One of the very few advantages to being in a long distance relationship is that you can pretty easily justify extended holidays to your other half's location. Which is what I've been doing for the past week in California with my lovely boyfriend, Ed, who is studying abroad at UC Berkeley. So on Tuesday afternoon, two hours after my last midterm exam, I hopped on a plane for eight hours as if it was the most normal thing in the world. My steadily worsening flu didn't add to the flight's enjoyment, but I had a lovely suite in the Hilton waiting for me in central San Francisco, so I couldn't complain (upgraded, thanks to pulling the accents card, again.) Our first day in San Fran was spent waltzing around high-end stores, pretending to have enough money to shop there. We ate amazing noodles downstairs in Macy's, admired diamonds in Tiffany's, and had canapes and champagne in Armani - where I oogled the actual dresses worn by celebrities on display (Madonna, Victoria Beckham, Charlize Theron etc.) to various awards ceremonies, and Ed decided what kind of suit he'd buy, if he had a few thousand dollars going spare. The even
ing was spent on a boat trip to Alcatraz - the "inescapable" prison on a rock, off San Fran. The view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city from the water was stunning, especially as we were there in time for the sunset. The prison itself was also really interesting - I felt like I was on the set of Chicago. The cells were tiny and miserable, as were the shower rooms and dining hall. An audio tour described the various escape attempts, only one of which was successful - although the three men who escaped were never heard of again, thought by many to have escaped to South America, as they were allegedly learning Spanish before they escaped! What is more likely, unfortunately, is that they drowned or were attacked by sharks off the rock. 
Al Capone was an inmate there, too, for a few years. After landing, we wandered along Pier 39 and had incredible seafood for dinner.
ing was spent on a boat trip to Alcatraz - the "inescapable" prison on a rock, off San Fran. The view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city from the water was stunning, especially as we were there in time for the sunset. The prison itself was also really interesting - I felt like I was on the set of Chicago. The cells were tiny and miserable, as were the shower rooms and dining hall. An audio tour described the various escape attempts, only one of which was successful - although the three men who escaped were never heard of again, thought by many to have escaped to South America, as they were allegedly learning Spanish before they escaped! What is more likely, unfortunately, is that they drowned or were attacked by sharks off the rock. 
Al Capone was an inmate there, too, for a few years. After landing, we wandered along Pier 39 and had incredible seafood for dinner. A visit to Golden Gate Park was equally memorable - contrary to the name, it is nowhere near the Golden Gate, but beautiful nonetheless. We knew it was big, we didn't know it was big enough to be lost in for about four hours...slightly different from the parks we know and love in England! This one had playgrounds, museums, aquariums, galleries, botanical gardens - and a host of vicious, overly tame squirrels and Canadian geese, both of which everyone else appeared to find cute and cuddly, whereas me and Ed quite literally ran away from a flock of geese at one point. And were continually attacked by squirrels. But we ended up having a lovely afternoon in the sun, eating cinnamon sticks (warm sticks of doughnut-like batter, dipped in cinnamon sugar), and massive portions of battered mussels and coconut shrimps, with sweet chilli sauce and sweet potato chips. Our stay in San Fran ended on a rather more crazy and intense note - by attending lovEvolution. This is a massive, world renowned rave music festival, of which there are two components, the parade and stands during the day, and an after party at night. After checking in at our hotel, located conveniently close to the nightclub (but also conveniently close to a lot of tramps, strippers and drug dealers, it appeared) we wandered down to the area which had been cordoned off for the festival. It was packed out with girls in neon corsets and tutus, girls in bikinis, with thigh high platform boots and pink hair, and fairy wings.... and boys
with brightly coloured bracelets all up their arms and pierced faces. They were like walking works of art, and nearly everyone single one was drugged up to their eyeballs, at 4pm on a Saturday afternoon, in front of City Hall. This could never have happened in South Carolina... or England for that matter! There were no police around, just some relaxed-looking security, so the atmosphere was laid back and fun. Live acts were playing and we jumped along to them before grabbing massive slices of pizza and heading back to the hotel to get ready for the afterparty. It was the biggest club I've ever encountered - not that it was even a club, but an auditorium. The acts, including Groove Armada, who were amazing, were up on the main stage, and all the floor and balconies were open for the ravers to dance in. There was probably around 8.000 people there, all dressed up and throwing themselves about. It was so, so much fun - it wasn't intimidating at all, because everyone was having such a good time. It was far friendlier than your average beery British nightclub, the music was incredible to dance to, and the outfits were beautiful. After raving non stop for about four hours, and probably being the only ones in there not high as kites, Ed and I hit the local fast food joint for some grease at about 4am. Where we were instructed by a black girl with attitude to stop being so nice to the servers "You ain't in England no more! You gotta put your foot down here, ya know what I mean?" It was actually probably very sound advice, seeing as our order took forever to come...So, San Fran treated me well. I could definitely live there; it was so much more chilled than somewhere like London, there's a lot less rushing about and a lot more kicking back going on (probably due to all the weed that gets smoked). It's a beautiful place, with incredible amounts of quirky, hippyish shops down backstreets , smelling of incense and dreadlocks, contrasted with the decadence of the expensive shops and tourist traps. There are so many homeless people there - the city is apparently very relaxed about them. The vast majority seem completely harmless, and bizarrely, a lot of them are really clever - they sit around reading library books and holding witty signs, pushing all their belongings around in overloaded shopping trollies, black bin bags swinging from the sides and a couple of cans of beer rattling around in the bottom. They are also very complimentary - if I ever find myself desperate for male attention, I'll head back down to the parks of San Francisco. Ed was advised to marry me, told he was a lucky man and was asked if I had any sisters (Gillian and Polly - you were, by default, hit on by a tramp approximately 7000 miles away from you. Good work!). A woman in dungarees also commented "Daymn dude, your woman's hot!" Haha. Oh the joys of being attractive to the homeless and the gay. So, leaving behind San Fran and onto the campus of Berkeley, about forty minutes on the subway. Obviously, it is known for its academia, but also for its radical anti-Vietnam war and pro freedom of speech movement in the 1960s, and this still leaves an inherent mark on the campus. It is not free standing, but rather situated in the city of Berkeley, with a few main streets as the centre of campus. There is lots of green space to lounge around on, which students do, with their laptops and books. Ed and I lazed around in the heat (how odd for October!), reading The E
conomist and eating the best frozen yogurt ever encountered - with flavours like peanut butter, gingerbread, milk tart and strawberries and bananas, all topped with piles of heath bar, kitkat, cookies, choc chips, condensed milk, gummy snakes, fresh fruit and M & Ms. There is far more of a political feeling there than I've encountered at either Warwick or South Carolina - the communists were out in force, shouting "All you've heard about communism is a lie! Capitalism is a failure! Revolution is the solution!", as well as the pro-Palestine brigade, and the beardy students in jeans handing out flyers encouraging walk outs in protest at the recent cuts in funding at the university. Just off campus, there are rows of lovely little quirky shops and market stalls, selling piles of tie dye t shirts and leather bangles and big silver rings. Ed took me to the most adorable Brazil cafe for lunch, which was basically a shack on the street, painted with bright murals of Brazil, where they cook the most amazing, spicy food, huge sandwiches filled with jalapenos and avocado, and lashings of hot sauce, and cups of delicious mango smoothie to soothe your burning lips. They give you brightly coloured "wish ribbons" printed with the words "aihar do senhor do bonfim bahia", which you get someone to love to tie around your wrist in three knots, and to make three wishes - when the knots fall out, your wishes come true. Ed's house itself is as quirky as its surroundings. It is an ex fraternity house, (now jokingly renamed "Alpha Commenwealtha" by them, as the residents include English, Scottish and Australians. It is filled with a mish mash of people, and covered everywhere with dark wood panelling. It was his room mate's (actual room mate, they have to sleep two a room in Cali, the housing's so expensive) 20th birthday, and in true male style they decided how to celebrate it on the day itself. What ensued was a masterpiece of luck, blagging and serious motivation. Greg had no idea what he was doing for his birthday - he was simply told to don black tie and get in a car with a few other boys and me. After a confused two hour car journey, where we managed to go over the same toll bridge twice in about ten minutes, we saw, in the distance, tiny figures jumping out of planes, their bright parachutes trailing behind them. Yes, we were going sky diving. In suits. I had only been told this about an hour before I left, so I wasn't exactly prepared for such antics - but still, I had been wanting to do it for a while, and with some gentle encouragement (i.e. booking me a place without asking me first) I was up for it. Due 
to my lack of black tie, I got a fetching red jumpsuit to dive in. We were all strapped to instructors, with a camera man for each of us to take photos as we jumped. Two miles up in the sky, in a tiny plane, the ground looks pretty far away, trust me. Especially when they open the sliding door on the side, and the wind is rushing past so loud. But by then, you don't have any choice. Luckily, only one boy jumped before me - had I been the last one I would have been screaming like a baby watching everyone fall out face first of a plane, then having to do it myself. When you're free falling, you think of nothing. The air is so cold on your face, your lips might freeze, and you feel the freest you ever will in your life. It's the most amazing, invigorating, endorphin boosting experience. It's onyl when the parachute opens that you begin to register you just jumped out of a plane. Parachuting is the most beautiful thing - you really do feel like you're flying, watching all the tiny houses and people below, and the fields and bay and horizon stretching out in front of you - I never ever wanted to land. I got to fly my parachute too, pulling one arm out to turn around to see the rest of the boys jump from the plane, to spin right around in circles, and moving my arms up and down to drop faster or slower. I really was ridiculously happy up there, as if I could fly forever. Also, I was less likely to die now that the parachute had fully opened, which is always a cheering feeling. All these crazy experiences took up a lot of time, and all too soon, I had to leave Cali and Ed. On our last night, we climbed the hill overlooking the ca
mpus up to the "big C", a 20 foot painting of a C (for California) on the side of the hill, to watch the sun set over the city, bay and San Francisco in the distance. It was so beautiful, all the mist hanging over the clock tower turning pink, and the marching band practicing below us, the sounds of the brass floating upwards. As I flew back to South Carolina, I looked out of the plane window. We were flying above the clouds, and the moon was shining down on top of them, making them look like rolling, fluffy hills. It was such a breath taking sight, knowing all these people were living their lives miles below, whilst I watched the clouds float above them, illuminated like greying candyfloss. Although I missed Ed like a physical pain in my chest, wanting to spend every second of my day with him, and faced a long weekend alone catching up on my study, at that moment I realised how far I'd come, and how ridiculously lucky I was. There's nothing like counting your blessings miles up in the sky, with unknown city lights peeking though moonlit clouds.
with brightly coloured bracelets all up their arms and pierced faces. They were like walking works of art, and nearly everyone single one was drugged up to their eyeballs, at 4pm on a Saturday afternoon, in front of City Hall. This could never have happened in South Carolina... or England for that matter! There were no police around, just some relaxed-looking security, so the atmosphere was laid back and fun. Live acts were playing and we jumped along to them before grabbing massive slices of pizza and heading back to the hotel to get ready for the afterparty. It was the biggest club I've ever encountered - not that it was even a club, but an auditorium. The acts, including Groove Armada, who were amazing, were up on the main stage, and all the floor and balconies were open for the ravers to dance in. There was probably around 8.000 people there, all dressed up and throwing themselves about. It was so, so much fun - it wasn't intimidating at all, because everyone was having such a good time. It was far friendlier than your average beery British nightclub, the music was incredible to dance to, and the outfits were beautiful. After raving non stop for about four hours, and probably being the only ones in there not high as kites, Ed and I hit the local fast food joint for some grease at about 4am. Where we were instructed by a black girl with attitude to stop being so nice to the servers "You ain't in England no more! You gotta put your foot down here, ya know what I mean?" It was actually probably very sound advice, seeing as our order took forever to come...So, San Fran treated me well. I could definitely live there; it was so much more chilled than somewhere like London, there's a lot less rushing about and a lot more kicking back going on (probably due to all the weed that gets smoked). It's a beautiful place, with incredible amounts of quirky, hippyish shops down backstreets , smelling of incense and dreadlocks, contrasted with the decadence of the expensive shops and tourist traps. There are so many homeless people there - the city is apparently very relaxed about them. The vast majority seem completely harmless, and bizarrely, a lot of them are really clever - they sit around reading library books and holding witty signs, pushing all their belongings around in overloaded shopping trollies, black bin bags swinging from the sides and a couple of cans of beer rattling around in the bottom. They are also very complimentary - if I ever find myself desperate for male attention, I'll head back down to the parks of San Francisco. Ed was advised to marry me, told he was a lucky man and was asked if I had any sisters (Gillian and Polly - you were, by default, hit on by a tramp approximately 7000 miles away from you. Good work!). A woman in dungarees also commented "Daymn dude, your woman's hot!" Haha. Oh the joys of being attractive to the homeless and the gay. So, leaving behind San Fran and onto the campus of Berkeley, about forty minutes on the subway. Obviously, it is known for its academia, but also for its radical anti-Vietnam war and pro freedom of speech movement in the 1960s, and this still leaves an inherent mark on the campus. It is not free standing, but rather situated in the city of Berkeley, with a few main streets as the centre of campus. There is lots of green space to lounge around on, which students do, with their laptops and books. Ed and I lazed around in the heat (how odd for October!), reading The E
conomist and eating the best frozen yogurt ever encountered - with flavours like peanut butter, gingerbread, milk tart and strawberries and bananas, all topped with piles of heath bar, kitkat, cookies, choc chips, condensed milk, gummy snakes, fresh fruit and M & Ms. There is far more of a political feeling there than I've encountered at either Warwick or South Carolina - the communists were out in force, shouting "All you've heard about communism is a lie! Capitalism is a failure! Revolution is the solution!", as well as the pro-Palestine brigade, and the beardy students in jeans handing out flyers encouraging walk outs in protest at the recent cuts in funding at the university. Just off campus, there are rows of lovely little quirky shops and market stalls, selling piles of tie dye t shirts and leather bangles and big silver rings. Ed took me to the most adorable Brazil cafe for lunch, which was basically a shack on the street, painted with bright murals of Brazil, where they cook the most amazing, spicy food, huge sandwiches filled with jalapenos and avocado, and lashings of hot sauce, and cups of delicious mango smoothie to soothe your burning lips. They give you brightly coloured "wish ribbons" printed with the words "aihar do senhor do bonfim bahia", which you get someone to love to tie around your wrist in three knots, and to make three wishes - when the knots fall out, your wishes come true. Ed's house itself is as quirky as its surroundings. It is an ex fraternity house, (now jokingly renamed "Alpha Commenwealtha" by them, as the residents include English, Scottish and Australians. It is filled with a mish mash of people, and covered everywhere with dark wood panelling. It was his room mate's (actual room mate, they have to sleep two a room in Cali, the housing's so expensive) 20th birthday, and in true male style they decided how to celebrate it on the day itself. What ensued was a masterpiece of luck, blagging and serious motivation. Greg had no idea what he was doing for his birthday - he was simply told to don black tie and get in a car with a few other boys and me. After a confused two hour car journey, where we managed to go over the same toll bridge twice in about ten minutes, we saw, in the distance, tiny figures jumping out of planes, their bright parachutes trailing behind them. Yes, we were going sky diving. In suits. I had only been told this about an hour before I left, so I wasn't exactly prepared for such antics - but still, I had been wanting to do it for a while, and with some gentle encouragement (i.e. booking me a place without asking me first) I was up for it. Due 
to my lack of black tie, I got a fetching red jumpsuit to dive in. We were all strapped to instructors, with a camera man for each of us to take photos as we jumped. Two miles up in the sky, in a tiny plane, the ground looks pretty far away, trust me. Especially when they open the sliding door on the side, and the wind is rushing past so loud. But by then, you don't have any choice. Luckily, only one boy jumped before me - had I been the last one I would have been screaming like a baby watching everyone fall out face first of a plane, then having to do it myself. When you're free falling, you think of nothing. The air is so cold on your face, your lips might freeze, and you feel the freest you ever will in your life. It's the most amazing, invigorating, endorphin boosting experience. It's onyl when the parachute opens that you begin to register you just jumped out of a plane. Parachuting is the most beautiful thing - you really do feel like you're flying, watching all the tiny houses and people below, and the fields and bay and horizon stretching out in front of you - I never ever wanted to land. I got to fly my parachute too, pulling one arm out to turn around to see the rest of the boys jump from the plane, to spin right around in circles, and moving my arms up and down to drop faster or slower. I really was ridiculously happy up there, as if I could fly forever. Also, I was less likely to die now that the parachute had fully opened, which is always a cheering feeling. All these crazy experiences took up a lot of time, and all too soon, I had to leave Cali and Ed. On our last night, we climbed the hill overlooking the ca
mpus up to the "big C", a 20 foot painting of a C (for California) on the side of the hill, to watch the sun set over the city, bay and San Francisco in the distance. It was so beautiful, all the mist hanging over the clock tower turning pink, and the marching band practicing below us, the sounds of the brass floating upwards. As I flew back to South Carolina, I looked out of the plane window. We were flying above the clouds, and the moon was shining down on top of them, making them look like rolling, fluffy hills. It was such a breath taking sight, knowing all these people were living their lives miles below, whilst I watched the clouds float above them, illuminated like greying candyfloss. Although I missed Ed like a physical pain in my chest, wanting to spend every second of my day with him, and faced a long weekend alone catching up on my study, at that moment I realised how far I'd come, and how ridiculously lucky I was. There's nothing like counting your blessings miles up in the sky, with unknown city lights peeking though moonlit clouds. 
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