Viracocha - San Francisco, CA

“The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco” – Mark Twain

San Franciscans love to repeat this quote, probably because nothing truer can be said about San Francisco in a month like July. The city was a cold, misty beast during our visit, and we were not anticipating it.

Despite the constant chill, San Franciscans were anything but cold. Unlike on the streets of Chicago, people acknowledged others’ presence, saying a friendly “hello” or challenging strangers on the other side of the street to an honest game of rock-paper-scissors (we really witnessed this, I swear). The rolling hills and stacked homes give the impression that the city is reaching over-crowdedness, but everyone seemed to have a “more-the-merrier”-type attitude.

We stayed with our friend Mac, who proved to be a very informative tour guide even though he'd lived in the area for only 8 months. He walked us through Haight Street and gave us a rundown of the musical significance the area had back in the 70’s. Here are a few things we spotted on our walk:

festive buildings

four-eyed street sign thing in front of voluptuous lady-legs

poet for hire

Pilsen-esque murals

bowling alley-turned-independent music store (and a huge one at that)

Carl's retirement plan: a lawn bowling field

crotch-grabbing mural characters (look closely for this one in the top mural)

After exploring Haight Street for a bit, it was time to head to Viracocha for a sound check.

This tour hasn't been glamorous by any means, so we didn't have high expectations for the under-the-radar music/comedy/literature readings venue. When we got there, however, we were stunned into silence (one could say we were... petrified? Harry Potter? no?). The venue was in the basement of a very cute storefront that sells trinkets, art, music, clothing, and has a subscription-only library in the back. The employees were smiley-hipster types with an interest in seemingly anything intellectual. It was quirky and esoteric, but fun.

Like I said, the stage was downstairs, in a speakeasy meets barn-styled room. Short tables with chairs facing the stage were packed tightly together, lit by Pier 1 LED candles in cheetah-print glass candle holders. The walls were paneled with old wood, washboards, warm lights, and antique shutters strategically placed by a well-trained interior designer. We knew right from the beginning that this was one of the best-kept secrets of San Francisco.

The band we played with that evening was called All My Pretty Ones. Their normal set-up is a 7-piece band, but that evening they played 4-piece quartet style with cello, stand-up bass, oboe, and piano/guitar. It was their first time playing with only 4 members, but if they never mentioned it, no one would have ever known.

They were dynamic, played fantastic melodies bolstered by great harmonies, were all masters of their instruments, and had a blast on stage. Carl recorded my favorite song of the evening (see below), which was about someone with agoraphobia. Their song subjects were relevant, sometimes playful, and other times sad, but consistently interesting (their rendition of Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights" as an encore was a great way to close out the night). They were by far the best band we've played with (and probably will play with) on this tour.

The next day, Mack had plans to see Harry Potter with a friend in the early afternoon. Since Carl and I were left to our own devices, we decided to take a walk before packing up and heading out. There was a park at the end of Mack's block up near Haight Street where he insisted we could get the best view of San Francisco, so we sauntered in that general direction.

While hiking up the giant hill that was Mack's favorite seedy park, we witnessed a few strange things. Most importantly, we did not get the best view of San Francisco, because the fog engulfed the entire city. What luck. Of lesser importance but still notable, we saw a very naked man stretched out like the Vesuvian man while we were hiking up the hill. He seemed to be going for a full body tan, but the problem was that he was emanating a stench to match that of the cows we drove past near Crater Lake. We also stumbled upon a crime scene where someone was murdered a few days before we arrived. Mack insisted that the park was entirely safe during the day, but after our explorations, we decided to not spend too much time in there.

We promptly climbed down the hill after reaching the top, packed our car, and drove north to see the Golden Gate Bridge.

To get close to the bridge, we traveled through a park, where we started seeing "view points." We stopped at one, not knowing what to expect, and ended up staring right at Alcatraz. While viewing the prison isle, a futuristic-looking vehicle sped past with a very audible robo-tour guide spouting off facts about the prison. I felt the same type of shock, confusion, and amusement that I did when I first saw a Segway tour in Chicago.

Staying true to the theme of the day, we couldn't see a thing when we arrived at the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog completely consumed the 1.7 mile-long bridge. We did fit in some great people watching though.

We left when the doughnuts were taken away from the birds - some guy ruined our fun. We hit some terrible traffic on our way out, but managed to catch a few fun things on camera:

Driving Music:
Little Scream - The Golden Record
Fionn Regan - The Shadow of an Empire
The Dead Weather - Horehound
Elbow - Leaders of the Free World
Menomena - Mines

Crater Lake & Tahoe City

Salt Creek Falls:

Butt Bunnies:

Crater Lake...

...was probably the most beautiful place we've seen on tour...

...and one of the coldest (it's not supposed to be 30-40 degrees in July!).

Wildlife!

Semi-wildlife!

One of the most gorgeous sunsets I've ever seen:

Long after the sunset, we spent a pretty miserable night at a rest area somewhere in Nevada. It was chilly as a horcrux.

We then spent the next evening in Tahoe City, CA with my very good lumberjack friend and former college roommate Rich. He had just returned from 15 straight days of fighting forest fires in New Mexico, but he still had the stamina to cook us pasta and take us to Skylandia, a beach within walking distance of his apartment. There was a full moon over the lake, so we sat out on one of the docks and caught up while gazing out across the rippling water. Paula Cole's "I Don't Want to Wait" should have been playing in the background. The next morning, Rich cooked us up a delicious amalgamation of eggs, potatoes, and bagel and sent us on our way to San Fran. Thanks, Rick!


Driving Music:
Arcade Fire - The Suburbs
JBM - Not Even in July
Dawes - North Hills
Jessica Lea Mayfield - Tell Me
A.A. Bondy - When the Devil's Loose
The Coral Sea - Volcano & Heart
Tom Waits - Nighthawks at the Diner
Anathallo - Sparrows
Frank Smith - Daytrotter Session
The National - High Violet

Alberta Street Pub - Portland, OR

In the week following our stay in Portland, a few people have asked us what it was like. The photo above does a good job of summing things up, but since I don't have a smart phone that I can whip out for the purpose of showcasing pictures, the only appropriate response has been, "Have you seen Portlandia?" Like Portlandia tells you in its pilot's opening number, Portland truly is "a city where young people go to retire," and everyone does look like they're straight out of the 90s:



While in Portland, we stayed with an English Education classmate of mine named Yana, who knew long before graduating that she wanted to be a pastry chef rather than a teacher. In addition to working at a bakery, she is a part-time server at a Lebanese restaurant called Ya Hala. We happened to come into town on one of the nights she was serving, so we decided to dine there. Tricia ordered a tuna dish, and I ordered some kind of lamb casserole. I enjoyed tasting (and eventually stealing) Tricia's meal, but I didn't much care for the lamb casserole. Imagine a hockey puck, except instead of it being made of vulcanized rubber, it's made of densely-packed lamb. Then imagine three of these meat pucks stacked on top of each other, creating a short tower of Shari Lewis' favorite plaything. That's kind of like what my lamb casserole was like. Maybe I'm being unfair, though, because it tasted to me like pot roast, and I'm not a fan of pot roast.

Later that night, we talked for quite a while with Yana and her boyfriend Eric at their apartment in northeastern Portland. Just to tell you a little bit about Eric, he works as a professional video game tester, and he's currently reading Das Kapital (you know, a little bit of light reading). I'd tell you what game he's working on right now as well, but I'm afraid it's privileged information.

When we woke up the next morning, Tricia and I were determined to find Yana's bakery using Portland's public transportation. Like Seattle, Portland had a relatively new Light Rail service, and it too was smooth to ride and fairly easy to navigate. The problem was that we were confused by the address Yana had given us, and we ended up taking the Light Rail to the SW part of the city rather than the SE part (apparently, one of the few things Portlanders are passionate about is compass directions). Upon not finding the bakery there, we started walking. Perhaps hiking is a better word, because we walked so far that I for one took off my jacket and tied it around my waist like someone fixing to climb a small mountain (or a 90s soccer mom). All I needed was a fanny pack and I would've been on my way to fitting in with the other Portlanders.


Once we did get arrive (finally) at Crema Bakery, we attempted to buy the items pictured below, but Yana insisted they were on her. After a bit of "aww, shucks"-ing, we sat down to enjoy. And enjoy we did. Our favorite two items were the ones Yana recommended -- a corn biscuit smothered in cheddar, and a strawberry and blueberry tart with a hazelnut crust. Yana herself was responsible for the tart, and I must say in all honesty that it was the most delectable tart I've ever had. Step aside, French bakeries.


After some reading for me and some working for Tricia, we decided to head back to the SW part of the city, so we hopped on a bus. The kind-hearted (or negligent) driver told us $5 was enough for 2 all-day passes, even though the sign posted at the front of the bus said it was more like $9. Perhaps he was simply tired of seeing me fumble around with my wallet.


After some walking around, we took a shuttle to the International Test Rose Garden, per Yana's and Eric's recommendation. 'Twas a lovely and at times fragrant excursion, but in the end, a rose is a rose is a rose, and we had important business to take care of, like eating and playing a show.


Before the show, we dined with Yana and Eric at Frank's Noodle House. I ordered General Tso's chicken, which made me the only carnivore at the table. Tricia ordered noodles, which were both handmade and quite thick. I should mention that at Frank's, they give you metal chopsticks to pick your noodles up with. (Fellow English teachers, please don't give me any guff for choosing to end certain sentences with prepositions.)


After the meal, we headed up to the Alberta Street Pub, where they apparently know how to spell "cheap ass booze" correctly, but not the last names of their musical performers.


The Alberta Street Pub's music room was pretty unique in that old church pews served as seating. As a result, everyone felt guilty about talking during the show, leaving us with a quiet and fearful audience. Since then, I've considered charging concert-goers a one-dollar donation to light a candle and write down songs they're hoping to hear.

I opened the evening and Tricia closed. In between was local Portland act Felecia and the Dinosaur, a duo made up of Felecia Campbell on vocals and guitar and David Evan on drums. Since Felecia is accounted for in the moniker, I can only assume that David is actually a stegosaurus.

The two certainly had some entertaining song titles, and fortunately they performed some quality songs to match them. The style and sound varied between tunes, ranging from intimate and soulful to upbeat and percussive (all with an inexplicable punk aesthetic). Felecia offered to cook us breakfast the next day, a kind gesture that we unfortunately didn't take her up on.




We left PDX (we're under the impression that this is hip local lingo for "Portland", but we could be wrong) the next afternoon, headed for nowhere in particular... We'll explain in the next post. Or two.

Driving Music:
Jethro Tull - Benefit
Liza Day and the Northbound Trestle Singers - Liza Day and the Northbound Trestle Singers
Low - The Great Destroyer