Percolated Morning

It was all perfect. He wasn't sure where he was, when it was, or why he was there - but it felt so right. The air was crisps, frothy - tickling his lungs with each breath. He was lying down on his back - the ground below him soft as a bed of feathers - encasing his shoulders and supporting his back. His nose was pleased to find the scents of pomegranate, black orchid, lotus blossoms, and cream lingering all around him. It smelled clean. Pure. It brought a smile to his face. It was a combination of scents he knew well - lightening his heart with every inhale, purging his soul of haze with every exhale. It felt like home.

Looking around, he couldn't see anything. It all had a opaque look to it - like he was staring at the sun early in the morning through lacy blinds. Everything glowed - outlined in bright white - warm and inviting. His core felt warm from the light that was radiating all around him. He could hear his heartbeat, feel his chest rise and fall, his blood circulating, but he felt like he didn't have full control - as if his soul had wandered outside its confines, lost amongst this angelic place - free to roam, forgetting his body as it laid there. He knew he could move, flex his muscles - but he didn't want to.

 It wasn't scary. No. It was the the exact opposite. He felt free.

He seemed to drift for some time - lost amongst the lingering aromas, bathed in the falling light, floating along. He only decided to move when he realized he wanted to spend this moment with her. His hand reached out, searching for her's, but found nothing - just an empty space, warm from where her hand must have been before. Where had she gone? Was she here? They had to share this. Reeling his soul back into his body, he sat up.

And suddenly he was falling. Down - further and further - clouds silently passing by, barely giving him any notice as he continued his plummet. He could feel the smells growing fainter and fainter, drifting further away from his nose - the haze began to creep back into his head, encasing his mind, shrouding his thoughts. His eyes grew tired, wanting to close themselves - block out the world that was whizzing by. He felt aggitated. Grumpy. He felt alone. He missed her.

That was his last thought before he hit the ground and everything stopped.

He sat up, looking around, confused. He was in bed, covered in sweat, not shattered in the bottom of a crater in the middle of some field. His joints hurt and there was a noise between his ears - like radio static that had been turned down. Looking to his left, his bed was empty. She wasn't there. But there was the aroma of coffee seeping in through the cracked door.

When he stumbled into the kitchen, he found the coffee pot standing proudly over a flame, ready to serve its purpose. "How?" He wondered.

That's when he saw the note sitting on the counter,

"I'll take two sugars and a splash of milk :)"

It finally registered that the noise in the back of his head was the shower. He let out a sigh and smiled.

She didn't just exist in his head.

Entre las Dunas

He wasn't sure how he got there. It had been so long since he had last seen anyone else, let alone a free-standing building. The desert had been tough on him. His skin was dried, cracked, filled with dirt. His eyes burned - mouth dryer than the sand he had been wandering over for the last week. When he stumbled upon the bar, randomly erected amongst the weeds and Joshua trees, he almost didn't believe that it was real - some hallucination born from the sun soaking into his brow.

The coolness of the shade from the vestibule proved its validity - it had been so long since he had encountered shelter from the sun, that the moment his body felt the slight drop in temperature, he knew it was real. And if it were real, that meant there were drinks.

Throwing open the door, he was surprised what lay before him. A beautifully rendered bar. Mahogany counters, brass fixtures, chandeliers, racks of assorted liquors - whiskeys, tequilas, vodka - a cornucopia of alcohol - a drunk's heaven. Everyone inhabiting the space was impeccably groomed. Men's hair slicked back, women's dresses tight around their hips, but flowing on the bottom, bright, radiating energy. They all smiled at him - pure warmth. His body longed for refreshment. Agua. But his mouth was watering for a Tepache and a shot of tequila. Top shelf. He made it this far - he deserved it.

------------------------------------

One drink turned into two. Two made friends with shot three which quickly shook hands with number four. It wasn't long before his edge drifted away, lost amongst the music. The bright lights had come on, the dance floor was busy. A big soiree.  The satin of the senoritas' gowns glowed and the tango swayed. The harmony of bodies seemed like it would go on all night. It was so surreal.

The song eventually faded out, leaving the sound of the needle scratching vinyl. He was content, lost amongst his thoughts, floating along on the alcohol that was pumping through his veins.  It took him a minute to realize the bodies had stopped and everyone was looking at him. It fell silent. Life had ceased. What now?

Knowing he could fix the problem, he walked to the other side of the bar, hand buried deep in his pocket, fishing for something. Bingo. Another quarter and the jukebox cried - he loved the sound of the record's sigh. It'd go all night.

It wasn't until he sat back down that he looked at the wall next to his table and saw a message scribbled amongst the swirls of plaster - almost hidden, like it wanted to be seen, but was too shy or embarrassed to fully reveal itself:

"No necesito la vida rica
Estoy contento contigo"

Sitting up - he looked around. The message spoke to him. He was accustomed to dark smokey bars, a shot of whiskey and a cheap cigar. Not all this.

Where had he ended up?

He quickly stood, poured the remaining agave down his throat, thanked everyone for their hospitality and walked out the door, back into the stifling heat of the desert air.

The fine life was a beautiful thing. The caviar and the diamond rings - a nice place to visit, but somewhere he didn't want to stay.

Lowering his head, he continued off into the dunes, knowing that out there, ahead of him, lost amongst an ocean of sand was where he needed to be.

Good Night LA

I know I've been on a roll lately with writing, but I just caught this video, and it's one I have to share.

Hope you all enjoy it as much as I do (and if you've been here, hopefully you'll recognize some of the video):

Verge of Burning

It had been so dry. So arid.

It had been so long.

It was the kind of heat that could choke you. Suck out all the moisture in the body immediately. All around the air shimmered, obscuring the fields and rolling hills in the distance - creating an opaque barrier in all directions. A wall that played with one's eyes. In this heat, there were no oases, it was too hot. The only thing present was the smell of slow death.

The grass had tried not to lose its way - growing up towards the sun that was constantly beating down on it, unaware that the more it tried to reach what it needed the most, the quicker it was dying. There was almost nothing left to it. Dry, brittle. It'd snap off and disintegrate at a mere touch. Crumbling into a fine dust, to be carried off, scattered, and forgotten about by the wind. At one time the field was a lush green, bright enough to seem like it was pulsing with life when a strong breeze blew over it. Now, it looked as if a piece of Mother Nature had been mummified. Dried out and left to die somewhere in the midwest - waiting for a spark to cremate her remains.

Thankfully, a new gust of wind was blowing through the fields. Cold and brisk - pushing the heat out. Off in the distance dark clouds rolled forward, churning on one another - bulbous and growing. Their stomach's were droopy, hanging low, dragging behind, waiting for the right moment to split open and spill millions of gallons of life down onto the waiting, parched land.

Below, the grass seemed to stand at attention, like it knew what was coming, eager for the first clap of thunder and flash of lightning. After that, the first drops would fall and it could come to life again.

It was just a matter of when.

It's amazing how easy it is to feign happiness.

Rolling

He didn't even remember walking through the door.

The beat seemed to linger in his inner ear and resonate deep within his chest, pushing against his heart. He couldn't distinguish if it was his knocking of the door or the thumping baseline of the music that was seeping from deeper within the club. Either way it didn't matter.

He was in. And he was ready.

It all happened so fast. One moment he was wandering down an alleyway, walls covered in algae, slick from water that had dripped from the hundreds of apartments that were layered above him, like some architectural game of Jenga. The next moment, he was being patted down. ID ripped from his hands. He tried his best to smile like in his picture, but he was sure that he just came off looking like the smug asshole he was -  high as a kite on one of the many drugs that flowed through the city. The whole time, all he wanted to do was reach out and graze the bouncer's jacket. God it looked so supple.

Before he knew it, he found himself standing exactly where he was now. On the event horizon.

Stretched out before him was pure madness - an endless sea of bodies, held together by the music that was pumping through the stacks of speakers hung carelessly from the ceiling. Moving in unison, everyone was on the same wavelength. Bodies touching. Eyes fixed on one another. Totally focused on matching the rhythm of the music with their bodies. It didn't seem real. Everyone seemed jacked into the music. Zoned in.

His eyes almost couldn't handle it - lasers erupted from every corner of the club, slicing the space into hundreds of different angles. The sweat that was cascading off of everyones' skin flew into the air, falling like tiny pockets of rain. Occasionally one of the multicolored beams would pass through a bead - exploding in every direction. Some sort of organic disco ball - illuminating another thousand parts of the room for just a fraction of a second. It was stunning.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward, making his way into the crowd.

Who said chaos couldn't be beautiful?

Auntie L

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT LAUREL!


Wahooooo!! Hope you have a wonderful day!

Sdrawkcab

It had seemed like an eternity. Shuffling through airports filled signs that made no sense. Sitting on planes surrounded by people who he couldn't communicate with. It made him feel like an outsider. Someone who didn't belong. He felt mute.

He felt alone.

When he stepped off the plane onto the concourse, late in the evening, carrying bags low under his eyes, his luggage was the furthest thing from his mind. He had tried to combat it, stay up all day, reading books, listening to music, skipping the usual single-serving Coke for a few cups of airline coffee, yet none of had helped. The jet lag had caught up to him. It was pulling him down, into an abyss he wasn't familiar with. His energy was depletated. Completely gone. He felt like a shell of a man, empty inside. A ghost.

When he came down the escalator and saw the waves of curls falling around her shoulders, he perked up. It certainly helped seeing a familiar face somewhere so foreign - it got his blood flowing a little quicker. He smiled. He would finally be able to talk to someone again without stumbling over consonants, vowels, and accents his lips weren't use to accommodating.

The cab ride was difficult. He wanted to stay alert, absorb the empty city that was surrounding him, lit up and on display, as if only for him. The locals had gone to bed, preparing for the coming day. It all felt so backward. He was just arriving and they had all departed to their beds.

He felt guilty. All he wanted to do was talk to her. Ask her literally everything possible. But his mind wouldn't allow it. It was jammed. Gummed up. He tried to force a thought, but nothing would come forward.

When they arrived at her apartment, only one thing was on his mind.

"Where was the bathroom?"

When the water poured over his face, he felt young again. His energy came soaring back. He was in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from home and yet, the water that was cascading over his brow and onto his bare skin spoke his language. It spoke to his soul. Deep down, to his core. He felt clean, aware. It took him back to his childhood when he'd stand out in the yard during those hot days - the kind where the sun would reach down and pull away all of his energy and he'd stand there, with his eyes closed. Waiting. And every time, even though he knew it was coming, he'd be surprised when his father dumped the bucket of ice cold water over his shoulders - stealing his breath for just a second.

This quick shower was all that he had needed. He was awake, concious. He was alive again.

He bound out of the bathroom, words flowing from between his lips, bubbling up so quickly he wasn't sure if they were statements or questions - filling in for all the silence he had let build between them during the cab ride.

When he found her - all curled up on top of her blanks, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly, he couldn't help but smile.

It all really was backwards - but he had all the time in the world to catch up.

Cleanse

Hopeless.

Thats what it was. She finally placed her finger on it. Today was hopeless.

And she felt helpless.

It was one of those days where she wished she was in her car, driving down some desolate highway, lost among the tumbleweeds and swirling clouds of sand, the perfect abandoned spot where she could roll up all the windows and just scream. Let it all out. The emotion. The pain. The disappointment.

That'd be too easy. If it was, that's what she would do every time she felt this way. Too convenient.

No. Today was different. She needed to be cleansed. The world needed to stop. Slow down. For as exasperated as it had made her, it was time for it to take a breath of its own. She left it all on her bed. Her wallet, her phone, ID, chap stick - anything that was in her pockets. She needed separation. She didn't need to be found.

So, she walked out to her car, mindless of the rain that was blanketing the ground. It was that summer rain that fell hard, fast, with no regard to what was below. The drops were fat. Heavy with weeks of perspiration that had been waiting to escape their gaseous prison in the sky. It was cold against her skin, pressing her shirt against her body - cold enough to instantly take her breath away, but refreshing to the point that the foundation of her woes began to crumble.

As she drove down the road to the coast, the rain pelted her windshield, obscuring the asphalt ahead of her. She wasn't concerned - from as early on as she could remember, the road beneath her tires had always meant one thing. Salvation. The beach. She had driven that road thousands of times - early in the morning, late nights, through storms, and cascading tears pouring from raw eyes. Nothing had stopped her before and she wasn't about to let the rain break her routine.

When she dove in, the sky rumbled. The clouds above her clapped, welcoming her to the sea - the lack of lightning let her know she was welcome. There was nothing to fear. It was there to embrace her, wrap its churning, crashing arms around her.

As she continued under the water, she could feel everything melting away. Being pulled off her skin, washed by the salt of the ocean - left to drift, to be picked at by the schools of fish below her. Discarded. Forgotten about. Devoured.

It wasn't until she crested the surface that she let everything go. The world had finally stopped.

And she could finally breath.

Nice To Meet You Molly

It wasn't until the cab driver was yelling at him in some unknown language that he knew the drugs had fully kicked in.

It was tough to grasp what was going on. Where he was. What he was doing. Everything was a blur. Literally. The lights outside the cab were whizzing by, streaks of neon hues in the darkness of the night - like an endless cosmic shower. His nose was flooded with the smells of hundreds of street vendors - chicken, pork, duck, something spicy, the unmistakably pungent soy that seemed to seep from all directions.

It wasn't until he found the door to his mind and climbed back in did he realize he was hanging halfway out the window, reaching towards the neon signs that were zooming by, attracted to them like a moth towards an open flame - coming within inches of smashing his hands off passing pedestrians and mopeds. God everything was so amazing. Bright. Vibrant. Alive. He felt so small, lost amongst the sea of people that were around him, flying by at what seemed like light speed. So insignificant. One tiny little cog in a giant, ever turning machine.

By this time his heart was racing. Bouncing around in his chest, pumping his blood faster than ever before.

It made him want to dance. Shake every part of his body. Find a beat and marry it, have a love affair with it, caress it, move with it, find all its hidden curves. The spots no one else knew about. Whisper in its ear. Make it his. He didn't know how much longer he could sit in the back of the cab. It felt suffocating, like it was closing in on him. The world outside was so inviting. Vivid. Breathing. Alive.

Luckily for him, as he neared his snapping point, the taxi came to a screeching halt, parked in front of a dark alley that led deep into the soul of the City. He could hear the music, seeping out from within, somewhere deep down among the walls, hidden in the dark, behind some sort of door - the kind you'd have to knock, be judged through the peep hole, and let in if you passed the standards.

He could feel it. The energy. 

The pulsing of the City was calling him - for his heart wasn't the only one beating.

Summertide

It was the late winter months that really bore down beneath his skin, past his bone, and into his marrow. Those were the hardest to sit through.

He couldn't work. The water was frozen. The air violent. The fish lay dormant, below the layers and layers of ice that had formed, sheltered from his assortment of hooks and traps. Protected from the bait that he'd drop behind his boat when he had rowed far out into the sea, hoping to pull them to the surface.

Everyone else had left - smart enough to get out before the snowdrifts pushed against their doors, blocked their windows from the sun. Occasionally the little fire that he had lit would be extinguished by the snow that was blown down the chimney. Those were the worst days. Wood was scarce at this time. Whatever was collected before the snowfall began was all one could survive on. It wasn't long until the cascading powder hid the rest.

There was no activity during these months.  He was one of the few to stay the entire year - either too proud or too stupid to go. A few others remained - but during these months, he wouldn't see them. Like himself, they were sure to be boarded up, waiting for the spring to thaw them out, free them from their bleak existence.

Spring would turn to summer. And that was his time

It was in the summer when he was out on the ocean everyday, bobbing up and down amongst the waves - nets dragging out behind his boat, catching his income and the dinners for those who had returned to the island. It was those months when the sun would beat down on his exposed back, like some sort of punishment, one that he would endure, making his skin dark and rough like weathered leather. His beard would grow out and become wispy, tangled within itself, as if each follicle had become lost at a party, meandering past the others, never sure which way to go - too drunk to find its way home. The salt from the ocean spray would cake his beard, creating a thin white layer to protect it from the rays of the sun. His hands would become rough. Worn from pulling in the lines - burned by the ropes if the sea took the nets too fast, yet still gentle enough to remove a hook from a fish's mouth without causing any pain.

As he sat there, huddled against the wall, he smiled, for the first beam of sunlight had found its way past the snowdrifts and fallen in the middle of the floor.

They were his months - those ruled by the sun and thankfully, it wouldn't be long until they arrived.

Seven Psychopaths

This following film looks:
                                         A) Intriguing
                                         B) Funny
                                         C) Well Written
                                         D) All of the Above

If you chose the answer D - then by gosh, you are correct!

Please tell me you've see "In Bruges"? If not, ok, do yourself a favor and go see it! It's an amazingly wonderful film, with a twist of disturbed, a pinch of dark, and a whole swig of humor. The perfect combo if you had to come up with a recipe.

So what is this film about? Well, dog snatchers, who steal dogs, hold them for a reward, and turn them in once said reward is offered. Seems all well and smooth right? Not when you steal the wrong dog. That's when shit hits the fan. Apparently anyway.

This trailer is out there. It's weird, upbeat, depressing, colorful yet bleak, and pretty unique.

The cast looks phenomenal though, Colin Farrell, Woody Harrelson, Christopher Walken, and one of my favorites (and most talented actors today) Sam Rockwell.

What more could one ask for? How about it being released even sooner.






And don't worry too much, I'm not already falling out of my writing habit, I was just a little tied up tonight and I got to blogging late. I'll have another full blown story tomorrow.

Promise!

Swallow

It was his.

All that lay before him was waiting. As was he. It hadn't been long since he had swallowed the pill. Felt the grit against of it between his teeth - the bitterness down among his taste buds.

It wouldn't be long before it was coursing through his veins, rocketing through his body, causing every muscle to fire, like dormant machines that had suddenly been thrown into overdrive. He could already feel it creeping into his soul. The music that was pumping from the streets below seemed to gravitate towards him, higher and higher, straight to his ears. The beat was beginning to grab him, move him, control him. His toes were clenched around the carpet - softer than anything he had every felt before. Lights were brighter, the buildings seemed bigger, his morals were loosening - the tempo of the city was shifting.

His restlessness approached hysteria.

As he left his room, he couldn't help but smile. It was inevitable. The drugs had kicked in. Ahead of him, the hallway seemed to stretch on, like some overly decorated carnival attraction. Each step he took, the further it continued. If he didn't have somewhere to go, he'd be more than happy to walk down it forever.

The elevator ride seemed to crawl through time. All he could focus on was the design of the carpet - as if the drip paintings of Jackson Pollock had made some bastard child with Pablo Picasso's blue period - a mess of abstractly splattered cubes. Did it mean something? It felt like it did. It was so bright. It was just so soft - without even realizing it - his shoe was off again, and his foot was caressing it. It all just felt so good.

The shutter of the elevator as it reached the lobby shook him from his trance. When the door opened, he was blinded by the lights overhead and the glitz and the glamour. Spread out before him was the lobby he had walked through so many times before, but now it was different. Enhanced. He fought the urge to run up to everyone and shake their hand, introduce himself, feel them, smell them, just be with them, in their company. His mind was going a million miles a minute. It was hard to concentrate. He knew he couldn't get sidetracked and lost amongst the crowds. He had to escape.

The first breath of air that went into his lungs was a salvation. Down it went, full of the street car vendors' aromas, the smog of all the rickshaws, the saltiness of the sea. It all culminated deep within his chest, pulling him back down to Earth for a brief moment. But it was fleeting. For as quickly as he came back down, he was lost again in the sea of endorphins that had been released with a simple swallow.

The city stretched out before him, waiting.

It was his time and he wasn't going to waste it.

Traveling Home

When he opened his eyes, the rising sun caught him by surprise. It burned bright. Orange. As if it was ready to dive below the horizon, but as he sat there, transfixed on the pulsating orb hanging in the sky, he realized it was just starting to rise.

He was only beginning his adventure.

His mind was empty. Void of sleep. Lost to the world around him. Fuzzy. Hazy. He had spent the last day in the air, crammed next to over a hundred and fifty other travelers. Not only separated by armrests and rows, but language barriers and accents. Few spoke, even fewer attempted. His throat was raw - dried out by the stale air that had been pumped through the vents in the ceiling. The food that had been served was average, but left a metallic taste in his mouth - his stomach yearned for more. His eyes throbbed, wanting release from the contacts that had been constraining them for the last twenty hours. Legs ached, ready to stretch, walk around on foreign soil - unconstricted by the person reclined ahead of him.

And yet, here he was. He couldn't even remember falling asleep - rumbling along in a taxi, further and further from the tarmac that had been laid out well in advance to welcome him. Being able to stretch out, legs not hitting a seat relaxed him. He felt free. Of course he knew where he was going - the end destination, but it meant nothing to him. His goal was clear, but everything else was foreign.

Only some of the signs ahead of him made sense. Words. Phrases. He couldn't pick out entire sentences. It was alright though. There was something about the feeling of being alone, lost, stranded that made him feel alive. It got his heart racing. The mere thought of being somewhere - a culture he didn't know, a language that tickled his tongue, ready to come out of his mouth, but couldn't - food that wafted aromas unlike anything that had ever filled his lungs, places he had never seen, faces he'd never recognize. It all sent a shiver down his spine.

He felt fresh - cleansed. Free to begin anew, for as long as he was there. Create a temporary new beginning.

It was only when he was his furthest away, that it feel like home.

Now What?

Ok, so now what?

My trip has been over for two weeks, but now the stories are over. So where do I go from here? Back to my roots and choose a photo, then write about it? Or should I continue posting some cool videos? You know, give you some visual stimulation.

I want truly want to write, but I need to get some sleep. It's been a long day and an even longer week. And on top of everything, I have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow. Blah. Not the way I like to go into a weekend - already tired. You better believe coffee will be flowing through my veins.

Anywho - as long as this week's been, I've been turning to my ska music to keep me motivated and happy. Its weird how you can connect with songs - sometimes it's like the artist wrote it specifically for you.

Crazy.

I hope you enjoy these as much as I do (even if you hate ska - give these a chance, they're not what you'd consider typical).

Chapter Six: Until We Meet Again

So we finally made it to LA - the last leg of the trip. The final conclusion.

Unfortunately, I had to work during the week (boo for not having unlimited vacation days), so that meant Paige was left to her own devices. Thankfully, being the social butterfly that she is, many friends reside in LA and were able to keep her busy until I got home from the office.

Don't worry, I won't talk too much about my day(s) at work, checking email, answering phones, counting the minutes until I got to go home - I won't bore you with any of that.

Monday:
This was probably the second hardest day for me to wake up. I had just had the most incredible week and a half of my life and work was getting in the way of it. It wasn't that I was tired, I just didn't want to go, especially with my friend being home all day. Regardless, she still made the best out of it. From what I know, she was able to do her laundry and even some of mine (talk about a good friend - holy moly), catch up with her family and friends on the phone (we had pretty much fallen off the grid), sleep in (by now you all should know how important that is), and watch the new American version of Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

When I got home - it was one of the best feelings ever. She was there waiting for me as I came bursting in through the door. So nice to have someone to come home to.

I immediately scooped her up and brought her around the town, up and down Rodeo Drive, through the mansions of Beverly Hills, through West Hollywood (like San Fran's Castro district), down Hollywood Blvd and back to Westwood, UCLA's downtown. Why Westwood of all places? I'll let the next picture do the talking for me.

Everyone's got to have it once in their lifetime right? Maybe it isn't the greatest thing on Earth, I'll admit that, I will, but it is still a damn good burger for how fast they serve it to you.

Next came desert. Still in Westwood - we crossed the street to Diddy Riese. Not familiar with it? Well - it is a bakery, that has the most ooey, gooey, perfect for dunking in milk cookies I've ever had in my life. Best part? Not only can you get a cookie for 65 cents, you can get two cookies, with your choice of ice cream slathered between them for $1.50. H-e-a-v-e-n.

You better believe we ate likes kings.

Food coma in full effect, we just passed out in bed.

Tuesday:
I had work. Wahoo. What else is new.

Paige had the pleasure of meeting up with a friend she had met in Spain two years ago (small world) and go down to Venice Beach. They spent most of the day there, soaking up the sun, sippin' on some beers, and catching up with one another.

When I was done with work, we met up with another friend (who we had met the prior week in Sonoma) for a drink, who had just happened to be passing through LA. Again - small world!

Not much else happened. We came home, hung out, passed out. Boom. Done.

Wednesday:
Work.

Paige on the other hand, had quite the day. She met up with Marie (who we met with drinks the night before, from Sonoma) and spent the day in Malibu. Not just in Malibu, but on the beach. Not only on the beach, but in the company of dolphins. Not only with a couple dolphins, but apparently with a pod of close to 40, that were in the water when they were, all around them, riding the waves like a surfer would. So unbelievably cool.

Apparently the waves were a bit rough that day too. Glad she made it out alive though!

For dinner, we made it out to Benihana's to meet Paige's cousin, who is a current student at USC. Absolutely great guy - fun loving, friendly, caring. It's clear these are traits that are passed along in the family. Everyone I've met has been wonderful.

On the way home, we made one quick late night pit stop at CVS for some aloe - the sun was not too friendly that day, and came home to sleep.

Thursday:
You guessed it - work.

Much like Monday, this was a day for Paige to relax, let her skin heal a bit, and catch up with one of our good friends from home, Jenn, who is getting married soon! So, they talked women stuff, about dresses and such.

When I got home, we drove down to Santa Monica to check out downtown and the pier. She had briefly seen it during the day, but the Promenade, is really lovely. It is this giant outdoor shopping area that is lit really beautifully, has street performers, and dinosaur hedge fountains. Yup. You read that correctly.

The pier itself, while nithing too special, is always nice for an evening stroll. The rides are going, the air is filled with the aroma hotdogs and churros, the sea pushes in a nice evening breeze. It's really just nice to be with someone and experience it all, while letting everything else go. Very special moment.

After the pier, we made sure we stopped and got some Boba Tea - a staple of our Ithaca College years. While the tea and tapioca balls were not as good, the nostalgia was overflowing.

Friday:
Could you guess it? Small world! Paige hung out with yet another friend from Spain! I was absolutely amazed. I couldn't believe how many people she knew from around the world, here, in LA!

Not only was I amazed, but I was glad that she was able to get out and do stuff with such a good friend. It really worked out well for her.

They spent most of the morning at the Getty Center, which is this huge museum on top of the Hollywood Hills, overlooking the entire city. One of the best features is its garden - this massive, sprawling section that has fountains and moats running throughout. I wish I could have joined them!

Next they saw the Grove, in Hollywood, which is a very swanky outdoor mall, with a wonderful daily famers' market that has some of the most amazing food in LA.

When I was done with work, we grabbed a quick drink together at a local bar, then headed out to see The Dark Knight Rises (in IMAX of course).

Saturday:
We woke up kind of late and made our way up to the Hollywood sign. We briefly drove through downtown, but didn't stop until we reached the trail for the sign. It was hot. The trail was busy. We were hungry and thirsty. Needless to say, we didn't hike much, but enough to get close to the sign for a photo op!

On the way home, I made sure we stopped in Laurel Canyon to find Joni Mitchell's house (one of the few destinations Paige really wanted to see while in LA - apparently she was a big influence on her when she was younger).

That night we went out in Santa Monica with a bunch of mutual friends, all from Ithaca a really tore up the town.

Sunday:
We tore up the town enough that we were slow to rise Sunday morning. A little too much beer and maybe a couple too many shots. It was alright though - the good kind of pain. The kind that reminds you that you may have had too much fun for your body to handle.

When we were up and ready to go, we drove down to Manhattan beach - my favorite beach in LA and had some crepes while sitting outside. Celebrity sighting of the day? Wee Man from Jackass. Ok, I know, not DiCaprio, or Julia Roberts caliber, but come on, he's a celebrity in his own right!

After stuffing ourselves with Nutella and caramel, we made it down to the beach and just stood with our feet in the water. We didn't say much. We didn't need to. We just enjoyed each other's company.

Making it back home, we stopped and picked up food from my favorite restaurant (which can be seen on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives), Gloria's and gorged ourselves on El Salvadorian food.

That night we did nothing special aside from hang out and talk about the trip.

Monday:
I can't get into details about Monday. It honestly was probably one the worst days for me in recent memory. I had so much fun over the last three weeks that I couldn't bare to have it end. Not only that, but I had to say goodbye to a friend again. Not the simple, "oh, see you next week," but the "maybe I'll see you in a year" kind of goodbye. The kind that doesn't promise anything.
_______________________________________________________________

But, as time set in and I reflected on the trip, everything fit into place. It was perfect. The memories formed will never be forgotten and the bond I share with Paige had only gotten stronger. I realized that, yes, while it was a goodbye, and as much as it hurt at that moment, it wasn't the end. We have so much more to do and experience together.

So on that note, I'll leave this story with three simple words.

To Be Continued....

Chapter Five: Welcome to SoCal

When we had finally laid down, sprawled in the seats of my car, we feel asleep to the sound of crashing waves, just beyond the road where we had parked.

When I awoke (Paige was still oblivious to the world, lost amongst the folds of her sleeping bag), it was to the sounds of closing car doors, wax being spread onto boards, and zippers being pulled up. Sitting up in my seat, I strained to see outside the car, but struggled because of the thick layer of condensation that had formed inside of the car. Wiping it clear, I was shocked to see the road packed with cars and surfers, all getting ready to plunge into the morning swells. It was quite the sight to see. Who would have thought that the road that was empty the night before, was the local surfing spot. Rad dude.

After a little while, Paige finally stirred and cracked a smile, accompanied with a groggy "good morning." From there, we knew exactly what we needed to do - back track about six miles up the coast, to a specific cove that had been carved out by the waves over the last twenty years.

Pulling into the nearby swath of dirt that was designated as a parking lot, neither of us could wait to get out of the car. Walking quickly over to the edge of the cove, Paige let out a little squeal and I was speechless. There before us, laid out all over the beach and on top of one another, were some of the most hideous creatures I had ever seen. Elephant seals.

Not only were these things rather unattractive, the noises that came out of them were even stranger. I don't really even know how to describe it. Somewhere between a clogged drain or toilet, mixed with a busted washing machine. It certainly didn't sound natural, nor friendly. Couple these features with their lack of motivation - they'd move five feet then flop to a halt, as if it was the most strenuous activity in the world - and you have laying before you a creature that leaves you wondering how it made it so far along the evolutionary chain. They were an absolute hoot to see, don't get me wrong - we actually stared at them for probably close to forty five minutes, but man, were they some strange, ugly creatures.

Continuing down the coast, we just soaked up the views and chit chatted. We stopped at a few little towns, one of the main stops being Pismo Beach. I fell in love. I know I've said this a lot in the retelling of this trip, but this was thee perfect Southern California beach town. Surf shops were everywhere. Local seafood restaurants dominated the air space, filling your nose with all sorts of wonderful concoctions pulled from the sea. People were smiling. The waves were crashing. The breeze felt clean against your cheeks and refreshing as it blew threw your hair, tickling your scalp. It reminded me of what I miss about the East Coast and LBI. It reminded me of home.

What came next on our trip down the PCH was down right scary. For those of you who read my blog when I first began it, when I documented my move out West, you'll remember my feelings towards Branson, Missouri. Let me tell you...

We had another Branson moment.

This time, we stumbled upon Slovang, a Dutch Town, founded in 1911. While pretty, it was as hokey as can be. We're talking waffle and pancake houses everywhere, windmills, danish shops, carved store fronts. We weren't safe from anything.

When Paige had first mentioned Slovang, it sounded fun and interesting. Like we were going to step back in time, like driving through Amish country in Pennsylvania. We were wrong. This was 110% pure tourist trap. Sure, did we eat some pastries? Guilty. Were they good? Guilty again. Did I feel good about being one of those passing tourists who had been sucked into it's streets? Absolutely not. I'll be completely honest with you. We didn't stay for very long. A quick pastry, coffee refill, bathroom break, and we were on our way. I really just couldn't stop laughing the whole time I was there. I couldn't tell if it was because I felt like I had stumbled into the Twilight Zone or if the look of amazement and joy on all the other tourists' faces just made me that uncomfortable. Unlike Branson, I don't think I would have made it through the night. I need out. Immediately.

Ah Santa Barbara - how lovely are you? You guessed it, that was our next big stop for the day, to grab a late lunch at a rather popular chain of restaurants, Wahoo's Fish Taco's. It was my first time in Santa Barbara and it really reminded me of what Sonoma would be like if you plopped it down the coast a couple hundred miles. Houses were built into the hills, vineyards sprawled everywhere - the people friendly. The main street also kind of felt like a California Ithaca. It was lined with shops and restaurants and filled with a younger crowd. By the time we had hit Santa Barbara, we needed to pick up our pace a little in order to get home at a reasonable time, so we scarfed down our fish tacos and shrimp enchiladas, crawled back into the car and began our journey to Malibu.

Unfortunately as we approached Malibu, it had grown dark enough that most of the sights to see weren't anything special, but the moon had begun reflecting off the ocean perfectly, illuminating the road ahead of us like a giant streetlight.

Highlight of Malibu? Passing Jennifer Aniston's beach house.

So where did we end up next, at the bottom of the PCH? Santa Monica. My home.

And that my friends, was the end of the road trip. I know, a sad moment. I'm sad even thinking about it now, remembering all the memories and moments shared along the trip.

But wait!

Don't worry! While the road trip portion is over, we still have a week of time spent in LA to discuss! Wahoo!

So sit back and relax, we still have at least Chapter 6 to go.

Total Miles Driven: 1,644  

                                   Moo cows just chillin' on the PCH

Chapter Four: You'd Assume A Place Named Pie Ranch Would Have Pies

When we left Sonoma, our minds were relaxed, bellies filled with wine (along with the back seat and trunk), and the dirt from Yosemite had finally been scrubbed clean.

Our next part of the trip was to travel down the Pacific Coast Highway (CA-1 for all your tourists), soaking up the coastal views, sheer cliff walls, seals, and winding road. Now, it is a trip that could be made in a single day - totaling 489 miles, but we really wanted to enjoy ourselves and be able to stop where we wanted, whenever we wanted, so we decided to break the drive up into two chunks. Half one day, half the other.

Leaving Sonoma, it was hot. I'm not talking about uncomfortable or even manageable hot either. I was sitting in the drivers seat, shorts and a tank top, and I was miserable. If any of you out there know me - I like the heat. The hotter the better. Humid, dry, I don't care, crank it up and I'm fine. But on that particular day, I was in pain. I could feel the sweat just running down my back. See it running into the corners of my eyes. I probably could have driven in just underwear, but I had a lady in the car - I had to be presentable. I could not wait to reach the highway and crank the windows down and let the wind wrap me up. Luckily, it wasn't long until we were out of wine country and back out on the open road.

Our first site to see was the Golden Gate Bridge. While in San Fran, I was lucky enough to pass it, get some great photos of if, but ever actually set foot on it. This time, I had the pleasure of driving over it. It was absolutely marveling. Looming over us as we passed under its arches. I always knew it was big, but crossing it really put it in perspective. That. Is. One. Large. Bridge.

We quickly made our way through San Fran - contemplating a pit stop, but decided against it because we had so much more to see ahead. It really wasn't long until we hit the PCH and the view just opened up. Almost immediately, the coast appeared and the road just disappeared, winding down along the water.

The views were absolutely ridiculous. At times it was hard keeping my eyes on the road. Cliffs just dropped away to pristine, uninhabited beaches. Waves crashed along the jutting rocks. The water was so blue, so clean, so inviting. And that was just to the right. To the left, the mountains rose and fell, covered in tall grass that swayed in the breeze, inhabited by the occasional cow staring at the passing cars. It really is a sight to be seen.

Continuing on our way, we kept seeing signs for fresh berries and decided we needed some. Thats when, as if on cue, the sign for Pie Ranch appeared. We looked at each other and we knew. That was our place. Pulling in, it was packed. I was excited, giddy at the thought of buying a pie and housing it in the car - stuffing my face with boysenberry, or raspberry, or rhubarb. It all sounded so damn good. With whip cream of course. So imagine our disappointment when we stroll in to see no pies. And virtually no berries? I wasn't mad, I wasn't even sad. I was offended. I wanted to yell, scream. How could Pie Ranch run out of pies!? The world pie is in the god damned name! It wasn't called Limited Amount Of Pie Ranch. So. Utterly. Lame.

                          Eph you Pie Ranch - you shattered my dreams

Dejected, we crawled back into the car and continued down the road. Luckily for us, the view only managed to get better and about twenty to thirty minutes down the road, we found our Mecca. The holy land. Swanton Berry Farm. We pulled over and when we walked in, I was speechless. It was amazing. Berry everything. Shortcakes, truffles, jams, cobblers, fresh berries. The list goes on an on and on. Not only that, but everything was Earth friendly. Biodegradable dishes and silverware. They even had empty glass jam jars for coffee. But the most impressive thing? The people that ran the place, while around, didn't monitor the shop/bakery/kitchen area. So, it was an honor system based method of payment. A cash drawer was out in the open, with a small sign explaining to pay for everything yourself and to please be "fair." I was stunned. Coming from LA - you'd never see anything like this. In a strange way it melted my heart.

Paige and I made out selections; strawberry and blackberry shortcakes, a basket of berries, and two coffees and just sat, people watched, and enjoyed ourselves. We didn't say much, but just soaked it all in. It may have been one of the most relaxing moments of the trip. Looking at each other, we both decided that this is something we would both be happy doing - living up in the middle of no where, picking berries, running a small business like this, backed by a union of farmers. It reminded me of what I loved about Ithaca so much. That sense of community, but removal from the regular world. It was refreshing being on a farm, where morals, and pride are more valued than how much is in your wallet.

By the time we left Swanton Farms, it was beginning to get dark. The fog started to roll in and we decided it would be smart to find a place to sleep, not wanting to burn too much of the drive during the night and miss the view. We had assumed it'd be easy to find a place. Boy were we wrong.

It was mainly my fault for being naive, but I never thought that the PCH was a touristy thing to do. Again, how much more wrong could I have been? Not very. Secondly, it was a Saturday night, so it was that much more busy. We drove and we drove, stopping at each motel, asking if any rooms were available, only to be turned down by each and prompted to continue further down the coast. We eventually hit the main strip of motels, probably close to twenty, lining both sides of the highway, only to learn all of them were sold out.

At that point we decided dinner was more important. It was now ten, and we were hungry and tired. We eventually found a place, a rather empty, beachfront imitation diner, where the food was drastically overpriced and they couldn't tell the difference between Sprite or water (d'oh).

When our stomachs were full, we tried to find a store that was open to find water to brush our teeth and drink, but it was too late. We even knocked and begged at a store for the cleaning ladies to let us in. It was rather funny - us wandering around, clearly rather lost without somewhere to stay, while the hotels all had bars that were full of people having a good time. From the inside looking out, we must have looked pretty sad. But, in retrospect, there is no one else I'd rather share that experience with. We made light out of the situation, laughing at everything. I felt bad, guilty for messing up this leg of the trip but not planning ahead. Thankfully I had the perfect company, who melted away all of those feelings.

Eventually we posted up on a side road, reclined the two seats and curled up in our sleeping bags from Yosemite (clutch) and passed out next to each other, separated by the center console of my Civic (great room accommodations).

Ideal? Hardly, but we made the best out of it. After all, this was supposed to be an adventure right?

Dr. In The House

We interrupt the scheduled story telling hour for a brief message....

My mom is a Motha fuckin' doctor!

Holla girl!

Doctorate work is done! Congrats Mom!

We're all so proud of you!

Chapter Three: How's It Taste? Like Dirt

When we first pulled up to Ravenswood Winery in Sonoma Valley, CA, I was nervous. Not because I don't enjoy drinking. Not because I enjoy how obnoxiously giggly I get when wine drunk. Not because I didn't know the first thing about wine.

No - I was nervous because I was supposed to meet my travel buddy's best friend from Spain. Sure not a lot of pressure. Easy right? Who was I to them other than a friend's college acquaintance.

But, I had literally just crawled out of the woods. I was sweaty, going on four days without a shower, still in camping clothing, had dirt shoved so far underneath my nails, and had gone more than a week without shaving (which, if you don't know me, is the point at which I begin to look like I'm a member of the jihad, especially when you throw on some aviator glasses). So all I could picture was me, walking into this nice winery, mangy, dirty, and smelly.

Great first impression.

Thank god we had a moment to primp ourselves in the parkinglot. And by we, I mean me. I doused myself in cologne and deodorant, threw on some pants, and prayed for the best.

Now, there is one thing I've noticed about my close friends, that makes them stand out amongst all my other friends. They have this knack of surrounding themselves with the most amazing people. From the moment I met Chelsea, I just felt her warmth radiate through me. I only got to spend three days with her, but she has got to be one of the most genuine, down to Earth, fun-loving, happy people I've ever met. I wish I could name a time, other than when she was asleep that she didn't have a smile of her face from ear to ear. It wasn't one of those "post braces, I have to show all my teeth" smiles either - it was the real, from the depth of my heart smiles that could light up a room, causing you to smile back.

And from there, my example continues, for we met Chelsea's college roommate, Marie, who was as equally amazing. Its just staggering to know wonderful people gravitate towards one another. You never really have to worry about hitting a bad group, unless, of course, you're the asshole.

But, I digress. So, back to the wine? I mentioned above I know jack squat about wine. I know I know. I spent four years in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York and never went wine tasting. Say what!? I dropped the ball. Hard.

I never knew there were so many! Syrah, Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec, Pinot Noir, Zinfandel, Sangiovese, Barbera, Chardonnay, Cuvee, Dessert wines, ugh, my head was spinning! But, let's not beat around the bush. I enjoy wine. I know I do. I enjoy white zinfandel (thanks Mom - one guy at a winery actually laughed at me for that reference) and these are the real wines (no offense). So, what did I do? Read the descriptions, following the instructions of swirling the glass to appreciate the legs of each wine. I sniffed, breathing deep into my lungs, swirled some more, then took a sip - making sure, of course, to swish lightly in my mouth before swallowing. Hmmm what do I taste? Leather? Tobacco? Raspberry? Passion fruit? Chocolate?

Let's be real here. It tastes like wine. Yeah - fermented grapes. Do I pick up on some of that other stuff? Sure, of course I do, but it's all subjective, since the dirt in which the grapes are planted determine all the flavors. And I'm pretty sure none of those items listed above are in said dirt. But again, I digress.

I learned two things from wine tasting. I like the wine. I don't like the wine. And to be completely honest, between the 6+ wineries we went to, and the 25+ wines I tried...I liked every single one. Red or white. It was really a treat. Go ahead. Call me a drunk. Ok, do me a favor, at least call me a wino.

So when we got back home (don't worry - we didn't go to all the wineries in one day - especially when I was driving that first day) - I walked into Chelsea's beautiful home, in which we were staying, and was greeted by two of the most wonderful dogs I've met in recent memory, Max and Roxy.

These two were a stitch. They were father and daughter, and had a strange habit of humping each other throughout the yard and yes, I'm that immature. Every single time I saw it, I just burst out laughing. Sexual as they were with one another, they really were fantastic dogs that would follow you around all day, sit at your feet, ask for your attention, and love you unconditionally. Growing up, my dog never played fetch. Totally gave off the "You expect me to chase that?" vibe. Now, she'd wrestle with you, and nearly take your fingers off in the process, but the act of throwing something, only to have a dog immediately bring it back is foreign to me. So, I took advantage of it and played with Max and Roxy every possible moment. I'll miss those two and their grimy little tennis ball.

So what did we do in Sonoma other than drink wine? I'm glad you asked. Our first night we ate some bomb pizza and went to a winery (duh) to watch Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window on an inflatable projector outside. Good thing we brought a lot of blankets, because Sonoma gets cold. But it was a hoot, being snuggled up with everyone. The whole evening was wonderful. I was a little skeptical to be the only film geek among a group at such an old film, but all of them loved it. I could visibly see them getting tense as the neighbor broke into Jimmy Stewarts apartment and hear them exhale when he is saved. It was a relief to know the classics are still relevant even today.

The next day we went wine tasting and did most of the damage, stopping at three wineries. But, much like my description(s) of the others, we drank wine, giggled obnoxiously next to those "more serious wine tasters" next to us, got drunk, and enjoyed each other's company. It was great seeing Paige and Chelsea interact - two friends from across the world reunited in California. The energy the two of them bring into a room when they are together is refreshing, truly something to behold. I was lucky to be a part of their dynamic duo, even if for such a short period of time.

                                     Thanks for showing us a great time Chelsea!


It was super sad when we had to leave because Sonoma is one of those towns you just instantly fall in love with. The fields of grapes stretch out before you - row upon row. A rolling sea of green. Downtown was quant yet full of life. Upbeat and modern yet at the same time carrying with it a vintage vibe. Everyone we ran into had a smile of their face. The air was clean, the sun was hot, the wine flowed.

I'm really glad that I experienced Sonoma with the group I did. For this being my first time truly wine tasting, it was perfect.

***Editors Note:  I don't think wine tastes like dirt as the title suggests (long inside story with my mother haha). And I do taste some of their suggested aromas...but leather or tar? Come on now.***

Chapter Two: Into The Wild

It was accepted long before the trip that reserving a campsite at Yosemite was an impossible task. One would have to reserve almost 6 months in advance. Over 4 million people visit the Valley and surrounding meadows every year. Yup, that's a lot of tourists.

So what was the plan? To get to the park in time to get a spot in one of their "first come first serve" sites. Which, in my mind, is a brilliant idea. It allows those who did not have the chance to reserve a spot to still have a chance. Basically you show up, find an uninhabited spot and you're able to stay for up to a week. Pretty sweet deal.

The plan was set. It was perfect. Six alarms, between two phones. We'd get up at around 4am, be on the road by 4:30 (from San Fran) and make it to one of the above mentioned sites before they opened for reservations, which was 9am.

Boom. Perfect. Right?

Well, I had designated myself driver in the morning. I was more than willing to let my partner sleep on the way. All I'd need was some coffee.

I made one grave mistake. I had too much fun that night. We didn't do anything crazy. We had a late meal at this superb Indian restaurant (apricot curry....mmmm), hung out with the family and residents of the B n B that we were staying at (owned by family), and once curled up in bed, laid there and caught up - rehashing old times, laughing at past bullshit, the occasional thrown pillow. You know, everything you'd expect 24 year olds to do when they reunite.

By the time we agreed to shut our eyes and get some rest, a night's sleep in preparation for the road had turned into a two hour nap. Now, usually, this isn't an issue. For some reason, less sleep allows me to function better the next day. I've done it before and it has worked out swimmingly. But, throw in how tired I had been from my adventures in San Fran, and you have one tired little irishman.

When I felt the sun on my face, I smiled. It felt nice. Warm, inviting. It even prompted me to throw the comforter off of me because I was that warm. Thats when it sunk in. The sun? Warmth? Thats not possible at 4am. Scrambling up and finding my phone - it was 8:30. How in the fuck had that happened!? I roused my buddy and they, in their groggy, post awakened state, just kind of let out a "Ohh nooo."

I don't think I've ever moved so fast and I know for a fact I've never seen her move so fast. Our things were packed, piled, and stuffed into my car by 8:30 and we were on the road by 9.

Super easy trip to Yosemite (aside from the stop for coffee where I looked for my wallet for a solid 15 minutes and had a mini freakout thinking I left it in San Fran and would have to return, only to find it wedged next to my seat, for it had fallen out of my sweat pants [also known as soft pants - for future use]).

So we finally arrived, somewhere around 12:30pm. Ok...a little behind schedule. Lucky for us, because it was the weekday, Monday to be exact, the park was more empty than on a weekend. Driving into town, we asked around and got a list of sites that still had openings. We stocked up on some water, gatorade, and a quick snack and hauled ass to said campsite, hoping it was still vacant. Thankfully, it was.

Basic campsite was all we needed. Bear box. Picnic table. Fire pit. We brought everything else. And was it wonderful. We were nestled right next to a creek, so we feel asleep to the trickling water every night.

We hiked every single day - for four days. We saw four waterfalls, half dome, mirror lake, squirrels, deer, snakes, lizards, and best of all, a hawk knock a pelican (why a pelican was in Yosemite, we still don't know to this day) out of the air, onto the ground, literally RIGHT in front of our car while driving. We had to stop. It was nuts. Mother Nature at her finest! I wish I could describe it in full detail, but at first we thought two birds were flying together, until one just started plummeting after the other swopped at it. The look on the pelican's face was ridiculous - pure confusion and fear. Not something I need to have stuck in my mind - sorry to bring it up.

The sights were amazing. It didn't matter where we were, I was speechless. The vastness of how large to Valley was really struck me. The lushness of the forest, the silence up on the side of the mountains, the sheer scale of the cliff walls, the freshness of the air. It will all be with me for as long as I live. I'm already itching to go back. The change in scenery in Yosemite was breathtaking. At first the forest was burned, clearly by a fire, then upon exiting a mountain tunnel, the world just opens up ahead of you, seemingly never ending. Once on the valley floor, cliffs surround you, the shortest still being at least 1,100 feet tall. Some hikes made it feel like we were in a desert, soft sand everywhere, while others brought you passed hulking red woods. Booming waterfalls would appear on the horizon, miles away, only for you to eventually get up close enough to touch them.

But what mattered most to me was the time in the woods. It had been so long since I had camped, over six years, well before I had went into college. It brought me back to my roots. The serenity of the woods, the clearness it brings the soul. How the lack of cleanliness is soothing, the smell of smoke from the fire baths your skin and plants itself deep in the follicles of your hair. You feel raw. You feel right. The sights, sounds, smells all culminate into peace. It all just erases the stress. My company made it ten fold better as well. Our chats around the fire, the self cooked meals (burgers with fried eggs on top, omelets, tin foil meals -  turkey stew and fajitas - yes, literally pack tin foil balls with ingredients and leave them in the coals to cook, baked apples, irish coffee), laying in the tent giggling as loud as we wanted because we knew we were alone, the sharing of stories from the last two years. It was just pure bliss.

But the highlight of it all?

Finding a massive boulder jutting out of the ground in the middle of the woods and just lying on top of it together, staring up at the night sky. I've never seen stars like I did in Yosemite. There were hundreds of thousands. Those were just the obvious ones. Behind those, much dimmer were the other million. They just stretched on forever, pulling you towards them, proving how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. We talked. About life. Our journeys. What was sprawled out on display above us. All capitalized by shooting stars. They were everywhere. As if the cosmos was holding a belated Fourth of July/

It was a perfect moment.

And it was ours.

When it was time to leave, I knew, because it was raining. Just like in Boy Scouts, the day you leave always somehow brings with it the bad weather. Maybe to make your time there seem even more magical.

We packed up and crawled into the car, ready for our next stop, a warm shower, and somewhere to do our laundry.

It was hard leaving Yosemite - it is a place that will always hold a special part of my heart. But the memories formed there outweighed the pain of leaving the wilderness behind.

Chapter One: San Fran

I have to admit, as my trip began, driving up the 5, North towards San Francisco, I had my apprehensions. I was nervous and certainly scared.

How were things going to turn out? We hadn't seen each other in years, it was a city I was unfamiliar with, I was going to be staying with her extended family, whom I had never met. Would I fit in? Would I feel overwhelmed? All of these thoughts went racing through my head.

Yet - the moment I saw her, eyes bright and welcoming, smiling from the staircase of her Aunt's house - I knew San Fran was going to be a blast.

My god - what a beautiful city. It reminds me of LA in the sense that there are different neighborhoods everywhere and that no matter where you roam, the scenery continuously changes, but manages to be as stunning in each new area as the last.  The Castro, the Mission, China Town, Downtown, the Bay, Alcatraz, Russian Hill, the Haight Ashbury, North Beach. All had their unique charm.

We did all the touristy things, went down to the wharf, with all the aromas that dangle in the air, just waiting to be inhaled. The salt of the sea, the boiled lump crab meat, the steaming chowders, the tangy nip of sourdough bread. It all just hung there, thick as can be, waiting to be disturbed by those passing by. I have to say it surely didn't disappoint (although their clam chowder - as fresh as it is, doesn't have anything on New England style).

The trolly cars were beautiful! We never made it on one, but damn did they parade down the street with such charm and vigor. A real snapshot of the past.

Downtown was neatly laid out and clean, kind of if New York had a bastard child with LA. It has all the prim and proper looks up an upscale city, with the little bit of grime to make it feel like a real city.

Now, the people? What a hoot! Everyone was so nice. So down to Earth. Hell, most were so high. We even got to hang out one night in an artist commune, where 23 artists lived, taught each other things, and meditated. Man, was that a friggin' trip. These people were operating on a completely different level. One guy, even swore that by meditating with oms, he could "charge" a crystal with positive energy, crush it up into ink, and screen print it onto any pice of clothing to correct your balance, posture, and general life existence.

Wow.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not making fun of him or doubting his beliefs, it just intrigued me that someone could believe in something like that so passionately (don't worry - we're not talking Branson, MO level here. Don't worry - that comes later).

Of course we ate amazing food (Asian, Indian, American, Mexican, Cuban), shared amazing laughs, and tore up the town. I met so many different people, all of which I may never see again in my life, but I know if I do, I'll be met with a warm embrace.

At times I stumbled around. Ok, I won't lie, every night I stumbled around, drunk from one of the local bars, yet I never felt unsafe. The city somehow had this way of embracing you, taking you in, and watching over you. It felt the most like home any foreign place ever has. I was warmed by the lights on the streets, made aware by the brisk, damp air, and protected by shadows of the looming old victorian houses. It just all felt so right.

My parents had sworn I'd love San Fran - that'd it'd be my "Paris of America" (yes, obviously I have a strong affinity for Paris). And, just like they were right about, before I had even visited, Ithaca being my perfect fit for school, San Fran was absoluty stunning. It won me over - almost immediately. From the first hill that I saw in the Haight to the view leaving on the Bay Bridge - I was in metropolitan love.

I don't know if i could live there indefinitely at this age, but when I slow down, and get some pepper in my hair, I could totally see myself perched up there.

I'll always remember San Fran for the crisp air, rolling fog, abundance of laughter, and late nights spurned on by catching up and rehashing old memories.

All in all, it was a perfect way to start the trip.

And boy, did it only get better from there.