The testy tourist

I’m not sure what mom minded more on her vacation: (a.) the California chill or (b.) wiping down public restrooms on Interstate 5 for her daughter’s benefit.

In a drive that spanned a few thousand miles last week, mom made the acquaintance of just about every McDonald’s restroom in the state of California, and she has stomach-heaving memories of unflushed toilets to prove it.

Even the women’s toilet at the Shiva – Vishnu temple in Livermore could not rival some of the sights she encountered on the drive, and mom made a vow to fly the next time instead of driving with a child who likes to drink on the road.

“You wouldn’t believe how filthy the restroom was,” mom would comment to dad after each visit, proceeding to graphically describe her experience in a misguided attempt to share all aspects of her life with him.

When she wasn’t complaining about the state of the toilets, mom complained about the bitter cold in the Bay Area.

The winds howled outside her uncle’s home while she huddled under layers of thermal wear. Generously helping herself to the goodies her aunt had baked, mom eagerly listened to family gossip and hugged the electric heater for comfort.

In fact, were it not for the superlative hospitality of her uncle and aunt and the warmth of family members gathered for a reunion, mom would have moped on the entire trip and held poor dad responsible for the inclement weather.

As it is, she half-blamed him for the complete lack of vegetarian fare on Fisherman’s Wharf and, worse, for not instinctively knowing where Ghirardelli Square was located.

“But you’ve been here before. How can you not know where it is?” she cried, conveniently overlooking the fact that she had accompanied him on the last occasion.

Dragging her extremely reluctant family by hand, mom eventually found the famed store after asking a passing firefighter for help.

By the time they stood in line with fellow desis and fought their way through the crowds, the hot cocoa had grown tepid and the giant chocolate chip cookie in their sundae needed a sledgehammer to be cracked into bite-sized pieces.

“So, why is this place so famous?” asked grandpa, as they walked back into the cold, unsated. “I still think nothing compares to our Indian ice creams.”

For once, mom readily agreed with him.