Clandestiny

An evening I will never forget. The night was humid and a gentle breeze blew off the ocean. I had just come back from a long journey down in Mexico and was tired from the day of walking.

As I approached the door of the hostel, I saw a woman digging around in her trunk. God knows what for, but it caused me to stop briefly in my stride. I stopped for a second to ponder who this woman was and what could be so important that she would be frantically rifling through the contents of her trunk in the thick of night. I was half-tempted to approach her and ask if she needed assistance, but figured she would most likely be frightened by my shaggy beard and hobo looking appearance. I resisted my temptation but had one those moments where you think that the person you just saw was important, and the stars had aligned to let this moment happen. That out of the greatest odds you were meant to meet. The romantic notion blew through my mind just as gentle ocean breeze through my hair.

I returned to my resting ground and sat at the table in the kitchen. Once again the sensation of destiny as I was faced with another chance meeting. An extraordinary woman entered into my life and struck up a conversation. She spoke with a southern accent that reminded me of the civil war.

As we were speaking a divine wind blew through as a beautiful woman walked into the room drawing attention to herself as the door closed behind her with a loud bang. As she approached I was surprised to find her making eye contact with me. I thought for a second she found me attractive and was coming over to speak with me, but it was her friend she was coming to see.

She gracefully approached where we were sitting with a bit in-trepidation and a small smile on her face. She seemed unsure what her friend would be talking to someone like me, but knew it was her nature to be friendly.

Suddenly I had one of those ah-ha moments that I realized she was the woman I had silently observed on the street. Once again the romantic notion entered my mind. Suddenly it seemed as though the Gods had given favor to me and a chance passing in life would turn into something more.

" Its interesting where our lives lead us and who meet on the way, the memories we select to keep, and the ones we throw away."

We were introduced and I was instantly captivated by her beauty. She had the kindest eyes and the softest lips, that her smile could rival the Mona Lisa's. Much like a sirens song, with every word she spoke I was hypnotized and drawn closer by her southern dialect. Hoping to impress the beautiful southern Bell, I began to speak like a braggart of my grandiose tales across the US. I could not take my eyes off her and must have come off as a bit intimidating and creepy

We sat and spoke for many hours swapping stories about Tijuana and how they had both come to stay at this small hostel in San Diego. If I could have, I would have stayed and chatted with them into the early morning. I didn't want to let the moment end. I had felt an instant connection with her, and was sad to see her go. If only our circumstances were different and perhaps we had more time. I romanticized over how fate had lead me to meet the perfect woman, but she would quickly turn into the one that got away. If only......

A Million Miles Away From Home and I Can't Find a Telephone, My Folks Don't Even Know Where I Am, and I Dont Even know Where I Am

DOWN IN MEXICO

I was mere 20 miles from the Mexican border and Tijuana, it would be hard to resist paying our neighbors to the south a visit. I took advantage of the brochure I had eyed a few days before and headed to downtown San Diego to meet up with the tour group.

The guide who was taking us across the boarder, hardly had the credentials for the title of "tour guide." He was a tall ,slender, meak looking man, probably in his late 50's and had a nasty cough that sounded like he had come down with a case of TB. He was a high school teacher who just so happened to like to spend his weekends taking tourist into the most dangerous parts of Tijuana. Oddly enough he knew very little about Mexico or Tijuana, but his enthusiasm for crossing the boarder overshadowed this fact.

Their was about 15 of us making the run across the boarder. We conveniently took the trolley all the way to the pearly gates that separate the U.S. from Mexico. I was first filled with a bit of trepidation, but who wouldn't be when their entering a foreign land. The hike across the boarder started by entering from a steal bridge that could double for a cattle coral as it guides you over the highway to the doorstep of Mexico. From there we passed through a series of large turn-styles, very similar to the kind you would see in a subway, and then without warning your in. No one asks you questions or wants to look in your bag when you enter Mexico. It would seem that the US doesn't care who enters Mexico so long as they only come back through with the proper credentials and no fruit.

You then pass through a series of corridors with walls that stretch way into the air, until finally you round one last turn where your exposed before a plaza filled with all sorts of locals walking about who can smell the fresh meat and send their children running at you. In a way I would compare the transition from the U.S into Mexico like walking from a green pasture and then suddenly stepping into the world of Mad Max Beyond the Thunder Dome.

We were inundated by people shouting all sorts of things at us, and trying to get us to enter their stores. Our guide turned to us and said it was part of their custom to try and get our attention to come in and spend money. I quickly asked him if he spoke Spanish and understood what they were shouting at us. He told me no but it was most likely something flattering. Now I had been a waiter/bartender up until I left on my trip, and I worked with enough Mexicans to know the words they were yelling at us, were not flattering, but a series of obscenities.

We walked a good distance through the streets and everything seemed so depressing to me. I was in a world full of color but it had a very run down dismal feel to it. We walked a good distance before we came to a long bridge that crossed over a large viaduct. As we walked over the bridge our tour guide stopped us, and told us to not step on the long pile of shit that someone had taken on the path. Now I suppose one would think it could have come from an animal, but judging from the size, either a bear had been in the neighborhood or it was a human pile of excrement.

We continued on and ended up at a local market place. This was a real experience that I thought Mexico would be like. There were all sorts of stands set up and people selling everything and anything you can think of. Our guide let us wonder off and make our way through all the kiosk. My intense fear of Montezuma's revenge, kept me from tasting any of the food being sold, but if I was a bit braver I would have indulged in the local cuisine.

After the market we continued on heading deeper into Tijuana. As I took notice of the uneven sidewalk and the old cars that littered the street I nearly twisted my ankle as I blindly stepped off a curb that was about two feet above the street. Before long we came to this central street called Avenida Revolución. This street looked like it was built just for tourist, as it was clean and had a very strong police presence. All sorts of different types of stores littered the bustling street, although the store owners were less forceful in their approach to get you to enter.

We were once again allowed to split off and explore the area. I went immediately to work looking for a lighter that said Tijuana on it. I passed by many shops but to no avail. as I came to a cross street I saw the most extraordinary thing, the fabled zonkey.

Now our guide had mention such a creature at the beginning of our adventure but I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. So there it stood in front of me, a white donkey with black stripes. I didn't know what to make of it. Was it real? Was it just an albino donkey with painted on black stripes? I had a feeling since we were in Mexico it was most likely a donkey that had been spray painted.

Continuing on, I looked in and out of shops for my lighter, but to no avail, although I came a cross an amusing shirt that said, "I saw a donkey show." I had heard that in Tijuana you can bargain with the merchants for a good deal. I asked the man in the shop, who spoke English remarkably well, how much and he told me $20 U.S. I almost laughed out loud, this was Mexico there was no way I was going to pay $20 for a T-shirt. So I said how bout $10? He looked at me and almost laughed, and said no its $20 that's final. I was stunned and said no thanks, he looked at me like he really didn't care, because some other dumb tourist would be along shortly to pay that amount.

No lighter, no shirt, no souvenirs, no service. I went to the very end of the street and sat beneath the Millennium Arch and waited for the rest of group to walk back to the land of freedom.

Caught Red Handed

Upon my return the two Hispanic gentleman who had occupied the bench for the majority of the day had gone. I walked through the door and was greeted by an empty room and began to wonder where everyone had gone too. Off in the far corner right beneath one of the windows someone had left one of those cheap and simplistic maps of San Diego. I took a seat and began to look it over in an effort get some barring on the area. I saw several places that looked quite interesting, including PetCo Park, where the San Diego Padres play, San Diego Bay, and the world renowned San Diego Zoo, made famous by my favorite zoologist Jack Hanna.

Even though it was still quite early I decided it best to stay in for the rest of the night. I thought I would try to relax and since it had been almost a month since I had seen anything on TV, I thought I would sit a spell and watch a movie in the TV lounge.

As I walked over I had never really noticed that the door to the room had been pulled shut, but then I had only seen it briefly when I got the tour of the place. I reached out to pull it open without hesitation, but nothing could have prepared me for the site that lie inside.

I found the strange Asian fellow from just a few hours before sitting in a recliner just adjacent to the door. The angle at which he sat allowed the light from the common room to flow in and directly illuminate him as he sat in the dark. It took me a second to realize what I was looking at because one does not expect to open a door and find an Asian person sitting on the other side masturbating. It is my opinion that such activities be left for more private surroundings.

My mind couldn't piece it together at first. I knew something was aloof when I opened the door and must have surprised him. He turned the channel on the TV rapidly but made no sudden movement to cover his stick and berries, perhaps he thought I wouldn't notice. There I was halfway through a door barging in on man like I was his mother. All I could think to say was "what are you watching?" It just sort of popped out like if I had opened the door and he wasn't manipulating himself. I then abruptly turned, closed the door behind me, and decided to call it a night.

Setting It Up and Settling In

I made my way back down the stairs to the common area where the once lively area bustling with activity was now dormant, leaving behind a lone straggler. I found the Asian fellow I had noticed before still walking about and feverishly attacking the brochure rack. I took a seat a few paces from him when he abruptly and without introduction began to speak to me.

"where you from?"

He didn't even give me a chance to reply and continued talking at a frenzied pace.

"San Diego, its a great place! I haven't been down to Mexico yet, but I plan on going. You know to many Mexicans I might get robed or murdered, but I don't care. I don't know I don't think I'll go, but you know. I want to go to downtown today. Its real nice. I was staying at the hostel down there but they kicked me out."

I couldn't help but laugh in my head and think "I wonder why?".

He continued on with his rapid speech and I began to tune him out as I myself searched through the brochure rack. There I found a free guided walking tour of Tijuana for people staying at the hostel. I couldn't help but instantly attracted to it. I had always heard about the Ill dealings that take place down there. Not to mention the intense poverty and destitution of many of its inhabitants. So yeah it sounded like a great place to go.

Looking for a way to escape this one way conversation I informed the young man I was going to head out and explore my new surroundings. This did not stop him from disengaging his one way conversation. I slowly crept backwards one footstep at a time repeating "uh-huh, yeah, uh-huh ok, yeah" until I found myself far enough away that I had my hand on the doorknob and was able to make my escape.

Upon leaving I noticed that the two Hispanic gentleman still sitting on the bench, but now they had been joined by the Chris Tucker looking man. As I walked pass I couldn't help but notice all three of them sizing me up and giving me looks like I was woman walking past a bunch of construction workers.

Surveying the neighborhood there was nothing much around but an old burrito stand and shopping center with a large grocery store. With a scantily clad area and the sun falling below the horizon I decided to pack it in and call it a night.

Slick Willie

Laying on the floor the cool breeze coming through the window gently relaxed me to the verge of nodding off. A push of the door leading into the room jarred me back to reality and I quickly jumped to my feet. In walked a well dressed middle aged man with slicked back hair and an ora of confidence. He presented himself in a very fashionable manor, and was quick to give me his line.

"so your the new guy. huh, where do you come from? wait don't answer, your from the Midwest right, every ones from the Midwest."

I gave one of those brief laughs to ease the anxiety I was feeling and said " heh-yeah, I'm come from Chicago."

"Ha, Chicago, my ex-wife was from there. Boy she was a real bitch, and her family......but its still a nice place to visit but forget about the winters."

I get this one all the time so I have a standard come back, "yeah you never know with the weather, it can go 20 degrees in either direction in a matter of hours."

The man than made his way over to his bunk and pulled a bag out from underneath it. As he dug around through it searching for his comb, he told me about the others staying in the room.

"one of the guys in here is a real fruit, I mean he's one of those flaming fairies, I'd look out for him. you don't want to end up with a stick in your ass wile you sleep. The guy who's sleeping below you is an Indian, you know from India, and real strange guy. He keeps to himself and yesterday he flew off the handle accusing us of steeling his belt. Just because he was such a dick I didn't tell him I saw it the bathroom the other night. Besides, who the fuck would steal a shitty belt like his? The guy all the way back there, well, he's a real treat. He snores so loud it shakes your bed. I wanted to smother him with his fucking pillow. Then there's this other asshole right above me, I don't know what the fuck he does, but he gets up at 5AM and wakes me up in the process."

The man then pulled a pair of brown leather shoes out from underneath his bunk, and began to lace them up on his feet.

"You looking to have a good time?" he asked, "I'm going to this sports bar down the street your more than welcome to join me, but I don't know how long I'll be there for."

He stood up and walked over to a mirror hanging in the far corner of the room and began to comb his hair talking all the wile.

"Ive been talking to this woman over the internet, shes supposed to be some big shot rich-bitch, she wants me to give it too her. I meet these kind of woman all the time. Their either divorced or cheating on their husbands. I don't care cause I get a free trip. You tell em you love em and they take you all around the world. I don't need their money either, not to brag but I got a lot of money. I do it just for the fun of it.

I pondered this notion for a minute, what would a guy with a lot of money being staying in a hostle for? The other notion that imediatly followed was, wow this guy is a real scumbag! I thought guys like this only existed in the movies.

It only took him a few more minutes of perfecting his hair before he made his way over to the door. As he left he asked me how he looked.

I responded with "....you look good, good luck with the lady"

"huh, luck, I don't need luck, this ones in the bag."

3790 Udall Street

I walked off the wharf feeling a bit more relaxed even though I was going on the words of recovering racist Rastafari. I slowly made my way back down Newport to where I parked my car. I hoped in it and began rifling around in my back seat which had now become consumed with what I call "road wears" or to put it more simple an assortment of garbage I had been collecting on my journeys. I tossed things about in a frantic pace looking for the map of San Diego I had obtained from the visitors center on my way into town. Frustration led to me smashing things about in my car until its discovery where some how it made its way between the passenger seat and passenger side door. Poring over the map in search of Voltaire was another frustrating effort. I really didn't even know where to start and stress was wearing my patience thinner then they already were.

It wasn't before long that I came across the street in an "Ah HA!" moment, and was on my way. I was actually surprised how close It was to my present location, I was further surprised that following the directions given to me by an unlikely source actually led me to the place I was looking for.

I turned the corner and came across an obnoxious looking red building, that screamed gaudy. Out in the front of the building was a large picnic bench where two Hispanic men sat chatting with two rather plain and obtrusive looking girls. As I made my way up the drive I tipped my hat to them and nodded the universal hello. I then walked over to the door where I found a large window to the right of it where a gentleman on the other side sat with a frat boy look listening to MP3's on his computer. He went over all the usual check in mumbo jumbo and took me on a grand tour of the place.

The place was very secure, before I could even enter I had to be buzzed in from the other side. The front door had an electronic lock which required the proper combination which was changed everyday. Stepping into the place I immediately noticed a series of large tables to my right where a small Asian fellow sat poring over some brochures in a manic fashion. The young gentlemen who checked in me then escorted me through the main common area and began to point out all the amenities the hostel had to offer

"Over here is the movie room, you'll find a big screen TV in there and you can check out movies from us at the front desk. Off to your right here we have a computer that you can get on the internet with if you want to pay.......I think its a buck for like 15 minutes. Walking this way we have the kitchen you can use one of these drawers that coincides with you room number that way no one will be tempted to eat your stuff, we have two refrigerators and please clean up after yourself when your done."

As he whisked me through the kitchen there was a tall very slender black man who resembled Chris Tucker, standing in front of the stove in a very effeminate manner. He gave me a look, and I know it wasn't my imagination. It was one of those looks that gave me the "Oh no, God please don't let me have to be in the same room with that guy because I know this isn't going to bode well."

The thought was fleeting as I was then escorted back outside into a small courtyard, then led up a flight of stairs and down a shallow hallway into a small back room that overlooked the the street below. I was then given a brief rundown of the weekly events, when checkout time was and shown my bunk for the night. My guide quickly made an exit closing the door behind him. As soon as he left I let out a giant sigh of relief and sat on the floor in front of my bunk. A slight ocean breeze was blowing and the windows in the room were all open causing the curtains to expand and contract like a deep breath that matched my own feeling of relief.

The Ocean Beach Irregulars

I sat in a trance on the cool concrete wall, dangling my feet over the beach below. As I stared out beyond the surfers, past the wharf that framed in this part of the ocean, my eyes became fixed on the horizon. My mind began to swim with possible scenarios as the words "Point Loma" kept repeating in my head. What was this Point Loma and where was it? I was confused and began to break down. I was worn from the constant pace of my travels, it seemed as if the honeymoon period of my novel adventure was coming to an end.

Its hard to describe the exhaustion I was feeling, it wasn't physical or mental, I just felt drained and wanted nothing more to do then lay on the beach and wait for the tide to drag me out to sea. Thoughts of doubt began to consume my mind. Nothing so far had come easy, and I tried to ease my fears by thinking that with each misstep an even better path was presented, but in many ways I was growing tired of the unknown, and worrying about where I was going to stay from night to night.

Looking for a distraction from my depressing train of thought, my eyes moved to a bunch of salty types who were squatted on the beach not too far from where I sat dangling my feet. One scraggly character stood out among the bunch and seemed to be the leader. He was a rather stocky man with long dirty blond hair and two snake tattoos on his well tanned arms, wearing only a pair of dingy yellow swim-trunks. I took special notice that for a beach bum he seemed to be clean shaven, and in pretty good shape, unlike the company he was keeping. The rest of the bunch were a mishmash of your classic homeless types, who's clothing were tattered, matted up hair with there unkempt beards and abundantly missing teeth smoking cigarette butts they found discarded on the beach .

The man stood above the bunch who had apparently been busy drinking for quite some time, and scolded them all for strewing their empty tallboy cans across the area on the beach they occupied. "what the fuck is wrong with you all" he yelled as he walked around picking up the cans from the area, "you trying to have them come down on us again!" The ones laying on the ground seemed to completely dismiss what he was saying laughing in a hardy tone and continued on with there drinking. From down the beach a woman caught my attention, when she began to scream "HEY......HEY.......HE-Y" waiving her arms as she approached in a swaying manner. The man who was picking up the cans turned his attention toward her way and muttered "aw shit."

The woman was in complete disarray. Her hair was all matted, her eyes and cheeks were sunken, and she wore a long bright neon green tank top that was stretched and ripped so that it hung on her emaciated shoulders like it was dangling from a coat-hanger. She hastened her pace as she swaggered kicking up the sand in her fast approach."Hey there" she called out "HEY, I'm fucking talking to you!"

The man hardly flinched as she encroached on him, stopping to acknowledge her after throwing the empty beer cans he was holding into a near by trashcan with considerable force. He turned toward her direction and spoke with anger in his voice "What the fuck do you want!" The woman came in close before speaking. The rest of their conversation was held in secrecy as the sound of the crashing waves on the beach drowned out my attempts at listening, but judging by the flailing arms and disappointed look on the woman's face it wasn't going in her favor. The man then let out a roar, "get the fuck out-a-here bitch!" He then began to march back to where his band of beach dwelling cohorts lay as the woman tagged along behind him. A few more words were exchanged between the two, when all of the sudden the group broke out into howling laughter at the woman's expense. She muttered a few words and quickly swaggered off back down the beach.

My eyes followed the woman down the beech until I lost track of her as she disappeared into the crowds enjoying the wonderful and almost perfect weather. As my eyes darted back and forth looking to see where she went too I was interrupted when a rather plump Mexican man came up and sat down on a milk crate he carried with him to my right. He was also caring a large case from which he pulled out a guitar and started tuning it. As he sat there I noticed something truly peculiar and unique. Inside the mans outrageous afro he kept on his head was a parrot. The bird began to squawk as it jumped down from its pirch atop the mans head on to his shoulder, then hopping onto the guitar, where it waddled its way across the neck coming to rest on the headstock. As the man began to strum a few chords the bird instantly came alive with loud squawking and bobbing its head to the beat of the music. This unusual site soon grabbed the attention of passerbyes who quickly formed a tight circle around the man. I was fortunate from where I was sitting to have a front row seat to this spectacle. The man played a few tunes and sang few songs, one of which was a rather interesting rendition of Scarlet Begonias. This man knew what he was doing because the once empty guitar case he had strategically placed at his feet began to fill up with dollar bills. I felt bad that I didn't have any spare small bills on me to drop in appreciation of his duet. Instead I sat there content just listening and staring back out at the ocean.

The sense of normalcy was quick lived on this stretch of beach. The most obnoxious girl came skating up behind me as I listened to the man play. She was short thin and had the worst punkrock-esq hair cut I have ever seen. Her head was half shaved but was growing out with a faded green dye job. To top it off she appeared to have fallen out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down as her face was very unsymmetrical and adorned with acne and a giant pair of pop bottle glasses. She rather rudely approached me and practical shouted in my face "HEY Mr......you got 75 cents!" I looked at her in a rather perturbed manner, which seemed to have know effect on her, and in hind site I doubt she was able to even sense it, as she yelled at me again "Hey Mr you got 75 cents or What? All I need is 75 cents and I can get a ice cream bar." In my head I was thinking "What? Get the hell away from me you disrespectful vagrant," but all I could say was "aahhhh no sorry I don't have any money." She looked at me in disgust and said "well what the Fuck!" She then turned toward the crowd that was listening to the man play and shouted in their direction "DOES ANYONE HAVE 75 CENTS SO WE CAN GET SOME ICECREAM!"

It was like in the movies when the whole room goes silent, the man stopped playing his guitar, that parrot stopped squawking and everyone just turned and looked at this pathetic girl not saying a word or digging in their pockets for change. The girls words seemed to strike a cord with salty beach gang sitting down below me, dislodging the leader from where he laid sunning himself. He came storming up toward me jumping over the wall and yelling to the girl "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? What, are you trying to get us all kicked off the beach?" The girl tried to get a word in but couldn't as the man continued "Ill give your fuck'n 75cents if you just shut the fuck up you dumb bitch!" he then through bunch change on the ground that hardly made a noise as it sank into the sand and jumped back over the wall. The girl instantly came over and dropped to her knees sifting through the sand on the sidewalk like she was panning for gold. Nobody said a word and the man starting playing his guitar again like nothing had happened.

I decided I had enough of the antics of the beach people and decided to venture away from my squat on the wall up to the the long wharf that extended far out into the briny abyss. The wharf was alive with action, as people from all different walks of life gathered to fish off its sides. Children played with there little fishing poles as fathers and brothers cast large nets over the sides. As I made my way to the end I heard the faint sounds of someone playing a keyboard off in the distance. I followed the sounds of the harmonics to there source where I met the strangest musician. He was a rather thin black man with long and large dreadlocks that resembled a beagles ears. On top of his head he wore pith helmet adorned with silver metal cross as he sat on a modified wagon behind his keyboard. I decided since I had nothing better to do I would just lean against the rail next to him and listen to his brand of music. It wasn't before long that the man noticed me standing there and he struck up a conversation. "HOW you doing son? Are you familiar with our lord and Savior Jesus Christ?"

It had been a wile since the strange coincidences of God rearing his way into my journey and here I found myself at the very bottom west corner of the United States being preached to by a former Rastafarian over the Pacific Ocean. I was at my end and had no idea what to do, except sit and listen.

The man started off by telling me about his old life style.
"I used drugs and engaged in homosexual activities with woman in orgies. Yeah thats right I was living in sin. I played with a Reggae band and we toured around using drugs and woman like toilet paper. I believed I was doing it all for JAH RasTafari! That, that life style was the right path. I couldn't have been more wrong I was LIVING IN SIN! I laid down and made love with the white devils. YOU better get wise and get JESUS! One day I woke up after a huge orgie of drugs and woman only to find an emptiness within that couldn't be filled by my carnal ways. Thats when he found me! JESUS came to me and he told me to go to a local church. I had never heard of this church before but JESUS guided me to it as if I had been there before. There I found a priest who told me the error of my ways and I have been trying to spread the word of our lord and savior ever since. Do you know the last time I even engaged in sexual activities with a woman? Of course you don't! But its been 15 years since I even so much as kissed a woman! I barely kissed her, I kissed her on the cheek!"

I didn't say a word as he rambled off about his path to salvation, I just nodded my head in attention. I could see where he was coming from in some respect, I too had an emptiness inside I once tried to fill in the wrong manner. Then he started to to loose me as he drifted off topic.

"You know what all of this is about? DON'T YOU? The end is near! The homosexuals are taking over! IT. SAYS. IT. RIGHT. IN. THE. BIBLE. Man shall not lay with another man! You see it all over, the homosexuals want to get married and so shall fall the house of Christ! Hurricane Katrina shows Gods ability to smite. New Orleans was living in sin and just before the biggest homosexual gathering to take place in the US, he wiped it from the earth! Just wait you better get Christ! Soon they'll have a national ID with our DNA on it so the government can track us......." I don't know how or why his train of thought turned from the end of the world being upon us to the government conspiracies but I could see that this man was fishing off the deep end for a reason. I politely tried to steer my way out of this conversation and after a few "a huh, a huh, yeah I know what you mean man, but I need to get going. I need to find a place to sleep for the night." He stopped looked me strait in the eyes and said "The lord teaches us to share what we have with our fellow man even if you are apart of the WHITE DEVILS ways, if you need at place to go come with me." As tempted as I was to go with a recovering Rastafarian I didn't want to listen to anymore of his odd banter and asked him, "do you know where Point Loma is?" He looked at me in a rather odd manner "POINT LOMA! Your practically in it.....why? Where are you trying to go? I explained to him that I was looking for a youth hostel in the area.

"OH then you mean the hos-tel over on Newport."
"no no, they told me I couldn't stay there and should go to the Point Loma hostel."
"Then you want to go to the place off Voltaire its on.......Warden St!"
"so let me get this strate, go to Voltaire and turn....."
"RIGHT on WAR-DEN!'

I bid my Rasta friend a farewell and thanked him for the info, even though I was highly skeptical of it, and had no idea where this mysterious Voltaire St lie. As I walked down the wharf back to my car I had a new lead but I couldn't help but imagine if things didn't work out, I could always find a spot to curl up on the beach.