I made my way to “99 ranch market” hoping to find my replacement bakwa. I was pleasantly surprised to see the array of oriental goods they have. There were shelves of noodles of all curve and sizes, sauces from fish to soy, and condiments from curry to stews. They even have pork floss and hawthorn flakes!
With my food supplies replenished, I readied my pack and braced for part 3: Amtrak train to Merced.
Amtrak trains are USA’s inter-state public train service. Unsurprisingly, the train was really empty. I suppose most Americans prefer driving compared to taking the train, even for inter-state travel. Given the option, I would have driven too. If I had driven, I would not have had to conform to train schedules and thus would not have missed any reservations.
With the vast expanse of land, it would have been a challenge for any government to cater decently extensive public transport competitive enough against the comfort and flexibility of driving.
Once in Merced, I could immediately feel the rays of summer. The intensity of the heat was suffocating. Upon checking my thermometer, it was blowing up at 38 degree celsius.
Along the way to finding my new home, I noticed the trend of American suburban homes. Single to double storey, enclosed backyard, decent porch, and tufts of green grass lining the main pathway. It was amusing to see how consistently puffy green the grasses were along the neighbourhood, like as if they were the novelty of the homes. I would not be surprised if they hold annual greenest fluffy garden grass award.
Fortunately I found my accommodation before being overcome by heat stroke. I knocked on the door and was greeted by a middle aged man in white shirt and black shorts.
I was met with a hello, a smile and an outstretched arm.
“Hi, I’m Tony”
Slightly smirking, I took his hand in response,
“Hi, I’m Tomy”, exaggerating my enunciation of the “M” for good measure. His eyes lit up a bit, acknowledging our little dissimilarity.
He led me through a short tour of the house, passing by a dandy kitchen adjoining the spacious living room by the bar-table. Sets of porcelain plates and teapots populate the table complete with multiple forks and spoons, as if ready to welcome a family to a multi-course dinner. Collection of jars abrim with cereals, nuts, and raisins perch along the kitchen counter, together with a basket adorned with bananas, apples, and furry peaches.
“You can eat anything in the kitchen” says Tony so welcomingly.
He then left me at me my room, a spacious private room with a picture of juicy purple plum on the door. I thanked him for the tour and began to unpack, loading my gear onto my main backpack.
The next day I was ready before dawn, to catch the bus at 5am. Just as I was about to leave, Tony called me into the kitchen.
He handed me a ziplock bag filled with 4 hard-boiled eggs and said “Take these, the food in there aren’t very good”
“Thanks, see you next week!” I responded, my cheeks almost meeting my eyes at his generous hospitality.
As I got onto the bus I was just feeling so grateful I survived all the troubles I encountered and so blessed to have met nice people. Alighting from this bus onwards, it will be the moment I had been waiting for, adventure time in Yosemite!
Dashing Heights 