XC 1X2

 Another slow day I filled primarily by watching documentaries. At the end of the day, someone brought up the idea of going into town. Into town we went. Cabo San Lucas is a weird place. A couple decades ago this was a tiny unheard of fishing village on the sand in Baja. In the late 80s the government decided to make it a designated tourist zone. Read: sacrificial lamb territory. Attract all the worst tourists to one particular place so they don’t come to Oaxaca demanding an English menu and a blended margarita. It’s working. After four decades of attracting every degenerate in Southern California that can figure out how to buy a plane ticket, Cabo San Lucas more closely resembles Newport’s Balboa Blvd than anywhere in Mexico. If you come here you won’t need to speak Spanish beyond whatever you think you’re supposed to say to ask for another beer (I’ve heard so much butchered Spanish) and you certainly won’t need to exchange any currency. The cheap parts feel like the worst parts o...

 I woke up and sauntered into the sun to find my family having lunch outside. The whole family. My sister Fiona had popped in from the bay while I was sleeping. I can’t remember the last time we were all sitting at one table. I take my seat and take it in. There isn’t much to catch up on, we stay in touch, but there’s always plenty to talk about. After lunch Fiona gets a tour of the area and we wind up at one of the pools. My plan was simple, read my book in the sun and drink beer. Unfortunately it was not going to be so simple, a very drunk American in the hot tub was loudly conducting a very important lecture at whomever was misfortune enough to be in earshot. I relocated myself to the swim up bar nearby. When his howlings made it that far, I closed my book. If you can’t beat em, join em. This fine sunburnt specimen of an American tourist came all the way from San Marcos (hate California. Newscum made the taxes too high) to haunt my life in Mexico. Joining him in the pool was a b...

 I have no circadian rhythms left. The word jet lag implies that I’m on another place’s time. That’s not true. I’m not lagged, just a mess. I went to bed shortly after dinner, whenever that was, woke up for a few hours in the night, and passed back out again. At one in the afternoon I got a knock on my door and my mother’s voice calling my name. I answered and then the knocking disappeared. A few minutes went by and the knocking was back followed by a question about a massage. Massage, massage, right! There was a massage today. I considered skipping it to stay in bed but the urgent pounding outside my bedchamber anxiously reminding me that I had a pressing requirement to relax NOW moved me. Waking up and landing on a massage table is an interesting sensation, I recommend it if you get the chance. After a disorienting relaxation experience, it was time to chill by the pool. Beer, view, do nothing. No thinking, just vibes. This continued until dinner which happened at a restaurant wi...

 This morning and I got off on the wrong foot. A 5 am alarm is never a good way to start the day, especially after a long night. I shove my stuff into my bag and head off to the airport. The hotel’s shuttle is packed full of weary travelers who all, like me, have some need to be at LAX before sunrise. Owie. The van smells like ass, someone hasn’t washed themselves well and the driver has remembered to crack the radio but not the ventilation. Good morning. I check in, toss my bag on the belt, and begin my security ritual. Mainly this means moving the roll of film I was gifted in Uzbekistan into my pocket as a reminder to request a hand check. It’s not in my carry on. I see my duffel roll down the belt and I’m filled with a sense of frustration dulled by sleeplessness. This thing I’ve managed to keep safe for over a month is now getting blasted with X Rays. It might come out okay, it might not. I’ll have no way of knowing until I shoot the roll, pay to have it developed, and see my m...

 I thought for a while about what to call this post. You may have noticed by now that I name the posts after the places I visit. When I’m traveling it’s the start and end points. Over the next two(?) days I’ll fly fourteen and a half hours from here to LA, layover in a hotel overnight, and then fly to Cabo. Going going, back back, to cali cali for less than a day. It doesn’t feel right to call Los Angeles one of my destinations, too final. I’m going to Mexico. Australia has been lovely. I feel like I’ve picked up a rock and seen a whole world underneath it. My whole life I’d been told that I have family down here. After years and years of thinking that I should probably head over, I’ve finally done it and what an experience it has been. Particularly, at this point in the trip it just feels so good to see people who understand more about me than the average stranger. After some brief mechanical delays, we are pointed at the sky and due east. The flight proceeds uneventfully enough. ...

My last full day in the land of Aus. I had some small errands to run and Ash elected to accompany me on my adventure into the city. The first stop was an Ugg store, my dad’s birthday is coming up and he was after a pair of house shoes. The Aussie specials are not currently produced in any form I’d call a house shoe, strange. All chunky soles and high calves these days. Oh well. Laneways, Laneways, Laneways We walked further to check the next thing off the list, get Marcel a magic. This is a Melbourne special. A double ristretto balanced out with a dallop of steamed milk. This tastes like the perfect evolution of the cappuccino. Highly recommend. As we sipped our coffee on crates in a laneway we noticed a flock of barristers in gown doing the same. A quick Google later and we were on our way to the Victoria Supreme Court to see what we could see. No more open sessions for the day but they did have some cool exhibits. Big judge gowns and Santa robes. Vintage wig tins. Some fantastic bike...