Day 8 - Manzanar to Barstow
From a sweet bakery to a bitter internment camp and then on to literal highs and lows
Overnight the clouds had cleared and another warm day with untroubled blue skies greeted us as we stepped out from the hotel. More Adam research had uncovered Eric Schatts' Bakery - a Dutch family-run bakers started in the 1930's that had become a well-known attraction within this small town. A large, triple-fronted shop designed something akin to how you would imagine the gingerbread house in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale would look, we walked past many people sat outside eating at tables. The signs were good to accompany the delicious smells escaping through to the outside. Inside was a phenomenal bakery business and retail experience; rows of ovens, stacks of assorted breads being wrapped by a large team of assistants, glass cabinets displaying every imaginable style and type of pastry, doughnut, biscuit, cake and gateau. It can't be often that you feel overwhelmed when entering a shop and struggle to take in the activity and items in front of you. The shop guided you in a flowing corridor, much like an Ikea experience, through the tempting goodies. Aware we needed a mobile lunch for later that day, we bought sandwiches which is a fairly inept and under whelming description for the beef salad banquet contained within the two slices of bread that I selected.
We moved on to Manzanar, the site of an internment camp for Americans of Japanese ancestry built shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbour at the end of 1941. Manzanar was just one of ten hastily erected 'relocation centres' built in remote deserts, plains, and swamps across seven states that, at their peak, together held around 120,000 people. Manzanar was a former apple orchard (hence the Spanish name) covering some 500 acres but had returned to a desert environment long before the arrival of the internees.
We stepped into a very large building and, on this scale, I was expecting to pay but there was no charge. Walking through the reception and shop area we emerged into a high-ceilinged museum. This is something America does so well; to make something they want to tell you about interesting, visually appealing and engaging. There were large display boards charting the history of the site and the impact on the people with photographs and quotes from those involved. Various personal artefacts were displayed in glass cabinets dotted around the room and a small viewing area to one side was playing a video on loop. Re-creations of some rooms within the camp had been built and were attached to the side walls. Reading the boards, the sense of injustice felt on both sides was obvious and also that this was a dark, embarrassing chapter for the authorities involved.
We moved outside into the desert heat and a barren landscape. Only a few of the 504 barrack room and other communal buildings remained but it was easy to gauge that the conditions would not have been pleasant for the 10,000 people held here: A toilet block had no screens between each lavatory, metal framed beds were arranged in rows in large open rooms, daylight was visible between the single-skinned wooden walls.
Returning to the entrance and leaving, we spotted a plaque on the path towards the car park which very openly and honestly apologised for the huge wrong that had been done. We were both struck by the clarity of the statement and its direct language, 'May the injustices and humiliation suffered here as a result of hysteria, racism and economic exploitation never emerge again.' Back in the car we contrasted our own country's efforts to bring closure for the people caught in the Windrush debacle.
We headed off for Mount Whitney which is the highest mountain in the 'lower forty-eight states' as they are known, at 14,505 feet. The other two states are Hawaii and Alaska with the latter containing three mountains higher than Whitney, Denali being the tallest at 20,310 feet. Which is only a meagre 9,000 feet or so shy of Mount Everest.
By now I was getting a grasp of the 'bigness' of this country so it came as only a slight surprise when Adam informed me that we could drive up about two thirds of the impressive peak before us. I was expecting a lot of hairpin bends and near vertical gradients in our ascent, but this is America and things are put in place to suit the motor car. We arrived at the end of the well-maintained road to an area with several busy campsites, a large car park and a toilet block with plentiful covered trash bins outside (remember the bears are always interested!). There were several benches and we sat at one looking forward to feasting on those large sandwiches we had bought earlier in the day. Unfortunately, it quickly emerged that others were also looking forward to the unwrapping of our lunch as we were joined by droves of wasps eager to land anywhere on or near our food.
And so from the highest to the lowest. Death Valley has a very apt name for a 3,000 square mile expanse of desert that has recorded the hottest temperature on earth at 57C and sits just under 300 feet below sea level. Even its 'rivers' have haunting names such as Furnace Creek and Amargosa (Spanish for bitter). However, as we had been discovering with other deserts along the way, the traditional perception of this arid valley was being challenged by the unseasonably high levels of rainfall. A torrential rainstorm just a week or so before our visit had trapped around 1000 visitors in the national park and caused a rescue operation to lead them safely out. The extent of the damage from that day was clear as we were confronted by many signs warning of debris and large numbers of road closures.
That said, it still looked pretty dry to us. A barren undulating waste of sand and gravel with an occasional straggly bush was then met with rocky outcrops and rising escarpments of varying shades of brown and grey eventually leading the eye to the equally sparse mountains beyond capped with intermittent dark shadows from the assembly of pure white clouds above. Even in the rain, I wouldn't fancy walking across it.
After taking our fill of the landscape, pure bright light and overwhelming heat, we returned to the car and thanked the inventor of air conditioning once again. We continued south and the very, very straight road began to rise up gradually from the valley floor. Another feature of this area, and as a driver, you begin to hanker for a bend so for a brief moment you have something to do to justify your occupancy at the wheel. Eventually we met a large turn in the road and an elevated view across what we had been seeing in the rear view mirrors for so long. We pulled over at a viewing point, got out and probably stood there for five minutes or more in silence, taking in the raw, pure nature in front of us. A moment where nothing needed to be said.
On to Barstow and our hotel. Barstow was our first encounter with Route 66 and a chance to see how America has turned a road into a tourist attraction. It was also our first hotel rather than motel experience of this trip. And our accommodation had got into the spirit of its location by placing several Route 66 road signs on the walls above the reception area. We felt a part of it, instantly.
Adam was obviously being increasingly persuaded by the delights of the American diner and selected the local Black Bear diner, one of 147 across 14 states. I know this because on being seated we were presented with the menu which was printed in the style of a four-page tabloid newspaper. The story of their growth from starting in 1995 is charted on the back page together with the fact that they rejoice in being known for their large portions. If you are celebrated for being large in America this could mean a seriously generous volume of food. With trepidation I ordered a chicken taco and Adam went for a vegetarian omelette all day breakfast option.
Evidently in America, there must be very strong trading standards laws; any phrases placed on a menu must live up to their billing and not be mere rhetoric. My taco was the shape, and close to the size, of a sailor's tricorn hat and filled to the brim with chicken and salad. Adam's arrived with four slices of toast and we estimated a four or five egg omelette. In my GastroGR review I would say that it was tasty, freshly cooked and served in nice surroundings by a very pleasant waiter. But I was simply too full to reach down and open my laptop.