A: I'm back in America!  I touched down in Los Angeles on Sunday the 11th.

Q: How does it feel to be home?

A: I never thought I'd be in the position to call L.A. "home."  Please don't scare me.  It's funny, but all during this trip, in my mind's eye, I saw America from the east.  The original colonies, stretching westward.  But suddenly, I was coming over Catalina Island--entering America through the back door.  You know: like New York is the eye, Washington is the heart, Florida is the foot--and L.A. is the butt.  But if I may be blunt, it was horrible.  From the moment we touched down, America began pissing me off.

Q: You're being silly.

A: No, I'm not.  Never mind the plane from the Cook Islands was nearly three hours late, and that we all had to get off in Tahiti and loll around the closed airport at 4 in the morning.  But when we arrived in LAX, we had to queue for nearly an hour behind 10 other airplanes for a gate.  And when we got off, there were not toilets until after immigration--an international first for me.  To top it off, immigration was mayhem.  Every single other nation at least has a lane for nationals.  Not here.  America revealed its bureaucratic arrogance (and how it lags behind every other country I've been to) by assigning a single slow officer to an entire jumbo jet of arriving passengers.  And even people who weren't staying in America--who were booked onward to London, for example--had to go through immigration, and this inexcusable jumble.  America sucks, I said, and I meant it.  It's so high on its own power.  It's clear everytime you try to figure out a tax form, or every time you stand in Immigration.

Q: I don't have to listen to you complain about our fine country.

A: No, you don't.  Ask me about my time in the South Pacific.

Q: Fine.  Did you like Fiji?

A: Sadly, not totally.  It's like so many other tropical islands.  It's sandy and hot, with some pretty crags in the faraway distance, but mostly full of sugarcane fields and tired old woman straggling along hot roads toward town.

Q: Oh.  How about the beaches?

A: Ash grey.  I hear there are some excellent places in Fiji.  But in Nadi, which is pronounced "Nandi," the beaches are silty.  It's best to sit next to them and soak up the sun, which is what I did.  I stayed at a place called Club Fiji--

Q: How original.

A: --Yes.  But it was cool.  I stayed in a dorm full of British people.  Surprise!  They're all on the same track: Oz, NZ, Fiji, Cook Islands, USA.  Air New Zealand has good rates.  Attracts the limeys.  But there were some great people there.  By day we'd sunbathe and read (I read Ruth Ozeki's "My Year of Meat".  Why do they call it "My Year of Meats" in America?  What purpose is there to add that S?) and whatnot. By night we'd drink at the outdoor bar.  My first night there, I met Mark, from Eltham, outside of London.  We've been living parallel lives, it turns out.  Like, we were both in Cape Town at the same time.  He took the Namibia tour just after my own, with Fred and Lorinda!  (See Dispatch #17).  He also lives off Well Hall Road, the site of the house of E. Nesbit, in whose honor my e-mail name was selected.

Q: How odd to find someone you'd brushed by so often, yet never met.

A: I agree!  Even after such a long trip, there are still fated friends out there, yet to be met.

Q: Is this where you get all philosopical again?

A: No.  This is where I tell you about the other guests.  There was the Australian guy who drank 28 glasses of beer.  It was his personal record.  Amazingly, he didn't start acting like an outright dolt until Number 25.  The kid was 18.  Doesn't leave him very far to fall.  There were also a bunch of American high school students on some kind of vacation tour.  Much less noisy than you usual American high school students.  They were from Colorado.  I jokingly asked a girl if they were sick of people asking them if they went to Columbine.  "Actually, we live in Littleton," she said.

Q: Ouch!  A little pepper with your foot?

A: And I also met an American who was one week into his long tour.  It's extremely rare to meet other Americans on long tours like mine.  Chris had sold his car and his stuff and was just beginning, heading west.  I felt like quite the old timer.  Offered tips.  I confess that I really enjoy it when people marvel at the length of my trip.  I love knowing--or at least I love reminding myself--of the magnitude of what I've done.

Q: What was Nadi like?

A: One high street with basic shops.  Lots of Hindu-descended islanders.  A much too rigorous tourist infrastructure.  Tourism is such a part of life on Fiji that I don't think it's possible to connect with the "Real Fiji" anymore.  Even the canned tourist stuff is extremely expensive.  I was content to sit by the water instead of visiting cultural centers and contending with dangerous ferries to the outer islands.

Q: I hope the Cook Islands were better.

A: I LOVED Rarotonga!  The island itself is quite small.  Fiji's islands are massive, but you could ride a moped around the perimeter of Rarotonga in an hour.  The center of the island is a collection of jungly spires.  Real sharp, pinnacle volcanic rocks, looking florid and deeply green.  I've been to two other places on my trip that claimed to be the location of "The Blue Lagoon" (those being Oludeniz, Turkey and Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia), but they actually DID film it in the Cook Islands.  It's also the place where the "Bounty" mutineers fled for refuge after they took over.  And the island is ringed with coral reefs.  From the air, it looks like a cell floating in the sea.  You're really in the middle of nowhere, too.  Plus, the beaches are bright and condusive to sunbathing and swimming.  The reefs keep out the riff-raff and so there's only the odd sea cucumber underfoot.  They feel gross and spray water when you squeeze 'em.  Girls hate it when you squeeze sea cucumbers at them.

Q: Um...

A: Anyway, the days on Rarotonga have already blended in my memory.  I fell in with a group of British backpackers.  We went to the town of Avaruna by day for hamburgers at the fabulous Palace Take-Aways, and to try to get Cook Islands money.

Q: Why?  Is it hard to get Cook Islands money in the Cook Islands?

A: Increasingly.  The economy is not doing well.  Luckily, it's a New Zealand protectorate.  Kiwis and Cook Islanders can roam freely between the two places. And the Cooks use New Zealand money. The indiginous currency is really, really cool, though.  For example, they have three dollar bills.  And the two dollar coins are triangular.  Given the fact that the New Zealand $20 note is actually made of plastic, I reckon that means the Cook Islands have the coolest money in the world.

Q: Wow!

A: Yes, quite.  The islands are also known for their black pearls and their commemorative stamp issues.

Q: So you spent your time looking for triangular coins?

A: Well, I was with Brits, so we drank, too.  We did a lot of sitting around and talking crap.  There were some good conversations, too.  But there were also moments where my companions would go on a bender about Marks and Spencer's virtues and I'd have to talk them back down.  We went into town to the Staircase Bar and watched an island cultural dance show, then watched backpackers from around the world dance to "Thank Abba For the Music" and Boyzone.  Unfortunately, it rained quite a lot.  I guess that's why the island is so green.  One day we were caught in a downpour as we drove our motorbikes into town.  Tough going, but the rain was warm and it reminded me of how alive I am.  There were two backpackers at the hostel who were getting married while we were there.  They did it right down on the beach.  Some Islanders rowed her to the flower-strewn altar in a canoe, blowing seashell trumpets.  I didn't see it happen.  They were from Manchester; I couldn't bear to watch.  My British posse and I were in town eating hamburgers.

Q: You're rambling.

A: What are you, my editor?  Say, do you know any literary agents?

Q: No. So what's your favorite tropical island?

A: Out of all the islands I've seen, I would definitely suggest people go to the Cooks.  Exotic locale, and it's easy to relax there.

Q: So what happened to the day you lived twice when you crossed over the International Date Line?  Did you use the extra day to cure cancer or something?

A: No.  I laid on the beach during my first July 7, and I laid on a different one on my second July 7.

Q: You could do worse.

A: Most assuredly.

Q: Wasn't the 12th your birthday?

A: Yes!  It was my first full day back in America!  A rebirth in several ways. I wandered along the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica, feeling stunned every time I saw how big the magazine racks are here.  And counting the number of newspaper dispensers in absolute astonishment.  And watching people whose bodies had received the wealth of years of tonsorial attention, but whose communication skills consisted of a few simple verbs and the word "like."  I also thought about buying a mobile phone.

Q: You're crazy!

A: Yes.  I didn't get one.  It's just consumerism.  It's like radioactivity.  It permeates you whether you want it to or not.

Q: Whew.

A: What?  I bought new shoes.

Q: I said "whew."  But I was going to mention the old shoes.

A: They smelled doubleplusawful.  The odor was a little like honey.  I couldn't put my finger on it.

Q: Leave it.  Wt was your first meal back?

A:  A double double In-N-Out Burger, fries, and shake.  I would have that for my last supper, too.

Q:   You have a double standard when it comes to America.

A:  No, I d--

Q: Anyway.  Glad to be back?

A:  Ask me after I feel like I'm back.  I'm not even home yet.  I'm still on my trip, you know.

Q: Yes, but do you think things will be as exotic?

A: You be the judge.  Today I went to Karaoke at the Farmers Market.  There was a man dressed with skunk sock puppets on his hands who got up and played self-written songs on his guitar.  His name was "Johnny Skunk."  There was also an old lady name Diana who really worked the crowd into a disco frenzy.  I've seen an Angelyne billboard. And, of course, there were the La Brea Tar Pits.

Q: What's that?

A: It's a big pool of natural asphalt-saturated water that wells up from the earth.  Its tar surface is constantly bubbling with massive methane emissions from the crust of the earth.  Archaeologists have found hundreds of skeletons of things like mastodons in there.  You're not allowed to smoke nearby.

Q: Where is that?

A: Right on Wilshire Boulevard next to the Spelling Building and the E! Entertainment Television tower.

Q: What?  A highly unstable geologic formation in the middle of the city?!

A: Yeah!  It's so L.A.  Like in Rotorua, New Zealand, the planet is urping up fumes and toxins from its core.  In L.A., they simply paved over it.

Q: Isn't it dangerous?

A: Of course!  A few years ago, an enormous buildup of pent-up methane ignited and the Ross Dress For Less blew up.  Did people scratch their heads and say, "Boy, we should really rethink the way we're living on top of these volatile, sealed-up thermal vents!"  No!!  They said, "Bummer!  The Ross Dress For Less blew up!"

Q: That's horrible!

A:  They rebuilt it.

Q: What a relief!

A: My friend Jeanne thinks it's a very foolish way to live.  She says that places like the La Brea Tar Pits are the anus of the earth and we mustn't be so foolish to park our homes on top of them.

Q: "Anus of the Earth?"

A: Her words.  The minute I heard her say it, I knew it had to be the name of my Dispatch.

Q: I'm not so sure I understand you anymore.

A: Jeanne and her husband Justin live in a delightful little stand-alone bungalow in Santa Monica.  Way back in the beginning of the trip, they said they wanted me to stay here with them when I came through L.A.  It was like a light at the end of a tunnel.  Even though I liked the tunnel.  It was a goal.  And here I am.  I love these guys!  I also got to catch up with Mike, my college roommate of two years, and his wife Beth.  (All these husbands and wives!  And everyone is younger than me!  Ack!)  And I also caught up with my friend Bryan, who is NOT married, by virtue that he swings the other way.  We did L.A. things like go to Norm's Diner, Jamba Juice, and the Hustler store.  It's got a coffee bar in it.  It also has some great tee shirts, like a photo of Bob Barker that says "PIMP."  On the down side, they were $24.  And on the further downside, another tee shirt spelled onanism as "masterbate."  What did you want, though?  No one goes to porn shops for spelling or grammar.  Unless they've got a fetish or something.

Q: What happened on your birthday?

A: Justin took me for a ride on his motorcycle!  We went up the Pacific Coast Highway, through Malibu and Topanga Canyon, and back through Santa Monica Canyon.  L.A. confounds and amazes me.  It's so huge!  Space seems to compress and expand.  There's no real center.  You can just as easily find a major corporate office 20 miles in any direction.  Yet right in the very center of things, between the Valley and Santa Monica, there's another world of ranches and hippies and silence and horses.  And it's at least 20 degrees hotter in the canyons.  It's 800 cities in one, and yet even that one city doesn't add up.  L.A. is the story of a thousand strip malls in search of a city.  It insists on cars, yet only gives you on-street or valet.  Anyway, at night, we went out to El Cholo because I had a major hankering for Tex Mex.  The rest of the world doesn't have it yet.

Q: How old are you?

A: I'll give you a hint.  I'm have as many undeveloped rolls of film as I do years.  Mind you, that's just since December.

Q: Any other new impressions of America?

A: People are talking a lot about their careers.  And getting all sentimental and excited about things with which they have zero personal experience, like movies. Political correctness seems like such an intellectual stretch all of a sudden, and quite a waste of energy when day-to-day living seems more in order. And there are so many ads!  It's alarming how fished in the people are.  On Santa Monica Boulevard today, there was a sign that read  "Come Home John-John. We Miss You."  I mean, for Pete's sake!  Every week there's a new bandwagon to jump on.  It takes you nowhere.

Q: Yes, that sign seems a little overdone.

A: Well, it was in West Hollywood.

Q: Say no more.  So now you fly back to New York, right?

A: Wrong.  I can't do that!  How can I devote so much attention and budget-minded sense to my trips through other countries, but just jet across my own?  It's immoral.  Besides, there are parts of this country I still haven't seen.  So tonight I'm going to San Francisco, where I'll begin a 10-day cross country backpacking bus trip through the northern states.  It's called the Green Tortoise.  The beds are on the bus.  It'll be a real international crowd, plus a few hippies--the same mix I've enjoyed on foreign shores.  I must say, it'll be a real eye-opener to see my own country the same way I've seen so many others.  I guess I'll learn if the mode of travel really does inform your experience of the place.  Plus, it'll be a really nice come-down after my trip.  After 10 days on a bus with a bunch of stinky backpackers, even New York rents will seem reasonable.

Q:  When do you arrive back in New York?

A: Mid-morning of Saturday, 31 July, at the Port Authority.  It's the last day of the month, which means I return 15 months exactly since I first left New York.

Q: Fifteen months!  I can't believe it.

A: Neither can I.

Q: How did you do it?

A: I don't know.  By enjoying every step of it?

Q: Talking to yourself must have helped.

A: Yes, that too.

Q: By the way, what are your plans once you get back?

A: Oh, look.  We're out of time.  What a shame.
 
 

Right now I'm in: Los Angeles, USA
Days: 420   Countries: 38