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.

Ocean Beach

Back when I was in San Francisco I met a guy that introduced me to the wonderful world of Coos Coos and told me If I ever made my way to San Diego, that I would need to stay in the Ocean Beech Hostel. It was a one of the greatest places he had ever stayed, with free BBQ on Tuesday. Then when I was in Monterey I sent a few correspondences to the Ocean Beach hostel in attempts of setting up a work exchange. I had grown tired of this frantic pace of traveling and it was starting to wear on me. I just needed a place to relax and recharge before making the long trek back.

I came down the 405 to the 5 exiting at Sea World Dr, taking that to Sunset cliffs Blvd over to Newport Ave. The site on Newport was the quintessential surfer town, bustling with activity. The sides of the streets were littered with surf/skate shops and small places to eat and get your drink on. I found a place a to park and made my way over to the hostel. The first thing that caught my eye when I approached were the 4 long boards leaning against the railing of the porch. My attention to the boards was short lived as a gentleman running down the steps with his surf board nearly knocked me over. I could tell that this was indeed a lively place to stay as the porch was buzzing with activity. Two people were locked in a heated game of checkers and behind them three people laughed and shared stories about their travels. As I walked through the threshold I was immediately guided to a small office area where a I caught a rather large fella engaged in futile attempts to swat flies.
"eh excuse me" I said "are you the."
"why yaz I amz" he spoke in an accent that sounded like it came from the east coast "what can I do fo yaz?" I explained all about how I was in contact with the owner of the hostel and was trying to work out a work exchange. The man gave me a funny look and said "I gotz bad news fo ya, the owner, he aint here'z taday, so I don't know nothin you talking about."
I was dumbfounded that wasn't quite the response I was looking for, So then I asked "when will he back?"
"He'll be back sometime tomaru'z why don't you come back then." He seemed pretty final about the whole thing, so I asked if I could bunk here for the night. He looked at me carefully then said "I need ta see'z your passport." I was confused so I asked "what? I don't have a passport?" then he said "wells then, you can't stay here, this is fo international travelerz only!"
I was frustrated now and trying to rationalize with the man.
"but, but....what if I go to Mexico and come back then I would be an international traveler, then could I stay?" He seemed irritated with me and replied, "No. Canada and Mexico's don't apply eithers!" Just to be a smart ass I said "well what about you? where are you from?" He smirked and said "Me, I'm from Jersey's!" Which judging by this mans IQ made him an international traveler, or just an asshole!

I turned and made my way to the door begrudgingly, and just as I went to step out, the man spoke again.
"Hey....ah if you needz a place to stay'z for the night, you can eh try Point Loma." Point Loma?
I asked where it was.
"well'z, I don't have any maps left, but" he lifted his hand and pointed east, "its that way." I gave out a very frustrated and ironic laugh as I made my way through the door.

I was in a rather desperate mood now, my mind was racing with what I was going to do. I walked a few blocks west and emerged at the beach. Out in the distance I could 30 of so surfers battling it out for waves. I decided to take a seat on a small wall that divided the beach from the sidewalk and just stair out at the pacific and watch. The combination of the warm sun, crashing waves and cool ocean breeze had a wondrous soothing effect and laid my mind at ease. It came to me, that so far with every set back I have experienced, a more wonderful opportunity awaited me.

A Long Uneventful Drive

After waisting nearly all morning trying to find the Hollywood Sign I decided to just skip LA completely and head for San Diego, but not before taking a tour of its expressway system. What a nightmare of driving. You would think that having 6 lanes of traffic in one direction would make traffic move more smoothly, well I have come to the conclusion that its a complete hindrance and it doesn't. You just get these people that still drive slow in the right lane, cross multiple lanes to try to get to an exit, and generally drive stupid. The only thing lacking from my LA freeway experience was a world famous LA police chase. I took the 101 to the 110, the 110 all the way down to 405. I stopped briefly in Compton to say a few "word ups" to my peeps on South Central Ave, before continuing on to San Diego.

Where's That Damn Sign!

I sat in my car for quite some time thinking about where I should go for the day. The thought of staying in Hollywood was the furthest from my mind. I wanted to see what LA had to offer, but when I thought about it there really wasn't anything that came to mind. I Know a lot of people will disagree with me but I don't believe there's anything of merit to see in LA. Now theirs the famous Venice and Muscle beaches, but I had just come down the most beautiful coastline and saw some of the most amazing beaches, now granted they were lacking the superficial people and hard bodies, but that's not why I go to beaches. I thought briefly of going to Disneyland, but I had worked at Disney World several years before and wasn't interesting in paying the mouse a visit. Then it struck me, I needed to find the most famous sign around!

Some how, and this always happens to me in new city's, I became disoriented with my directions and ended up traveling in the opposite way I need to go. In this case it lead to a very long detour which was a pleasant surprise taking me through Beverly Hills. It was a rather surreal experience driving down Santa Monica Blvd as I couldn't help but hum the theme song from Beverly Hills Cop wile keeping a sharp eye out for Eddie Murphy. Finally realizing the gross error of my driving path I managed to turn around and head back to the Hollywood Hills.

I should have done more research on how to find this sign. I could see it from the highway, but I wanted to get up close and personal with it. The problem with this, at least as far as I could tell, there was no way to get close to it. I ended up driving around for two hours through the Hollywood hills, passing, what I'm sure to be numerous Hollywood star homes and turning down narrow and steep side streets once again testing my stick shifting prowess. Some how I managed to snake my way around onto Mulholland Dr. I took it as far to the top as it would go, where it came to a dead end at the gates of some fancy houses. I had, had enough and figured this was as close as I was going to get and hopped out of my car for a picture. Unfortunately the dead end I had come to had 8 foot high fences, which put a hindrance of me getting my mug in any of the shots, and it also put a cramp on getting a decent pic.

Time To Go

After all the commotion over the beating in the street I thought it best to retire for the evening, but with all the unsavory types lurking about who could sleep. I had been keeping sleeping pills on me for just such an occasion where I found myself to terrified to slumber. I reached in my bag and took one. I then tried to arrange myself in such away that I would be curled around the massive stain that lie just below the thin sheets. It was a rather awkward and uncomfortable position, but that was the least of my concerns. My bunk lay at the base of very large window, which had been pushed wide open, in what I assume, was an attempt to air the stagnant stench out of the room. It wasn't drafty, on the other hand it was quite the pleasant night, but unfortunately there was a party taking place right outside on the patio below me. As I scanned the bunks around me, I was surprised to find nobody else in them, I suppose they must have been partaking in the festivities down below. It wasn't before long that the sleeping pill kicked in and my mind slowly eased and the loud screams coming from outside were drowned out by pleasant images of my travels.

I woke up early in the morning around 6:30AM thinking I would beet everyone to the only bathroom in this flop house of despair for a quick shower. To my surprise when I opened the door to my room I caught the tail end of the man who had all the bags attached to his waist entering the facilities. I figured he wouldn't be very long so I sat down on the a pair of steps that were adjacent to the restroom. I sat there impatiently tapping my foot and staring at the door. It wasn't before long that I began to hear bizarre unexplainable noise coming from within the room. Then I herd coughing and the toilet flush then walking around then the sink turn on, more walking around and then the toilet flushing again. What in the hell was going on in there? I tried to imagine different scenarios for what all those noises could be attached to in a morning bathroom routine, I even imagined the thoroughly unthinkable and disgusting, which might not have been to far from the truth judging from the types of people that were staying here. The toilet would flush several more times for a total of 8 flushes. I had been waiting for over 40 minutes and had grown thoroughly frustrated at this point. I began to think maybe the man had some sort of mental disorder or compulsion, so I stepped up and gently knocked on the door, and in a calm and collected voice asked "Hay....is everything alright in there?.......there's a line forming out here!" I figured the second half would encourage him to do what ever he was doing a little faster.

My words seemed to have worked because only a few moments passed before the man emerged with a rather red complexion in his face. We exchanged two uncomfortable and silent nods as I attempted to squeeze past his bags in the all to cumbersome hallway. If ever a bathroom was in more disrepair this was it. The floor tiles were cracked and coming up, the room lacked any sort of ventilation and a brownish-orange ooze seemed to drip from the ceiling adorning the walls with an interesting pattern. Through my travels it never occurred to me to pick up a pair of shower shoes, and if after this day I were to suddenly to catch a case of athletes foot, planters warts, or some sort of foot fungus, I would hold this bathroom solely responsible! The shower was so horrid I weighed the implications of taking one for a good amount of time.

I made quick haste in the devils bathroom and got the very few possessions I had brought in from my car together. I don't know whats worse; fearing someone is going to break into your car in the middle of the night and steal all your stuff, or fearing someone is just going to strait up rob you wile you sleep? As I made my way out, I passed back through the common area where the man with the bags was slumped over sitting in his his chair in the corner, and a new stranger was passed out drunk laying half on the nastiest couch ever created and half on the nastiest floor to ever walk on. Now does it really matter which half was on which surface?
I stopped and pondered all the events that had transpired in the past 24 hours and quietly made my way out.