Del Mar Beach, CALIFORN-I-A- Part VI

The meal of sardines and saltines had proven to be very tasty. I don’t know if it was the fact that we were so hungry, or that it really was good to the ol’ palate. Our feet are hanging out the windows of the Desert Gem, feeling the breeze of the ocean a block away through some beach houses, when we hear this dog barking.

Now, this dog is like no other you have ever seen. He had snarling teeth and stoned eyes. The stoned eyes were probably due to the pot smoke that was floating around in the air. This state was after all the self-proclaimed hippie capital of the world. Anyway, this dog had the munchies and was ready to do anything to satisfy his hunger.

We could see him in the rearview mirror. He was sniffing around us like an ex-girlfriend we’ve all had before, just all up in our business. Would not let you have your space. He smelled our sardines and he wanted some. One problem, we were as hungry as he was, for we had not eaten all day. We were too busy prowling the streets of San Diego and
Tijuana, we just hadn’t taken the time to eat. This was our time to eat and the damn dog wasn’t going to get any of our sardines.

Finally, the ol’ dog gave up and headed on his way down the street in hopes of some great T-Bone steak in the sky. He was hit by a racing Thang on its way to the beach with surfboards and a back seat of Beach Blanket Bingo girls.

After finishing our meal of wandering nomads, we threw on the required beach apparel, flip flops, and we were on our way for a walk on the most peaceful place I have experienced to this day. The smell of sardines, no matter how many times I washed them, stained my hands with a stinch that kept all dogs on my trail, and all beautiful women away.

We walk down that beach in a state of pure relaxation. Shad decided to walk his way, and I, mine. After a while of walking with the flip flops in hand, and the sand tickling my feet, I pulled up a seat in the class of life. I looked around, and for the first time realized I was an independent person. I was taking the road trip I had always wanted since I was a teenager. Nobody had told me to take this trip. I had decided to take this trip. Really, all my decisions in life have been made by me, and experienced by be.

I sat there, in a state of meditation that I cannot quite explain. Being 21 years old at the time, I thought I knew what a sky was supposed to look like, but I was wrong. The sky before me was the most beautiful sight I have seen. Cloud shapes I had never seen before interwove with colors that made love to one another. Pinks, blues, purples, oranges, reds, whites, are all words that underestimate the power of natural color and light. It was perfection in the sense that it was not perfect. Artists had tried to imitate the beauty of a sky before my eyes in their paintings and had done a remarkably miserable job.


In reality, the art of nature finally made perfect sense to me. The colors and mood have to be experienced before one fully understands what the artist was trying to accomplish in those same paintings that hang in museums. Nothing against museums, but life is nothing like art, I’ve learned. It’s not supposed to be that stuffy. It’s not supposed to be that surreal. It’s supposed to be real.

The sound of the waves shaking hands with the sand was repetitive and continuous enough that I could depend on it. The waves comforted my state of confusion, and created peace in my mind for the first time in years. My mind was calm and without thought.

After pondering the sky and life, what seemed like minutes, Shad approached and brought it to my attention that he was ready to head on up to Orange County where we were going to meet a friend of his and her friends, and hopefully a couch where we could lay our heads for the night. An hour had gone by in my state of meditation, and the sun was a little lower in the sky than when we first started to experience Paradise.

Relaxed, and with a deeper understanding of life, we were headed on the crowded freeways of life that we all know too well to a place called Orange County. Where everybody is trying to get somewhere in a hurry, all at the same time, all the same way, we realized sitting there in the LA traffic that this was not us. We were different. We had come this far taking roads that the rest of the world had forgotten about. We were on our way to living life. We were living life.

Before we knew it, we were in a Barnes and Nobles waiting for a phone call from the girl that Shad knew.

To be continued…

Just Over the Border- Part V

Now, somewhere, somehow, and sometime, someone came up with the notion that all roads must lead somewhere. That I agree with. Someone else, who was overly obsessed with the woods, solitude, and suicide, came to the conclusion that roads diverge and you have to pick one. I don't know if I agree with that last idea.

Sure some roads diverge, but who says that there is only one true direction. Who says you can't go down both. I think people who think this may be missing something. Or, else I am missing something. I come from the philosophy that whatever road is chosen will get you somewhere. It's not a matter of what road is chosen or where you go, but instead how that road is looked at. You could go down the easiest road in the world, and learn nothing. But, if you choose a different road and keep your eyes and ears open wisdom is sure to follow.

Now, somewhere, somehow, and some other time, someone came up with the notion of a town just south of the border from San Diego named, Tijuana. Who's idea was it for this town? I don't know, but here's one of those roads you have to keep your eyes and ears open on.

We decide to park on the US side, mostly for concern of the Desert Gem's safety, and walk across to the other side. Upon walking in, we remember to get all forms of identification for return back into our home sweet home country.

Walking in during the middle of the day seemed much more safe than if we were to go at night. Now, looking back on it, I'm glad we didn't go into Tijuana at night. I've heard stories, and to tell you the truth I don't want to be one of those stories.

Along the bridge are guard towers that house the border patrol. Armed with fire arms, the US hopes to dissuade any attempts of illegals crossing while so many American tourists look on. It's more of a PR move by our government that anything else.

Chicles are being sold by little Mexican children with no teeth, who should be attending school. Hey, in Mexico , life's different. Everywhere, someone is trying to give you a good deal on a pinata and Beer Bong Sombrero. Man, those things aren't cheap. I did find a good deal on a t-shirt that said, "I saw, I lived, I survived the Donkey Show." But, I decided it would be in bad taste to purchase this shirt and wear it in public.

Still strolling around the town, we get numerous offers for taxi rides. At least, that's all I hope they were offering us. While we are walking, we notice that there are young Mexican women placed every 4-6 feet dressed in short tight dresses, who keep smiling at us. They look like some characters I have seen on Telemundo a few times.

Now, I'm all about a good tasting Chicle from Mexico, but that's about it. The uneasiness in our stroll eventually got the best of us and we ducked into an internet cafe to check for mail we had received. I had none, and Shad had about 15 messages, like usual.

After about 15 minutes we are back on the streets passing the Pharmaceutical District. I had wondered about purchasing some allergy medicine at a discounted price, but decided not to. We could have bought steroids at a low price, but decided that we were happy the way we were.

Interestingly enough, after passing yet another pharmacy, we see a club in which we could go have a drink and experience a free show. Alright, but something about drinking and experiencing Tijuana was not appealing. It just wasn't the right atmosphere for the intellectual and creative mood I was in. That, and I didn't want the special in the club with a $5 dollar drink. All I wanted to take back to the states was my dignity and not an STD.

It was still light outside and around 4:30. The border was starting to get more croweded. Mexican workers who had jobs in the US were waiting in line to get back into their country, while we waited in the line to get back to ours.

Finally, we found our way back to the Desert Gem. It was safe, and waiting to be driven up the coastline on the 101.
It needed to soak in some crusty waves. We would hug the coast for an hour or so until we finally encountered the most beautiful/peaceful beach towns I have seen in my lifetime so far, Del Mar. Sweet serenity. To hell, and back to peace in one day.

We pulled up on the street with all the other cars, surrounded by beach houses, and dug through our food supply. It was dinner time, which included sardines and saltines. The meal of wandering nomads.

To be continued...