Lake Tahoe

Having spent many hours, on three occasions, wandering though the labyrinth of Bangkok’s weekend market where everything can be purchased from exotic poisonous snakes to a wooden spoon I thought that no flea market would ever surprise me. However, on Wednesday I agreed to accompany Filo and her relatives to the Galt farmers market. Apparently, Wednesday is the day when all the farmers bring their fresh vegies. Now the market is big (10 acres at least) and I suppose the quality of the fresh produce warrants the ten mile trip, but for me it was the surprise of finding one stall which I had never dreamed of finding in an open air market. Yes, a market stall where you can arrange your funeral. Are you prepared? I am not. Purchase here the ‘Golden Memorial Plan’. Only in America.

So to Lake Tahoe

After driving route 50 from the flatlands of Sacramento through the undulations of the Eldorado hills into the rugged highlands  approaching Lake Tahoe I am overwhelmed by the majesty of the scenery. The first thing I notice in Lake Tahoe, however, is the way in which one of the most beautiful spots in the world has been intruded upon by high rise casinos and the like. Fortunately, we drive through this mess to Cave Rock where, not being a Shaman or doctor of the Washoe people I was not allowed to visit the cave and consult the spirits for a cure to my insanity, Hey Ho. However, we did park up and take in the fabulous view across the lake. We then returned towards Lake Tahoe to descend upon a little beach where the adults drank beer and Katelyn found a friend to play with in the sand. We then retraced our steps back to a Marina for lunch. Had a good lunch in an American Style Greek restaurant. The marina had an incredible valet service where two young men alleviated the need for drivers to walk some 20 to 30 metres from their cars to the complex. I am beginning to understand why Californians are on the heavy side, although now I am in Nevada.  Lunch for me was an Artemis Greek salad whose flavour was enhanced by figs and a particularly tasty cottage cheese.  After lunch I inquire as to the name of the marina and one of the valets informed me that it was ‘Ski Run Marina’. I looked around and there they were, ski runs which I had not noticed affording another photo opportunity. Lots of pine trees here which must account for Kevin having property here as well as in Fiji; Pine tree Pyne they call him.

On the way back we detoured through Strawberry and Apple Hill, a  district for fruits (me included), where my cultural ignorance costs me a few bob. At Boa Vista Apple Farm I  purchased two flagons of local cider to compare it with the scrumpy on which I was raised. Turned out to be a non alcoholic press of apples. However on discovering my error I went to the bar and tried ‘Hard Cider’, the real stuff. Well, being a fizzy sweet concoction (Somewhere between Merrydown from Kent and Scrumpy from Somerset), it was quaffed joyfully.  Here I met a garulous magician who entertained me by handing me his flaming card – Yes apparently in flames – Very clever. He was ‘Justin the Impossible’.

Then we went home – a pretty cool day.