Incipient Vagabond--Verily

I stayed in Oaxaca for a week and a day.  My first priority was to spend the little money my pal Juan had given me on getting in contact with a host.  I sent out a few messages: first, to a few hosts, second, to ask if anybody in Oaxaca was up for hanging out.  This is my tactic for every new city I'm in, for two reasons: because I would like a host with whom I can exchange conversation, work, meals, and information and have some static/familiarity with during my time, and second because even if I can't get a host I want to have some good company, and couchsurfing is damn good at providing good company.  So for the first night, I was hanging out in the centro, where I saw a guy in a black robe leading a group of about 6 people.  I smiled at him because of his garb, and he smiled back and approached me.  We exchanged pleasantries and he informed me that they were doing a night tour of churches, and he invited me to join, even though it was going to be in Spanish.  I was just looking for some diversion, so I said no problem, because I could at least spend some time listening to an orator speaking in spanish.  We walked and talked, and he complimented my eyes, which I've never had before.  I see.  Oh well, he's still nice, and I dont write guys off just because they're attracted to me... they are good company and they are often nice enough to me and I just stick to my boundaries and communicate thoroughly any issues.  Well, I didnt end up getting to stay at his place, and he directed me to a quiet corner in a church plaza where I could sleep and probably not be bothered by the police.  Ive since learned that in Mexico it is common that churches are safe havens for the weary traveler; it is essentially public space and they have remarkably few homeless here so people often have a pitying ear for you, and there is absolutely no reason to panhandle.

In Mazatlan, I got to go snorkeling with the oyster divers and learn how to pick them and open them.  I then learned how to make a fishing rod out of a soda bottle, and sat on the beach making some jewelry from seashells.  I went walking around the Bora bora hotel and found a treasure trove of rich sand composed of sea glass and small shells and shell bits.  I went walking around in the evening and bought a bit of grub, and found that the cart chef was a real amicable fellow, so instead of building up the energy to go hang out at the bars, I decided to go buy some beer and hang out with them.  I learned that his apprentice was learning english, so we hit it off, exchanging conversation as I've found so often very useful since then, with him in English and me in spanish, switching back to our home languages only to finish thoughts that we wanted to quickly.  He invited me to stay at his house and we shared some of his skanky weed, not too great but hey it got us high.  He was supposed to be finding a new apartment of his own with his wife, but admitted to me in private that he ahad spent too much on his end on drinking, drugs, and prostitutes--though she had spent her fair share too.  I joined them on their house hunting expedition, and got to see some quinta apartments and be there for a moment looking in on their hopes for the next chapter of their life, but had to simply wish them luck and leave soon enough on the next part of my expedition.
I helped a woman and her daughter to move a solid 12 cubic meters of concrete blocks into their yard, and it was endearing, watching the daughter play her part as they probably assumed I was doing it to court her--and while she was cute, she was too young and I only did it as a quixotic gesture.  I walked on down the road a couple kilometers and, after pasing a frightening military road block (I'd had a bag of weed and no passport, and this was one of my first encounters with the big gangs of men with semiautomatic rifles on hand) and then jumped over to the train tracks; they seemed decrepit and the nature on the other side was much more appealing than the littered road offered.  I only made it about one kilometer before a couple fellas invited me over to their casa to figure me out and offer me some weed; by the time this was all over the sun was setting and they said the rail patrol would pick me up if I crashed anywhere else, so offered me to sleep in the "house" next door, basically just a leanto made of sticks and planks.  The next day I came back to town and bought a bus ticket as far as I could because I let everybody convince me there was no way anybody was going to give me a ride hitching.
But by the next morning I was in Puebla with 20 pesos to my name.  I had to hitch.  I told myself that hell, I'll ask for help if I need to, if I cant get a ride, and Ill walk a ways, and Ill look for a horse or a burro or a bike to steal, or work for somebody for one if I need to.  I was walking out of town when the police picked me up, they saw me walking and said to themselves I was a dangerous fool, so offered to bring me to the migration office, where they said I could get a bath and make a phone call for money and other stuff; we went but when the office guy found out I didnt have a passport, shit went awry.  They couldnt help, and I felt soooo bad because this was the first time Id encountered police straight up helping somebody, going out of their way when nothing was otherwise wrong, and they pretty much got scolded for it.  While my stomach hit the floor thinking my adventure was over when itd hardly begun, I profusely said its okay, I understand, I will face the consequences.  To my surprise and relief, they said I could leave, no problem, since I hadnt directly asked for help, but they couldnt do anything for me but deport me.  The police took me to a gas station and said ask the camionetas (trucks), stick out my thumb, whatever, but be careful.  so I was on my way, and damn it was good going.  A young contractor picked me up and squeezed me in between he and his buddy and the stick shaft.  We went a ways, they dropped me off cuz they had to go another direction, and I walked a ways because so far in the country and I still hadnt been able to walk in the countryside.  So I walked a bit, they picked me up again after 45 minutes, and we drove another 45 minutes to the caseta where they turned off for tehuantepec, and I went on just up the hill a ways before another guy picked me up and we had some good bilingual exchange before we arrived together in Oaxaca.  Aside from forgeting my watch in the bushes beating off between when the first guys dropped me off and picked me up again, this first hitching experience in Mexico was a complete success.  Bravo! I should have done it sooner, damn.

I was scared to enter it, and thus I told myself I wasn´t going to go there until I had a fixed-blade knife.  So I bought myself a $40 throwing knife... god I miss that thing.  Yeah, it´s of the past now.  That´s because I was out walking, waiting for my bus to leave, when I was about to climb the ramp to a bridge and saw a couple of cops.  They were just finishing frisking and ¨ticketing¨a chico and saw me.  I felt innocent enough and decided to play that full ante and figured they´d let me pass.  But my dumb ass fooled itself.  I was so confident that I said ¨No, no tengo no drogas, puedes buscar¨ That is, I said I didn´t have anything, they could even check--so they did.  And they confiscated my knife.  And while they had taken note of how much money I had, I hadn´t.  I thought I saw only a one-dollar bill and a coupon for two tacos at Jack in the Back.  They started to bolster their case, telling me it was pretty illegal to have a knife there, and I said yeah I was from the US and it was illegal there, but I´d seen the news and wasn´t taking any chances.  They asked if I had a passport--no.  That´s all, no excuses.  I panicked, and all I could think of was that all I had was my four 500 peso bills in reserve in my shoe... and no fucking change.  So when they said I´d have to pay a ticket or go to jail, and inferred that it was in my hands to decide and tell them if and how I could pay, I knew what they were doing... and I hadn´t felt that way since I sat in my room waiting for my stepdad to choose what he was going to whip me with.  My stomach churned; I took out the nasty ziploc with my money and they took it, and almost took 1000 pesos--then thought better of it and gave me back 500.  My mind and heart were racing.  It felt like a bad broma.  I kept thinking--this can´t happen.  Where´s the US cops to help me out?  I obviously couldn´t shout for a US cop to help me out.  I thought about how they might kinda be looking out for their cartel cronies--that´s a shudder and a half.  Well, I made it anyway, cursing in english the whole way back, kicking walls and shouting and convulsing with anger.  What a welcome, huh? 

In hindsight, they probably weren´t looking out for them, as the news reported that the murders there had occurred to mexican citizens, directly related to the drug  business.   Other people have shared the sentiment with me that the government here is corrupt, that the police are highly politicized, and there are protests that some of the murders were political, and it certainly is easy to imagine that with how large the pandillas and drug business are here.

Since then, I spent 25 hours on a bus recording my memories from the past few months, and in agony for the lack of exercise--going from hitchhiking and bicycling and working hard labor 8 hours a day and exploring Santa Barbara each day with friends and playing with fire and bikes and food and alcohol, to not even being able to stretch my legs, was not fun. 

It´s really tremendous what a border does.  I´ve been very much against the idea of borders for a long time, because it really limits our freedom--but it does so much to make America the bubble that it is.  Mexico... really, it´s such a juxtaposition.  Not against America--that bit was predictable; but more surprisingly, it contradicts itself. In the same country, the same towns even, there are Walmarts but few streetlights, donkeys tied to trees and dogs walking the streets but a personal presentation ethic that makes it practically taboo to have hair longer than an inch; really, I´ve only seen maybe one other person since entering the country with long hair.

By far, San Luis Obispo to Santa Barbara have been the greatest parts of my trip so far; the bike ride to Arroyo Grande through valleys and hills and then back along Pismo/Shell Beach to see the variety of colors, shades, and textures of landscapes--I explained to my host Chris the next day something I hadn't realized until that moment, that I had never seen the weather interact with the landscape the way it did there--clouds casting shadows on proximal hills and running into mounts and changing shape and direction... It really was quite magical.  It´s those types of spaces that remind me why traveling is so great; it´s not necessarily the destination that is worth the trip, but the way you get there--enriching your adventure by NOT spending money on housing and transportation, what an earthshattering idea.  The thing is, when I arrive at places, often in those with lesser quality of living, the people are so preoccupied that they don´t get to explore the spaces relatively close to themselves.  This is something that it takes downtime to do--time where you have no needs and must find your own diversion--the kind of introspection and personal or community development that is a luxury of the wealthy or intellectual, mostly.  One might argue against me that there are plenty of poor people who travel--street kids and rednecks, etc--but these people had to first come from the lap of luxury, ie a country that provides its needs even when they dont provide them for themselves. 

So Santa Barbara... I don´t know if I talked about it before, but damn.  I arrived in the passenger seat of a rad guy from Irvine who had brought some other guys north to los alamos, and this was a perfect introduction to SB: full of people who are interesting and interested and active and generally vivacious--they know they are privileged with opportunity and utilize it to its utmost.  That´s absolutely not a bad thing; I´d rather see people who have power using it well, like royalty it gives hope and enlightenment even to those who don´t have it .  People who go surfing and love learning and practice new skills every chance they get; many who share and few who are lethargic, lots of ideas and creativity.  There were people like Mohammed, who went to school for 5 years and now is planning to go to Brazil, He surfs and looks like Burt Bacharach (and gets just as much play :). 

Perhaps I´ll just write some of the stories I have from Santa Barbara.  Having spent a couple months in such a vibrant and proactive place was really enriching:
I found a campsite as soon as I got to isla vista, an open space preserve right on the outskirts of the square mile town.  There were already three other guys squatting there, and it really was a precious sight, these guys being unpestered by the locals, working together to build a campsite and preparing for the coming rain.  I talked to them, met them all, buddha and crazy and jack, or whatever they were... asked them if theyd been bothered and such.  Nothing, so I felt great.  I hid my stuf in some blackberry thicket and went exploring on my bike.  There´s nothing like traveling a new town or any space, really, on a bicycle.  I was *****

I said this morning I was either going surfing or fishing; I chose fishing and was rewarded with a scorpionfish and a boogie board.

Rode down looking for the beach past the Snowy Plover Protection Area

Well hey there!  It's been a while hasn't it; I've got plenty of news to update.  I could regale with every detail, which could be appreciable because it's so different than anything you experience in most life, but it'd be way too long and boring, especially in such a dry forum as this with no color.  It's a bit awkward to write here, because I want to say everything, and this thing has a double identity as a blog and a journal; so do I write for an audience or is this merely a memory book?  When you write down memories, they tend to transform in the process; when you think about it, you can include images, and sounds, and you don't really imagine in words; but since every word has different connotations, even for the same person in different times, let along for different people, you automatically set an ideas fate with the way you say it.  Perhaps the most important thing here is that I get a record to work with in the future, and to develop my storytelling ability, so I will focus on tangible memories and keep the concepts and abstract tangents to a separate, private document.  In fact, I'm going to take all this out now and put it there, and I don't really know why I'm still typing this.  I'm very bad at being prudent, but this is good practice. 

AWOL for more than a week; lots to say, I just hope I haven't forgotten much...
I read in a book about a fella (that's my new word, just got done with Grapes of Wrath--that's what I like about education, is that along the way you pick up these little tidbits that help add flavor and color to your life.  I hope I'm as interesting as I feel.) who had done a few trips before, and he tried journaling, but his brain punished him by losing all the memories; and the next trip he took photographs, and he was again punished because the places looked nothing like what he remembered, so the one he was on in the book, he recorded nothing.  I'm going to continue to record,

Last week I was settling into the nomad lifestyle, picking up each day, doing what it demanded of me, taking what came, and settling in at night.  It's comforting to know that you can have a place to sleep no matter where you are.  I got a ride from this woman who looked completely clean-cut, but talked about how her husband had been in a maximum security prison and how visiting him was a pain in the ass, and smoked in her car from the carton of Marlboro's in the back, and then bought me a whole fuckin' chicken and big jug of water at Safeway, plus two half sandwiches and a bunch of granola bars.  I was faced with a major moral dilemma, because I didn't want to offend her, but I also felt obligated to self-respect and because I believe that in simply sharing my personal beliefs I can open up others to consideration; instead of telling them what they are doing is wrong, you simply tell them that personally you don't partake, and then they may inquire or simply be inclined to readjust their opinions of people who do those things, or who they expected you to be, or simply to think about something they'd never heard before, possibly because they'd closed themselves off to the people preaching it to them before.  Anyway, I took it all from her, because she had been so hospitable (and besides, I was famished), with graciousness and geniality.  It was so debasing, though, because I had set myself on being almost vegetarian, and I abhor bottled water, and individual-packaged items, so the whole thing was blasphemy to my own moral philosophy.

Then I got a ride from some guys in King's City (which is hardly a city and certainly not a place of kings) and they said they could get me as far as Paso Robles, but after some real good congenial conversation they proffered that I come with them camping in San Simeon, as they'd be passing back through by  PR on the way back the next day.  I was absolutely for the idea, because I was eager to have good company finally after several days of only minor, superfluous conversation.  The guys car broke down, their friends picked us up, we feasted like carnivores, we got stoned and drank and were gluttonous and went to the beach for hours and I swam in the ocean with this fella who'd just got out of the navy (Omar, my favorite one of the whole group and obviously the most alpha, though they were all on pretty equal terms, respectful of each other, they'd obviously grown up together and I was glad for the opportunity to be a part of it, if even for only two days; these were the kind of healthy and deep relationships that I find myself yearning for when I am out or looking for company or a conversation buddy online... I realize that I have no long relationships, not many people who will go far out of their way to share in my pain or to sacrifice other things to do something for me, at least not men who are peers.)  Anyway, we got back to town the next afternoon and the guy who had so graciously offered us a tow to his friend's shop, took us to a place where the guy wanted a week to work on it and 1500 bucks.  No way.  That meant, however, that I was stranded, because they were headed the opposity direction.  My spirits would have been on the floor, if it weren't for the fact that I had picked up money earlier in the day that my sister sent, $150 woohoo more money than I've had in 6 months!!  I invested it wisely, all but a 5 i gave to this black girl trying to sell me cologne, a horrible salesgirl but persistent, no nuance, just crudely answering my declination with her yes's, and who got me to give her the 5 because she had already asked me for more, playing the can-i-have-a-car-no-then-can-i-have-movie-tickets game.  Anyway, I crashed in Salinas River that night, and hitched the next day down to where the gas station was that the timing belt had gone out on the car, and went in and chatted with the guy who luckily was working again that day, this turned from "hey what's up I saw you the other day you'll never believe why I'm back," to hanging out wasting time with him till I was tired to hanging out with the cashier at a gas station till midnight to go drink and shoot the shit to drinking and shooting the shit and spontaneously going and buying a hundred worth of cocaine and splitting it in his car until 4 in the morning.  Yeah, that's the best part of this whole update and I dropped it in four lines out of 60.  I know, I'm a great storyteller.

So anyway now I'm in SLO, I camped at the creek, climbed Madonna mountain, got sick with the shits and stunk up the backyard and got some CS hosts and found out that the regularly clean the hobos out of the creeks so I'm a little worried about my stuff but I'm getting it today, and mailing stuff home finally so i'll have a lighter pack, and biked thirty miles roundtrip to Arroyo Grande and Pismo Beach yesterday on this bike I stole, a great decision considering it an investment in my travel, but I'm feeling pangs of guilt as well as paranoia that the person who I took it from is going to see me on it.  I justify it by "at least I'm using the shit out of it" and that I had a way more valuable bike which got taken, and I hope they're not too hung up on material posessions, and fuck them because less property makes you happier.  Maybe I'm being immoral and jaded and angry because I know I'm wrong, and anger is a way of coping with it, really in humanity if we are angry it's usually because we are wrong or hurt, which explains why negative energy is so bad, because if you wrong somebody, they are angry because they are hurt, and you are angry because you are wrong, and maybe I shouldn't steal anymore, but dammit, I needed this and it's very useful and I don't take very much, but I've already told you I have absolutely shitty moral fiber.

Today: Hiking Bishop's Peak in SLO and going fishing at the lake. Tomorrow, getting a ride to Santa Maria and biking to Solvang, a dutch community. The next day, biking to Goleta, UCSB's hometown to mack on college kids.

How many days can I go without shoes?  I have flip flops but I'm trying to minimize their use; I wore them once yesterday, in the recycling center.  I'm going to carry them and some hiking boots, but I still want to count; I've been mostly barefoot the past few days but today will be the first official! 



I came up to SF for the Bluegrass festival, I went snooping around my neighbors things and found a bottle of like 25 Lorazepams, which are like Valium, which I shared with my surfers.  I had a total of 6, they were pretty sweet, just two and a beer and you're good for several hours.  I'm done with them now, though, it was something to try.  Now I missed my ride to SLO and have to finagle my way down there; we'll see how quick I can get there!  If all else fails I can at least go hitch.