Day 5: Bend, OR to Crater Lake, OR

Feeling decidedly tender from the previous night, our start on the drive South was a slow affair. Luckily the motel staff didn’t charge us for checking out late. Knowing the direction we needed to head, we drove South on the main drag of Bend. Spotting a chinese food place that would do more variety (and vegetables) than an Arby’s, we feasted to the best of our ability before hitting the road again toward Crater Lake.

The road was uneventful aside from a minor detour. Seeing a sign for a volcanic forest on the telltale orangey brown backing they use for sites of natural interest, I turned the car onto a narrow unpaved side road. That got narrower. And narrower. Herds of little chipmunks scurried out of our way. After about 4 miles I decided to turn the car around at a road that looked like only a tractor had ever used it, thinking we must have missed a turnoff sign or something.

Turns out I shouldn’t have, and that patience would have been a virtue. The road was the right one and would have revealed a site of strange geologic formations. Oh well, the day was wearing on, and we actually wanted to see Crater Lake.

Our housing was the interesting Whispering Pines motel, which was about as norman batesesque as the name suggests. In all seriousness it was absolutely fine and entirely comfortable, despite the creaky bed and burn stains on the kitchen counter and floor.

We dumped our bags and caught our breath before setting off on the drive toward crater lake. It was a glorious straight road for miles that were rapidly disappearing behind us. Pretty soon the road was climbing upward and trees getting thinner. Then they stopped entirely, as suddenly as if drawn with a ruler. The soil changed too, to a purple brown mottled with rocks and the occasional scrub. It pumice desert, a clear sign of recent volcano activity. The literature we’d received at the national park gate told us just how recent: less than 8000 years. Whatever had happened in the latest eruptions had been big, and scary for the population who probably lived in the area around the rumbling mountain.

Just how big was revealed when I decided to careen to a stop alongside a slew of other cars at an otherwise unremarkable pull-off. We got out of the car and the first thing I noticed was the chill in the air and its incredible stillness. The second thing was Crater Lake’s immensity. We had obviously seen an approaching big round splotch of blue on our sat nav unit on the drive over, but when you’re looking over a huge round lake completely hemmed by sheer cliffs on all sides, the opposite side almost too far to see, you realize the catastrophe of the eruption. It wiped a mile off the height of the existing mountain and scattered it all around. It left a gaping hole still high enough to keep snow year round, with enough melting to build up a perfectly clean lake over a few thousand years. It was, and I know I’m as guilty of overusing the word as anyone else, awesome.

In a funny way Crater Lake alone was worth the trip. Its serenity, beauty and harshness were not unrelated, though completely different, to those on Rainier, which of course is a volcano as well. Nothing short of awe-inspiring.

For dinner, we rounded the rim of the lake and descended to the visitor center to discover they were serving a buffet of home cooked food. I am not ashamed to say it was one of the best meals I’ve had on the trip so far. The food wasn’t oversalted, greasy or pretentious. Plus they served Rogue Brewery’s Dead Guy ale. Being a hiker and coming here after days in the wilderness surrounding the Lake must be heaven.

With night falling we had to make our way to meet our fate at the motel. It came near even before, as in the twilight deer and other animals come out to play. Lucky I wasn’t speeding too much, as I had to make a split-second braking swerve to avoid bambi wandering into the road. The guy tailing me must have been more frightened than me, but I guess it’ll teach you to keep a safe distance.

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Day 4: Bend Bender

Portland being a bit of a hippie town we knew we could get breakfast somewhere nice. We found the Bean and Tree on the waterfront, serving bagels with imaginative fillings as well as organic coffee. The girl serving us was dressed in that feisty rocker chick style and was super friendly with everyone, locals and new customers alike. Our drive that day would take us to the town of Bend. It should have been a straightforward drive down US 26 But wildfires burning in central oregon had shut that road. Not far after the little commuter town of Boring (yeah, we stopped there) we were diverted on a wide looping detour through an Indian reservation. Descending from the mountains was pretty amazing. The land changed in a flash as woods became parched yellow scrub, the horizon was filled with rocky buttes and the sun beamed down. I was pretty glad of the detour, doubly so after rounding a ridge and seeing the cloud of smoke rising in the distance. We passed a tent village I’d seen on the previous night’s news, housing firefighters during the battle against the wildfire. We drove past a casino on the edge of the reservation that was wreathed in the white cloud of smoke that was now covering everything.

Breakfast was wearing off so we stopped in a little town to eat at a diner. Never being one to turn down old fashioned cooking, I once again opted for a burger. When in Rome, right?

Bend is known for its outdoor activities as well as its prolific brewing. The town of 80k has just under 10 breweries, and a local thing to do is go through the Ale Trail of 8 brewpubs in the town as well as some in the neighboring town of Sisters. We were never going to manage all of them so got a cab to take us to the furthest one out, reasoning that we could come back and make a decision of whether to continue once closer to our motel.

Our taxi arrived, driven by a guy limping from his new all-leg tattoo. How convenient, he said after explaining that he really shouldn’t be driving that day, he was going to 10 Barrel brewing as well. He dropped us off saying he’d get us back downtown if we needed to go, and we went to ask for a table. 45 minutes’ wait, the hostess said! We said we’d wait, and that we’d have drinks outside in the meanwhile. Around the massive log fire cage I got talking to a family, a grandfather, his daughter and granddaughter. He’d worked on strategic air defence in England in the 50s so we had a really illuminating chat about rationing and the privileges enjoyed by U.S. Officers at the time. The granddaughter had been on a university exchange in Hull so we could talk beer, well, mostly cider.

10 Barrel does some very nice beers. Aside from the regulars and the seasonals, such as the blindingly brilliant Harvest Ale, they let their brewers go nuts with experimental recipes. A chocolate malt pale ale? Sure thing bub! That sort of thing. Needless to say I was wined and dined on American portions to a pretty good state.

No way were we going to just go to one, so in the absence of seeing tattoo-cabbie again in the din of a full brewhouse, We had to call another. I stammered something into the phone about needing a car from 10 barrel… In Bend… Oregon, not much thinking that a local cab company is unlikely to be driving from another state or even town to pick me up! Like I said, wined and dined. Since it was a brutally cold evening, the purchase of a hoodie with the brewery logo was a really good purchase, even for the $35 it cost.

Downtown, we hit another brewpub, the Silver Moon. This one was the mirror image of 10 barrel: where that was dark and full of people, this one had the lights on, and aside from a drunk couple with about 20 years’ age difference playing pool, very few others. The beer was still good though, and deserving of clientele more keen than those staring into their pints by the bar.

Suddenly, I found myself talking to a local kid whose friends were celebrating a birthday in the nextdoor bar. He’d come in and challenged people to a game of pool. We asked if we could join whatever party was going on, which was met with the most-uttered phrase of the night, “oh hell yeah”.

The kid, Forrest, introduced us to his friends as “these Europeans he’d found” and we started toward a bar up the road doing karaoke. Every bar in the town aside from the absolute dives seemed to do a bunch of good beers. A nerdy guy was belting his way through Blue Oyster Cult’s Godzilla. It was fun.

That place didn’t stay open much past our arrival so we moved across the street to a bar called the Astro lounge. It was too cold to sit for long on the sofas they had out back, so we moved in to where the dj was spinning in the corner. He ended up talking to us when the bar started emptying, revealing he did something unspecified for Apple for his day job. I still don’t quite know what the most common employers in the town are aside from the brewers. Bend is a bit disconnected geographically.

Bars in Bend close by 2:30am, which was just as well. Any longer and the next morning would have been even tougher. We called yet another cab, and got driven all of 4 blocks to our motel. There was no way for us to know where we were so I didn’t mind too much. Sleep was welcome.

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Day 3: Paradise, WA to Portland, OR

The disadvantage of road trips is the itinerary you have to make by the end me the day. When the place you start in as well as your destination are both interesting, it’s tough to divide the time. Case in point: Tuesday’s trip was from Mt Rainier to Portland, Or. After the really massive breakfast served to us at Paradise Inn, it was a shame to not be able to do more hiking. Doubly so because the fog just didn’t want to lift in the morning. The views to Snoqually Glacier promised to be breathtaking but sadly it looked more like the world simply ended in a haze of white after a sheer cliff drop. That’s not to say I think our trip up the mountain was wasted, far from it. I’m really glad to experience it and would gladly come again.

The trail itself was gorgeous, and it was neat to tread over snow in August, see how all the trees grew thin and tall, with downward pointing branches, because of the weight and persistence of the snow. After the short hike it was time to do the hairpin turns back down the mountain. This time it being daylight allowed us to see the Snoqually river and the devastation ice dams bursting can cause. Soon we were back on the State roads, heading South toward the state line. Portland was only a few hours away, but on the other hand it was a full few hours. Eventually, the huge breakfast did wear off, and we stopped for lunch at Castle Rock, ending up in a lovely little diner called C&L. It had a nice founding story and the burgers they served were brilliant. Couldn’t have asked for more.

Soon we were coming to the Columbia River and the Washington-Oregon border. The city of Vancouver on the washington side and Portland with its suburbs on the other form a conurbation that we drove through on Interstate 5. It wasn’t pretty, but the curving elevated roads crossing toward the bridges were impressive. After checking into our hotel we decided to start exploring the city on foot. We walked North through downtown toward Deschutes brewpub, passing groups of self-styled “hobos” hanging around on street corners begging. Coming face to face with the sometimes grim reality of American urban life was a bit jarring after the serenity of Rainier.

The brewpub was heaving, it clearly is a popular way to spend an evening. American beer-oriented bars do taster sets, in this case 6 small glasses for $6.50. Yes, we had a couple, trying every beer they had on. And many were better than the last. I was pretty wiped out from the drive so couldn’t make a massive night of it. The brewing town of Bend was our target for the next day, so I was going to get to try local beers anyway. Walking through night-time Portland, I think I could feel the autumn in the air a bit.

(I’m posting these as and when I can so do check back once the trip is over, I’ll add photos and links to the appropriate things.)

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Day 2: Seattle – Tukwila – North Bend – Snoqualmie – Paradise

I got up early on Monday, eager to do stuff, if not leave Seattle. It’d be good to be back on the road, if nothing else: I was looking forward to driving again.

The breakfast was mostly similar to the day before, with scarily uniform waffles and spacey-colored cereals. The hot dishes were sausages and French toast sticks which I had no chance of identifying as such, so I ate them with the sausages instead of the intended strawberries. Oh well, it’s not like I needed more sugar anyway.

The hotel’s free shuttle bus took us through a sunny Seattle (who’d have thought?) to the Amtrak station which was near the Link Light Rail toward the airport. I love how public transport in Seattle is usued by everyone and is actively being developed. There’s no stupid stigma of buses being for an underclass.

Seattle is an eminently livable city. Granted, I’ve only seen it in the warmth and relative sunshine of late summer, but the lifestyle is really appealing. There’s a ton of outdoor things to do, there’s a shared ethic of environmental responsibility and a culture of beer, wine, music and a good time. I could move here provided be a job for me to do (and plenty of holidays).

We picked up our car at SeaTac airport. Letting ourselves be talked into upgrading to the next class up (“you guys are going to be doing a lot of driving, and this one is a bit bigger and more comfortable. Still gets good gas mileage though”) we ended up with a Ford Fusion. Ironically, it’s got California plates, so we will be dropping it off on its home turf!

In my rush to pack for a road trip and a wedding in the middle of moving house, I foolishly forgot to pack my cufflinks. I’d asked my friends for shops where they’d sell them, so we drove to a mall that according to the Internet had a Mens Wearhouse. The sat nav unit didn’t want to work while I was driving out of the airport, so I got to navigate by hunch and good sense. They served me well.

The mall in Tukwila was apparently “a small town mall” but it was still a dressed-up temple of consumption. Not being able to find a Men’s Wearhouse (apparently now closed) I ended up wandering and eventually getting a clearance pair of simple cufflinks from JC Penney. First US mall and US department store, done.

Back on teh road after food court teriyaki, our destination was North Bend and its connection to Twin Peaks. A short commute from Seattle, the town is nestled in a valley with two mountains, Mt Si and Little Si towering right over it. Smack in the center is Twede’s cafe, the dine that served as the Double R diner in Twin Peaks. It’s different now, of course, having been painted on the outside and done up on the inside. Even so, I loved it. From the neon strips on the ceiling to the train models on the walls, it was pure Americana, and all the better for it. I don’t usually drink coffee but of course had to have some with cherry pie – and it was good. Damn good.

The place sold maps to Twin Peaks filming locations ($2.25 was steep for an A4 copy, but hey) so we took one and followed it toward Snoqualmie and the falls seen in the title sequence of the show. On the way, we drove past the enormous tree trunk mounted on display, also featured as a sight of Twin Peaks. It’s funny how a few locations in two adjacent towns can just be appropriated to be places in a fictional town, much more known than the real counterparts.

Snoqualmie falls are not especially high or big. But they are pretty, and small enough to not make it all disappear in a cloud of mist. They had a gift shop selling the usual regional tat as well as coffee, staffed by a really cute shy sales girl called Mikayla. It was precisely the sort of sweet little town I was hoping to come across - a main street with a milkshake bar and curiosity shop, a school with terrific sports fields and a dive bar with neon signs half-working in the window.

We were losing daylight and still had a while to go, so started heading South toward Mt Rainier and our lodgings, right at Paradise, one of two main outposts in the National Park. Taking smaller roads got interesting with nightfal, and as we got higher up the mountain, with extremely thick fog. By the time we arrived at the parking at Paradise, I had no idea where the road ended and which of the distantly-lighted buildings was the Paradise Inn. After the double-backs on the road up the mountainside, I just wanted to be indoors.

The area of Rainier is among the most heavily snowed-in places in the world. The Paradise Inn has been extensively rebuilt because it had been damaged by the dozens of meters of snow the mountain gets every year. That means it gets entirely buried!

The dining room had closed by the time we checked in, so we had to settle for $8 sandwiches for supper from the shop still open at the inn. Then it was time to retire for the night, with the window open to the mist in our tiny room with beams sunk into the walls.

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Day 1: Seattle

Seattle is a nice place. I can say that, having walked the length of downtown several times over in a single day. People are friendly and the city is manageable. I managed to catch the place on a good day, too, so I guess I am biased.

When I woke up (having made myself sleep after waking up right as rain at 4am thinking I’d slept in in European time), the fog was so thick I couldn’t see the gas station across the road from the hotel. The air smelled of coffee mixed with eycalyptus, which while not unpleasant, was a little bit weird. I knew I had to meet friends right after breakfast, so set to work on downing some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and other quintessentially American (and therefore exceedingly sweet) breakfast things.

I asked about the free shuttle bus to town at the reception but got told the slot I wanted was fully booked. When asking for other options, I was offered a ride share in a taxi. Nah, I knew they did buses, so when offered the #16 bus I jumped at the chance. Just like in Houston, the buses only took exact change which I luckily had, having woken up at 3am hungry as hell and needing to forage for snacks in the neighborhood.

I met my friend, whom I’d originally met in the UK a couple of years ago, at Pike Place Market. It was pretty much exactly how I expected – full of tourists gawping at loud shouting fishmongers and buying the biggest lobster tails and crabs I’d ever seen. From there we started walking, first past the gum wall (yuck!) and then through the various neighborhoods of central Seattle. A gentleman can have a drink after midday, so we had one (at 12:05) at Elysian Fields near the stadiums, and kept walking.

Eventually, we needed to refuel, so stopped at Dick’s Burgers, which literally hit the spot. I didn’t even know I was hungry for a burger, but this being the US, I guess I always am. If you’re ever in the Seattle area, I can heartily recommend it. My friends quietly told me that In ‘n Out in California is on the same level if not better, so I will have to try that too once down there. In any case, for $3, who can complain?

Part of what I liked about Seattle was the way that the American shopping “experience” was confined to a specific section of Downtown. There are green spaces and independent shops galore. The day was getting sunnier, as promised, and the fog was lifting. The shorts I had hastily changed into weren’t a bad idea. From what I understand, it was a relatively rare occurrence in the notoriously rain-soaked city. As we rounded the corner toward Puget Sound, I could glimpse the Olympic mountains in the distance over gloriously blue water that had previously been hidden by a solid gray wall of fog.

It was gloriously beautiful. This place is gorgeous. I can totally understand why huge cruise ships dock in Seattle on their way to summery Alaska. It was the same when we were banking over the Rockies once over British Columbia, and the brown tundra had given away to forested mountainsides capped with snow. As we approached Seattle to land, Mt Rainier rose above the lush green, a white diamond of a massive volcano. It made me happy and excited to be here.

The Fremont Troll is a community sculpture under a large road overpass that is very popular with tourists. Of course, we had to see it, so took a bus first through the University District toward it. The U District was full of cheap eateries and dive bars, just like you’d expect. Universities really look architecturally similar wherever you go, but we walked past a few of the rickety frat-house buildings with old sofas out front that no doubt are very popular with the beer-swigging pre-football game crowd. In a funny way, among all the tattooed and skateboarding university folk, I felt at home. I wanted to strike up conversations with people on our bus stop. That was weird, and they would have thought as much.

After taking silly photos with the troll (including me with a fist up its nose) we headed toward Fremont proper for dinner and some beers. We ended at the Brouwer thanks to my friend taking us. It was a Belgian-themed place with a great selection of local food and beers. Why would I go for a Belgian beer if I could have a semi-local pale ale called Nice Rack? Exactly. The only hitch in the ride was that they didn’t want to accept anything except for a passport as ID so I had to fetch mine from the hotel before they would actually let me sit in the place and get server either food or drink. Nonetheless, the night was a success, and the salad I had, though simple, was really nice. Goes without saying that the ales were great too.

Getting a cab out in Fremont isn’t easy. We got tired of waiting for one to show up so decided to cough up the international calling charge to a cab company. The guy they sent immediately asked us how we’d liked Fremont. Great, we said.
“Did you see the statue of our great communist leader?” he asked sarcastically. Yes, we’d seen the Lenin statue in Fremont. No, we didn’t get why there was one there.
“I don’t get why we have a statue of a goddamn communist. My dream is that someone would tie their SUV to it some night and tear it down, like they did with the Saddam statue.”

That set the tone for the conversation for the rest of the ride. He was all about nature, not nurture, though was dumbstruck about the nurture aspect of me being a non-native English speaker who nonetheless sounded native. I left it at that.

I still don’t quite know what time it is. The clock on this machine is still in European time, showing it’s 6am. I don’t feel like it is, but neither do I feel it’s late evening. Somewhere in between.

Tomorrow, checkout, some shopping, picking up the car for this roadtrip and heading towards Mount Rainier. Here’s hoping for good weather and non-sore legs.

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Ubiquity

I can’t say I was surprised to see that the previous tenants had left their ADSL modem in the flat when we moved in, nor can I say that I was surprised when we discovered that it was still working. One has just kind of come to expect wireless internet, whether in cafes or in peoples’ houses. It’s something I’ve noticed has happened during the last six years.

And so it was that amidst mountains of unpacking I wrangled with the connection and logged into my email account last night. King’s had sent me an email outlining how to enrol on my course and collect my account login details.

Another email address to check. Another password to invent. Another couple of security questions to fill in.

Still, it’s a bit of excitement on the dullest, drabbest morning this side of Midsummer.

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Getting a Bit Emotional

I stood at the door to my old room when I was leaving it for the last time today and just stared into it. It looked so much bigger without all my stuff (and the inevitable hanging laundry) in it. It reminded me of moving into it, and to the smaller downstairs room before it.

I stood and didn’t think of anything particular, just watched the evening light cascade in through the open curtains, listening to the silence.

I’d written a note to my housemates thanking them. I’d left it on the kitchen table, in the room that sold me on the house along with the people in it. I turned around, walked to the hallway and saluted the house out of a weird impulse. Having left my key for the next person to move in, I closed the front door on myself.

A lot has happened in the last week and a bit. I really should organize my memento photos and write something about the events. After I’ve unpacked at least a little bit.

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London Nights

We’re in the upstairs room of a central London pub avoiding the grey dusk and pouring rain, as one is, having a drink on a Thursday night, as one does. Part of the company has dwindled to watch a gig up in Camden, and one leaves to meet with her new boyfriend.

Feeling peckish, we agree to the party’s American girl announcing a desire for a burger. I remember there is a place just down the road from the Underworld where the gig is happening, and that we can all meet up and go for one more drink.

So we pile into the tube to take it from Leicester Square to Camden Town. We emerge just on the strike of 11pm and head for the Burger King.

“Mate, they’re closed,” one of my housemates call, but I’m determined. As I step up toward the door, they open, but the manager is walking toward them presumably to lock up.

“What are you looking to buy?”

Erm. Burgers.

The manager obliges but tells us that it’s for takeaway only. That’s fine, we’ve got places to be and people to meet up with. We order, pay and head out of the door just to bump into the other two whose (atrocious, apparently) gig had just finished. I scarf down my food and shed the fries to the others as we round the corner to Greenland Place and stand outside a pub with loud music pouring out.

Was the burger good, then? Of course not! But that’s not the point, is it?

I’m suddenly not feeling it. The place looks a bit like it’d charge for entry, and the music seems really loud. One of our party heads in though, announcing he’s buying a round. No turning back from that.

Inside, the Black Heart turns out to be pretty pleasant. Sure, the music is loud but it’s the kind of stuff that neither the hardened metalhead nor the indie girl would hate. The guy tending bar immediately recognises my friend from shows he’s put on at other venues. He’s wearing a Wolves in the Throne Room t-shirt and sports a big beard. It’s strangely incongruous in a rather hipstery type of bar, but suits me fine. Plus they serve decent beers, though not cheaply.

We sit down and sing along to Tears for Fears’ Everybody Wants to Rule the World and start to take pictures of each other wearing glasses that are not ours. I end up getting the better part of the dregs of an energy drink can in my Paulaner thanks to the American getting a little bit rowdy after having a disgusting shooter.

But it’s just so much fun.

From people around the table and the guy at the bar, who also gave me a 20% discount card for no reason at all, I find out some cool gig dates coming up in the next two months. Assuming that I’m secure money-wise, there won’t be a shortage of entertainment.

Eventually, past midnight, they call last orders and turn up the lights. We run toward the tube, hoping to catch our connection back home, home for me for one more night. One of us takes a wrong turn and gets slammed into by another passenger, but we still make the original train. Running for the connecting train at Euston, the evening’s consumption begins to take a toll and I start to feel queasy. Luckily there’s trains yet and I get a seat.

I have been berated throughout the evening by my housemates for moving out, and the outspoken other half of one of them announced that I was a liar “and a vagina” for saying that I wanted nights like this to continue to happen, and happen often.

She’s not right. I’ll prove her wrong.

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Rising Action

In that way that a dramatic arc presents events eventually culminating in a climax where everything comes to a head all at once, it seems my life is taking a similar path. It’s all coming to a head at once, and the next few days seem like that short, intense chapter in a novel where all the strands are suddenly brought together and lit on fire like a fuse.

Of course, quite predictably, I seem to have gotten my throat sore, and not just in the hoarse way that one has after screaming along to music and then proceeding to sleep on the ground at a festival for four days. This is the kind of throat-pain teachers get at the end of term, when your body finally snaps from the tension.

I can’t afford to get ill, now even less than usual. I also don’t want the eventual denouement of this strand of my story to suck because I would be ill on our road trip.

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London’s Burning

Some time ago, I left work at speed to run to some house viewings we had scheduled. As I was walking out, a ragged homeless woman was sitting on a low wall I passed, singing the lyrics to London’s Burning in a haunting, sing-song way to no-one in particular:

London’s burning, London’s burning.
Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.
Fire fire, Fire Fire!
Pour on water, pour on water.

London’s burning, London’s burning.
Fetch the engines, fetch the engines.
Fire fire, Fire Fire!
Pour on water, pour on water.

We ended up finding a place we liked that day, and putting an offer in. It was accepted, and we passed all the documentation required for our tenancy to the agency.

I don’t know if the agency offices are there any more. On the news, I’ve seen that entire street been gutted by looters in what the press are now calling the London riots. There are buildings and cars on fire, places looted for the smallest things (a hairdresser’s was broken into for some sort of monitor, apparently) and things smashed to smithereens for the hell of it.

I mean to write something more about all this as soon as I get my thoughts in order and see which way this is going. Suffice to say for now, though, that both I and all my immediate friends are absolutely fine, with no immediate threat to our safety. That’s good at least.

It could go in any direction from here, though.

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