From one fault line to the next

For an unusually clear day, the Bay looked majestic from 20,000 feet. I took it all in and watched the Bay Bridge, Baker Beach, Golden Gate Park and everyone I know in that 7x7 slice of west coast drift further into my periphery until I was clear over the Pacific.

A few hours into the flight, turbulence woke me and I took another look out the plane window. This time, nothing familiar. Perhaps it was the uneasiness of the ride, but suddenly my stomach jumped to my throat and my heart sunk. This was me panicking. It was an uproar insi

de, but I sat still in my seat while a cold sweat started to envelop my body. It dawned on me for the first time what was actually happening. 

In about 6 hours I would land in a country that I've never been to before, didn't speak the language and knew no one there. I tried to take a deep breath and imagine how wonderful this experience would be, but my panic was full blown and trapped on a vessel headed straight for the unknown.

Final destination: The Land of the Rising Sun. Japan. A country laden with rich tradition and even further steeped in modern technological innovation. An anomaly in itself and one of the most revered and mysterious cultures of the far east. And now, I call it home.

My first week was in Osaka where I trained at the headquarters of my new company. Coupled with a fresh batch of "gaijin"- or foreigners- from Whales, Calgary, Chicago and (coincidentally) Oakland, we shared sentiments of being newly acquired outsiders. The few hours we had free, we explored Umeda and Namba, popular and populated districts that boast an eventful nightlife with karaoke aplenty. 

I have been distracted by what reminds me of some sort of post-apocalyptic nightmare. Imagine if Ridley Scott directed a new Blade Runner, the Japanese version. In the first few days upon arriving in Osaka, there were nearly 100 cases of influenza reported in the Kansai region. 

Either motivated by fear or enforced by work, everyone was wearing medical face masks to "protect" themselves from the onslaught of a global pandemic. Of course, our company issued said masks to each of us, strictly instructing us to wear them on our commute to and from work. I was also ordered by the federal health department to take my temperature twice daily for 10 days because I had just arrived in the country. I certainly was aware of the stereotype that many Japanese people are meticulous with detail and precautionary with health measures, but this was overkill.

Nonetheless, the distractions of a brave new world was far greater than the inability for someone to venture online and realize that these masks have no real preventative abilities to keep someone from contracting a curable, airborne disease. 

But I d.i.g.r.e.s.s...

Osaka-jo was an afternoon excursion to the restored castle originally built in the 1500's. I found the courtyard in front of Osaka-jo more riveting than the sham of a structure itself. 

A leashed pet piglet, 

a sea of yellow-capped school children, 

and my first taste of tacoyaki were among the highlights.

The view from the top of Osaka-jo was an excellent panoramic of the city.

Still in a jet-lagged haze, the first week passed in the blink of an eye. I anticipated the send off to my branch in Akashi and would hopefully overcome my slight fear of getting lost on the trains. Fortunately, my manager came to Osaka and helped me make it to Akashi. 

A few days later, I was back in Osaka for follow-up training and after what seemed like the longest day, I managed to make it to the train station on my own and on my way to my new home in Akashi. 

I stood on the train platform and waited anxiously, constantly checking the train listing to make sure that I was in the right place. A woman was standing near me and I noticed her staring for a moment or two. 

She called out to me and motioned for me to come toward her. She grabbed my arm and asked, "Where do you want to go?" I told her Akashi and she gently pulled me in front of her, explaining in gestures that this was the line to get on the train. When the train arrived, she sat next to me and opened her purse and pulled out her face mask and said, "influenza," questioning whether I knew about the severity of this situation.  I nodded and pulled my issued mask out of my bag. 

I put it on for the first time ever and had the biggest smile behind my mask the whole way home. 

Coastin' West

Lately, the passenger seat of a car has been where I've spent most of my time. It was only a few hours between my recent return from Dallas that I was picked up by my beau to embark on another venture south. Road trips are certainly becoming my vessel for creativity and travel. However, this time, there was no utility or time factor involved. When greeted at my doorstep, I had little to no idea where our first stop south of San Francisco would be. 
So it was Santa Cruz. Spending most of the car ride there comparing hotel prices, we booked an ocean view room at the Dream Inn near the boardwalk just before arriving. I have been to Santa Cruz several times now, but even the evening car ride was exciting since it had been nearly ten days since I'd seen my Lover (that's what I'll call him to give the story an element of mystery and romantic acclaim). 

He had planned for us to play hopscotch down the 1, stopping at various coastal cities with only one agenda in mind: to relax. Like any traveling experience where you visit several different places, the days and destinations tend to mesh together, and by the end, you have only a singular sensation of what transpired while your "out of office reply" was on. Instead of itemizing our daily excursions and restaurant rendez-vous', I can do diligent justice to the trip by describing it as romantic. 
To set the romantic precedent, I woke early the next morning to the sunrise peeping through our balcony window. While L was still sleeping, I slipped out to snap a few photos of the rising sun as it sprinkled lights fractioned into what seemed like glitter across the still ocean mass. 
New eyes for old: I had seen such a gorgeous sunrise before, but today it seemed like a magnanimous force, warming me in my peach nighty and tucking me back into the ample, king size bed where I was swallowed by white linen and the fluffiest of down comforters. 
I slept more that morning, feeling the sun's presence on the bare skin of my back. Being excited about relaxing means whatever effort exerted is the right amount. If it weren't for the 11am check-out, we may have rested in our comfy sun spot all day. 
Eagerly, we anticipated our next waterfront lodging. And to no surprise, L had picked a gem. We checked into The Spindrift in Monterey later that afternoon and were delivered to the comforts of a European-style room adorned with a canopy bed of glowing rose-colored undertones and a fireplace-- nestled next to the ocean, of course. 
Romance breathed from the pores of the room as we took advantage of every inch. Lounging from the armchair to the plush perimeter seats along the window, trying on the terri-cloth robes to sipping wine by the fire, I was pleased with such perfection and deliberation in all that we did. We appreciated our surroundings to the fullest, but mostly, we enjoyed the present company. 
I felt calm and my body was relaxed and open. I had euphoric thoughts of a medieval king and queen, feasting uninterrupted in his/her royal lair. L, several years older than me, was teaching me about robust living.  
Nothing is lacking. Meaningful indulgences purify the soul. All the passions and delights of the earth came to me on that evening, where we rested together in a divine experience. What peace to bring in the new year. 
Waking up to 2009 was just as delicious of a welcome as the adieu to 2008 the evening prior. We woke together, and the way he smelled was the one familiar part of an entirely new year. Anticipating breakfast in bed, compliments of the Spindrift, L slept in as he often does and I breathed slowly, reading Metaphysical Meditations by Parmahansa Yogananda, until it was time to commemorate the new year with the first feast. 
We sat sipping coffee and reading the newspaper next to the window overlooking the ocean. L and I were content in our self-made silence. A subconscious way of honoring a new beginning. 

Ah, lover and perfect equal!

I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections;

And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you. (Walt Whitman)
And after breaking in the new year gently, we moved on from the hotel of grandeur and delight, the hotel with a breathtaking atrium that guided the sunlight in with a modern design. So we continued down the 1 to the next inlet of seaside paradise. 

Miles south of Monterey, we were convinced we had passed through the best part of Highway 1. The sun was our third wheel and served as an excellent spotlight on the waves below. I was taken by the torrential sea as it brashly crashed onto the cliffs. The color changes, from a foamy white to a clear turquoise and on to a deep blue, captivated my camera's attention. The violent actions of the camera shot and captured the equally turbulent destruction below. 
After a few hours, the sun separated from us and we were left with a greying ocean beneath thickly settled fog that seemed to sandwich us in between. 
I enjoyed the view just as much as a sunny day. Fog can be such a presence, oppressive at first, yet at second glance, an illusion of dreariness that can be easily overcome. The reflection of the fog-covered sun in the ocean made the water look still and distant. It was as if I could see myself in that water on a rowboat, dressed as a fisherman in all-rubber garb, afraid of the unknown mass under my boat, but still, steadily forging ahead with my wooden oars until the clouds broke and the only thing I had left to fear was the darkness of the oncoming night. 
This is L during the time we hit the fog. 


Another stop was to observe elephant seals. These amorphous blobs of fat had snouts like a fictitious Dr. Seuss animal and didn't do much other than sun bathe and struggle to whisk sand on their bellies with disproportionately short flippers. 
We embraced another romantic moment, just as the sun set while driving into Pismo Beach. Fierce orange and yellow jumped out of the skyline and into our car. I wondered if this moment would have been romantic without L and the anticipation of another night alone with him. Of course not, I said to myself, as I childishly clasped onto his hand like a four year old on her first day of school. 

We relished in another day of sunshine at what seemed to be a locals beach. Long sandy stretches reflected the suns rays for miles and we attempted to walk the entire beach that day, stopping for a rousing game of frescobol and to collect shells along the shore. 
Held by this electric self, I seized the spirit that trails in the undertow. Sea scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt lettuce, all left by the tides. The shore is like the rim of the drinking glass in which I live. I gulp the ocean breeze that sets upon me, down like the way the water mysteriously retreats away from land and back into its enormous self. This phantom force that draws me to it and leaves me guessing as to when it will decide to roll back in. 

I am finished being teased. L and I move inland in the next chapter of this story. 
Railroad tracks but no train. See it stretch on in the same uniformity. A masterful creation of the human race. And at once the turning point of technology. To think I was taken by a GPS and a Blackberry to this spot.  Railways carry much more on their backs. 
So we made it to our final destination: Palm Springs. The impromptu decision that quickly became the icing on L's 30th birthday cake. We wined and dined, ventured to the Joshua Tree National Park for a hike and felt like rockstars in yet another hooded robe after a hot tub at The Viceroy. Piano bars in the evening were an excellent throw back to the Sinata era that put Palm Springs on the map, er, should I say took it off. Famed as a desert oasis hideaway for Los Angeles celebrities, L felt a whirring sense of stardom as we sat listening to Tony Bennett with a martini in hand. 
I was not alone, walking by the shore that week, all cares kept at bay. L was with me--a healthy presence and a friendly companion who knows what it means to caress and gesture with love. I see him differently now, with sweeter spasms that respond with an invitation into my life. I hope he accepts me wholly, just as the sea swallows small oarsmen in their boat. 

Southwest Special

The idea of a road trip roughly 2,100 miles was born out of sheer necessity. The goal of the operation: drive Currin's car from our Salmon Street abode to the great state of Texas-- more specifically, the home in Dallas we know so well. After a pit stop in Los Angeles, we set out in the grandest Jeep of all Jeeps, who we tenderly refer to as Aaliyah. She's got some junk in the trunk, she's full of flavor, and when let loose on the open road, she purrs like a baby tiger after feeding. 
After a night of sushi and a crash course on the used calculator business from our third party member and first time acquaintance, we embraced the long road ahead, wide-eyed and eager to find those overlooked places in between. 

Using the term "picturesque" slights the natural beauty seen from Aaliyah's windshield. We were inundated with scenery that changed with each day. The kind of scenery that makes me wonder what early settlers must have thought of the changing landscape as they first ventured to the Pacific coast. From crag covered highways to straight stretches of flat interstate, we took in each passing minute. 
It was a race for time. Our first stop was Williams, Arizona, better known for the Grand Canyon. Without accounting for the hour time difference from California to AZ, our mathematical calculations (with no help from a TI-83) brought us to this majestic canyon well before sunset. Well, we were wrong. Our Garmin (named Gizmo) was also wrong in directing us to the Grand Canyon Visitor Center, which is located in the town of Williams, as opposed to the 45 minute ride out to the canyon park area. Even still, Aaliyah growled and raced against the sun slowly tailing behind us although inching nearer with each mile. 
Ah, we made it. And fortuitously at the perfect time. Sunset. A cloudless sky allowed hues of violet and pink to create elongated brush strokes of color across the skyline. Below, hundreds of miles deep, an unknown abyss of epic proportions. Standing at the edge of a lookout, it is almost unfathomable how wide or deep this mountainous monstrosity actually extends. The snow added a delicate touch of stillness to the rosy earth that seemingly had no understanding of its size. It just stood there, cowering below and towering above, and time has just continued to deepen it. 
Feelings of accomplishment as well as wonder swirled through the frigid evening air. We retreated back to our trusty steed, pictures in tow, and enjoyed the ride back to town, the sun finally sunken into the horizon. 
There was still much of Arizona to see before cruising into Santa Fe the following night. We drifted like tumbleweeds through Winslow, as made famous by The Eagles song, "Take it Easy". Local radio stations advertised the girl (my lord!) in a flatbed Ford, who was apparently still hanging around Winslow since the song was written by Jackson Browne in 1972. Although we withstood the intense urge to meet this famed girl in the flatbed Ford, we were duped into veering off-road a few miles by a sign that alerted us to the largest meteor crater in the world! Right here in Winslow? Too good to be true. 

When we left the car to check out this said crater, unexpected rip-roaring gusts of wind caused us to huddle in discomfort while waiting for a "guide" to take us through a $15 tour of the crater. First of all, what a rip off. Secondly, there was no justifiable way of explaining to ourselves that we needed to see this hole in the earth so badly, we would risk windburn and forsake our lunch money to do so. I think I saw a sign for Dairy Queen ahead. Money best spent on a Blizzard (the ice cream kind).

In an attempt to bypass rain in Albuquerque, we hauled it to Santa Fe and made it to town by the first snowfall. Locals were eagerly anticipating their long awaited white Christmas, whereas we were damming ourselves for ever believing in meteorological predictions. Although most of the shops in town were closing for the day, we managed to absorb a few storefront windows, displaying "authentic" native american relics. Mostly rugs, some wood carvings, handmade ceramics and jewelry. And, of course, those lovable novelty items such as shot glasses, t-shirts, and latently sexual children's puppets. 
An enchanting evening in town led us to a belly full of Mexican food and a slick road ahead. Snow fell rapidly and reminded me of how cold it can get when you leave the Golden State. By morning, friendly flakes wafted down at a reliable rate and  after about an hour of trudging through a wintry highway death trap, the clouds parted, the snow had dried from our car, and there was only the clearest of skies ahead on into Texas.  
Our beloved Lone Star State. A former country founded by miscreants and thieves. A state as long as it is wide. A place so proud even our president GW will fake an accent and claim himself to be a native. In and out of Texas too many times to count, this is the first time I will be driving home. After a long stretch through West Texas as flat as veal scallopini, signs for Fort Worth popped up. I rolled down the window, breathed in some Texas air and watched the sun set--the same color as a fire ablaze in the countryside. 
We had made it home. Although at the time, the feeling of accomplishing a journey hadn't crossed my mind yet. Clearly, the trip wasn't as epic as Odysseus' return home, but it certainly felt we had come a long way. All I could think about was what my mom would make me for dinner. After a tuna sandwich and some thick parental love, I told the whole story of how we traversed the Southwest. Home had never felt so warm. And I had the whole week to enjoy it.