24/7: Ajoining Sequoia National Park is another national park – that of Kings Canyon. My last day in California for this time was spent between these spectacular canyon walls.

Imagine what a little water and ages and ages of time can do. Says something about having patience, doesn’t it?

23/7: While taking a photo of a tree, my sunglasses fell off my head. It wasn’t even a special tree, but I can’t control myself. And it’s happened several times that people have taken pictures of me taking pictures. I go all in, crawl around on the ground, climb up on chairs and annoy people for being so slow. I ruined a completely decent pair of jeans in Bolivia by rolling around on the salt covered ground of the salt flats in Salar de Uyuni. Eventually they were so stiff from the salt and mud and dust that they, kind of, like, snapped. Holes on my right knee and thigh simultaneously. But, the pictures were amazing.

Yeah, so, that my sunglasses fell off my head while I was taking a picture of my fivehundredth giant sequoia shouldn’t surprise anyone. What makes this a story, though, is the fact that, when they hit the sequoia needle covered ground, the sunglasses broke. Snapped, one glass falling out.

I bought these glasses in La Paz. It was my last week in South America and there was some kind of festival. People in glitter and feathers dancing on the street (for being such a macho culture, the Bolivians sure love their glamour). They were the fourth pair of sunglasses I bought in Bolivia, but what the hell, they were cheap and I was leaving soon.

They have seen me through many a sunny summer’s day, and by the time I reached California their original deep blue-greenish colour had been bleached into some kind of yellowish turquoise. Not pretty. I had been thinking for weeks that I really needed to get rid of them – I just didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Maybe it was meant to be, them falling off my head. Still, I felt a little sad.

So I asked mom to take a last picture of me in these huge, cheap sunglasses – and then laid them to rest in a bear-safe dustbin in Sequoia National Park. A perfect last resting place for a pair of sunglasses as adventurous and faithful as these, I would say.

23/7: In Canada, I heard story upon story about the bears. Apparently, they were everywhere. Just not where I happened to be.

By the time I reached California, I had given up on the hope of seeing a real wild American bear. In Sequoia National Park there were signs about bears everywhere, but I thought they didn’t mean much.

 

But on our way down from Moro Rock, two cars were standing by the narrow road with people leaning out of the windows. And when I looked up into the forest, I saw it.

A bear.

A live, wild black bear, walking through the shrub.

It was smaller than I thought it would be. Maybe it was young. And it didn’t seem to care one bit about us. It didn’t even bother to look our way. Cool bear.

Folks, I’ve seen a Californian bear. And why not, California had already given me so many other things. Why be stingy with the animal that adorns the Californian state flag.

23/7: The most famous dome in Sequoia National Park is called Moro Rock, and it is easy to climb.

 

Moro Rock from Generals Highway.

 

Moro Rock became a tourist attraction in the early 1900’s, and in 1930 a path up to the top was built. Just walking there, imagining the efforts it had taken to construct this narrow path in the hard granite dome, made me dizzy.

 

Crazy tree.

 

At the top.

 

The view. Magnificent. Mountains. Incredible.

 

And, dear friends, of course there’s a geologic story behind these domes. You see, the bedrock on Earth varies immensely, both in age, composition, density and resistance. The granite domes, as the ones in the Sierra Nevada, were created long ago when a body of magma filled up a chamber underneath the Earth’s surface. After cooling down, this created a lens of very hard granite surrounded by another, less resistant kind of rock (for example, sedimetary limestone from old ocean floor). The pressure in this granite lens was extremely high, but due to the surrounding rock it was contained.

Then, as tectonic activities shifted the bedrock in the Earth’s crust, this part of softer rock and granite lens ended up on the surface of the Earth, for example in a mountain chain as in the Sierra Nevadas. The softer rock soon eroded away, to reveal the granite lens within. And when this granite, that had been under high pressure for millions and millions of years, suddenly was released, it started to bulge, flow, rise like a yeasty dough. And instead of weathering and eroding in small pieces, like many sedimentary rocks do, the bulging dome eroded in layers, like an onion.

And that is how the round dome peaks of the Sierra Nevada came to be. Ah, the excitements of geology.

23/7: Early bird Monday and driving the last stretch to Sequoia National Park. Sierra Nevada really is magnificent.

There has been people for a long, long time.

And they cooked in granite utensils.

My little mom and the Giant Sequoia.

Sometimes you’ve just got to keep growing. Despite the obsticles in your way.

General Sherman Tree. The largest tree in the world, measured in mass.

Impressive. But, if you’ll allow me to exaggerate a little, it was almost impossible to see the tree for all the tourists.

The funny thing was, that only ten minutes walk from General Sherman, we were all by ourselves, me, mom, the trees and the occational deer. Isn’t hiking the whole point of visiting a national park?

They have controled fires in the forest, a way to prevent big fires to start. The ecosystem in Sierra Nevada also needs fire to fuction properly – there are seeds that don’t even start growing before they’ve been heated up by a wildfire.

Mom also got the opportunity to drive through a tree.

Moon over Sierra Nevada.

The general oppinion is that Yosemite is the jewel of Sierra Nevada, the coolest and most beautiful (and also the most visited) national park. But I have to say that I kind of prefer Sequoia National Park. It’s greener and the forest is more impressive. Sure, the fjordlike Yosemite valley with the granite Half Dome is like nothing else – but as a whole, I would say Sequoia is the thing. There are granite domes in Sequoia too, and gosh, they have the biggest trees in the world! Isn’t that reason enough?

22/7: Sunday afternoon, we started on our way east. According to Google, the fastest way from Santa Barbara to Sequoia National Park was to go south on 101, and then just north of Los Angeles turn east and continue onto Interstate 5. What we didn’t think of was that Sunday afternoon on 101 meant all the returning weekend traffic from the coast resorts to Los Angeles. The traffic was crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it (but then again, I’m no authority on traffic).

 

This was as close as I got to Los Angeles. It was a relief when we finally got to turn west. And there, we were met by this sign. Seriously, towns in the States have the oddest names. Piru means devil in Finnish.

 

I-5 was an experience in itself. Four to six lanes, up over the mountains and then down into Central Valley. The picture (taken by mom, with my instructions) doesn’t make the sight justice. It is extreme, how the landscape goes from mountains to completely flat plateau. As the geographer I am, I’m amazed.

 

After almost five hours of non-stop driving, we reached Visalia, our home for the night. I had by accident booked a slightly too expensive motel room, but it sure felt wonderful to lay down on my own king sized bed. I slept well that night.

22/7: Santa Barbara, as so many other older cities and towns in California (because nothing is really old in California, except the trees), was founded as a Spanish mission. Today, it remains one of the few missions that are still in use. The place was crawling with tourists, just as everything else in Santa Barbara, but still it managed to convey a feeling of  peace and reflection. There’s just something about these small gardens, surrounded by low buildnings or stone walls. It’s like the outside world doesn’t exist anymore. It’s calming.

And this is a Moreton Bay Fig Tree. An amazing sight. It looks magic and wise, as if it could answer many of the questions about the mysteries of life, if you could only understand when it spoke. But to learn the language of trees would probably require time and patience. And maybe even life in solitude, prayer and celibacy. I guess a mission is the perfect place for a tree like this to grow, then.

After the fig tree, I think this thing, somewhere between a fountain and a pond, was my favourite. It was the first thing that met you, right in front of the main entrance, and the murky green water was filled with pink and white waterlilies. Like something from a fairytale.

… or the film Atonement, you know, the scene where James McAvoy and Keira Knightley are in a fight over a broken vase, Keira jumps into the fountain/pond/pool to get the broken piece of porcelain, steps out of the water all soaked and dripping, with the fabric of her dress so close to her body that she looks naked – and she storms off. James is left by the fountain/pond/pool, frustrated and lovesick. He leans down over the murky green water and puts his hand just above the surface, almost touching, as if being jealous, wanting to be part of the water that just moments ago got to embrace Keira.

I saw Atonement in the theater by myself back in 2007, and I think I cried quite alot. But now, so many years later, what I remember the most is that scene by the fountain/pond/pool. It might be the strongest, most expressive and touching films sequences I’ve ever seen. It is so beautiful, and so sad.

And, you see, I tried to reenact the scene, sitting by on the stone edge, leaning out over the murky green water. But the photos didn’t turn out as I had pictured them at all. My mother is good at many things, but she is no photographer.

22/7: Santa Barbara has a lot of Spanish in it. Just look at all the white buildings! But it also manages the tricky combination of having an antmosphere of old cosiness and Californian fanciness. It’s posh and historic both at the same time. I kind of liked it. To be honest.

 

The Santa Barbara County Courthouse from 1929.

 

Beautiful, beautiful succulent.

See, this just grows and grows and grows.

Eventually, hopefully something will grow into a strong oak.

Or even a giant sequoia.

– – –

As for me, I’ve moved to Uppsala now, and started studying peace and conflict studies. I managed to find the most beautiful of small apartments, and Hannes has already visited me there twice. Yesterday, I ran into both Frida outside the supermarket and Marita outside a nation pub. Uppsala is a small place, here you can easily chance upon several people you know during the course of a day, invite someone for dinner and have them arrive fifteen minutes later. As for now, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

The blog entries consists of mostly photos now, I guess. Maybe that makes them less interesting. Maybe no one even cares. Still, I want to finish this. Whenever I get a break from all the studying, and Uppsala exploring, and cooking, and just enjoying life in my new beautiful little apartment.

22/7: The hostel in Santa Barbara where we stayed might be the worst hostel I’ve ever stayed at. And considering my extensive travels in Bolivia and Peru, that says quite a lot. You see, it also happened to be the most expensive.

But one of the staff of the hostel had a dog that lived in the back yard, where the hostel guests also parked their cars. The dog was a rescue and extremely suspicious of strangers. He shied away when someone tried to pat him. But in the evening, while sitting on the back porch getting some air before going to sleep, I tried some of my knewly aquired natural horsemanship knowledge on him. The things Jay taught me at Time Out Farms, about body language, looks and intentions. And, believe it or not, the dog started walking toward me, one step at a time, until it finally stood there right in front of me and let me pat it on the head. Just then, the owner came out and was really surprised at how friendly we had become, me and her dog. She said that he usually didn’t approach strangers, that he mistrusted everyone except her and her boyfriend.

See, I really have learned some useful stuff during my wwoofing months. I cannot only talk with horses now, I can also communicate with mistrusting dogs.

 

Sunday morning. My backpack just kept on growing.

 

We went down to the beach again, to enjoy the sun for a couple of hours before doing the touristy Santa Barbara.

 

I sat there, with sand between my toes, reading “Fragile Things” by Neil Gaiman, and couldn’t be happier. I’m not much for sun-and-beach holidays, I would never stand a two week stay at a beach in Thailand. But once in a while, I can really enjoy the feel of sand between my toes, the sun on my skin and the sound of the ocean gently hitting the shore.