Death Valley

The trip to Death Valley (http://www.nps.gov/deva/) runs without major highlights, as parched desert landscape we now know already. Once supplied with 24 bottles of mineral water and some food we arrive at 14.00 clock in the Furnace Creek Ranch. The rooms are not ready, we could either wait or call every half hour - within the next two hours they might be ready. We have already experienced better service here.

Never mind, it is so cozy with 48 degrees Celsius in the shade - who would want to have a shower. So we make a short trip, because in the interior of the car the air conditioning creates temperatures around 35 degrees. We drive to the Artist's Drive with different colored rocks (or should I say more delicate shades of color?) And then the more impressive Devil's Golf Course with rugged rock flakes that are still stained with the salt of the former lake. Mordor must be just around the corner and Mia is looking out for Frodo and Sam to be able to donate some refreshment.

But insted of that we go back to the hotel, check in and find out that there is a pool. If the water is already scarce, it must be used at least for something useful. We use the luxury and refresh with cool 30-32 degrees water temperature. The charge of the waste water is relative, because a sign pointing me out with the spent pool water the golf course is irrigated. Well then.

We start early to look at the sunset from Dante's View. The family is snapped, I will start already at 17.30 clock, but the topography seems to me something to help and in the 1600 meter altitude of Dante's View, temperature is only 32 degrees. The view of almost the entire valley is worthwhile in any case and gives a completely different picture with giant glittering salt flats.

Despite a comfortable temperature we do not wait until 19.45 clock, but try to catch Sunset at Zabriskie Point. Even severe speeding by some 100 percent does not help and we come about a minute too late, but the warm light on the higher rocks is still impressive.

Back in the room, given the usual National Park prices we eat from what we brought from the supermarket, but thanks to a bottle of Mondavi and fresh vegetables it tastes quite well (apart from the typical American sweet spiced dried meat) and the evening sounds of cute and funny. The children say goodbye to see Star Trek on TV. I wonder why: Here it all looks like on another planet.

The Sequoia Trees

The next day we leave northward out of the Death Valley and the goal promises change: Instead of the valley of death, the largest living creatures on the planet, the Sequoia trees, wait for us. Unfortunately, the navigation device in the Sequoia National Park (http://www.nps.gov/seki/) did not have clear goals and so we decide to retract the park from the south. From there, we want to go to the General Sherman Tree, the largest of all the Sequoia.

For this decision we are rewarded with a beautiful landscape, but punished with a very curvy road and later with the realization that there is no continuous connection within the park. We need to get out of the park for the great sequoias again. This costs much time and so we spend almost all day in the car.

It is also found that the planned arrival time, which gives us the Navi is on twisty roads waste. It calculates general speed limit, but the number of individual panels 25 or 35 mph has not been programmed. And I would like to see an US car that bangs through 55 mph on mountain roads. I heave the Dodge by force through the corners and ignore any possible speed limit, but the race against the Navi I lose almost by hours.

Late, we arrive at almost 2000 meters height at the giant trees and are a little disappointed. Great you know, but sooo big again maybe not. The spruce in the garden of my parents' neighbor is not much smaller. And the General Sherman is neither the highest nor the widest tree in the world as we know, but the one with the largest volume. In addition, his health gradually approaches that of his namesake, a Civil War General. But after about 2200 years of life you have the right to die. In Marketing the Americans were always the most clever ones.

Yosemite National Park and Mono Lake

Quickly get out of the Sequoia Park and back to Visalia, where our Holiday Inn is close to the Highway. The next day we get up early as we expect a long road trip. A breakfast at Starbucks and we head towards Yosemite National Park (http://www.yosemitepark.com). And the journey goes fast, our National Park annual pass for $ 80 (per car, of course, because we are in the U.S.) will save us the entry fee once again, but then we again see Roadwork ahead.

The entire 29-mile access road is construction site, the most without paved roads and sprinkling twice changing the reference curves for lack of second carriageway as Mesa Verde and Bryce Canyon with waiting times of up to 30 minutes. The navigation system calculates that we go along here with 45 mph, but you get the 45 km only in one and a half hours and swallow a lot of dust from the cars in front of us.

The mood at the entrance to Yosemite Valley is subdued and so we are. Therefore we say: It's beautiful, but high mountains with two waterfalls we have at home too. After an hour hike to the Lower Fall, we still dare to undertake the trip to Mono Lake, which lies just behind the other end of the park and the photo in the guide was very impressive to me.

It is a battle against the clock and against the centrifugal force. I chase the Dodge on the mountain roads and scare U.S. drivers off the road, transgress all speed limits by up to 100 percent, overtaking motorbikes and cars on double barrier line and yet I cannot meet the time of the Navigation device. Positive should be noted that the Americans stop at the right when they register a faster man behind - especially when you closely inspect the content of their trunk for some time from top left.

The trip goes through the almost 3000 meters high Tioga Pass and provides us with beautiful landscape, in which we rush by. What looks relatively close on the map, runs along the twisting road to hours. Finally we arrive at Mono Lake - presumably with a historical record time - and to find the tufa rock, which was allowed to ascend because of the thirst of Los Angeles water by removing the proceeds from the lake.

After a sunny day now the first raindrops fall and the expected reward for the long effort on the road literally falls into the water. In the sunshine this bizarre tufa formations the salty lake should be very attractive, they under storm clouds they do not unfold the desired effect.

The planned trip to Western ghost town of Bodie half an houraway is cancelled, so we just quickly fill up our gas tank, which creates the next unpleasant surprise. We paid $ 2.75 per gallon in Las Vegas and 3.00 to 3.10 $ average, but here $ 3.75 are charged. Either in the past two days the Israeli bombed the Iranian nuclear facilities undetected by us or pricing functions in the freest market in the world are a little strange. An empty tank determines clearly the consumer behavior and I hunt the Dodge now 15 gallons heavier back up the pass.

This time we take at least time for photo stops and the sun already very low rewards us with warm colors. However, it also brings out swarms of mosquitos already and once we actually escape into the car. We note, however, that the landscape here at Tioga Pass (probably) counts as one of the most attractive on this trip.

Cornering at the limits of our Dodge is again tested extensively, some frightened shooed US-Thursday at the driver's side of the road and we manage to clock 21.15 in the Oakhurst Shilo Inn. The rooms are still there and the children are crying for fast food. Waiting times in a restaurant they would now classify as a human rights violation.

Next to the McDonalds is a small market, so my wife with all that effort during the day requires a beer, which is not avaiable at McDonald's. Equipped with a plastic bag we shake the entrance door of the still well-staffed McDobalds in vain. It closes at 21.30 clock and now it is 21.32 clock! Curiously, the Drive-Thru is open an hour longer and I feel like to take the expression "Drive-Thru" literally and put the 2-ton Dodge in front of the counter, then leaving the restaurant by the other front glass. But we order well-Mannered over the loudspeaker and at least the beer does not have to be drunk after the meal.

Shortly afterwards, we fall into bed, and here it should be noted that the quality of the beds counts as one of the positive surprises in the United States. Wide was indeed expected, but the mattresses are so good that my back never once protested. Now, after a - apart from the nearby traffic - good night, it's time for breakfast.

This is but one of the worst of this trip - and that means something - out. The orange juice undrinkable, no toaster and no jam exists and the dining room is so full that we eat together with some other guests in the hotel lobby with direct views into the small gym. So we get the half a cubic meter waste dumped in the central lobby and check out quickly.

San Francisco

The trip to San Francisco is largely uneventful. Only one thing I notice on the way: Even when it is obvious fruit grown (and we travel through America's orchard), one has to rely on artificial irrigation. The grasses in the irrigated areas are all dried up and yellow ocher. On the entire trip with very few exceptions such as Yosemite and individual watercourses nothing in July was of natural green.

The approach to the Greater San Francisco we note with the traffic jam on the other side, which is four lanes wide and more than 10 miles long. Is it because of Friday afternoon or you can have it here every day? Later, the $ 6 take on the Oakland Bay Bridge substantially pays off. Not only that we did not swim as my wife points out dry in all respects, but also because of a very nice first look at The City. In fact, the temperature falls as promised: 40 degrees 30 km away from SF, 29 degrees in Oakland and 21 degrees after we crossed the bridge.

The Hotel Whitcomb is surprisingly found quickly and equally surprising the parking fee hits us: $ 28 plus tax per night. For this sum you almost get a room somewhere else. The hotel foyer looks expensive too, but the front desk makes any positive impression destroyed immediately. 20 minutes to wait and 10 minutes processing time for a decidedly unfriendly check-in. I can not remember that in my entire long life it took so long to receive a room key.

The hotel room is then logically only hardly larger than a parking space for the Dodge. The interior is indeed beautiful, but the bathroom door can no longer be closed, the sink does not run from time to time and the central light switch is defective. This is probably called historic charm in the U.S. Anyway, we only want to sleep here.

Now one more promise to the children is met (how many are there, anyway?). Our first destination is Amoeba Music in Haines Street. The shop is great and well sorted, so we get out an hour later with 16 CD for 33 $, and three of us again with very good spirits. What all four of us thrilled is looking at all the charming little Victorian houses in the district of Haight Ashbury (http://www.sfgate.com/neighborhoods/sf/haight/) with bay windows and turrets. As shown in the TV series "Charmed" notice the children. The many beggars and homeless people have not occurred in this series, probably.

We take the car to go to Chinatown (http://www.sfgate.com/neighborhoods/sf/chinatown/) and even get a parking space at the edge of the Financial District. Chinatown itself is then a mix of souvenir shops and restaurants and almost no atmosphere, but the 5-course dinner is the best so far on the journey. There are only Chinese in the restaurant, so the cooking might be quite original. With a delicious feeling of fullness we make our way back and see that the fog again already covered about 30 meters high.

San Francisco - Part 2

The beds in the Whitcomb are the worst so far in two weeks, and San Francisco awaits us with misty 15 degrees Celsius. "If you are going to San Francisco, wear some jackets and some bonnets around your hair," Scott McKenzie would have to sing. Mark Twain was already more precise with his statement of the hardest winter he had ever experienced was summer in San Francisco.

The breakfast is diagonally across: Kind of American lush, but passable. With a little heavy stomach, we'll board the Streetcar in front of the hotel, get to Fisherman's Wharf, take the bus to the last stop, take time to walk and still see the Golden Gate Bridge from a distance. As expected, immersed in the fog. But the Victorian houses are once again charming.

The return trip (after we asked that a bus stop is identified by a small painted sign on a lamp-post) leads us to Fisherman's Wharf ( http://www.sfgate.com/neighborhoods/sf/fishermanswharf/ ), to the sea lions and the souvenir shops. A Hard Rock Cafe is offering two T-shirts and so improve the children's spirits noticeably.

Behind it appears the Telegraph Hill with Coit Tower which we climb on the Filbert Steps. And now San Francisco is incredibly charming and worth living. Wonderful cottages with romantic garden plots, terraced pattern and no direct access by car, but that with great views over the bay - either towards Bay Bridge or Alcatraz. One time I even see a small pool on the roof and the sun comes out to perfection. It must be a pleasure to live here and it must cost a fortune.

The Coit Tower provides beautiful and interesting views in the other direction, but the immediacy of that empathy is lacking in the housing from the top. We climb down the other side and find in the direction of Little Italy on the border of Chinatown, which I am looking for: The Cafe Greco. One Cappuccino, three Cafe Latte and four absolutely delicious sweets. It is a must.

Then we see the third cable car at last resort (why must so many tourists be everywhere around?), But my $ 5 trip ends quickly and I walk up the steep hill back to pick up the still intact lens cap Nikon from the road. The family finds together at the terminus partly proud, partly redeemed and Lisa's mood is improving sustainable, because GAP has friendly tailored two jeans in her body shape. As it just so must be, while Mia's knee going out of support actually provided, but we still plod conciliatory Market Street down to the Whitcomb.

Without purchases we make our way to find a nice restaurant with California cuisine and enter SoMa (South of Market), which according to our guide has particularly cool neighborhood with artists, boutiques, and many trendy restaurants. We find furniture stores, a gas station, some excavations, many odd birds and with growing dismay about the U.S. social policy homeless people in a frequency of about 50 meters. These are not the hippie dropouts in Haight Ashbury, who paint "Cash for research on alcohol" on the sign or "BEE" with coins on the street and ask for the "R". Here are dozens of mostly black people, with one or two plastic bags of their belongings crammed on the sidewalk, in niches or in cases of luxury on a wooden bench.

Since we can not find a restaurant, we continue our search in the northern and expensive architecture equipped area called Civic Center and the image of poverty remains the same. We again find it very difficult to understand this country. The dollar bill that we give is more a symbolic act

In front of the hotel, we finally find what we really wanted all along: Sam's Diner offers great food, friendly service and moderate prices. The chocolate milkshake from Lisa is enough for dessert for three and our children cancel Starbucks for tomorrow because we want to have breakfast at Sam too.

The fog dominates San Francisco already for three hours, but as if to prove the American contradictions three of us caught a sunburn. Here, at 20 degrees Celsius - fissrt wearing a coat, then only T-shirt and sweater.

Highway Nr. 1 and Big Sur

The day begins as planned at Sam´s Diner and we are very full for the next six hours. Although nobody dares to take French toast, which on the day before was poured with an eighth liter of liquid butter, the pancakes or the cheese omelette with mashed potatoes are heavy stuff too.

Then we are out there early and quickly from San Francisco but the way towards Monterey stretches. The fog is with us as well as thousands of sunday drivers and both remain till Monterey to my dismay. 17 Mile drive and big sur were the sites that I've desired to see most and now threaten to be weighed both in the fog. My mood is getting as grey as the landscape all around.

We drive along the 17-mile drive (almost twice as the Navi has guided us to the wrong input), to see the probably beautiful coastline, plenty of magnificent villas and golf courses and much fog. Inside in the pine forests a price tag with 1,599.000 $ for a modest bungalow appeared. With direct sea view the villas are often four to eight times bigger including a small park and private booths for the servants. Multiplying the price by ten may not be sufficient for a weekend domicile which is obviously not even regularly used by many on a Sunday.

But the rich here cannot stay among themselves: each lot Plebeians like we populate the streets and adjust the view on the golf course. Of course not today, because you see at the tee probably no longer where the ball is going.

We drive further to Carmel - a quite charming narrow gauge variant of the previously seen. The houses are no longer pompous but pretty; the gardens small, but looking at same ocean and has even its own beach. And on which seems a little blue sky out. The color of hope is known blue.

Where Big Sur - the Strip coast since reading in Henry Miller's book I always wanted to see for more than 30 years - starts can not clearly be defined. Perhaps where the sun slowly won defeating the fog (short-term). The coast is certainly spectacular (even though my wife thinks Brittany was as beautiful) and the day reconciled me or vice versa.

Again I imagine how it must have been in the 40s and 50s without tourists, without electricity, and with a House every five Kilometers, when Henry Miller spent about ten years of his life here. Repeatedly in the holidays I phantasize of somewhere to live in a wonderful spot as a teleworker. The conditions are certainly ideal as a writer, but I must me make myself quickly clear then, that in my job direct communication with other people is essential and cannot be replaced by Internet and phone.

But then after retiring - then I make up for all. Probably like many others who move gradually substantial parts of their lives to the pension and try to "start living properly", only to find that they expect especially crisis of meaning and boredom.

The landscape is slowly getting lovelier and smoother than Big Sur and we must leave the mythical Highway No. 1 too. We still contact the SAL Luis Obispo mission church, but less attractive than those in Carmel and especially less beautiful than later the one in Santa Barbara.

As a conclusion, we would like to take still Hearst Castle, the monument of the manic newspaper Tsar, but at 5 p.m., there is no guided tour anymore and everything which is possible, would be to climb up the hill from the visitor ´s Center, within a short time before the final close to visit the site from outside and all for $96 fee. Thank you - we do not.

It is a monster stage anyway and we still must go to Santa Maria. This is unfortunately no longer on the sea and the hotel although belonging to the Marriott chain, was built more or less in a commercial area. You are finally on the Pacific Coast after two and a half weeks and then they set one 30 kilometres one between auto parts dealers and truck parking inland. The hotel is ok and breakfast on disposable plates with disposable cutlery and appropriate meal plan also no longer shocked us.

From Santa Barbara to Los Angeles

The next day leads us to Santa Barbara, a nice, clean place which is more Mexican than American. We visit again a missionary Church and the Presidio and picnic on the beach. It shows that our U.S. food tastes among the seagulls significantly better than for us.

We are looking for the Highway No. 1 despite the continuing resistance of Navi again and get rewarded for our patience with coastal landscape - if less spectacular than in Big Sur.

Malibu is our entry in the LA area. Right the stilt villas known from the movies above the beach, left the more up the Hill. What Hollywood but does not show is that you must have a villa for jogging or swimming on the beach, because for miles there is no public access between the houses. And coastal area Malibu winds up for at least 27 miles. Here everything is simply bigger - the distances, the packing and the egos.

Malibu is then transferred into Santa Monica meaning: more urban, less expensive. With the more dense traffic we then realize that we have arrived back in Los Angeles. The loop of 5,000 kilometers net is complete. This means that we have to get back in the little beloved Holiday Inn LAX. Washing again, blow-dry socks, the children's sake in the nearest shopping center drive and then we are too tired at 8 P.m., when the children have spent all the money we gave them, to find a restaurant. Sbarro in shopping center offers Italian cuisine, whose only advantage is it saturates according to sign. But the abundant.

But shopping center and restaurants abound with cheerful, willing to purchase and satisfied Americans, what is amazing because the cities have an incredible density of these shopping centres. Part one pops up at every third street - always on the corner - of these widgets and basically all look the same. Americans want it probably this way it regardless of whether they are in Seattle, Philadelphia or Atlanta. Inside are alternately always the same shops and fast food chains and all of them are well attended.

Sometimes one has the impression, the Americans are living from selling each other goods produced in China. And of course, that the Chinese buy government bonds from them to finance their budget and private household deficits. I have only a suspicion that the Chinese will eventually provide the Bill and then theirs is the East and West Coast and in addition everything, where natural resources are inside. The Americans can then either live in the Plains or pay rent to the Chinese. But when I come back as a tourist then, at least the food will have improved.