Hotel California

As I entered the first thing I encountered was the gentleman at the front desk in a heated argument with a person who had been staying there. They were going back and forth over some obscene action the man made at another guest involving moving his bowels in one of the dorm rooms. I knew that this place was definitely going to be the later of my two predictions.
As the men continued yelling at each other I took a seat on an old red colored crushed velvet couch, that had seen its prime thirty years before. Off in the corner was an old television set that had been stacked upon another, assumingly broken TV, where the nightly news was playing as it flickered and buzzed with interference.

The men continued to go back and forth when finally the man being accused of defecating in his room said "I don't need this shit" to which the man at the desk responded "I don't need to be cleaning up your shit!" The man then threw his key down and stormed out into the street. The man at the counter fit the classic Hollywood trying to make it in the biz profile. He didn't half to tell me you could just tell. He was tall, had long brown hair which he tied back in a ponytail, and had certain features which would lead one to believe he was in the porno biz. He leaned over and said to me "Sorry about all that how can I help you?" Before I could get a word out he continued on "some people you know man, I mean who takes a shit in the middle of a floor?" I didn't have an answer for that, but I replied "I'm looking for a room, but preferably not that one." He gave out a small chuckle in response, then began flipping through his guest ledger and book. "you want to stay one night or two?" he asked, "because if you want to stay another night, I'll have to move you to another room tomorrow." After what I had just witnessed I could only imagine what types where also staying here and opted for just one night. He then looked back at me and took in my facial features very carefully asking me "You ever stayed here before?" I half laughed and said "no, maybe in another life!" He then looked me over again and said "I believe you and all man, but you look like a dude that skipped out of here without paying so I'm going to have to check your ID."

With all that nonsense out of the way, I was given the standard rundown of rules and what not, and then pointed out a backdoor across an alley to a small house that was on the side of the main building. I entered through the back door walking through a filthy kitchen around into a central common area where I took notice of three very strange individuals, then around another turn and up a flight of shallow stairs where I arrived at my designated room. I fumbled with the key as I tried to open door, but to my dismay, the locked door could just be pushed open. Inside the room lie a very unpleasant smell. Luckily for me it wasn't the smell of fecal material, but more of sweaty dirty clothes kind of smell, that was just as unpleasant. I looked about for my bunk, but all were seemed to be taken, covered in the useless possessions and clothes that had been strewn about the room. One of the bottom bunks was laking sheets, which led me to believe that under all the crap it was covered in, I would be sleeping there.

I just took all the stuff that was on the bed and began to carefully place it off to the side. This led my attention to the discovery of a massive stain that the removal of said items covered. I shivered as I thought about the possibility of what might have caused this mighty and foul stain. Upon closer inspection I thanked God that the stain was dry, and began the process of covering it up with my sheets. The pillow on the bed revealed just a frightening site, it had a deep yellow brown stain on it, as if it had been slept on thousands of times with out placing it in a pillow case.

The smell of the room was overwhelming and I thought about how I was going to be able to sleep in such foul conditions, a park bench was shaping up to be a better option. I needed a break from all this and went down stairs to the common area. I took a seat on a couch, that looked like it had been dragged out of the city dump, rats, smell and all! It was one of those couches you sit on, and you don't want to lean back because your afraid what you might be leaning into. It was one of those couch's you don't even want touching any of your unclothed body parts in fear that you might pick up some sort of parasite. It was one of those couch's you would expect to find in a drunken frat house, that only God knows what took place on it. Suffice it to say, I would have felt more comfortable sitting on the floor but it was coated with some sort of sticky substance.

The three I had rushed past earlier were still mulling around the area. As I sat on the couch I pulled out my computer and attempted to see if I could find a wireless connection. Just as I did this a small Middle Eastern Fellow in a Hawaiian shirt and black khakis violently sat down on the couch next to me. Instantly I was punched in the face by the overwhelming foul smell of body Odor. I half held my breath as I attempted to do things on computer, when he rudely leaned over to see what I was doing. "what is this?" he said, "This computer what is it?" I was a bit taken back by his brazen action and responded "ahh its just a Dell" He came back "Dell?......Dell is good?"

"well.." I said, "I wouldn't exactly call it good, but for the money....." He then looked at me in a stern manner "so its Shit! I need to get a computer maybe I get that maybe i get better. I am in school for computers." I couldn't help but wonder if he was in school for computers, why was he asking me about my computer, let alone not know what a Dell is? So I asked "where do you go to school for computers?" he replied with a harsh "ENGLAND! I am from England!" He then asked me where I was from, So I told him "I'm from Chicago." He looked at me with an evil look in his eyes and said "CHICAGO, I know this city, is SHIT! I know all about this city, I no like you!" he sprang up from the couch, to the relief of my nostrils, and walked out of the room.

The two others in the room didn't seem the least bit fazed or surprised by his actions they kept on with there business of trying to gain reception on another ancient TV that lie in the room. One of the two men kept shuffling about between the TV and the small chair in the corner. He had three large packs clipped to his waist, and a large pack affixed to his back, that looked quite heavy and had him hunching. He would take his pack off and place it next to him as he sat in a small chair, then every five minutes or so he would stand up, put his pack on, and go through the process of clipping it up and walk five feet to bang on the TV. Then he would walk back to his small chair and go back through the process of unclipping and taking his pack off. He kept up this odd behavior for the hour I spent In the room.

The other Gentlemen in the room came over and lied face down on an equally disgusting couch that laid adjacent to the one I was sitting on. he then proceeded to bury his face in one of the pillows as he looked to find a comfortable position to watch TV in. I cringed at the thought of what he was unknowingly rubbing his face in. He must of seen the look on my face as he wallowed around on the couch and said "What?" I shook my head and said "oh nothing, its just. eh never mind." He didn't press the mater instead he introduced himself and before long was telling me of his Hollywood exasperation's. "yeah I'm here to get into the entertainment industry." Naturally I assumed he was an actor so I asked "So, your an actor?" This led to unexpected response "well, not exactly, I never acted before, but I think it would be a good way to make some cash." in a very innocent way he said "I've seen enough movies, to know how its done, it can't be that hard." I bit my tongue on mocking him, knowing he would learn the harsh reality's soon enough. Then again maybe he'll be the next Tom Cruise.

I was just about to retire for the evening when I heard a bunch of commotion out front. Upon further investigation, the man who ran the front desk was engaged in fisticuffs with another former tenant who was brandishing a guitar. He screamed at the guy who was trying to gain access to the hostel "I told you, not to come back here!" The man pleaded and was obviously very drunk "come on man, I need a place to stay.." "Well you can't stay here, that's what you get when you skip on a bill, so beat it!" The one man became even more enraged and lurched forth swing his guitar at the other. The other man easily bobbed and weaved out of the way of the wildly flailing guitar and connected with one solid punch to the mans face knocking him flat to the ground. "Look what you made me do!" yelled the man as he stood over the fallen reveler. "now I got to call the cops......why the fuck did you make me do that." Only slight moans could be herd in response. It wasn't before long that the police and an ambulance showed up. The man who was laid out was arrested and the man who knocked him out was given a pat on the back by the police. I thought it would go the other way, but none us onlookers stepped up to say otherwise.

Hollyweird Land

Leaving Hearst Castle I couldn't shake the feeling of buyers remorse, that I had just payed $20 to see a filthy rich dead mans home. Back to the road I went forging on toward LA, although my destination for the night would be Tinseltown.

Hollywood was in no part like anything I had imagined. It was full of the depraved, and I'm not just talking about the famous actors and the rich that reside there. The normal folks that inhabited the area where a strange breed, mostly consisting of hack entertainers who's hearts once held the hope of striking it big, but who's dreams had long since been dashed and were now forced to prostitute there limited talents for a handout on the Walk of Fame. This was an all to common site, and gave the main tourist part of Hollywood Blvd a very desperate feel. As I walked up and down the Blvd looking at what little there is to see, I naturally gravitated towards the famous Grauman's Chinese Theatre. I did what all self respecting tourist do when there, I stuck my hands in Harrison Fords prints. Well that was a novel endeavor which was quick to loose its novelty, as a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like came up and said "hay there big boy." I hate impersonators, and this one was creeping me out, because "it" could have easily been a man. I shrugged off Marilyn's attempts to engage me in discourse with a nervous "nwwhaahahah" and made my way east along the strip taking note of the famous Kodak theatre where the Oscars are held.

I then headed north up Highland avenue I came across a very worn down hotel/hostel that wasn't in my hostel handbook and I hadn't seen on the internet when I did a search for one in the area. This lead me to believe one of two things; The place had opened up recently, or it was a complete dump. It was late in the evening and I wanted to settle in for the night, so I inquired within.

RK05

As I drove down the 1 I tried to justify my hasty retreat from the Costco leaving behind my Japanese friend by attempting to make good time to LA. Still I couldn't help but feel a bit bad and question my actions. I had plenty of time to think about it wile traffic kept me creeping along Big Sur. It was a beautiful Monday afternoon and all the Yahoo's in their Corvettes, Porches, and Lamborghini's had come out to put there machines to Big Sur's curvaceous test.

It took quite some time to snake my way off the amazing coastal road, and before long I had emerged at the base of Hearst Castle. I thought at first, that perhaps I would be able to snap a few photos of it from the road, but it laid far a top a mountain overlook, so for a large fee of $20 I decided to go and see this monstrous and extravagant mansion built by the sensational journalism mogul. The bus ride to the top was probably the best part of the tour. I was one of the first ones on the bus and took a seat all the way in the back. Then one after another old woman wearing Babushkas began to file on. I couldn't tell where they were all from but it seemed as tho the large tour group was from some eastern block nation. The whole buss was a roar with foreign chatter as we climbed the long narrow pass to the castle. The only thing missing, to make the whole experience a little more authentic, was a few chickens and a goat. Then maybe the folks on board would have felt more at home.

When we got to the top and off the bus I was separated from the tour group, and placed in much smaller and more manageable group of 6. Our tour Guide was by no means remotely good, her first words were "Welcome, I am your tour guide, I have no set script, so if there are no questions I wont have much to say." No history lesson from her, she was just there to make sure we didn't touch anything, and casually guide us around the mansion.

Walking through the compound its hard to believe through all the extravagance and decadence that people actually lived here. I guess its because I'm by no means accustom to such lavish art and surroundings, but still, the place had the feel of a stale museum. Even the actual core house was built to resemble a Cathedral! Not the kind of place I would like to live in.

My Pet Japanese

When I awoke in the morning, most of the UN had dispersed leaving behind the Japanese kid. I was able to learn from some very patient probing and careful translating a little more about my new Japanese friend. He had come from Japan, with no money, to quote him “some people give me a….money to leave……they no want me in Japan, me crazy, stupid, lazy!”  He had been working at a sushi restaurant in Carmel but some how the Japanese guy he was working for didn’t want him any more, so he was left to wonder the streets. He had been living in parks for a few weeks when he met a Japanese girl who cleaned him up and gave him some money to stay at the hostel in Monterey, but to quote him again “Japanese woman no want me, me crazy, stupid, lazy.”

In the morning I tried my hand at holding another conversation with him, to which I discovered he needed to go to the market. He pulled out a Costco card and said to me “you know? I need to go?” I laughed and thought I could help him out so I said “yeah I know where the Costco is!” I had seen it from the highway the other day when I was returning from K’s. I should have said I new the general vicinity it was in. So I offered him a lift there.

I should have made the fact more clear that I only knew the general vicinity it was in, and began driving in that direction. From the beginning the Japanese fellow kept saying to me “ahhh no I think it that way.” To which I kept saying “No…its cool man I know where its at, its over there.” In hind sight it never occurred to me that there might be more then one Costco in the area. So I pressed on driving in circles up and down streets all the wile saying odd bits of American trivia to my Japanese passenger. Finally I got fed up looking on the side streets for it and decided to head back to the highway I had seen it from. As I got on the entrance ramp, I thought I would play a bit of a joke so I turned to him and said “Dude I hope you want to go to San Francisco with me!” The look in his eyes became one of pure terror. He actually thought I was taking him to San Fran, and if I were a guy that barely spoke English, traveling with a guy I just met the night before, I would be a bit scared to. He yelled out “NO GO TO FRANCISCO! Go to Costco only!” It took me a bit to calm him down and reassure him I was going to the Costco and that this was indeed the way to get there. He kept pointing out my window towards the South saying to me “NO……I think it over there.”  I ignored this as what could he possible know, he’s not from here, but then again neither am I, but I know I saw the damn Costco in this direction. Before long it appeared off to our right, and leaned over and said “See dude, its right there, I told you I knew where it was, but you didn’t believe me.” He just stared out the window at it and didn’t say a word.

I pulled up to the curb in front of the massive store and said “there you go buddy, I told you I knew how to get here.” He looked at me perplexed like why are we stopped and he just sat in his seat. I said to him again “Ok man here you go, we’re here!” he looked at me and said “oh here oh…..oh oh ok.” He opened the door to my car and got out, grabbing his meager possessions with him. I leaned over and extended my arm to shake his hand and said “OK buddy you take care good luck.” He shook my hand and said “ah yes good luck.” Then he slammed my door shut and I pulled away from the curb. I looked back through my rearview mirror as I pulled away and I could see him just standing there staring at my car driving off. It was at this point that it hit me, that I might have done more harm then good. Here I had just given a foreigner with a limited English vocabulary and almost nothing a lift 20 miles away from where he was staying, to a store I’m not quite sure was the right one he wanted to go to. The image of him staring at me as I pulled away still haunts my mind, almost like I had abandoned a beloved pet in the woods.  

  

The Monterey UN

An Italian, a Japanese, and a Hasidic Jew all walk into a dorm room. No this isn’t the start of a bad joke, but the our limited abilities to communicate with each other would be.

All three of them barley spoke any English. All them were translating there thoughts into English, and then back into their respected languages. Here’s a little of how it went.

ME: So how long you all staying here?
     A puzzled look was on all their faces as they attempted to understand what I just said.
JAPANESE: ahhhhhh………staying? Here? In California?
ITALIAN: ahhhhh…….you say here (points to the ground) Monterey?
HASIDIC:……ah Monterey is a nice place.

M: No, no I mean yes Monterey
I  : Yes California or…….you say here (points to the ground again) you….USA?
J  :  ah yes I ah work here Monterey is very nice a place.
H : ………….
M: so you’re all staying here?
I  : in USA? Yes I here…….(raises hand up) maybe 4 days…..I dunno.
J  : yes USA very good…much better then Japan.
H : aahhh yes I like it here very much.
M:  no I meant here, in Monterey
I  :No? (raises his hand up) you mean no here? No USA?
J : No….he mean no here no USA.
H …………………
M: No I meant….here in Monterey.
I  :Ahhh yes is a very good!
J : Yes a it a very nice!
H: ah its good.

We went around in a circle like this for hours trying to talk on a wide range of topics with limited ability to understand English vocabulary. It took me half an hour to explain what an easy girl was. The Japanese fellow liked the prospect of American woman claiming that in Japan he was “no good, dirty, crazy! No Japanese woman want.” oddly enough the Italian came back and said “that’s ok you-a fit-in-a-nice-a with the American boys.” To which the Japanese seemed insulted “BOY? I no boy….MAN is no boy.” The Italian tried to explaining what he meant but only Italian came out of his mouth. The Hasidic just sat there looking at us and then picked up his Bible and began reading from it aloud. It was the oddest thing ever, it was like being at a UN meeting.  

Thank You

The following day K was once again kind enough to come out and show me about Monterey, Except this time she took us up the 1 on a country drive of the coast up Big Sur. The view from the road was amazing as it twist and turns along the conformity of the coastline passing over two very impressive concrete bridges. We stopped at a very interesting restaurant on an overlook of the ocean called Nepenthe where I had the most amazing hamburger and Blue-Cheese salad. K showed me unparalleled kindness during my stay in Monterey and she is probably the most brilliant and equally beautiful woman I have ever met. I hope that someday I will be able to repay the generosity she showed me, and wish her the best of luck.

Too Kind

The next day I decided to treat K and A to breakfast at Denny’s, after which K was kind enough to take me on another guided tour of Monterey. We headed across town to Cannery Row, past Lovers point, onto the famous Seventeen Mile Drive taking us through the ritzy neighborhoods along the world famous Pebble Beach golf course. We took a moment and stopped at the Lone Cypress, to take a few photos of the very impressive tree and view. After a brief meeting with some very friendly and fat squirrels we were off again making our way to an old Monastery. As we walked through it I could help but make inappropriate quips at Christian religion. I know God will punish me for that one.

K had some business to take care of after our little adventure, but she extended an invite for me to come over and eat a steak dinner with her roommate and A. It was a lovely time and for the first time on my trip made me feel like I was really among friends, hanging out and having a good time. After dinner I hung around for a little bit and we watch a short episode of MST3K.

K & A and Monterey

In the morning I could hardly take it anymore and leapt from my bunk around 7AM. I made my way to small café-esqe section of the hostel to eat my free breakfast. It was a simple mix of coffee and bagels. I grabbed an empty seat at a table next to a lovely couple traveling from Australia. It seems that most foreigners like to engage in politics and Australian especially, because to quote them “not a whole lot happens down under.” As I sat and chatted with them, I noticed that family from the Redwood hostel. I gave the father of the family a nod and a wave, and he did the same, then it was time for me to go.

I had originally planned, not that I really had a plan at all, to head East from San Francisco to Yosemite and then make my way across Utah to my brother in Colorado. Instead I decided to head South down the coast to Monterey, where a friend I had never met before lived.

I was a bit nervous about calling K at first, I am not really good at just calling people out of the blue, but seeing how I had come all this way it would be a real shame not to meet her. I dialed her phone number with a bit of caution and great anxiety. It rang a few times and she answered with “hello?” I froze for a second and asked “is..is this K?” She seemed a bit cautious to answer “this is.” I responded with, “Oh….this is Francis!”  Her voice then changed from one caution to one of great jubilee, or perhaps that’s an over statement, regardless she seemed happy to here from me. We talked for only a few minutes and it was decided she would stop by the hostel I was staying at in Monterey and pick me up for dinner.

She arrived shortly after, with her lovely daughter A, and swept me off to the Fisherman’s Warf in Monterey. She treated me to a lovely dinner, and we chatted about our respected lives and all that was going on. After dinner, I treated K, to some of my bland photography of my adventures across the country, which she was kind enough to sit look at. Then as the angst in young A built we made our way back the car where K was kind enough to give me a night time tour of Monterey.

Never a Dull Moment

I spent the remainder of the day just wondering about town meandering my way back to the hostel, and settled in for a rather uneventful evening. It wasn’t until the middle of the night that most entertaining event of the day would take place

I was awoken by the worst snoring I have ever herd in my life. Just when I think I have herd the worst possible snoring ever, each new hostel I stay at tops the previous. It wasn’t just one guy this time, it was two, and it almost seemed like they were performing a night-time ballad for all of us staying in the dorm. Back and forth they went for quite some time, before one of them was jarred back to consciousness by choking on there own breath. I guess, as he tried to return to his snoring slumber, he was interrupted by the other fellows night-time bellows. He then got out of his bunk and ever so slightly shook his snoring compatriot too, making him aware of his ungodly noises. Being jarred from his sleep seemed to upset the man and few minor words were exchanged. The man then returned to his bunk and before long fell back into a state of decibel giving bliss. This seemed to further upset the man who had just been awakened for a same reason. He sprung forth from his bunk and violently shook the man who had awoken him. The two exchanged a few more words of an indignant nature, and then the man returned to his bunk. It wasn’t before long that the man who had just returned to his bunk began snoring again. This seemed to infuriate the man who had just been awoken by the man he originally awoke causing him to spring from his bunk and violently shake him. This seemed to be the last straw for both men and a heated argument erupted, awaking any who weren’t already awake from the ear torturous sounds. The lights were flung on as the men began to wrestle about the room crashing into bunks and rolling on the floor. It didn’t take long before three other men sprung from there bunks to restrain the men. After all was said and done and the men went back to there respected sides of the room and the snore ballad went unabated for the rest of the night.

Kung Fu Hustle

Walking about Chinatown in San Francisco has the feel of actually being in China, or at least some Asian place. It’s a hustle and bustling with people and street vendors vying for your attention. I was hungry by now and it was a little after 2 so I figured I could get a great deal on a cheap Chinese lunch. I made my way up the street looking in various windows in search of cheap eats, but to my dismay none caught my eye. I took a turn off the main drag and found myself standing in front of a restaurant called, Chinese Restaurant. As I glanced over a menu that had been hung on the side of the building a short Asian woman tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and she forced a piece of paper into my hand wile saying in a very rapid manner, “You hungry! You Hungry! Go eat now, sic dolla special. sic dolla special you go now!” She then lifted her hand put it on my back and began to gently coerce me into the building. I was hungry and the “sic dolla” special sounded good, even though I had no idea what it was.

The woman brought me inside, showing me around a corner and up a set of stairs to a large dining area filled with only a few patrons.  She then guided me to a table near an open balcony pulling the chair out in a gesture that this would be my place to sit. I sat there for quite some bit before a waiter made his way over. I ordered a coke and the special, making sure to clearly state the “lunch SPECIAL.” He nodded his head and replied “ah, very good, special.”

It wasn’t before long that my food arrived I think it wasn’t worthy of the title “special.” It was some sort of beef with sesame seeds on it and some strange sautéed vegetables. I made quick work of the dish, and at the end of the meal was surprised with a complimentary scoop of Green Tea ice cream and a fortune cookie. To my surprise the ice cream was quite good, and my fortune seemed bright “a new business venture will bring you success.”  

After I had finished the waiter came by and dropped the check on a small tray. To my surprise my meal had come to a staggering $20.00! I then reviewed the check to see what the hell I had been charged for

     Special-----------$13.12
     Coke--------------$ 3.48
      Tax-------------- $5.50
Total-----------------------$20.00


I don’t know what kind of funny math they were using here, but I had ordered what I thought was a $6.00 lunch special, I didn’t even want to get started on the tax. I flaged the waiter down to ask about the discrepancy, to which I said “excuse me, I thought the lunch special was six dollars?” “oh no,” he replied “no special twev dolla.” I looked at him in a perplexed and shocked manner wondering how the meager portion and lacking entrée could have possible cost that much. I asked him again “are you sure? The woman outside told me that the special was six dollars.” He looked me strait in the eyes and said “no she wrong, it twev dolla!”  I pulled out my credit card and placed it on the tray in defeat. There was no disputing this, I had been hustled by a seemingly legit restaurant. What recourse did I have besides the whole “he said, she said?” I feared that pushing the mater would have me dragged down a back alley to be turned into what ever I had just eaten.  

Whale...What?

I was awoken by the sounds of several children running up and down the hall outside the room I was in around 7AM. I staggered forth into the common area in search of some coffee and there I found a giant swarm of kids. Once I had obtained a cup of joe, I took a seat next to a tall man with small cowboy esq hat wearing long pajama looking clothes. I sat there in a daze and still very weary from my travels the day before trying to contemplate my next move.

It wasn’t before long that man introduced himself. He told me of a big anti war rally that was going to take place in San Francisco in the next couple of days and asked me if I wanted to go. I thought about it for a minute or two, but decided against getting involved in any kind of protest, although it would have made for a good story. We then started talking Politics which wasn’t that bad, except for my new friend had some far out theories. He told me of his struggles to “live off the radar” in the mountains above San Francisco. He had to rely on generators for electricity and his truck he modified to run off Bio-diesel. When I asked why he lived like this well the answer was obscure do to the fact he felt the government was tracking him, but he did hint at that he grew a special “good-time” crop way up there. He also told me of his grand plan for a new nation that consisted of all the west coastal states and the Mexican Baja Peninsula. He called it Waletopia and it would be the new world, free of government tyranny, where people wouldn’t have to pay taxes and marijuana was legal. He even had designs drawn up for the money they would use.

After my chat I packed my stuff together and decided to move to a hostel inside San Francisco. It had nothing to do with anyone I met at my present location, I just wanted to get out of paying for the previous night, and my feet and legs were tore up something awful so I didn’t feel like doing anymore long distance urban hiking.

Unfortunately when I arrived at the new hostel at Fort Mason, It was to early to check in, and baring waiting on the steps of the place, and seeing how moving about the hills in San Francisco with a manual transmission vehicle isn’t the best way to travel, I would once again be hoofing it about town. This time I got some directions on how to use the bus. I decided to go and check out Golden Gate Park, and hoped on the #43 up that way. Now when I think of a park, I think of something along the lines of Grant Park in Chicago, wide open spaces with a sprinkling of trees and well maintained. Now Golden Gate Park is more like Central Park, long covered in trees and paths leading through wooded areas where the bums live. I had a hell of a time navigating it, but it was a rather nice park with all kinds of things to see in it. Unfortunately I would be walking through it with my God forsaken pack once again.

When I emerged from the park on one end, the crappy map I was carrying didn’t have the streets I was on, on it! I was lost in a part of town where roving gangs of Asians stood on there corners, Gay people tended to there houses, and bums were trying to sell me pot. It wasn’t before long that I came to a street I recognized instantly from its fame. I was on Haight street and what an interesting street it is. Kind of reminded me of Belmont street back in Chicago. Lots of interesting shops and places to eat, crowed by the young stoner types and the hipster duffass’s. I made my way up Ashbury where, I took a few photos and then decided to make my way over to China town. with my new found skill to read a bus rout, I hoped on the #19 which took me with in a few blocks of my destination.

My Feet Hurt

Once I returned from Alcatraz I had a daunting walk back across the bridge to my car. I had been lugging this God forsaken pack around with me for the past 10 hours and now my feet were starting to bleed again. I pulled out a bus schedule I had picked up at the Golden Gate bus depot and tried to make sense of it. I hate bus routes, I can never figure them out. So naturally I stuffed it back in my pocket and began walking in the direction I had to go. It would be another 2 hours before I reached the bridge, and another hour before I reached my car.

I sat in my car seat and debated on going to sleep right then and there. I decided it best to head back up into the Marin Headlands back to the hostel. When I arrived I used my last bit of strength to check in, but once again a sign had been placed that said “I’m around come look for me.”  The farthest I went to look for him was back to the kitchen, where I met the nice guy from the night before who gave me the Coos-Coos. He was waiting on his friend so he could drive her to the train station and we talked for a bit before he left. I then walked back to the office and by now I just wanted to collapse, so I took a seat on a set of stairs near by. I sat there and contemplated the bizarre events of the day. It wasn’t before long that the attendant from the night before showed up holding a bag of Cheeto’s and judging by the big smile on his face he was feeling pretty good. I stood up to check in and he instantly recognized me greeting me with a “naahaaa you want to stay another night?”  Must I even dignify this with a response? He opened up the office and began rummaging around in a confused manner, then the phone rang, “hold on man I got to answer this.”

I just stood there for a minute and I could tell the nature of the call was personal. He then took time away from his conversation to tell me “ah dude just ah go back in the room you had yesterday……and ah come back later and pay me nahaaaa.”

I had every intention of paying for the night, but my body was exhausted and once I entered the room I crashed onto the bed into a slumber I have not felt in quite some time.  

Alcatraz

I walked on and on a seemingly endless path. Everyone had told me San Francisco was walking city, but I think I took it to literally. I walked all about the bay, until I came up to the old Fisherman’s Warf. Its not much of a Fisherman’s Warf anymore, it should be renamed Tourist Warf. It was full of the usual shops you would expect to find in any tourist trap, and who can forget the proverbial Ripley’s.

I made my way around to pier 41 and bought a ticket to go and see Alcatraz island.  I had to wait an hour so I made the most of my time by walking back down the main tourist drag. I stopped at a spot where a bunch of people had gathered and were staring across the street. I struggled to see what everyone was looking at, when I saw the gag at hand. A very creative homeless man sat on top of a bucket, wile holding two large pieces of shrubbery in front of him. Then when unsuspecting tourist walked past he would move his brush out of the way and startle them. It led to some very funny antics, but I noticed nobody was tipping this man for his ingenious practical joke. It was a much better effort then the guy laying on the street with a cardboard sign that read, “sick with AIDs need money” For some odd reason my compassion for the guy with AIDs sign was lacking but the guy making everyone laugh deserved it. I walked across the street and tossed him a buck in his tip bucket, he said “thank you” and “God bless.”

It was close to my boarding time and I headed back to the pier. I love the ocean, but there’s just something that makes me uneasy about getting on boats. As we pulled away from the dock, the open bay breeze cut through my clothes like a knife through butter. It was a cold I have never felt before, so powerful yet at the same time the heat from the sun burned down on top of me. As the boat swayed to and fro, I remembered the age old rule of sailing, one hand for the boat and one hand for yourself…..at least I think that’s how it goes?

Once we landed, we all filled off the boat just like a bunch of new inmates onto the “Rock.” where we were greeted by a park service personal who told everyone the rules and then directed everyone down the way to watch a brief movie on the island that of course paints the island prison in a good light, and brushes over all the accusations of atrocities committed by the personnel along with the brief American Indian occupation. Then just to the left of where the movie was playing, Alcatraz had a special guest, a former prisoner at Alcatraz who wrote a book about his experiences.

I thought that it would be a novel idea to go over and have a chat with a real inmate of Alcatraz. I said hello and let me tell you this guy couldn’t have been a bigger asshole at 80 years of age. I’m sure he got a lot of bullshit question, but he kept directing everyone to buy his book. He told people about his time in the “black hole” of Alcatraz and how he was down there for 30 days for carrying a shank. Then everyone standing around was all “oh how terrible, no man who carries a shank should get that much time in the hole, and no man who robbed a bank for $5000.00 in 1940 should get 15 years hard time. Oh the poor man.” I mean am I the only one who thought, “you know what, maybe you deserved to be here, and I’m sorry if it was tough here, but you put your self here by robbing a bank and shooting a man! Am I the only one that thinks your making legit money off your time spent at the worst prison ever is ironic?” What am I supposed to feel bad for this guy? So I turned to him and said “bet you learned a lesson about robbing banks?” He looked at me with vengeance in his eyes, like he was wishing he still had that shank that got him sent to the hole. He stared me down, and I didn’t back away from my comment and he said “get out of here you prick.” Well I do agree my comment was…..a poor choice in words, but I guess it’s still a touchy subject with my non law abiding friend. I got more sympathy for the guy with the AIDs sign on the streets then this bank robbing prick.

I then walked off and I herd some people muttering about what I said as I left, but I don’t think I was in the wrong. I then went off to tour the rest of the prison, which was a lot smaller then I had ever imagined. For some odd reason I had it in my head that it was a giant store house for cons, when in reality it only held a few hundred at most. Taking the tour was an interesting experience, and I’m glad I did, but at the end of the day I couldn’t help but think, “I paid $16 to look at an old prison?”    

First Impressions

Not wanting to pay the $5 toll to cross the Golden Gate bridge I decided to park my car on the north side of the bridge and hike in. I grabbed most of my possessions and stuffed them into my pack, in hind site I should have just left the whole thing behind, because the 30lbs on my back would wear me down by the days end.

As I hiked across I couldn’t help but think “What if an earthquake hits wile I’m crossing this thing?” I imagined the suspension cables snapping and the deck creaking and falling into the water depths below. Then when I got to the center of the bridge and looked over, I couldn’t help but contemplate taking the plunge to Davie Jones’ locker below. For some reason I always have those macabre thoughts, when it comes to high places.

Onward I pressed making it to the other side in no time. I had walked the entire two mile span in under an hour. I stopped on the other side for a few photos and then continued on. I walked along the 101 for an additional 3 miles or so, until was able to reach a park near the marina. I walked over to bench and took a load off my feet. Behind the bench was a bathroom, which I took advantage of. As I was taking care of my business I noticed an old man come mulling about, just seemingly walking in circles. I didn’t take much notice of it and went back outside to the bench

As I sat on the bench looking over my maps, and trying to decide where to go next, when the old man came out of the bathroom and took a seat at the end of the bench I was sitting on. Now I should no better then to ask strange old men that hang out inside public bathrooms in the park, but at the time I wasn’t really thinking. So I asked the man, “Excuse me, do you know your way around this city very well?” to which he told me yes, that he was indeed very familiar with the city, and asked me where I was truing to go. “Well,” I said, “I’m not to sure just looking for something neat to do.” The man then moved from down at the end of the bench toward me. He talked about San Francisco with great passion and how liberal it was. He then did the ol lift one butt cheek up and creep closer to me slide. I was a bit thrown off by this move to get closer to me, and I began to get a little nervous.  He then started to talk to me in a more suttle manner almost like a whisper and began looking around in a nervous manner. Then he raised his hand and put it on my nee. I sprung to my feet as fast as I could, and said with great force “NO THANKS DUDE, I DON’T FLY THAT WAY!”  he looked up at me stunned, he then got up without saying a word and turned around and walked the other way. I took off as fast as I could in the opposite direction.

As I hurried away from the apparent gay hookup park, I managed to make maybe a mile up the road when a man in an Escalade stopped me. He leaned out his window and said “hay man, you know how to get to the 101 from here?” I told him “yeah I just came from there, its aways that way.” He then leaned further out at me and said “hay man you look like a cool guy, you want some chronic?” I was confused so I went closer to his car and asked “what was that?” he then said “you need some dank nugs? I got the best in San Fran” he then pulled out a large Tupperware container and showed me his stickiest of the icky. I couldn’t believe what was going on, in a matter of a few blocks I had been molested by an old gay man, and offered to buy marijuana. What the hell kind of city is this?
    

My First Hippy

After I got settled in, I walked back to the common area to poor over some maps of San Francisco. As I sat there I was interrupted by a scraggly looking man with a mane of long grey hair that had been tied back into a pony tail. He swaggered into the room holding a cheep bottle of red wine and swilling some of it from a coffee mug he daintily carried with him. He made his way through the room and came to a rest hovering over my back side looking down at my maps. I awkwardly sat there waiting to see if he would say something when finally he spoke “hmmnndm first time in San Fran?” I turned around toward him to answer, but he wouldn’t give me a chance. “Hmmngggm man you should have been here back in the day it was a crazy time man…….It was……hmmmmg a crazy time.” He bobbled his head up and down and began laughing to himself as he went on and on about the 60’s and all the people he used to know, describing the times with his three word vocabulary using “trippy , crazy and hmmmengg” incessantly. “So man the 60’s hmmmmngg….what a trippy time man, we were crazy back then! Hmmmmngg it was crazy man, what a trippy time man. I’m friends with the guy that started! Started! The whole hippy movement man! What a trip man, you wouldn’t believe him man, he’s the trippiest guy you’ll ever meet man! WOW! He’ll blow your mind you got to meet him man! He’s down in LA, thinks he’s an actor or poet or some shit. You ever seen Blade Runner man? He was in that! I’ll give you his number man, I always send people down to meat him man, hes going to love you.” I let this train of thought slide right out of his brain as the conversation then drifted off from there into what a disappointment San Francisco had become today, as he put it “All them rich pricks gone and moved in man. No more houses to just crash at, you know what I mean man? That’s why I got to stay all the way out here man, cost to much to stay in that fucken city anymore!”

Theres a Lot of Italians in Sausalito

I was hard pressed to make it to San Francisco before dark. I made quick time stopping only once in Mendocia, to accidentally discover it was used as the back drop for Murder She Wrote, that old TV show staring Angela Landsbary from the 1980’s. I made quick time through wine country not stopping for a single vineyard, but seeing how I don’t drink this really wasn’t a disappointment. Still my speed was no match for the earth’s rotation and the sun passed below the horizon before I even got close to Frisco.

I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going to stay once I got to San Francisco. I had a general idea where to go, mainly to Fisherman’s Warf area, where I had read a youth hostel lied. I believe my father or someone I know once told me the toll to cross the Golden Gate bridge was an absurd amount along the lines of $15 so I decided it best before I jump into a city I’m not familiar with and the fear of having to cross the bridge twice in order to find a place to stay, I should pull off at the last exit before crossing it and consult a map. Now why not pull off any time before and consult the map you ask? Something inside me once again spoke up and told me to just keep going, which once again led me to a truly remarkable finding. As I took the last exit before the bridge to pull off and study my maps, there was a big sign in front of me that said “Youth Hostel” with an arrow pointing up a long snaking road. What a truly amazing coincidence, or was it incidental?

Onward I traveled up the long snaking road into the pitch black night up a seemingly small mountain. I was terrified because the signs directing me where to go had long since disappeared and a thick fog had consumed the road in front of me. I crept my car around one tight bend after another until I came to a point where the Golden Gate Bridge appeared before my eyes, emerging from the fog that had concealed it. It was one amazing site as the bridge seemingly floated on a bed of clouds.

I stopped and stared for a minute taking in the awesome site, and then once again crept forward up and then down the hidden path. I then came to a fork in the road and on another guided whim from above, I went left. It took me down another twisting and winding road to a place I was not sure even existed at this point. There’s not a worse feeling than being lost in the thick of fog, on a road that borders the ocean, in a place where you don’t know where you are. All was not lost my fears were soon put to rest when I came across the Marin Headlands Hostel.

I crept up the long drive to the hostel in the pitch of night; the only interruption to the darkness came from three medium windows in the front of the place, which illuminated the walk from the light within. I parked my car off to the side in a rather eerie and dark corner that brought thoughts of serial killers and muggers jumping out at me to my mind.

I walked in a bit puzzled  to find nobody at the office, instead a sign had been placed on the door saying that the person in charge was on break and would return at 9:10. Well that was very nice that the sign had been placed there, but the time was now 9:25. I then decided to explore the place and began walking about. The first room I entered was the common area where I found a strange woman sitting in the corner quietly reading the newspaper, so I didn’t want to bother or disturb her. I walked around in a big loop which took me through the kitchen where I encountered a young man with half his head shaved wile the rest of his hair was long and hanging down on one side of his face. On the other side of the room, standing near one of the large sinks was a very much older man who was extremely thin and had short curly grey hair. As soon as I entered both welcomed me with a hello, which I immediately reciprocated, and seeing how I had their attention I asked about the attendant who was MIA. There response was what I feared, they had no idea, but the younger guy was very enthusiastic and in the midst of making Coos-Coos and offered up some of his dinner wile I waited. He then told me that the Coos-Coos was rather bland by itself and offered me one of those leafy green Greek things I had tried up in Seattle. The combination of flavors worked out quite well and I quickly consumed it all.

After a bit of talking with the guys in the kitchen the front door opened and in walked a very happy looking fellow with a giant grin on his face and the smell of marijuana thick in the air that surrounded him. He walked over to the office door without so much as giving me a glance, and took down the sign. He then went inside and some grumbling could be herd as he moved things about. As I walked up I think he was busy fidgeting with his radio and I gave him quite the surprise. He greeted me with a “helllloo, what you want a bed or something?” I couldn’t help but smile and almost bust out laughing, but I managed to contain myself and told him yes. He then said “OK man you can go in that room over there, do you want to check it out?” This was the first time anyone ever offered to let me see a room first before renting a bunk for the night. I answered him “Why do I need to see it first?” His mind wrapped around what I said for a minute and then he responded “Naaa it should be fine…..” Just then the phone the rang and he answered it rather quickly and in a rude manner “Hello……ahh……you know what can you call back in like 15 minutes I got line here!” I looked about for the line he was speaking of, but I was the only one in the general vicinity. He hung up the phone and mumbled something “People man, always trying to reserve shit.”