colors are faded like a delicate watercolor, the air hazy and the distance to the North Rim is very far.

At least I'm not alone. Only Mia seems enthusiastic and all the Americans, Japanese and Chinese seem to see the natural wonder in any case only as a photo background. Hardly anyone I notice is lingering longer than a few seconds looking at the most famous canyon in the world. And the view is still impressive and it is even more when we take a little walk. The exposed rock layers alternate between red, green, brown and ocher, the forms are sometimes bizarre. Even two small rock windows we can discover.

The hotel concierge suggested the plan that in-between we should have dinner and then after a 30 minutes walk watch sunset at 7:50 clock. The restaurant turns out contrary to our expectations as a prestigious address with name entry in the table order and $ 140 bill for four main courses, a beer and two cola (I stick with ice water). The salmon and the duck are fine, but the Chicken Cordon Bleu is - to stay polite - not worth mentioning and the vegetable side dishes with carrots and broccoli were obviously encouraged only to dive in hot water only for a few seconds before they hopped on the plate in horror from such treatment. The hardest working one seems to be the air conditioning, so the food cools down within a minute to about 15 degrees Celsius.

Despite the minimum cooking time for the vegetables these pieces of culinary art take so long that we no longer manage the way back in time and the sunset, which takes place 15 minutes before the announced time, we try to admire in front of the restaurant. Try, because - as I already should have known by my rudimentary geometric knowledge - at the moments of sunset only a few sunrays fall into a more than 1000 meters deep gorge and so already four fifths of the canyon are in deep shadow. Thus darkens my mood parallel and simultaneously to the rock formations and we take back the shuttle bus that takes 45 minutes what is a about the tome what walking for 3 km would require.

But we make it virtually on-the-second back to the traditional Independence Day parade in the village. This is evidently rural style: Dad has adorned the pick-up with light garlands and draws his children in a decorated trailer, from which they inject water into the audience and shout "God Bless America". Strangely, the Baptist church is involved in this make-people-wet-ritual with an own car. In between you can see sheriff and fire department cars with lights flashing and siren, the ENT doctor to treat certainly occurred sudden deafness I can not see. But it also has its own charm - especially when one looks into the faces of children.

From Grand Canyon to Lake Powell

The damper on the nice mood follows quickly: Mia has forgotten her glasses in the hotel room in Scottsdale - about 500 km away. We only treat anything. The phone call call is useless - the housekeeping is no longer available.

The morning at the Grand Canyon Village begins with breakfast canteen style, but here we meet an nice guy from Bavaria who provides us with useful information to other destinations, as his route is in the opposite direction.

Then again the way to the Grand Canyon - this time on the Western side and, happily, the view is now somewhat better. The canyon and I have become friends this morning, but not lovers anymore.

The road leads eastwards towards Page out of the national park, so we can see another three viewpoints. The sky is cloudless and again the 230 km in front of us are much more enjoyable and watchable than expected.

First we pass the beginnings of the Colorado Canyon. Deep, sudden cuts into a flat desert landscape, which look great primarily in the plan view from above. Here the edges gape not miles apart as in the Grand Canyon, but the earth looks like torn apart by an angry god.

But it gets even better. We drive on through barren Indian land and the already low afternoon sun illuminates the bizarre sandstone rocks in front of the deep blue sky. My wife shoots photo series from our moving car and both of us can hardly see enough of this play of colors.

Almost like in a script another damper has to come: Lisa loses a contact lens when we stop at another scenic view. Of course it can not be found despite a long search. Persistent sobbing follows. A real road movie lives but also by the changing of the scenes and we leave after a short, very spectacular rise through the sandstone chain. The color changes to frugal green, but we are already approaching our destination for today - Lake Powell. In our guide book it sounds nice - dam, water sports and a pretty view.

Sweaty as we are three of us - Lisa celebrates rather her misfortune - decide to drive to the lake. This turns out to be a fantastic combination of the bright red ocher cliffs, which win in the evening sun still in chroma, and harbingers of Monument Valley in impressive form mesas on the near horizon. Why you have to build a a thermal power plant close to this gorgeous scenery is known only to Americans. A lady nearby addressed by us only answers succinctly that they would probably have needed the water access. Nevertheless, we are both refreshed as deeply impressed by the spectacular scenery.

Hunger is turning up, and three of us - yes you have to enjoy your suffering completely - explore the culinary scene of Page. At the beginning there is Pizza Hut, then Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell, Burger King and a McDonalds a little further. That´s it. Restaurant, steak house? No such luck.

Taco Bell turns out to be quite edible, and we shock our junk food experienced daughter with inappropriate behavior. After all, we ask the employee for customer contact actually about the products. The question about a drink without sugar brings her quite out of context, then after a while water comes to her mind. This brings her even further into trouble, because we ask about the size of the bottle. After a few desparate seconds "normal" is the answer and thens she disappears flabbergasted backwards in order to show us a bottle. The question, what she would recommend for dessert, I spare all those present.

Mia explains to her old-fashioned parents, that in a junk-food restaurant you do not ask, you just order and if you do not know about products, you have to just try. In doubt I prefer to behave strangely.