Archived Entries
in the category of Travel

Posts will be few and far between for the next week as computer access is limited and expensive in the area I'm staying and although I'm feeling a little non-journalistic, posts will occur when and where I have an opportunity; recording more by principle than by whim or feeling.

Driving on the left-hand side of the street took a little getting used to, but I'm slowly coming into a comfort zone. I rented a Silver Golf GTI with standard transmission; it's strange to be shifting on the left side of the steering wheel. The expanse of space to your left that includes the passenger side of the car is endless and it's difficult to judge where you are in relation to the left side of the road.

Everything here is smaller. I had pictured England as an older America, but it's more like Europe than the U.S. It appears that the only commonalities between the two countries are pop culture and the language. The majority of people here are cool and impersonal unlike the saccharine friendliness you encounter at most places in the States.

There's so much I want to cover, but don't have the time. I know it will be difficult to recall everything. Hopefully one or two points here will rekindle some memories.

Now I'm back at the hotel room and the weight of the past day is already pulling at every molecule in my body. I could swear the bed has a gravitational field.

Toured the city with a go-go boy who was nice enough to take the evening and show me around. JR's. The Mining Company. Moby Dick's. After Dark. The Round-Up. Now, I'm back in my room, exhausted but looking forward to a few more hours of work at the test site. Speaking of which, it's time to get ready and hit the road again. I'll drive with the windows down.

The Nanowrimo party was good fun. After a great movie and sushi dinner with Chris and Jessie, I took a cab across Market to a hidden alleyway. The evening rain had collected into clouds of mist that draped the street in a movie-like aura. Printed in large, stenciled numbers on a delivery door, I matched the address with the number on my printout and knocked. No answer. A few people had walked behind me to a small, makeshift door directly behind me, and as I looked closer, I noticed Christmas lights dangling from open rafters in a courtyard through the door.

The party was unmarked, but inside it was obvious by the appearance of the crowd that I had made it to the right place. I mingled and chatted for a few hours and read lots of pieces that people had hung up on clotheslines all around the room, drank lots of beer, wore a Burger-King-like paper crown that was given to all the writers who had taken part in the event and finished. Around midnight, Chris Baty gave a toast to everyone, and dancing commenced. I was feeling rather tired, so I decided to take off. Mingling with a crowd of complete strangers is amazingly exhausting.

I strolled home in the rain, the streets empty and wet, and caught the Market St. trolley full of dripping, silent people. The city smelled of water. The homeless in this city are overwhelming. I've lost count of how many have asked me for change--surprisingly, it's the ones that don't ask that I tend to give it to--and I had started to get a little irritated by the end of the night, which wasn't being helped by the copious amounts of alcohol I had recently consumed.

Outside the hostel, a thin, black man in a leather jacket was watching me approach, and asked me for four dollars. As I shook off and tied up my umbrella, I said no, but he kept pushing me. They're almost as bad as telemarketers.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but you're probably asking for money in the wrong place." I motioned to the hostel in front of us.

"C'mon man. Four dollars." His voice was getting antagonizing, almost as though he were annoyed at even having to ask me twice. "Would it hurt you that much?"

With that question, I snapped. "Would it hurt you that much to get a job?" I asked, and as he flustered for an excuse, I hurriedly walked into the building without looking back. A thousand scenarios run through my head and I wonder if perhaps a few bucks or some change would have really helped the guy, but I hate the fact that I feel even the least bit guilty. How dare these people invade my life with their problems and then make me take the slightest sliver of responsibility for them? It's almost as though they expect handouts as a natural recourse of nature. I know I don't need to, but I'm apologizing now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I won't help them with a few dollars, but it's only a band-aid. It's not fixing the problem, but salving the symptom. Someday, when I can, I'll do something better to dig it up at the roots. Until then, this is me shedding that burden. I won't carry this on my shoulders anymore.

Okay. Well, that was the month's rant. It's nearly noon and the city is still sleepy. Of course, it's Sunday and the football game is on and everyone is recovering from the rain. I'm hoping the airport will be equally subdued. Chris has offered to drive me to the airport this afternoon, so I should probably go see if they're awake. My next post will probably be from home. It's hard to believe the weekend is over.

I?ve had so much to write these past two days, but no time to carry it out. One thing I do remember noting to record was the movie we saw yesterday afternoon called "Amelie," and thinking I ought to purchase a copy when it comes out on video. Okay, meal?s over. Time to move out.

Chris was kind enough to spend the majority of the day with me. We walked our feet off, having quite the adventure across the city saving people's lost checkbooks, dodging Claire Daines, and just sharing good, old-fashioned conversation. Later in the evening, we went to the Endup--a small club with a dark, quietly excited crowd and a sweaty dancefloor--and made our rounds with Jessie and a couple of his coworkers.

I'm really looking forward to the Nanowrimo party tonight, which holds promise of an interesting crowd, fun conversation, and possibilities. For now, however, it's time, once again to hit the streets. Fortunately, I have my trusty umbrella.

I checked into a youth hostel downtown, rooming with three other guys: an 18-year-old from Wales and a 21-year-old from Denmark--both cute in a little-boyish sort of way, but fortunately not my type. I probably wouldn't have gotten any sleep if they had been. The third was a Japanese student who I never saw, but who came in around 4 this morning, causing a great ruckus and snoring like nobody's business. He kept both Martin and I awake and we joked about it this morning despite the fact that I had been seriously considering leaving and checking into a hotel earlier in the morning. To our luck, he seems to have checked out this morning.

The window in the shower looks out over an alleyway and main thoroughfare, where you can watch pedestrians and traffic. It's private, but still fun to think that someone might look up and see you showering in a small, obscure window on the side of a building. The steam from the shower spills out the window and into the morning air. I took my time getting ready this morning, and it's nice to think that I have absolutely nothing to do today.

I'm writing this entry from a coffee shop on Geary called Seattle Street Coffee that has both java and internet access. Just another great thing about big cities. Later on today, I may meet Jessie and Chris for lunch. Last night, Jessie and Reese were kind enough to show me around the city and take me out to a few bars on the Castro, although not much partying took place as it was a weeknight and, as I said, rather cool. Brian also happened to show up as we were heading home, and it was good to meet him as well. How many more webloggers can I possibly meet on this trip?

The city calls. Time to explore.

The airport is eerily quiet. Only a handful of passengers and airline workers fill my view of an otherwise lifeless terminal. Occasionally, a voice will echo throughout the terminal, booming from the intercoms. Single conversations can be heard and understood. A laugh or the sound of a cash register will sometimes puncture the quiet din. My flight leaves in three and a half hours, so I?ve got a bit of a wait ahead of me and I?m making friends with the calm.

A kid around my age just sat down in the row of seats to my left and I?m attempting to make out his appearance without being too conspicuous. He?s working a crossword and his arms are thin. He?s wearing glasses. These simple, physical details are all I can get down on paper, but my mind races at a thousand images per second, wondering what his story is, who he is, where he comes from, filling in the blanks. Sometimes I look in the mirror and step away from my life to see what blanks about myself my mind might fill in. What would I see or think? Sometimes something interesting will pop into mind, and I can spend a few seconds imagining it to life.

In a way, that?s what this trip is. When Peter and I spoke last, he mentioned sensing I should get out and travel somewhere before Christmas. After writing my book, the Nanowrimo party seemed like a perfect excuse to do so. This trip is also an experiment of sorts, in that I?m going with no real plan besides meeting up with Jessie and attending the party on Saturday night. I haven?t made hotel or lodging reservations. Originally, I had planned to stay with Jessie, but my pesky allergies deemed the decision unwise, so now I?m going with little-to-no plan. It?s sort of exciting to an extent. On top of going without plans, I?ve also managed to pack everything into a backpack so I?d be mobile and not burdened with luggage. These two things go against everything I?ve built up as habit in the past, but as I read in my grad advisor?s office, growth only comes from questioning habits and perceptions.

For some reason, this questioning fills me with a quiet fire, burning with the excitement of change and anticipation of opportunity. This feeling is unfamiliar to many people and I wonder what brings some to consider their life and everything within as paramount. The idea that I may be wrong or have universes left to learn fills me with the thrill of adventure.

Questioning one?s self is the pinnacle of human ability, I am convinced.

1. Cowboy
2. Indian
3. Military Personnel
4. Grass-skirted Islander
5. Roman Soldier
6. Boyscout
7. Fireman
8. Police Officer
9. Leather Daddy
10. Construction Worker

First place, by an overwhelming majority, was "Shirtless Circuit Queen," but I'm afraid we had to disqualify that, for as Richard says, "No shirt is not a costume."

New Orleans is an incredible place. "The dust here is half glitter, half decay," as Richard once said. It's pretty amazing how accurate that its. An old black woman who stopped me on the street told me there's something in the air here that grabs ahold of you. Maybe it's voodoo, maybe it's sweat, maybe it's the river. I didn't notice it at first and blew her off, but now I'm wondering if I'm sensing it. It's not heavy, but it pulls you in.

As far as my stay is concerned, I couldn't have received better hospitality. J&R are truly the sweet, funny, intelligent, and gorgeous people they appear to be on the web (not to mention they make a fabulous couple). They are also masters of disguise (like Transformers, more than meets the eye!), being able to morph into various permutations of drag-glitter zombies at a moment's notice. I now aspire to have a comparable neglige collection in my closet when I grow up.

This has been one of the most memorable weekends I've had in a long time. The parties, the boys, the city... it's all been somewhat overwhelming. I'll be sure to post more about it when I get back. Be sure to check out the pictures that Jonno will be posting this week.

Older Entries