On July 1, 2023, we flew to Turkey, and the next day, we continued to San Francisco. An older woman sat behind me and kept nudging my seat for two hours. I turned around several times with an annoyed look, but she didn't care. Baru was sitting a few seats behind me. The journey lasted two and a half hours, so we didn't bother with seat reservations.
At the airport in Turkey, a hotel transfer was waiting for us. A beautiful car with leather seats took us to a hotel in Arnavutköy within minutes. We only had the bare necessities for an overnight stay. The guys at the reception were nice and immediately asked me if I could take a few photos for them. In return, they ordered dinner for us to the room; we had never eaten such good döner kebab before. Then we went for a walk around the city; the weather was beautiful, we met many great people and chatted with them. Evening teas in front of houses, neighborly chitchat, children playing and showing off their English.
The next day, a thirteen-hour flight awaited us. We boarded the plane, and I ran into that crazy woman again – and I was immediately convinced she was in my seat. The flight attendant asked us to sit down, as there were people behind us, so Baru started saying that the woman was in my seat. By then, she had already gotten up and was rummaging in the overhead bin. I decided to check my boarding pass again and found that she was in the correct seat and my seat was behind her. She started sticking her tongue out at us. She then watched cartoons the entire flight and had a great time.
Baru and I had seats next to each other, but there was an aisle between us. There were three seats in each row. When the plane filled up, Baru still had both seats next to her free. I told her to sit in the middle seat so no one would sit there, and I would move to her as soon as the plane doors closed. She lifted the armrest, sat in the middle of the two seats, and spread her legs to occupy them. Then a flight attendant came and said he needed one pillow. Baru had such a combative expression that the poor man was afraid of her, but she eventually gave him one. I laughed terribly that she should have sat in the middle seat, not across two.
It was great – we had three seats to ourselves, which made the long flight bearable. As soon as the plane took off, Baru went to the toilet. I wondered where she was for so long. She came back, her eyes completely red. She had mistaken the toilet disinfectant for facial toner. A few days before departure, I had read her instructions on how to prepare for such a long flight – one item was a spray bottle with facial toner, but nowhere had it in a hundred milliliters. She was delighted to find it in the WC. So her face was perfectly disinfected, and she put drops in her eyes. During the flight, we put on a face mask that we had in our emergency kit. She also kept tormenting me with her misunderstanding of the time change and recalculating what time it was in the Czech Republic at that moment.
Upon landing, there was a slight panic because her nails and palms were black. I noticed that her sweatshirt was also black at the wrists, and that solved the mystery. New black leggings were to blame.
San Francisco
Summer clothes packed in the suitcase, several swimsuits, and thoughts of swimming in the Pacific on the way from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Of endless swimming and sunbathing on the beaches lining the Pacific all the way. We packed one sweatshirt for the possibility of an evening chill, which we hadn't counted on.
After landing, we took the metro to the city center, to our hotel. Buying metro tickets was a nightmare. The card wouldn't work, and the price to our destination wasn't clearly written anywhere because it was an airport metro with different tariffs. My nerves were fraying, and I wanted to call a taxi. Of course, it wouldn't let us out at the exit, so we used a trick like the skateboarder before us and manually pushed aside the barrier. The sun was shining, but a fresh wind was blowing. We weren't deterred; it was already late afternoon. We went for a walk; we were staying right by the Cable Car turnaround, directly in the center, in a charming old renovated hotel. Then, tired, we lay down, looking forward to the next day. We decided to tackle San Francisco without a car, which was reserved for us at the airport in five days. Today, I know that for people born under the sign of Aries, public transport is hell.
In the morning, we set out on foot down Powell Street, looking for the best route on my phone to see everything we "had to" see, eventually reaching the Golden Gate. We had borrowed a SIM card with a US plan from our daughter, who has lived in the US for nine years. It was a huge help. As we stopped, Baru was looking for directions, and I, without my reading glasses, was looking at the interesting houses around us. I noticed an old man across the street who seemed to be waving at me from his window. I shyly waved back – I don't see much from a distance anymore, but I thought maybe he lived alone and would appreciate some attention. He even pushed his window open a bit, as if to air it out. But Baru demanded my attention for the route to the Golden Gate and asked me what I was looking at. Just then, someone started smacking their lips. We looked around – it was the same old man in the window. I told her he had already waved at me. And she said he wasn't waving at me, he was pleasuring himself. So began an immense amount of fun about me waving at a masturbating grandpa who, it seemed, was indeed just airing out his room.
We took our sweatshirts out of our backpacks but again comforted ourselves that it was only cold in the morning. We walked for a bit, then rode the Cable Car, which I had bothered about on the very first evening, wanting to get up at four in the morning just to photograph it. Fortunately, fatigue didn't allow it. Union Square, Lombard Street, California Street, Palace of Fine Arts, Ghirardelli, and other interesting places, then a bus to the Golden Gate. It was quite windy there. In the distance, Alcatraz prison was clearly visible from the beach. There were people on Golden Gate Beach, but they were in winter jackets and hats. A few brave souls in swimsuits – I understood them, after all, they had gone to California in July. Quite frozen, wrapped in a sweatshirt and hood, we crawled to the bridge. On the way, I bought Baru a sweatshirt from a street vendor. I had dollars on me; he didn't take cards. She said it saved her life.
We decided to cross the bridge and explore it from the other side. At the Vista Point, we accidentally entered an area only accessible to staff and found ourselves very close to a doe and her fawn, who stared at us wide-eyed. Thanks to that spot, we saw the bridge from a different perspective. Then we scrambled back. We walked back to the bus. The cold and wind were intensifying, and the thought of walking across the bridge was terrifying. In that cold, it felt like an incredible distance. We walked to the bus stop, about a hundred meters from the bridge, but nothing was running. We did this about four times. My phone battery died, so there was no way to call a taxi. The only thing that occasionally passed by was the Hop on Hop off bus, but they wanted 48 dollars per person. We were so desperate that we wanted to jump on the next one. Then my phone woke up and had one percent battery. We managed to download Lyft and call for a ride. After two and a half hours of suffering, we were finally sitting in the warmth of a car. At that moment, we knew it had been the right decision to leave the kids at home. Baru told the driver the whole story, but he wasn't interested at all.
At the hotel, we turned on the hot shower, cranked up the heat, and burrowed under the covers. We were supposed to spend five days in San Francisco and then continue down the Pacific Highway to Los Angeles, where it would be scorching hot. Baru had new shoes she bought at the airport in Turkey, and I kept hearing that she wouldn't have made it without them. She repeatedly washed and wiped them, and then she talked about her new sweatshirt the same way – that she would be dead without it. And this whole thing repeated several times a day... the shoes and the sweatshirt. And despite the clouds, cold, and chilly wind, I got a sunburn on my face that peeled until Los Angeles.
The next day was July 4th, Independence Day. We walked down Market Street towards the Capitol. There, addicts exchanged syringes and needles while dealers immediately sold drugs. A little further on, there was a cafe, as if plucked from that wild reality; it was a university area, so we sat for a while with coffee in hand in a beautiful outdoor space. The next stop was at the Victorian houses in Alamo. In the afternoon, we dressed up at the hotel and headed for the metro. A great band was playing on the street. We went to check out Castro, the gay district, which struck us as strangely opulent.
However, before that, we walked up Twin Peaks. This superhuman effort, about a thirty-minute steep climb in an incredibly cold wind, with a camera around my neck, exhausted me.
The reward, at least for that moment, was an outdoor snack stand. The guy was pretty busy. And then a Russian-speaking lady wanted to be helpful and helped him turn the sausages and even managed to ask us who we were, how long we'd been in San Francisco, and what we were doing there. People were piling up, but he was completely calm. At his own pace, he grilled bacon-wrapped sausages and cut fruit for salads. When he burned a sausage, he asked who wanted the burnt one, and we were surprised how many people took the burnt one just so they didn't have to wait. Ours were beautifully cooked, and we also ordered sliced watermelon. The vendor wore black rubber gloves, which he used to handle hot dogs, fruit, and money, rummaged in his bag, or opened his car. Then he took a box from the ground, placed it on the fruit cutting board, dug out cutlery, put the box back on the dirty ground, and neatly sliced the watermelon on the same board. He wished us bon appétit, and the change he gave me left an oil stain in my fanny pack. Again, completely frozen, we headed back to the hotel.
In the evening, our last stop was at Pier 39, where there was supposed to be a giant fireworks display and where sea lions live freely and lounge on the piers. But by evening, they were all gone, and I was disappointed. Luckily, we found a few more further along. On the street, we met an elderly gentleman who wanted to chat. He told us where he had been, he knew Prague. He was sad about the fate of some friends, or their children, who had succumbed to drugs in San Francisco.
After the fireworks, crowds of people streamed back to the center, traffic collapsed. We walked with the crowd. Again, cold and wind, up and down; we collapsed in our room two hours later. That night, I had terrible chills and a fever. I was sweating as if I were lying by a stove. Baru took excellent care of me. She gave me Paralen, but it didn't seem to work. Then I noticed it was Dorsiflex. Baru had them mixed in the same box and somehow grabbed the wrong one twice. At least my sore neck relaxed.
At the pharmacy, we bought medicine for bronchitis. That day, we had planned a day off and decided to do laundry. But as the illness clouded my mind, I panicked about how we would get quarters for the laundromat – we only had a hundred-dollar bill on us. Eventually, Baru came up with a plan: we bought toilet paper (the hotel was running out, and it never goes to waste anyway), fruit, and something to drink. The quarter machine in the laundromat only accepted up to twenty dollars, and now we had that. I was all sweaty, and we both pulled out all our things to avoid freezing. I barely remember how that day went, I just know that a drugged young man was lying at the entrance to the laundromat, looking like he was dead. The location and distance seemed off to me, then we found out that the navigation had shown me a different laundromat the evening before, closer to us. For some unknown reason, in the morning, it led us to the most dangerous neighborhood – luckily, we only realized this after returning to the hotel, around which homeless people and addicts loitered, and the smell of weed hung in the air. Our hotel also fell into the Mission District. Staying in the center unfortunately had certain disadvantages. Many companies had already moved out, and the sight of empty shops, dirty streets, and ruined houses was unsettling. But the rest of San Francisco is breathtaking; for me, one of the most beautiful cities I've ever seen.
I lay in bed, barely able to stand. Baru went out alone for food and met frightened tourists on the street, pushing through the homeless with their suitcases.
Again, I spent the whole night sick, but the morning was much better. The next day, we headed to the airport for the car.
We were fumbling in the subway, and when a rude couple blocked Baru's path behind me into the car, the doors closed, and I left alone. I knew the yellow line went to the airport. Unfortunately, there was no way to call; there was no Wi-Fi, and I had the only working phone. I got off at the first stop and hoped she was waiting for me at the spot I had left from. I also managed to find out that while the yellow line did go to an airport, it wasn't ours. After about ten minutes of running up and down with a heavy suitcase, I got back on the yellow line, heading back to where we had separated. When I saw her backpack, suitcase, and then Baru nearby, I felt relieved. She said she had wanted to come after me when I didn't return for a long time – the couple had started asking questions and stood so awkwardly that she couldn't get on. Well, the main thing is that we found each other.
Pacific Highway to Los Angeles
Baru got sick, and I wasn't fully recovered either. Fortunately, we had two hotels booked along the Pacific before reaching Los Angeles. So, after every two and a half hours of driving, we were already at a hotel. Of course, it was cold along the way, so we didn't have to be too sad that we couldn't swim. The first coffee stop was at Half Moon Bay State Beach, a magnificent place. The second, in Santa Cruz, cost us forty dollars extra. When parking at the meter, I thought I had some quarters to throw in. But as I was still out of it, after locking the car, I completely forgot about it. We found an antique shop and bought some great pieces. All excited, we returned to the car, and I saw their small police car driving away from it. I called out to the lady driving it, but she apologized and told me she had already printed the ticket and couldn't do anything about it. So we were forty dollars poorer.
Our mood was improved by family farms with the tastiest apricots and a kilo of avocado guacamole. Baru ate almost all of it; I didn't have the heart to eat into it, seeing her appetite.
Our first overnight stay was in Monterey. A beautiful small town, clean and cozy. Baru's illness manifested in full force. In the morning, we continued along the Pacific Highway through Carmel to San Luis Obispo. This drive along the Pacific is extraordinarily beautiful; the view kept us alive. Signs started appearing, saying that just before San Luis Obispo, the road was closed. I didn't want to believe it because we were seeing cars going in the same direction. Everywhere were warnings that there was no detour – and there really wasn't; you can't just leave this road, with the ocean on one side and giant cliffs on the other. After an hour and a half, we had to turn back, continued an hour and a half back to Monterey, and from there, two and a half hours to Obispo on a highway lined with huge green hills. After that illness, I wasn't very happy about the extra driving, and Baru even less so.
Before we left the Pacific Highway, we had a proper burger near the famous Bixby Bridge, in a secluded restaurant, to regain our strength. We also stopped at the Henry Miller Museum, which was as much a part of the wild nature as he was himself.
The next day we continued from San Luis Obispo to Los Angeles. We drove into the city center, where we wandered around looking for a cafe. We were about to give up when, right on the outskirts, a completely unique Bike Bakery appeared. Excellent pastries and great coffee kick-started us towards Los Angeles. The entire route was lined with beaches, but only the brave dared to swim, just like at Avila Beach, where we had hot dogs.
Then followed a stop at TJ Maxx, where we bought gifts. Baru frantically searched for a restroom, and when she was gone for a long time, I started looking around for her. She pretended to be looking at handbags, so the lady who went after her wouldn't see her. I had a similar incident on the road at a gas station, where a girl, who was rattling my door handle even though she saw it was occupied, jumped back when I opened the door. Plenty of water and cheaper food made us a feared duo.
We arrived in Los Angeles in the evening. Traffic jam on Malibu Beach, both of us annoyed, a mild hell.
A true American hotel awaited us, one whose glory days were long behind it, much like downtown Los Angeles itself. I felt it smelled slightly, but Baru was thrilled. Directly opposite the hotel was a 99-cent store, which we grew fond of for its low prices, as did the poor of Los Angeles. Mexicans running a food stall there were busy until late evening. From that very spot, you could see across the road to the door of our ground-floor room. So, in the evening, I utilized every possible means to secure the lock. I also checked on our car, which was parked right outside our window.
But otherwise, the drive towards the city center along the beaches and luxury homes was like something out of another world, as if those two parts didn't even belong together. The houses on the hills certainly belonged to the main characters, and those built lower down, but still very luxurious, were for the supporting roles... at least, that's how it seemed to the two of us.
The next day we visited Hollywood, the sign on the southern slope of Mount Lee in Griffith Park, then Paramount Studios, where a slightly exaggerated young woman with a worn-out tablet in her hand pointed against the sun where various film scenes were recorded. But even despite this obstacle, it was a great experience. That morning we had taken cough syrup for bronchitis, but this time it had a sedative effect on us, so we blended in better with the locals. Baru was wonderful and beautiful just for moving aside for another group in a golf cart.
After this glittering show, we chose Skid Row. A notorious area full of homeless people and drug addicts. We drove by car; we didn't dare walk through it. Until then, we only knew the place from articles and videos. It's interesting how it's divided by an imaginary border, even boasting an official name and a sign at the entrance. Baru climbed into the back and filmed a few moments through the glass. We were even afraid to open the window; when we stopped at traffic lights, a few of them were already approaching. Some tents were well-maintained, with chairs and a table in front of them like a garden. Others were terrifying, full of garbage and junk. People were lying around on the ground or just sitting, perhaps on discarded seats, placing them on the pavement to create a living room. It seemed peaceful and relaxed there, at least during the day. There were also many crazy people, shouting various things, but no one paid attention. Cars, some quite luxurious, were parked along these sidewalks. Public transport worked, and even Hispanic mothers with children in strollers fearlessly navigated these sidewalks.
However, Venice Beach surprised us; it was supposed to be a haven for the homeless and drug addicts. We didn't notice anything of the sort and instead enjoyed a pleasant walk on the beach. But the cold wind discouraged us from swimming. We sat in the car for a while, where a man showed off in front of us, dancing around his luxury car, putting on and taking off a white T-shirt that stood out against his dark skin.
We're doing laundry again. The laundromat is in good condition, and a Hispanic man there was making eyes at me in front of his wife, who was visibly annoyed.
Baru also has a suitor now – an old man from the hotel. The Wi-Fi in the room wasn't working, so she kept going to the reception. Thanks to my American phone card, I didn't have to deal with Wi-Fi.
On the last day, we bought two cartons of small water bottles at the 99-cent store so nothing would surprise us on our journey through the desert to Oatman and Las Vegas.
As we were queuing at the checkout, which wasn't moving, I saw something being sorted out with a lady. Baru, terrified, asked me if I saw what she was wearing. Unlike her, I don't pay much attention to people, so I snapped back that whatever she had on was her business. But she wouldn't let it go and insisted I take a good look. Well, truth be told, after a closer inspection, it surprised even me. A thin piece of fabric wrapped around her breasts had split them, and they were horribly spilling out in all directions. On top of that, she had no money, and her resigned boyfriend stood next to her. Luckily for us, another checkout opened, and we could disappear as quickly as possible.
We were equipped for the journey with various protein snacks and bars in case of emergency. Each of us had our share. But I ate mine faster and then always looked sadly at Baru, and she felt sorry for me, so she shared from her portion. She weighs and measures half as much as I do, after all.
I scored with the cool bag I brought from home, into which I poured ice from the hotel's ice machine and placed several bottles of water and food. Baru was a little worried that the ice would melt and the bag would leak water, but I worldly reassured her that it was so hot that any water would be gone immediately. I was prepared for everything, and Baru was thrilled at how knowledgeable I was. Little did I know what I had brought upon myself.
From Los Angeles to Las Vegas via Oatman
From Los Angeles, we set off for Las Vegas, with a stop in the gold mining town of Oatman, Arizona. After driving six hours on Route 66, we reached our destination. Along the way, we discovered a beautiful beach by the Colorado River, so we immediately took advantage of it and went for our first swim. Well, my second, the first was in the hotel pool in Los Angeles. Forty-five degrees was a reward at that moment. The water was crystal clear, with a perfectly ideal temperature. We were still in California; Arizona awaited us on the other bank. The current carried us slightly, but we had never experienced such a swim anywhere before. We were offered a yacht ride, or rather Baru was, I was taking photos nearby, but I knew we had to leave, otherwise everything in Oatman would close. The score for suitors was 2:2.
We were alone on the road, and in Oatman, we only met a small number of tourists. Upon arrival, we were immediately greeted by wild donkeys, descendants of the gold miners' donkeys. In fact, they are no longer wild at all; they came to cuddle and beg for treats. A large number of them roam around the town; the locals treat them like pets. We managed to walk through everything, buy a hat, and by the time we returned to the car, almost all the shops were closed. As I was taking photos, we separated for a while, but it was impossible to get lost there. I came to the car and waited. Baru had gotten lost. I went to get her by car.
We were the last to leave Oatman. Through scorching Arizona, alone again, we approached the highway to Las Vegas.
Las Vegas
Slightly exhausted, we drove into Vegas. The sun was setting, shining directly into my tired eyes. There were cars like ants, their speed too high for someone driving there for the first time. We made one wrong turn, which cost us ten minutes, not too bad, but for me, on the verge of exhaustion, it was depressing. When we parked in the garage of the Treasure Island hotel, I felt a huge relief.
We received a discount for online check-in at the local Thai restaurant, which we didn't use as it was closed most of the time. The beautiful room with two giant beds and luxurious furnishings refreshed us. Although all the hotels - there were nine in total - had something special about them.
Baru discovered her suitcase was wet. She had a fabric one. The ice in the cool bag had melted. Even in the elevator, I was convincing her that everything inside would be dry. The water got into her clothes (freshly washed from Los Angeles), Patti Smith's book Camera Solo (a find from Santa Cruz), and pretty much everywhere. Hell broke loose in the room immediately. I really took the heat. I wasn't as great and sharp as I had been when preparing the cool bag. She cried, complained, and hung up her wet clothes. I tried to calm her down, but I didn't succeed at all, so I preferred to escape the room for an hour and take a walk around the hotel.
Then she calmed down and went for a walk with me. We decided she would buy a plastic suitcase tomorrow. The mood improved rapidly.
I was wearing a very short dress, and the fanny pack slung across my chest lifted it up - my panties peeked out from behind. Immediately, I had another elderly suitor because of it, right in the elevator. I preferred not to look at him; he seemed to have fallen in love at first sight. The score of 3:2 in my favor changed the very next day. A man from Israel caught a whiff of Baru's face, and it was 3:3.
In the morning, we embarked on a three-hour expedition through the hotels on the Strip, which offer diverse spaces. It was around 45 degrees Celsius, so we were glad to be able to walk through those hotels and avoid getting cooked on the street as much as possible. Baru, an easy target, was intercepted by two sparsely dressed girls with long feathers on their bottoms, and this mistake cost us 40 USD. Originally, they wanted 120 USD for a photo with them. But they were the ones who wanted to be photographed, so each got twenty, and even that seemed too much to me. I was surprised that there were no Elvises and various movie characters standing on the streets as there had been years ago. Eventually, we did come across one Elvis, he was in a wheelchair, a bit scruffy, but from his hairstyle and clothes, it was clear he was Elvis. He called out to me that I was beautiful. I gave him a fleeting smile, and as he passed closely by us, he licked two fingers and made a disgusting gesture at me. Baru again found it incredibly funny that my suitors were top-notch. But the score was 4:3 for me.
Cooked, we returned home, Baru worried that we wouldn't make it to the pool, which closed at seven in the evening. We made it for a few minutes; it was full of screaming children, so it was just enough.
In the morning, we jumped in the car and headed to Hoover Dam, where it was so hot that my metal sunglasses burned and I could barely hold the camera. After the tour, we went to the lake, about fifteen minutes away. Again, a beautiful beach; we had to drive into a reservation and pay 25 USD, with the understanding that we could visit reservations in Nevada for a whole year. Which probably won't happen – Baru threw away the ticket immediately, as is her custom. Swimming at Boulder Beach was natural, but the water was clean, and those red rocks around us were beautiful. I used my new diving goggles. Baru used a foam noodle from Los Angeles for a dollar fifty.
On the third evening, we headed to the other side of the Strip and visited the older part of Vegas, including the Circus Circus hotel, where nineteen years ago my younger daughter won a giant unicorn in the arcade.
From Vegas, we drove to Bakersfield on the fourth day. A quick stop in Primm to see the original bullet-ridden car... Bonnie and Clyde.
Along the four-hour journey, we visited the town of Boron; we had no idea of its existence; it was a coincidence, we turned off at the first town the desolate landscape offered us. Right at the edge of town, a Shell gas station with the most expensive gas around and the dirtiest toilet, which an unpleasant salesman would only let you use if you refueled or bought something from their meager selection. An ice cream, which by its shape had probably been thawed and refrozen about ten times, gave us the green light to pee.
We drove through the whole town; it had a beautiful playground and a museum of fighter planes. Then another stop in Tehachapi, where Baru bought a California mug.
The hotel in Bakersfield seemed cozy, but we didn't sleep well there. At least the pool was all ours. Right next to the hotel was Del Taco, where we had a good dinner, then went to photograph the sunset, and I stepped into an anthill and those little bastards bit me so much that I screamed and jumped as if I had gone crazy.
Sacramento and the journey home
From Bakersfield, after breakfast (I love hotel breakfasts), we set off for Sacramento. The hotel there was probably the worst of all the ones we stayed in, but the photos showed an amazing pool that was supposed to compensate for everything, and in the morning, breakfast again, starting at six o'clock, which suited us because we had to return the car at San Francisco airport at ten o'clock.
After checking in, we headed to that divine pool; after the long drive, I was looking forward to it like a child, hoping it would refresh us not only before our evening walk downtown. The pool not only looked nothing like the photos, but it was full of children, and their Hispanic fathers were lying around, eagerly watching us strip down to our swimsuits. It was disgusting, so we turned around, took a shower in the room, and headed out to the city.
It literally took our breath away, especially when we went to the historic district. We witnessed the parking of old museum trains that were displayed outside and were being returned to the hangar on a turntable platform towards evening. The sunset bathed everything in color - it was our last evening. Music played in the streets, people were having fun. Street art and shops offered experiences. We had pizza in an old American bizarre restaurant, where various repairs were done with duct tape, a high chair and carpet dated back to Lincoln, and a boy whose job it was to wipe tables clumsily scrubbed the washed breakfast bar. The service and pizza, however, were fantastic. It was a great end to our trip.
In the morning after breakfast, we drove for almost two hours to the airport to return the car. The navigation abandoned us just before the destination, saying we had arrived. The "Return car" signs disappeared, and I drove around confused. I went down the last possible street, and fortunately, it was there. We thanked the car for its excellent service and protection, having driven over 2000 miles, and set off for our terminal. San Francisco was cold again, so Baru changed from her dress to leggings and a sweatshirt right in the car rental office. We had our last coffee, which was disgusting and made us feel quite sick, but Coca-Cola saved the day. Then we boarded the plane.
This time, we weren't lucky enough to have three seats to ourselves; it was again three times three seats. We had the aisle and middle seats, and an older gentleman, who wanted to chat and kept coughing, sat by the window. Then he asked me for a headache pill. He kept taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, which he then examined and complained about. It made us feel a bit uneasy. But he intensified his actions, starting to wipe his entire eye with those handkerchiefs, folding them in various ways, and when the flight attendant then asked him what he would like to drink, and he looked at her with that eye, we thought he was going to fall into our laps. For dinner, we got cherry tomatoes, but I couldn't eat them; their shape reminded me of his eye. And overall, I struggled to eat anything. He had, with initiative, lowered my tray table with the hand he had been digging into that handkerchief, so when he went to the restroom, we disinfected everything. He certainly wasn't malicious, he was even nice, but it was just too much for us. It was a long time, which we fortunately slept through.
Upon landing in Turkey, we found out our flight to Prague would be delayed. Then a frightened mother whose child had wandered off there. Fortunately, it was found very quickly.
We discovered a beautiful relaxation zone with two available spots. We settled in and tried to fall asleep. But the children's playground, which was right next to the resting areas, wouldn't let us. Perhaps some Turkish model. Exhaustion overcame me despite the children's screaming.
Baru kept a diary not only about our trip but also about how reality does not correspond to most sensational articles and videos. More than the dysfunctional social system in California, which generates homeless people, drug addicts, and lunatics on the streets, we were surprised by the decline of the former glory of Hollywood and Las Vegas. The neglected Walk of Fame seemed to demonstrate it all.