California Love

A few weeks ago I shattered all of my ties with friends and family, boldly striking out on the first leg of a totally independent journey. I knew that the next nine months would be full of isolation, hardships and hopefully some self-discovery. I flew 3,000 miles to the opposite side of America, knowing little of what adventures lay ahead. All I really knew was that I was…going to meet my Mom at L.A.’s downtown Marriot, have a lovely lunch, sleep off the jetlag in her comfortable room and then have a delicious dinner in the suburbs with some old family friends?

Alright…maybe the first leg of this journey hasn’t fulfilled the dramatic preconceptions that many (myself included) might hold about a solo trip around the globe, but I’ll be god-damned if it hasn’t been a shitload of fun!

When I arrived in L.A. two Fridays ago, I hopped a shuttle downtown and grabbed a bite with my Mother (who was in town for an educators’ conference) at her hotel. I promptly collapsed in her room for a few hours, erasing a good chunk of the ridiculous sleep deficit I had built up over the previous few days. Charles Dillingham, a good family friend, then picked us up and drove us to his house in Pasadena. My brother and Charles’s wife Susan were at the house, and the five of us had a delicious steak dinner. Like many people associated with my mother’s side of the family, Charles and Susan are warm, generous, intelligent, well-traveled people who (despite being in their late 50s) could easily drink my 24-year-old ass under the table. I had a blast with them, and will remain in touch with Charles, Susan and hopefully their son Jonathan throughout my travels, but especially when I get to Vietnam (where Jonathan works as a journalist). After dinner, I hopped in the car with my brother, dropped my mother off at her hotel, and drove to Occidental for my first night at a college in over a year. Trouble.

I think the best way to contrast my first Friday at Oxy with a typical night out in Boston with my mid-twenties friends (yeah guys, we’re definitely older than college kids) is to go with a stream-of-consciousness type thing. Here goes: Holy shit, my brother’s apartment is pimp! Clean? Hardwood floors? Huge kitchen? What the fuck! Better be the cool older brother and pick up some booze, maybe a few six-packs of micro-brews…they’ll really appreciate the change from crappy college—“hey bro! Ohh, you’re Mike’s brother? Oh sweet! Nice to meet you! Yo, Mike, Phi Si has a keg of Blue Moon! I know dude, so delicious! Yo, you wanna smoke here before we go over?” Friday night, what the hell, a little weed never killed anyone. You guys want some of these good beers before we head over? “Thanks dude! Man, this is great, you didn’t have to get this stuff, we should be getting you beer!” Were people this friendly to strangers at Bowdoin? I definitely don’t think so. Here goes, the frat is two doors down. Holy balls, were girls this hot at Bowdoin? Damnit, this is weird, I feel like an old perv… “Yo, this is my brother.” “Nice to meet you, bro! Wanna play some pong?” Christ, I’m in over my head. Wait, more weed? No…well…fine…college, right? Pong with Mike, we’re good (“dude, I won the OBPA tourney last year, I got like 100 bucks”). Damn this weather is nice. I’m partying outside in March! “Hey, you’re Mike’s bro? Nice to meet you! Yo Mike, party’s winding down, wanna go smoke at your place?” Again!?! Come on!

Aaaaand scene. Saturday night wasn’t much different, with the exception of me almost passing out at the party and having to crash on Mike’s couch before midnight (I guess I’m out of practice…maybe that’s not a bad thing). Man was it fun though. The weekdays at Oxy, in contrast, were very relaxed. I did some good reading and a lot of exploring of Oxy’s gorgeous campus as well as the surrounding town, which makes Jamaica Plain look about as Hispanic as Concord. Outside the bubble of Oxy’s campus, I swear I was the only gringo. Like really, the only one. I walked four miles one day, and didn’t see another white dude…I like it like that.

Two Wednesdays ago, Mike dropped me off at the Long Beach airport and I flew up to San Francisco. Great weather followed me up the coast, and I enjoyed three days in what is now one of my favorite US cities. I stayed with Maria, who was a great hostess. Even though she had to work on Thursday and Friday, she made me breakfast every morning! She also set me up with a guidebook, map and a backpack, and sent me off each day with a list of cool places to check out, from Golden Gate Park to North Beach to Chinatown to Coit Tower. I capped off my stay in the Bay Area on Saturday, when Maria’s roommate drove the three of us out to Point Reyes. We passed through Marin county suburbs and redwood forests (the first I’ve ever seen) to an absolutely beautiful stretch of the California coast. We were there for several hours, hiking around the edges of cliffs that reminded me of a strange mix between the Cape Cod National Seashore and the west coast of Ireland. That evening, Maria’s boyfriend Blair picked us up and we headed for Tahoe.

We got in to South Lake Tahoe around midnight and were greeted by Natalie, who hugged me so hard she almost knocked the breath out of me. Our late arrival meant that we had missed some scenery on the ride there, something we promptly made up for the following morning when we took the gondola to the top of Heavenly, a ski resort that lies right on the Nevada-California border at the foot of Lake Tahoe. I don’t think my pictures even come close do doing justice to the natural beauty that Tahoe offers, so I know I won’t be able to come even remotely close with words. On the wall inside the ski lodge at Heavenly, there is a Mark Twain quote: “To breathe the air that Angels breathe, you must go to Tahoe.” I think he hit the nail on the head. It’s pretty amazing out there.

Maria and Blair skied on Sunday and drove back that night, but I stayed until Thursday. I skied on Monday and Wednesday with Natalie, who was a great mountain guide/ski instructor (man, she’s so good now!). With her help, I tackled one trail through the trees and did a few of runs on a mogul-ridden black diamond, pushing myself to the limits of my not-so-impressive skiing ability. The conditions were great for spring skiing, and the weather was perfect. On Tuesday, we took a break from skiing to explore some hiking trails with a couple of her friends from Heavenly. We climbed around a pair of side-by-side mountains that her friend Alex called “The Twins”…get it? Aside from coming hair-raisingly close to slipping down a 15-foot granite rock face, I had a great time. At night we partied with Natalie’s friends from Heavenly. They are a pretty ridiculous group of individuals; all of whom have cartoonish goggle tans and talk about skiing more than I ever thought possible. I’ll be honest, I wanted to dislike them at first because they were such stereotypical “X-treme” skiers and snowboarders. I kept expecting all of them to break into freestyle walking competitions while shotgunning cans of Mountain Dew. I think they were all well aware of their own ridiculousness though, and they were all so damn nice that it didn’t take long for me to warm up to them. They must put something in the water out there.

On Thursday I hopped a bus to Sacramento and flew back to LA for another week at Oxy. My cousin Will flew up on Friday for a long weekend and Mike and I picked him up at the airport. The three of us had a great weekend partying at Phi Si, hanging out around Mike’s house and eating lots of In N’ Out and Tacos from the Taco Truck. The Taco Truck (there are actually several around Mike’s campus) is less of a late-night eatery and more of a religion at Oxy, which I have absolutely no problem with. I see why they worship Sonia and her husband, who work insane hours serving authentic Mexican food out of a glorified delivery truck. That shit is delicious! Oh, and Will ate ten tacos in 30 minutes after having wolfed down an In-N-Out triple double a few hours beforehand. I took a picture after every taco. Pretty great.

Right now, I am somewhere in the middle of my interminably long flight from LAX to Tokyo’s Narita airport. According to the flight-tracker thingy we just crossed the International Date Line, and are a mere three and a half hours away from our destination. I have booked a room at the airport hotel tonight, and will be “couchsurfing” for the first time tomorrow night with a 25 year-old Australian dude. I keep trying to make myself realize that when this plane touches down, I’ll be halfway across the world from almost everyone I know. For some reason, I don’t think that has completely hit me yet, but I’m sure it won’t take long once I get into the city. Something tells me I’m going to give Bill Murray’s character from Lost in Translation a run for his money when it comes to sticking out like a sore thumb. But hey, if there’s one thing that traveling with Paul and Mike Donovan through Latin America teaches you, it’s how to get used to being gawked at. Konichiwa, bitches.