I can remember how excited I was on that day, in Feb. I was bursting with energy at being one of the few to embark to the sky, no engine, no wings, not even metal or seats or those cute flight attendants, in a basket underneath a heat resistant material with fire blowing over me! After getting there and talking to the people and seeing pretty much all the others fly, it was a disappointment and un-foreseen handicap when they said there was too much wind. Now, in Palm Springs on the Sunday of March, the 4th, Dad had signed us up again. The company and different branches of the same company had failed to give us our money back but suggested we take one at this location. Dad had struggled with them on the phone, fought with them and yelled and such, but the people wouldn't budge as he went through many lines of service. Those days were intense, the sweating and agitation that these people had given us. Dad came up with the idea that they make you so confused and so hard to get any money, that rich people just forget about the money they've lost. But Dad, after eons of this fight, decided to go on the flight in Palm Springs. It wasn't exactly the same company but went under the same branch of companies. He was a subcontractor. The people were brokers.
I was very excited to go there, but wondered if it would be the same thing that happened the first time. Would it fail once more or would we get to go up in the air? Since Phoenix I was now very interested in the history, science, and everything about hot air balloons. They were truly beautiful.
We had to pay $20 bucks more, because balloon rides are more money in Cali. But first we would go to a brunch at the R.V. resort's wonderful clubhouse. We were at one of the nicest places on the trip, maybe THE nicest. Not the best, but the prettiest and most proper of all of them. Then after doing that we would go to an Open Air Market in La Quinta, the old Spanish touristy area with all the shops and cafes, that the woman at the office had told us about. Or we would go to church before the market and then go to the market, and then the hot air balloon ride. I washed my hair and put on my church clothes after we had walked the dogs and seen all the golf carts and bikers and walkers. What a happening place! And I had my bike to go with them.
Blue collared shirt and nice jeans, and my Bible as my only source of reading material, we drove the car to the back of the clubhouse by some tennis courts and a little garden with a path and a fake river streaming water. Little arch bridges crossed and crossed around, with a hill up on one side, very small with a big walking area. We looked at some ducks in the small lake/stream thing. Rebecca and I would return to this spot a day or two for now and look around. We went up an elevator to the left of the pool, by a small building with restrooms, that we had gone into when Mom had asked the man at the restaurant when was a good time. We had gone down there and went to the restroom. Back in the plush dining room with white handkerchiefs in different designs, glass tables and flowers in clear vases, and a full class bar on one side that serves only the most elegant of wines. Men in suits without the jacket served the people dressed as if they were at Queen Elizabeth's Jubilee. We were seated by the window and took off our jackets. We looked at an old man doing the most funniest of pool exercises, simple walking back and forth and then laying down. He did laps a few times, but not many. When I looked at the glossy choice-filled menu, I was starstruck by the well described features and very exotic names. Wow.
A black haired young man with hair up above his forehead was our very kind and professional waiter. I loved that brunch or breakfast. My family and I talked about old times, brought up school peers from long ago and talked about them, and discussed plans for coming home. I want to go to a restaurant called Greenwood's, do all my math and finish the blog when I get home, while Rebecca is planning on a large room for herself in the lake house and her room modified from the large bed that she has now. Dad will sell the R.V. and Mom plans to get together with her parents so much that they are going to want some alone time after 6 months of not seeing them. Dad and I got omelets, and Rebecca mac'n'cheese I think. Mom got something called an Egg's Benedict. My breakfast was one of the best I had had in weeks. The water was both clear, fresh, and refreshing. We payed for the hot crisp vegetable and meat meals, smothered in wonderful sauce, before leaving. Off to church! But no, not yet anyway. We were going to go to the Market first of all, since it ended at 11 and if we hurried we could then get to church, and then the hot air balloon. As we drove by the New Orleans looking area (brick building, on either sides, balconies, Spanish) I thought about names and searched for an app telling what names mean what. It doesn't have a lot of info, takes so long to load, and has all these adds, but it's pretty cool.
Andrew is courageous and manly. Rebecca is servant of God, and David is beloved or friend. Spencer, your a dispenser of provisions. Wow man, so cool. You give people stuff. Haha.
We parked in a parking lot on the right side of the festival, where there was a small door into the entrance. We came out in the middle of many stands and street vendors, offering everything from massages to shirts to MS care. The buildings and shops around were rather trendy indeed, with little toy stores, souvenir shops, and hair salons galore. There were many different kinds of tourists, all looking at the food and trying different things, signing up for things, embracing the great market time that they were having. The most stands were of food. Dad purchased a lot of good Cali avocados, as we then looked at a lotion area, scented natural fragrances, they said. We took under the shade of the white sheet held by those beams, and looked at makeshift-easy-to set up tables with fliers and glossy papers telling of the thing's great abilities. They were large silver bottles with green trim and paper around it telling samples. We tried citrus, cream, and different stuff like that. It all smelled pretty good and were lotion like. I hate and don't understand all the cosmetic stuff but there was a good many. Jasmine, honey almond, lavender, and creme. What they come up with to substitute the real thing... pretty funny. There were also finishing of garlic oil alongside, and we got them in paper bags, not canvas, as you would think the environmentalists would want in Cali. Oh well.
that was a little range of fruits and veggies, with a young man with long blonde hair. He had a weird kind of hippie Bob Marley hat on, greenish brown. We got some bell peppers and more avocados, loving this spree for food and good fresh organic food at that, as I talked to him about the trip and he asked where I was from. When I told him he spoke in a deep voice and put his hand up to his face, saying a long "WHATTTTT?" I repeated and he said, "Narly man" as he nodded his head slowly. He helped us get some stuff as we went move forward to the strawberries. Was he really that slow minded and surfer-like as we believe all men in CA are like? Or was he just putting on a show of this to keep the illusion alive. We'll never know, but I doubt he was really like that.
Those juicy, red, with green plant stems and beige seeds, fatter than an elephant, as pointy as a bullet, bigger than the circumference of a solo cup's bottom, fat and flat and thick, so dark, enticing, in big green baskets and by the dozens; man would you look at those rich Californian Strawberries! I tranced toward them, struck at the wonders that Dad had described when he was in the area, and the man had said in answer to Dad's question why weren't they exported to GA or somewhere like that, "We eat them before they get there." Such a shame really, to never taste those juicy red with green plant stems and... oh this is gonna make me hungry again.
We bought like two containers, and paid the large short haired Latino woman as we then passed on. I saw the largest and the darkest of all of them, having dents and looking like a sumo wrestler. I asked Dad if I could eat it, and he replied I needed to wash it off first. There was a small bathroom on the left side of the walking street on a little corner, and I went with my strawberry held tightly by the green to wash it. After scrubbing on it in the sink and attentively washing it, I then came out, and as soon as I turned off the light and left the wonderful restroom, I sank my teeth into it as a vampire does. It was my first time trying this wonder and it was certainly not to be my last. I enjoyed the juiciness and the wetness, the chunky parts and the redness. I was eating it with new vigor! As my parents purchased a few things, I took another, washed, came out, ate unmercifully, and then did it again, until I was full and had my fill. I would eventually eat a lot more. Well, Dad got on the phone with General Manager Cavin of the dealership in Lineville, and sat down in front of a toy shop. Well, we didn't go along the venues as we sat a little, fairly bored. I didn't have a book, but... we were in front of a toy shop. And with a toy shop, always comes fun.
Rebecca and I went to investigate. On the left was a small nook with pictured storybooks for children, all along the walls and different books we had grown up with and now cherished... well, in other words disgraced as kid stuff. I'm sure you're familiar with them, Where the Wild things Are, Dr Seuss and a whole lot of others. There was a T.V. flashing some Disney movie involving a little girl and dancing firemen, which we watched for a few minutes. The rest of the store was a counter on the right and then a long hall of costumes and some more books. Rebecca wanted to see the Lorax in a few days, and I wanted to read the book before seeing it as is my style, and asked the lady if they had that book in the store. The answer was no...sadly to my sadness. Oh well. I read a book about a king named Hugo who had a huge head...emotionally, and then later in the book, literally. He wanted everyone to compliment him and he thought he was so great and awesome. One day in his golden carriage the small man told a peasant with hay in her hands to move for his, "Greatness Hugo the Huge Head. It was greatly illustrated and I read it, being a kid once more. He knocked her down in a pool of mud when she refused and the which, for which she was, cast a spell on Hugo. Every time he became more self obsessed his head grew.
And there were funny illustrations of his head growing and the rest of his body being small. In the end, which I read speedily, already knowing it was going to be a good ending in the end. The witch shamed him and then he apologized, and she married him to keep him from Huge Head Hugo to Humble Hugo. Cute story. I showed it to Mom before she left to go purchase something on her own. It was hard to dodge all the large stomached soccer Mom's with strollers talking about the latest Desperate Housewives and that new dress at Macy's. I excused myself and sat down on the bench, worn out from the dodging of the women. We made out the same way for the car, and got in as we stopped the engine and sat. It was hotter than Hades as the Cali sun beat down. I read some of Matthew as then we drove around the small parking lot. Mom had had her phone but I believe it was dead. She had gone to the place we had parked earlier, in an open parking lot where a signing large Mexican woman was, but we had now parked at the place we had gone out at. Mom finally found us and reprimanded Dad, as we tried to cool off the heat in the car, both physical and emotional. It was going to be a long ride home.
But the market was fun, and we got a lot of cool foods, read a good book, and had a great environment and little looking around time at the small venues. There were also blonde skinny tan pretty Cali girls my age that helped out at a stand. I wish we had some like that in Georgia. You know what, I wish they ALL could be California girls. Hey, I should make a song about that!
So the only things left for the day would be to go church and thereafter the hot air balloon ride! I really hoped it wouldn't be windy today, but in Cali it almost never is, so that was a good thing. Would this fail like the last one or would I finally get to join the list of those who had mastered the skies, only held up by a balloon full of air and only sustained by a basket?
Up, up, and away,
We hope we live to fly another day.
Only brave will face what may,
Up, up and away!
It was in Indio, not La Quinta, but we first stayed home and ate some lunch and then prepared for an hour to go at one. It was going to be too fast paced if we had gone to church, and really stressful, so we did not go. In the jeep, this time equipped with my camera fully charged and my phone also fully charged. Was this going to be fun or was it going to fail? I was now a skeptic with the company, their truthfulness and everything else. OK, so we were going to go to a location in this place in Indio, after going on several country roads, dirt ones, away from La Quinta to where it was going to be. I first thought it was named Inigo, but it was Indio. Oaks were on either side as we turned into a big fields with grandstand bleachers. You would've thought you were in Kentucky or another state, not Cali when you saw this. On the right side was a long wine orchard, and then on the left we had a big dirt parking lot, and people getting coolers and such from their cars and sitting down on some grass. There was some kind of event going on here, as we listened to the announcers announcing and the large bleachers of metal. We went down to the left down a lane and tried to find where we were supposed to meet at, at the event by a restaurant. We couldn't find it.
Although Dad did drop us off by a morbid and ghastly portable potty. I will not describe that. When we were done we waited for Dad to come down from those oaks at a different lane and then got inside. Dad told me what kind of spot event this was, and I had heard of it before, as I saw the colored men in black hats with nice clothes on on horses, scooping up a ball with something like a lacrosse stick. Polo. No, not the water game, or the famous Italian who went to China on the silk road a very long time ago, but the rich people sport where your clothing and your horse and transportation takes thousands of dollars. I'm sure Prince Charles and William, also the son of Donald Trump, play it together. They might have even been there that day. We went along the road which had led us in, seeing the men strangle for the ball and the horses with the different colored hooves. A lot of bending and stuff like that. I probably won't ever play the game of Polo, because it takes so much money for one game. It's not exactly a game you can play at a local school and go to finals. Nope. But anyway, we could not find the place. By this restaurant, Mexican restaurant, was an empty field. Would we miss this one because of the vague descriptions of the company and not refund our money? The rascals. I really hoped we would get to go.
Inside the restaurant with painted floors and walls and jumpy music, T.V. screens and a big bar, I asked a waitress where they were going to be, the company. She said usually around this area but she didn't really know about them that much. As we rounded around and it turned 2:30, we searched for the hot air balloon. Dad called them again, and we got no answer. So what was going to happen? Why was this company making us leave our money once more? Or were we just not looking enough? I hoped that we would find them, but what if we didn't and never went on a hot air balloon on this trip? My excitement and curiosity of what it felt like up there had been sparked, and I liked to find out the history of the cool mode of transportation. No answer a second time. We still couldn't find them. Why me?
I wondered if I was ever going on a hot air balloon.
TO BE CONTINUED....(SEE "CLUB BREAKFAST, MARKET PLACE, HOT AIR BALLOONING PART TWO" for the shocking conclusion. )
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