Greyhound Trippin: Is This Really Real Life?!

So... let me start this by saying that this post has 0 pictures. Thats probably because its about traveling on Greyhound which is a REALLY good place to get anything of value jacked so... yeah... I will paint those grimy images on the canvas of your mind with my literary paintbrush. Hold on.

(This picture is not mine, I stole it from https://www.greyhound.com/.)

    The downtown Las Vegas Greyhound bus station is something straight out of Mad Max. Well, if you replace nuclear war with meth... pretty much the same concept though. Within 2 minutes of entering, a little panicked I was going to miss my bus leaving in 10 minutes, I had a fine gentleman try to start a fight with me. I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I'm also a fighter, so its not a good idea to get between me and a trip to Africa. However, I tried to calm down the man (honestly I was staring, the guy had dice and numbers tattooed on his neck, I was curious...) and succeeded in time to be told I was in the wrong line to get my ticket printed. Ok.
        So I get my bags tagged and I hop in line JUST in time. 12pm. Lets get the hell out of dodge for the love of everything sacred. Well, thankfully Greyhound is known for its consistency, and they didn't disappoint! For the 3rd time in a row, my bus broke down in the station and caused a delay of ohhhhhh 2.5 hours. Thats roughly half the time it actually takes to get to LA from Vegas. This gave me time to wait for the bus on a hard metal seat that smelled like someone had recently died in it, sandwiched between a couple arguing loudly over which drug they preferred most and a drunk guy who repeatedly asked to use my cell phone to call Hawaii. No. There is a payphone in the corner.
       During my sabbatical in the station, I came up with several interesting theories about why Greyhound stations seem to attract the weirdest people. One was that there were certain people who got to freshman year of highschool and were like, "yup, just about perfect. Better stay like this for the rest of my life." I mean, there was a guy wandering around in a hunting camo jumpsuit with a shirt reading "B@#$s Ain't..." peeking out, complimented with a cap tilted to accent his gentlemanly state.  Halfway through, the guy who wanted to fight me (exercise would have been nice at this point) found himself what he apparently considered an attractive, if larger, black hooker with dreads/cornrows to make out with in the corner. You may shudder, I sure did.
       Thankfully, my friends Steve, Vince, and the beautiful Maya Ram came to ease my suffering a bit. The strange part of it was, WE were the minority there. I mean, if we had smoked some crack and not showered for a week beforehand no one would have blinked twice, but everyone stared at the clean kids in the corner. They had to get back to real life eventually, so I patiently sat back down with my NEW friends, listening to philosophical musings on the best way to get out of drug charges ("tell the police to F#@$K off man, thats what I do, cause I'm smart!" was the suggestion on the guy in pajamas in the corner with gauges in his ear.)
      Soon a line formed for the door that would lead me to LA and out of this madness, so I hopped in. I was only a few people back from my new friend with the neck tattoos that wanted to fight me, who was still passionately groping his newfound l soulmate. I prayed REALLY hard (not something I normally do) that he was in the wrong line. As luck had it, he left the line and station for what was described by the lovely princess of piety in his arms as, "the best $60 special of your life." My luck was changing.
       Before you know it, I was on the bus and passed out until we parked at the LA station. Soon after that, my friend Bryan pulled up in his prius and we left as quickly as possible before getting mugged. I have a feeling that even though I'm headed to Africa, that might have been the most dangerous part of my trip.

Greyhound. Only in America folks.

A Quick Drive: Crossing The Mojave Back To Vegas

Me no speaky English, was what I planned to tell them if they got on me for blatantly ignoring this sign. Luckily everyone was too enamored with the world's most boring train ride to even notice.

         So I left California with the sun beating down on a beautiful morning to pursue another adventure. The first step was to drive back across the Mojave desert to Las Vegas to drop my truck off while I'm out of the States. This drive is normally pretty boring and straightforward, but I decided to stop halfway to stretch my legs, test my camera, and explore the Calico Ghost Town.

             This dusty little stopover in the middle of the high desert has always peaked my curiosity, but I had yet to take the time to pull off the highway and see it for myself. I pulled off and trucked 3 miles out into the hills before parking at the town itself. Now, let me just say that I've been to desert ghost towns before, and the cool thing about them is the relatively high state of preservation the buildings are in due to the climate, combined with that eerie stillness of places that should have people. This was not one of those places.

       After I forked over my entrance fee, I hopped out of my car and the first thing I noticed were the people. Lots of people. The former ghost town was flooded with boy scouts (not sure if this is a normal thing) wandering in and out of buildings that were obviously re-creations with a faux western feel that would have put Disneyland to shame. I passed an "Indian Trading Post" before winding around the "Saloon" proffering Big Gulp sized sodas to little kids (honestly, whiskey would probably be healthier for them). So, I finally came to the mining area of town, where forlorn holes still pocked the rock walls where a small replica train pitifully puttered along a pathetic track as an automated recording told the story of the town. 

                                                                       Screw that.

        I decided to go play around some of the mines (don't try this at home kids) since I figured if I was dumb enough to fall into one, then I deserved what I got. I trekked out into the desert past the warning signs and out of earshot of those shrill boyscout voices. It was far less fun than  I was expecting since they aren't exactly engineering wonders, but I did manage to get to good shots to practice with my new camera. After about an hour I trotted to my car and got back on the road, feeling a bit cheated by what I had expected from this ghost town. 

Lesson of the day? Some things are better left dead, like ghost towns.

The dusty road to the not so ghostly ghost town...

Some of the once prosperous mines.

A cactus in bloom right out of town.

This little fella decided to pose for my photoshoot...

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The entrance to a mine shaft up in the hills above town.

WOW! A REAL Indian post?! Nope, all made in China.

You know, seeing as how there is a sizable portion of the Californian population who speaks Spanish, one of these was not nearly so important...

The Comeback Kid: A Roadtrip Though SoCal

Clouds hover on the edges of the Sierra Nevadas on the way to the El Cajon pass down to the lush coastal plains of Southern California.

          The overly broad windswept streets were empty. Large houses stood unguarded day and night. I constantly and unconsciously brushed my hand against my wallet to assure myself that it hadn't been lifted by a skilled artist I may have bumped into. It seemed too quiet, yet I was catching snippets of conversations as I browsed large, sterile, fluorescent lit grocery stores. It was simply... strange.
        After nearly 8 months abroad, much of that time spent in South America, I was finally back in the suburban sprawl of Las Vegas. I wasted no time (except for brief moments to wonder at the strangeness of it all) to catch up on the day to day admin of a life I had let pass me by. Car registration, oil change, bank visits, unpacking, job hunting. All these things pressed with a fierce urgency, leaving me no time for a soft landing and a gentle transition. But hey, thats no fun anyways right?
       I had a plan, which as my friends abroad would likely tell you, was a rare oddity in my life. I had 5 days to settle my affairs in Las Vegas, then I headed out to see my family on the west coast in Santa Barbara for the weekend. It was nice to be welcomed back to the calm and tranquility that I find at my Aunt Trish and Uncle Michael's house. It is a magical place filled with art, music, and the best food you have ever had touch your unworthy tongue. My aunt and uncle graciously put up with my slightly dazed demeanor and constant blabbering about my travels as they proceeded to do their absolute best to restore the weight I had lost traveling through a full rotation of Santa Barbara's best restaurants and my their delicious home cooking.
      I reluctantly left with a sad heart and a full stomach, heading down to Los Angeles where I was hosted for a night by my wonderful Aunt Martha Ellen. She is a very talented painter and businesswoman who is in the process of carving out a nice section of the LA art scene, and it was wonderful to get a chance to exchange stories about Paris and Colombia for my far too brief stay. Unfortunately I had to leave the next day and head to San Diego to scope out a prospective job.
       I got to San Diego late that night, woke up early, and started my new job. Over the next few days I caught up with old friends, most of whom seemed fairly happy to see me again, some of whom not so much... Like the end to a bad novel, I even got to meet up, again, with Eduardo. We went surfing to close the circle of events (for good measure and good fun) before heading over to see the seal pups that had just been born in La Jolla. My first week back was completely mentally exhausting, and quite a whirlwind. I was finally back in San Diego, ready to make a little money, and with my eye already on my next adventure... You just wait to see where I end up next!
   

Lonely joshua trees in the harsh Mojave desert along the Pear Blossom HWY to Santa Barbara.

Ohhh I missed these great Cali sunsets!

Santa Barbara, a town where if it tastes good, you can get it... like fresh European cheese!

Seals lounge on rocks in a cloudy morning, two oil rigs anchored on the horizon.

Pelicans bob in the surf between the coast and the Catalina Islands.

A fountain in a secluded part of my uncle's garden.

My uncle tending his massive pizza oven, a rare treat that I'm always excited to help with!

San Diego... The jewel of California.

The last ferry back to the city from Coronado.

The industrial strength of America's naval shipyards is something to behold.

An amphibious assault ship hulks in San Diego harbor, framed by the Coranado bridge.

Pelicans in formation

Baby seals frolicking near mama.

Seals and Seafoam... not a bad day for early February when the rest of the states is mid-freeze!

Because who doesn't love baby seal?