Great Expectations

America was always an afterthought for me. I never paid much attention to what I would do when I got there. I’d already come to the conclusion that whatever money I had left would determine what I’d see and where I would go. Thankfully, I paid for a seven day tour before I even stepped on my first plane.

Booking a tour was a risk. My main worry was that I’d get stuck with people I don’t get on with. I decided to give touring a chance as I’d get to see a lot in a short space of time. As I wasn’t sure what money I’d have left when I hit America, it was a security blanket as I knew I’d see some big tourist spots. I just hoped my gamble would pay off.

*****

The first of many shocks came instantaneously during the check-in process with the tour leader. Firstly, I was the only person aged over 21. No I’m not pulling the age card in a pathetic I-feel-so-old tantrum. I’m despairing because it means I’m the only one who can drink and gamble. My dreams of debauchery in Las Vegas and slumming it in an off-road saloon crashed and burned by my feet.

My spirits dampened further when we hung around for one straggler. We were meant to leave at 8am but it was well after 9am when we started loading the van.

A quick head count, 6 of us all together plus the driver. Oh dear. There was a silver lining though, it meant there was more room to stretch out in the van. Temperatures were already high and due to elevate as we made our way further into the desert. Space is definitely what I needed right at that moment.

Our long drive was broken up by a couple of pit stops. First we needed snacks. My search for a Twinkie wasn’t as traumatic as Woody Harrelson’s (Tallahassee) in Zombieland but I was just as happy when I embraced the “spongy, yellow delicious bastards!”.

Former roommate Gen took my photo and understood the joke but the rest of the girls looked at me like I was crazy. They kept on asking one vexing question, “why?”. People who don’t get my sense of humour, hooray.

We passed a rundown saloon which we couldn’t go in because everyone was underage. Instead we took an awkward first group photo.

We were all very aware of our personal space

Once that was out of the way it was only a couple of hours before we entered Joshua Tree National Park. There was nobody to be seen and the heat brought everyone down to crawling speed and welcome silence.

Every now and then our tour guide Ken would interject the peace with observations and stories.

One that stuck out for me was the connection late American singer Gram Parsons had with the park. The story goes that Joshua Tree Monument as it was then called became a regular haunt for Parsons and his friends. He loved that place so much that he made a pact with his road manager and close friend Phil Kaufman – whoever died first, the survivor would take their remains to Joshua Tree, have a few drinks and burn the body.

Sadly Parsons died of a drug overdose in September 1973. A spanner in the works came for Kaufman as Parsons’ stepfather had alternate plans. In order to gain Gram’s estate, his stepfather would need his body to be buried in Louisiana.

A strong dose of liquid courage later, Kaufman knew that he could not go back on his friend’s promise. He gained the help of one of his friends and kidnapped Parsons’ body at LAX. They got as far as Joshua Tree and noticed the police were chasing them. Kaufman doused the body in fuel, set fire to the body in its coffin and watched as a giant fireball engulfed the area. Satisfied that their job was done, the two fled the scene.

Kaufman and his friend turned themselves into the police a few weeks later. Funnily enough, the pair could not be sentenced with anything heavy as it was not against the law to steal a dead body. Instead, they were fined for taking the coffin and the damages that were incurred.

Since hearing the story I read up more about it and found out that Kaufman threw a party to raise funds to pay the fine. Also, Gram’s stepfather did succeed in burying his stepson in Louisiana but his underlying plan was thwarted by a Florida court (click here to read more).

Our tour guide Ken informed us that we might not know Parsons by name but would recognise one of his songs. I later found out that the song Ken mentioned – For What It’s Worth – is actually performed by Buffalo Springfield who have nothing to do with Gram Parsons! Whoops!

Ken had previously joked about him and his fellow tour guides making up random but believable facts and relishing in the thought that people would go around spouting utter crap thinking it was true. Maybe this was it…maybe not…

We opted to walk the shortest trail, not because we were bored or that Joshua Tree is awful, but because it was so darn hot. Yes I’m a wimp. Joshua Tree’s landscape was mightily impressive. Spiky angry trees littered a vast dusty canvas. Rock formations cordoned off certain areas and reached great heights yet looked so delicate like a smooth-edged Jenga. I can see why Parsons was so taken with this place.

Upon closer inspection, we found some petroglyphs (rock carvings). One of the girls enquired further about the particular carvings we were looking at as they were painted. Were they supposed to be that way? They looked very artificial. Ken drew a blank.

Brightly painted drawings that differed to other carvings at Joshua Tree

With impeccable timing a pair of middle-aged American guys must have overheard us and chipped in. It’s all Walt Disney’s fault. They were painted in for a Disney film but the paint never washed off. It sounded plausible. Checking online, it seems to have some truth to it.

That’s enough culture and mystery for the day. We made a quick stop at McDonalds to cool down. The McFlurrys are giant!

As it was our first night of camping, we underestimated how long it would take for us to set up camp and sort out food. It was a mad rush to beat the sunset. After pitching up the tent – which I was actually pretty good at (I know, I’m shocked too!) – we ended up cowboying. By this I mean we slept outside, under the stars.

Thankfully we didn’t go all Blazing Saddles and eat baked beans for dinner, we had pasta instead. Ken had banged on all day about this fantastic bread he bought from the bakery. The other girls were excited, as was I as being a backpacker, eating good bread is a rarity.

It seems good bread in America isn’t the same as good bread in Europe. It was a large white soft sub. We were expecting fresh crunchy bread. It wasn’t something that aggravated us, we just laughed. At least it was something we all agreed on. The rest of the evening was extremely awkward. Ken went round the table and asked us questions. It started simple – age, where we’re from, what is our travel history etc. Then he moved on to asking anecdotal questions about our craziest travel stories and what our hobbies are. It was definitely a tumbleweed moment.

One responded by saying that because they were only 19, they hadn’t lived long enough to have any crazy stories or travelled much. Wow, at that point I decided to save my stories. I glanced across the river and saw a large campsite playing loud music. Somebody was having fun tonight.

We all settled down and tried to get some sleep. I missed a shooting star because I didn’t have my lenses in. Just my luck. The next day was going to be long as we made our way to the Grand Canyon.

LA Photos

girlmeetsadventure's photostream on Flickr.

Google recently told me that I have ran out of space and am no longer able to upload photos. Bit of a bummer really as I tend to upload quite a few photos per post to add to my story.
I have since found alternative means by uploading albums via Flickr. It's not as good as having the photos integrated into my posts but it's better than nothing :)
Double click on one of the photos and it will take you to the photostream on my Flickr account. Thanks.

Food For Thought

You may have noticed that I didn't really talk about food in my LA post. Unless you count my cake conquest. The reason for this is that I didn't really have any decent meals there. Not to say that there isn't any great food in LA, I'm sure there is somewhere, I just didn't have any of it.

Running with the Mexican theme that dominated my food choices in San Diego, I thought I'd give that a go in LA. I went to a nearby Mexican joint and was greeted by their front-of-house staff member. I decided to sit outside as it was a nice day and provided the perfect opportunity to people watch. The place was pretty packed but there were plenty of waitresses around. I asked the greeter if I needed to order at the bar and he assured me that a waitress would be over soon.

Perhaps the term soon in America means a while as I waited for about 20 minutes. The funny thing was, I sat about two feet away from the greeter. He could obviously see that I wasn't being served yet did nothing about it. None of the waiting staff came outside so there was nobody to flag. In the end I had to walk in and get someone's attention.

The food was mediocre just like the customer service. You would think that the highlight of my meal was getting the bill so I could leave but it wasn't. I had to decide how much money to give as a tip.

In England**, tipping isn't compulsory. Despite people's preconceptions, not that many people tip at home. It's said that you should tip if you've received a great service or if someone has gone the extra mile for you. I believe, however, that regardless of the service that's received, people either tip or they don't. I also think it's a tradition passed down through a person's family. This is what I learnt whilst I waitressed before leaving England.

America on the other hand have it completely backwards. Tipping is essential and is a reprehensible act if not followed through. I understand the argument that the waiting staff get paid well below minimum wage and managers expect staff to make up wages with tips. I think this is more deplorable than not leaving a tip in the first place. But it extends to taxi drivers, hairdressers and even bartenders. 

Every guide book I read before I set off on my travels explained that you need to tip a bartender at least a dollar per round or drink to ensure that you get served again. That's not a tip my friend, that's a bribe.

Gone were the days where I could lean forward and give a flirty smile to ensure I get served before anyone else. Damn.

The growing list of occupations and situations where tipping is fundamental far outweighs the timid argument that it's needed to boost a person's wage. The varying levels of service received - from a waitress running ragged around a busy restaurant to someone handing a ready-made burger on a plastic tray - must surely ring alarm bells. I guess it's been drilled into people's minds so much that they don't even think about it now.

Let me be clear though, I don't completely disagree with tipping. Like I said, I've waitressed and I know how hard-going it is. I think it's deserving and whenever I feel I've had a good service or I get on with the waiter/ess, I always leave a tip, more so when it's a small or independent restaurant.

What I don't agree with is tipping for the sake of it, or worse, tipping even though my experience has been unpleasant (to put it politely). At first, I thought that because people's livelihoods rested on these tips, that people would work damn hard to ensure that they get those tips. Unfortunately reality sucks and that isn't the case. I know how I feel as an underpaid and under-appreciated worker and working hard is the last thing I feel like doing. Leaving a tip becomes a sense of entitlement to workers who scorn at those who don't abide by the rules. It's something that is rightfully theirs. It shouldn't be like this. The gesture of goodwill has gone. There is no selfless good deed and I'm not ashamed to admit that normally I feel good when I leave a tip as I know how it feels to get one. I like to know that it has been appreciated. It's a token - you've given a great service and I want you to know that. This concept is sadly lost in America.

So, bitterly, I left 10% of the bill total. I didn't like it, it wasn't deserved and I doubt it was appreciated.

** I wrote about my experiences in Tip Of The Iceberg Mate

A Life Full Of Single Serving Friends

Glitz and glamour are the first words that spring to mind when I think of Los Angeles. You have the Hollywood sign and the walk of fame for starters. It is movie-star central I thought.

Staying in Hollywood wasn’t a conscious choice, it just happened to be where a hostel chain was situated. I felt like spending an extra few dollars and staying in somewhere a bit nicer.

Perhaps I was staying in the rough end of Hollywood as there was no glitz or glamour to be found. It was a bit grotty actually. I was right by the walk of fame but many of the stars were caked in chewing gum and grime as well as being situated outside tacky fancy dress stores and run down café joints.

It's Lassie! I couldn't help myself

It was funny watching tourists take photos of every single star that they recognised. I've never been the same since my friend Mel joked about people taking copious amounts of photos - "What are you going to do with those photos? You're not going to frame them and how many photos of signs can you put on Facebook? Nobody wants to see that." It went something a little like that. Mel has a point. I've taken photos of all sorts of random nonsense but I have my blog as an excuse. Without it, my photos probably would just be sat in a folder unseen.

Seeing the grotty side of LA wasn’t disappointing to me. LA was a stop-gap in my journey so I didn’t have any expectations. I thought whilst I was here I may as well do something touristy. They had many tours on offer. You could go to television/film sets and beach trips but they were quite pricey.

For a few dollars, I’d meet a group of new faces and see the Hollywood sign. It was a done deal. Before I came face-to-face with the iconic structure, I needed to get ready and eat. A simple task one would think but dorming with seven other girls in an en-suite room is like a battle. I felt like I was in the jungle. The bathroom was the target and you needed to have your wits about you. I could see one or two girls hovering under their duvet “playing dead” but as soon as the bathroom was free they’d pounce. Unfortunately I was at a disadvantage being on the top bunk. Stealth was out the window. Well I could pounce from the top bunk but I’d break my neck. It wasn’t a sacrifice I was willing to make no matter how desperate I was to go to the toilet.

Stupidly, the entire building is made up of en-suite rooms. I found out there is one toilet in the entertainment room and one other in reception. I was still in my pyjamas and my hair certainly blended with my jungle theme. I was no lion cub, I was flipping Mufasa on a rampage. I ran to the entertainment room but it was occupied. I went back to the room and I didn’t care what anyone else thought, I shot straight into the bathroom as soon as it became free. I didn’t want World War III to break out, so I made a quick toilet-break and waited my turn for the shower. What a faff-on.

At least breakfast was easy. Fresh fruit, toast and bagels were available. You could make your own pancakes too but I wasn’t even going to chance my non-existent kitchen skills. I can bake a cake without breaking a sweat but trying to make a pancake involves a lot of swearing and pan-clattering. There were too many people around so I stuck to bread and fruit. Toasting bread I can manage.

My inept skills made a good conversation starter as I saw someone making pancakes like a pro. Unfortunately this guy was a shit single serving friend as he left to join a group as I sat on my own. I’ve been travelling for almost a year now and I still find it difficult gauging people. I guess it depends on my frame of mind too. Sometimes I’m aching for companionship and great conversation and other days people annoy the hell out of me and I’d rather just be on my own! It can be a tiresome cycle and even today I wonder who, out of the friends I have made so far, I’ll end up seeing again.

With it being a scorching hot day, a long and winding walk up to the Hollywood sign seemed like a ridiculous thing to do, but I did it. Along the way I met James and Perry, two friendly and chatty Brits. I mainly spoke to James and, although it was a pleasant distraction, I struggled to talk and walk up a high incline. I was sweating profusely and felt my hair frizzing in the sizzling heat. I felt gross, this sign better be bloody worth it!

James was a welcome breath of fresh air as conversation crept into career-talk, a subject I strive to avoid. No judging, no patronisation or sarcasm. He was quite supportive and said a few nice things despite only knowing me for less than an hour. Of course he could just be talking bollocks or being polite, but most people don’t even go as far as to do that nowadays. If there’s something that people don’t understand, they tend to criticise it and shoot it down. Hard work and perseverance is the key to reaching your dreams. It was sound advice.

We finally made it...

I couldn't help but dabble in a bit of perspective photography

I was disappointed that we couldn't get closer to the sign. It's not that I believe everything that happens in movies, but you see people going up there all the time without consequences. I understand that they want to preserve the sign but still...it sucks.

We swapped numbers and made loose plans to meet later. The guys went to Universal Studios and I ran a few errands and spent the rest of the evening chilling in an attempt to save money. I needed to stay up late as I’d planned to do some internet banking with my mum. No I’m not getting a cash injection from my parents. I wish! I needed to gain access to my HSBC account as I couldn’t remember how much money I had in there. It’s one of those accounts that has the annoying little calculator key-pad thingy, something I refused to take with me as I knew I’d lose it. I needed to get a code from my mum so I could access my account. I’d like to say it was worth the hassle but I didn’t have a stash of money I’d forgotten about. Damn.

As the hours ticked by, a smell drifted up to my bunk. What the flip was that? It smelled like a festering turd. Absolutely gross and example number two (pun not intended) of why en-suite dorms are a big mistake. If one person in your dorm drops some serious heat, you WILL know about it. Sheesh.

James saved the day and texted me to meet him for a chat. I didn’t hesitate. I did need the toilet before I met him. A piece of information you’re thinking you really didn’t need to know but you’ll understand in a minute. I hasten to add, I didn’t contribute to the death bomb that had hit our room. When I flushed, the toilet bowl almost overflowed. Eurgh. Apparently girls do block toilets too guys. This needed to be addressed as I did not want a flooded bathroom in the morning.

By this point everyone else was asleep. I wasn’t going to wake everyone up with my revelation. I went to reception and told them the situation. Of course I looked like the guilty culprit. Lovely! The guy on reception came back to my room and assessed the situation. Most of the girls stirred but I didn’t feel bad. I don’t know how they can sleep with that stench lingering in the air.

Heroically, the receptionist unblocked the toilet with the plunger that I failed to clock beforehand. I apologised to the receptionist but the guy saw the funny side of it and said it was “the highlight of his night”. I left the girls to the stench and met James. I regaled James with the story and thanked him for saving me.

Neither of us was particularly tired and stayed up into the early hours talking about anything and everything. Perry joined us at one point as the dorm room weirdo had disturbed him. There’s always one. I had the stealth bomber and Perry had a smelly noisy weirdo.

Eventually we called it a night. As we parted ways, our goodbye was interrupted by a racist drunken Aussie. Wheeeey, I thought I’d seen the last of them! After his racist jokes fell flat he started laying into the English and how we know nothing about our cricketing team. I’d barely followed the news since being away, never mind sport so I couldn’t shoot this guy down with my amazing knowledge of our cricketing team but I dropped a few names to shut him up momentarily. I was fighting a losing battle as this guy could hardly stand never mind acknowledge what I was saying. He soon found another argument and riled me further. James lingered behind possibly to make sure I didn’t push this guy down the stairs. He soon grew bored and stumbled off.

A stench party awaited me as I bid James goodnight. Perhaps I could use my ear plugs for my nose instead…

*****

As I was checking out, I needed an early start. I am not a morning person at the best of times but sleep deprivation plus an annoying room situation did not help matters. I’m pretty sure I growled at someone. I made sure I got in the bathroom before most of the girls as my patience levels were next to none.

After seeing James and Perry at reception, we checked out and went to the subway together. I left my luggage in storage and decided to have a day of exploring before I checked in at my next place.

The guys must have thought I was heading somewhere else as they hugged me outside the subway station. Before I had chance to tell them I was coming down with them, we heard a woman shrieking, “No frolicking!!” Before we knew it, this crazy woman came up to us repeating the same statement. We assured her we were just hugging. According to the woman you can be arrested for that kind of behaviour as she was taken away by police for frolicking in the streets.

When crazy-lady clocked that we were British, she started telling us how she loved the Sex Pistols and asked us exactly what a Sex Pistol was. We steadily inched away from her and escaped to the subway.

James and Perry left for San Francisco and I had the rest of the day to wander the streets. I knew exactly what I wanted to see. I love the film 500 Days of Summer which was filmed in LA. Having picked out a few spots from the movie, I set out to find Joseph Gordon Levitt…ahem, I mean visit some of the places that were filmed.

First up was the iconic bench.

Perfect

I was happy that nobody was sat on it! The film is quite old now and the plaque has been there a while so I guess the novelty has worn off for some.

Street art: I wish I knew who painted this

Speaking of art, I visited the Fine Arts Building that Tom and Summer pass in the film. I just needed The Temper Trap’s Sweet Disposition to blast out and it’s like I’m inside the film.

The geek that I am, I found out where the karaoke bar is and where Tom and Summer (separately) lived but I didn’t have time to see everything. There was just one more spot that I wanted to visit – the sex fountain. Ok, it’s not called the sex fountain but it’s a shortened version of – the fountain that erupts when Tom passes which leads to a dance and parade as he’s just spent the night with Summer aptly accompanied by the classic Hall and Oates classic You Make My Dreams.

 I thought this was it…but it wasn’t

Google Maps had brought me to the right place but there was no fountain to be had. The fountain above was situated on the same road. It is commemorative in its own right with the words Peace On Earth inscribed on the side.

Half an hour of walking around did nothing to aid my search. I asked a security guard and a taxi driver for directions but neither had heard of the fountain. I didn’t ask to be taken to the sex fountain by the way, its official name is the Arthur J. Will Memorial Fountain. I asked a waiter and he was stumped too but figured that it might be a certain fountain close by…it wasn’t. It was the memorial fountain at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Los Angeles has a shit load of memorial fountains so it seems.

An hour had passed and I was hot, sweaty and frustrated. I’d circled the same street for what felt like a century in the hope that I’d find something I hadn’t the last time. I decided to rest on some steps. I looked across the street and a dusty light bulb had switched on. I walked across the street to inspect closely. A long stretch of metal fencing stood before me encased in a thick black plastic sheeting. I peered through an opening and couldn’t flipping believe it. I followed the fencing around until there was a better view…

Found it!

The fountain had been shut down for building works. I was in the right place at least! What a waste of time. It turns out the fountain had been re-worked as the centre piece for the newly opened Grand Park. I was a couple of weeks short of its opening. Typical.

At this point, I decided to head back to the hostel. I had a long journey ahead of me as the hotel I needed to check into was the opposite side of LA. The following day I would be embarking on a seven day tour taking in sights such as the Grand Canyon and Yosemite National Park.

Seen as I had so much fun searching for a fountain that wasn’t even open, I decided to carry on the trend and look for a hotel that was in the middle of nowhere. I lugged my stuff on and off two trains. All that was left was a bus journey that stopped near the hotel. This is where Google Maps failed me as I had no idea which direction I was going in and the busses were not clear at all.

It was a long wait until a bus came by and the area was pretty crowded. I stood up and made my way across the pavement to hail down the bus and it started to slow down…then speed up and it carried on driving past me. The driver clocked me and I gave the woman a look that summed up my feelings. According to everyone near me, the bus is supposed to stop at each bus stop. Well apparently not this time!

Another bus turned up and everyone crowded onto that one. I asked the woman if the bus stopped where I needed to be and she looked clueless. “The bus stops where it stops,” was her response. Is that supposed to be a joke or some kind of weird bus driver philosophy? The woman looked as confused as I was so I chose not to board the bus as it was a different number to the one before. I had a feeling it wasn’t the bus I needed.

As the bus pulled away I was alone and confused. A short while later a couple of people stood by the stop. One guy asked me where I was going and he said I’d be best getting a taxi. As if Big Brother was watching us, a taxi driver pulled up beside us. He’d obviously spotted my giant case and thought he’d grab a fare. It would be more convenient getting a taxi but it would cost around four times more than the bus. A girl at the bus stop said she knew where to get off so I decided to stick around and cling to her.

Unfortunately the girl got disorientated and we ended up getting off a couple of stops too far. I wasn’t annoyed as at least I was closer than I was before. The girl said her friend’s due to pick her up and offered to drop me off. What a lovely gesture. A few minutes later the girl started getting a bit flustered as she wasn’t sure when her friend was going to arrive and felt terrible that she’d not led me to the hotel. Instead, the girl offered to pay for a taxi. I didn’t know what to say. That was far too generous but the girl insisted. Hannah I think her name was, hailed down a taxi and smoothly placed a note in my hand. I looked down and a twenty dollar bill stared up at me. I couldn’t take that much, that’s crazy. Hannah insisted and walked away. Wow, what a lovely girl and a pretty damn good single serving friend.

The taxi came to around $12 for that short distance. In hindsight, the fare offered to me at the bus stop was a really good deal. I wasn’t to know that though and everything worked out well in the end.

Nothing could go wrong now right? “I’m sorry. Your name isn’t in our system.” Ah crap. A bowl full of lollipops sat by the computer. I grabbed one and tucked in whilst the receptionist continued to look for my booking. I added that it had been made around eight months ago. Eventually my name was found, I wasn’t sweating though as I had everything in email if it came down to technicalities. The receptionist apologised and I quipped that if he’s truly sorry he could bump me up to their finest suite as a goodwill gesture. The receptionist laughed and said that if they offered a fine suite, then it would be mine. Oh dear, that’s not a good sign.

After finding my room, I plonked my stuff down, got changed and headed to the gym. I wasn’t there long though. Firstly, I was so unfit (still am!) that I really couldn’t run for that long but mainly because all the gym equipment faced a wall of mirrors. I hate that in gyms. I understand having mirrors by the mat and weight areas as you want to make sure that your back is straight and you’re using the right technique. However, I don’t see how watching my fat jiggle up and down whilst running on a treadmill or seeing my face quickly transform from content to absolute displeasure would encourage me to work harder. Instead, I recoil in horror. I know I don’t look great when I work out and I’m well aware that I have a strange angry face when I run but I really don’t need to be constantly reminded of this.

Seen as I did sweat for a little bit, I thought I deserved a treat. I showered, got comfortable, turned on the television (a rare perk) and ordered room service. They had plenty of meals available but I’d already eaten a Chinese takeaway earlier. I ordered some chocolate cake with ice cream. It cost less than $5, bargain.

It didn’t take long at all for it to arrive. It was a breathtakingly large piece of yumminess. Just as I paid the waiter and took hold of the cake, my roommate arrived. What a wonderful first impression I must have made.

Like I care what anyone thinks of my cake addiction anyway! I enjoyed every mouthful. Gen, an Aussie student, accepted what was happening and we chatted until quite late. Excitement took hold as I looked forward to meeting everyone on the tour.

Good Mornin' America

Beep, beep, beep, beeeeep. The dreaded sound of one’s morning alarm is probably the most hated sound. I usually set mine to snooze or just lie in bed playing the coming day over in my head in an attempt to muster up some form of enthusiasm. Dragging my ass out of bed is a cumbersome process but today was different. Where I was staying snoozing was not an option. As soon as I realised where I was, I wanted to get up and out of my room. It wasn’t that hellish but it was by no means a tranquil duvet heaven.

Breakfast perked me up a bit. Yet more pancakes, my arteries will be pleased. The sugar rush certainly did the trick. My stuff was organised and ready to lug to my next destination but I still had most of the morning so I went out for a walk.

No surprise that it was a beautifully crisp, clear and sunny morning. I walked along the beach and pier and indulged myself with a session of people-watching. Sometimes I like to imagine what people’s stories are, why they are in that place at that particular time and what their lives are like. It’s a nice escape from my own inner monologue.

My thoughts were interrupted briefly as I breezed past a cheery surfer. I did a double-take as I thought I saw something strange. Maybe I should start drinking proper coffee. I took a few more photos and made my way back to the hostel. In doing so I passed the same surfer guy in the car park…yep, that guy has horns. A middle-aged surfer dude with horns protruding from his forehead is what stood before me. We exchanged smiles again, mine a slightly nervier effort. Inside I screamed – “Don’t flay me”. Then my mind started to wander. If he is meant to be a demon, what do they normally do with humans? They probably don’t flay people…or do they? I tried accessing my faint memories of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel but then the thought of David Boreanaz took me down a separate thought train…

…“My friend wants to marry you.” I paused and looked to my left. There beside me were three dishevelled fellows and a straggly girl. One was propping up a sign with a message of love and a plea for money. How random. A marriage proposal from a tramp wasn’t what I was expecting to get from my day. I didn’t have my purse so it was a wasted proposal.

That concluded my morning stroll and it was time to head to the train station. Thankfully that was a simple bus ride away. I knew where I was going and everything!

Before I boarded a patronising desk clerk answered a couple of questions I had. He spoke to me like I didn’t know what a train was.

Farewell San Diego, greetings Los Angeles. Three guesses what happened next…yes I got lost. I jotted down directions but they didn’t help. I walked across the road to a shop selling bus tour tickets in search of a street map. They had one but it was shite. It didn’t help me whatsoever and the staff were only concerned with people buying a bus ticket. I had a decision to take, left or right. It was the wrong way.

Ordinarily I’d just wander around aimlessly and take the “scenic route”. This is the point where I meet incredible people or discover something great that I would have missed otherwise. This time I had my whopping suitcase so I was in no mood to wander around without a clue.

In an act of desperation I went into a Domino’s pizza joint shop thinking they’d probably have a map as they deliver. This was my theory. They didn’t have a map. The manager took pity on me and offered to drive me across there as he’d just finished his shift. I accepted as I had no idea where I was or how I’d get to the hostel. This guy would be pretty dumb to kidnap me seen as half his staff witnessed me getting into a car with him. This guy would get some serious good-karma-points with this goodwill gesture. It was tainted slightly when he asked me out for dinner but I made my excuses and walked into the hostel. Marriage proposal and dinner request all in one day, now I do feel special.

That’s enough excitement for one day I think. I set my stuff down in the female only dorm that yet again confirmed that girls are just as messy as guys, if not more in some cases. This hostel was definitely a step up from San Diego. I had a plug socket and a light by my bed. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Ten Minutes Or Less

Moving from country to country is inevitably disorientating. Guidebooks warned me of culture shock like it was an incurable disease. Somehow I’ve managed to get by without too many hassles or worries in that department. This is a skill I have unearthed which is fulfilling yet disillusioning as it’s not exactly something that’s easily transferable in “the real world”.

Nonetheless, I was happy with how far I had come. Landing in America, the last country on my round-the-world adventure, felt like the bubbling euphoria that builds when you catch the first glimpse of the finishing line after running a gruelling race. I’d come so far and am showing no signs of giving up and going home.

One of my favourite moments when entering a new country is airport arrivals. No I’m not going to descend into a Hugh Grant monologue and announce that love actually is all around. It’s specifically the point before I enter the arrivals lounge that makes me chuckle to myself.

Leaving a country, you don’t tend to notice anything out of the ordinary. You've practically embedded yourself within that culture for however many weeks so greetings and announcements have gone from surprising and interesting to commonplace. For instance, flying from Australia felt pretty normal but arriving in Fiji to the brightly coloured and musical welcome was lovely yet I couldn’t help but laugh at the contrast.

This feeling certainly came to the fore as I entered the Air Pacific plane in Fiji to soft Bula welcomes and left the flight with the screechings of Little-Miss-Perky when arriving in Los Angeles. Her voice was already high pitched to begin with but the announcement was quite long winded. I’m surprised her voice box didn’t explode as the woman rounded off each sentence an octave higher.

It was one of many over-the-top elements to America, some expected and some surprising. America does get a bad rap but this was my last country and no matter what happened, I wanted to round off my trip off in the best way possible.

LAX was a pain in the ass. If I had the money, I’d go down the Up in the Air route with the loyalty cards and first class seats. I used to laugh at the OCD composure of George Clooney’s character in that film but now I envy the quick-fire system that money can buy.

This was my first taste of American security and it was bitter. My first instinct was to not look like a bomber but I had been travelling for over 15 hours so my brain was a bit scrambled. 

When asked what was in my carrier bag my mind went blank as I just had a mixture of crap in there to relieve my bursting backpack. The security guard looked me up and down and told me to move to a ridiculously long line at the other side of the room.

It was only when I entered the queue that I realised I was queueing for the same check. Oooo, if you couldn’t keep me from coming into the country I would be doing some serious angry pointing and scary stare-down eye glances right now.

Security mark II didn’t ask me what I was carrying and pointed out the exit which was right where I started. I passed the stupid security man and shone the best smile I could muster. Showing my resilience, I air ticked victory in my favour.

It wasn’t entirely over as I still had to be interrogated about why I was entering the country, how long I was staying, who I was staying with etc etc. Thoroughness is America’s game which is understandable given their history.

Finally I exited with my luggage in search for a bus to Union Station. I wasn’t hanging about as I had a train to catch. I knew in myself that if I stayed in LA for the night, I’d do absolutely nothing as I was beat. Rather than resting, I decided to head straight to San Diego.

For some reason LA had a dozen different bus services with no clear signs for how to pay or even when a bus would be arriving. I knew that I needed to catch a Flyaway Bus but that was it. I saw the words pasted to a concrete over-pass and decided to dump my stuff and just sit and wait. Hopefully someone around here knows what’s happening so I’ll just wait and see.

Most people were stood aimlessly so I grabbed the last seat on the solitary bench. Upon doing so I noticed a western-looking couple next to me. With backpacks by their feet, I was adamant they knew what they were doing and decided, if all else fails, to see what they do and follow suit.

In the broadest of Scouse accents, the boyfriend of the couple turned to me and asked if I knew which bus to catch to get to Union Station. Maybe they were thinking the same thing as me and felt that I probably knew more than they did. I would have loved nothing more than to turn around and wisely navigate us all to the station but instead I just said I didn’t know.

Our mutual disorientation turned out to be a great ice breaker. Laura and John were on the same flight as me and were also heading to San Diego. They hadn’t booked their train ticket yet so I at least had some slither of information to impart as I pre-booked my Amtrak rail journey.

A nameless coach pulled up and people began to stir. Everyone simultaneously bombarded the driver with the same questions. It seems we weren’t the only ones who were clueless.

Laura, John and I boarded the bus and spoke for a while until an American girl sat next to me. I ended up chatting to her for a bit about my plans for America and my previous travels. It was an empty conversation that passed time.

Union Station was not that far away from the airport. I departed the bus with the hopeful intentions of joining Laura and John on the journey to San Diego.

In order to get our luggage from the driver, we had to walk around the corner and purchase a ticket from a bus terminal kiosk. They only accepted cash. Thankfully I had some but John had to dash off to an ATM as they only had a cashcard.

A cheery woman served me and hollered when she heard my accent. The friendly attendant kept me there right up until John had purchased tickets for himself and Laura. By this point the attendant knew my travel history. Astonished, the woman told me that I was very brave and asked that I be careful but added that she loves Brits and wished me all the best. What a lovely woman. Her upbeat nature was infectious.

After exchanging the paper tickets with our luggage, I made my way across to the station with Laura and John. We split up as they queued for tickets and I fed my reservation details into a machine. I asked a nearby staff member if my ticket was flexible or whether I had to board the train with the same departure time as marked on my ticket. I was told I could board any train so I looked for Laura and John to tell them the news.

Unfortunately I couldn’t see them at the ticket desk. Perhaps I’d been ditched. It wouldn’t surprise me. Not that I think I’m a person to be avoided but some people travel with the intentions of not making friends. This is by no means directed at couples alone. I’ve met people all over the world who have the same mindset. I have nothing against that but I’m the exact opposite. It used to infuriate me at first as I’d waste time speaking to people, swapping details and making arrangements with those who had no intentions of following through with their promises. I feel like I’m pretty good at gauging people now and I don’t invest as much in people until we’ve had at least a few conversations or one that’s lasted more than 10 (or so) minutes. It’s a working theory and isn’t perfect. I’d only spoken to Laura and John for less than 10 minutes on the bus so I wouldn’t be hurt or annoyed if they decided to make their own way to San Diego.

There wasn’t much time until the next train was about to depart. I tried to check-in my luggage but it was too late. It was here that I saw Laura and John. Without even thinking I went over and started speaking to them. Oh well, they’re stuck with me now! Whether they wanted me there or not, they didn’t show it. The three hour train ride flew by. We swapped Fiji stories and found out something incredibly random that we had in common. We all love The IT Crowd, a British comedy. Once this revelation surfaced, we spent the duration of the journey quoting all the best bits (which is pretty much the whole show!).

Food on the train was averagely priced which shocked us all. We all laughed at the menu as not only were the calories listed for each item, but all ingredients too. One sandwich had at least 20 items listed underneath it from seasonings to colourings. Sheesh! It brought back memories of my time in Sydney when customers would ask questions about everything that was in a dish.

Having decided what we wanted, John and I set out to find the café area. This was easier said than done. John led the way but we ended up walking around in one giant circle. One couple joked – “Haven’t I seen you before?” Let’s just say we took the scenic route…ahem.

It was worth the trek as the sandwiches looked delicious. They had free cheese and crackers too which John and I took advantage of. Another person who doesn’t show any form of decorum when it comes to freebies, I like it.

Despite the three hour duration of the journey, it felt like things had been cut short. I got off at Old Town whilst Laura and John stayed on a further stop as they were meeting a friend they made whist travelling. I’ve met so many people who end up staying with those they’ve met in other countries. I wish I had that luxury!

None of my phones were working, so I used the payphone to call the hostel. Their website said that they organise free transfers to the hostel. The receptionist told me to get a taxi and they’ll reimburse me upon check-in. I was so happy that I didn’t have to lug my crap on and off multiple buses. In all the excitement, I forgot to tip the taxi driver. Shit. I need to get better at remembering to tip.

For what I paid, the hostel wasn’t the best but it was tolerable. I happened to be put in the room right next to the patio area. The receptionist warned me that it does get loud at night when people start drinking and partying but the area closes at 11pm. I wasn’t fussed as the noise seemed to die down after midnight. Sometimes, if I’m tired enough, I can sleep through a lot.

My room was in fact gross. Having walked across the laminate floor for a few minutes, the soles of my feet were black. The lockers in the room were anorexic. I couldn’t fit my day pack in there they were that slim. I had to empty my bag and put my valuables in. It was a pain in the arse at times as I couldn’t just get up, grab my bag and leave.  Everything had to be loaded and unloaded. With restricted space, it wasn’t the easiest of tasks. Again, it’s a pain but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was in a female only dorm with no snorers or smelly bastards so I was happy.

With next to no internet for two weeks in Fiji, I had a lot to catch up on and organise for my future travels in America. For now, I decided to have a relaxed evening and sort things out the next day. After a 5 hour boat ride, 10 hour flight and 3 hour train ride, I think I deserved a rest.