Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
ation to build a development in Sequoia National Park. Mercifully, that plan was quashed.
But others have succeeded, most notably in 1923 when, after a long fight between con-
servationists and businessmen, the Hetch Hetchy Valley in the northern part of Yosemite-
which was said to be even more spectacularly beautiful than Yosemite Valley itself-was
flooded to create a reservoir to provide drinking water for San Francisco, 150 miles to the
west. So for the last sixty years one of the half-dozen or so most breathtaking stretches of
landscape on the planet has lain under water for commercial reasons. God help us if they
ever find oil there.
The great problem at Yosemite today is simply finding your way around. I've never seen a
placesobadlysignposted.It'sasiftheyaretryingtohidetheparkfromyou.Atmostparks
the first thing you want to do is go to the visitors' center and have a look at the big map to
get your bearings and decide what you want to see. But at Yosemite the visitors' center is
almost impossible to find. I drove around Yosemite village for twenty-five minutes before
I discovered a parking lot and then it took me a further twenty minutes, and a long walk
in the wrong direction, to find the visitors' center. By the time I found it I knew my way
around and didn't need it anymore.
And everything is just hopelessly, depressingly crowdedthe cafeterias, the post office, the
stores. This was in April; what it must be like in August doesn't bear guessing at. I have
never been anywhere that was simultaneously so beautiful and so awful. In the end, I had
a nice long walk and a look at the waterfalls and the scenery and it was outstanding. But I
cannot believe that it can't be better run.
In the evening I drove on to Sonora, through a tranquil sunset, along sinuous mountain
roads. I reached the town after dark and had difficulty finding a room. It was only the
middle of the week, but most places were full. The motel I finally found was grossly over-
priced and the TV reception was terrible. It was like watching people moving around in
front of funhouse mirrors. Their bodies would proceed across the screen and their heads
would follow a moment later, as if connected by elastic. I was paying forty-two dol-
lars for this. The bed was like a pool table with sheets. And the toilet seat didn't have a
SANITIZED FOR YOUR PROTECTION wrapper on it, denying me my daily ritual of
cutting it with my scissors and saying, “I now declare this toilet open.” These things be-
come important to you when you have been alone on the road for a while. In a sour mood
I drove into town and went to a cheap restaurant for dinner. The waitress made me wait a
long time before she came and took my order. She looked tarty and had an irritating habit
of repeating everything I said to her. “I'd like the chicken-fried steak,” I said.
“You'd like the chicken-fried steak?”
