The number one thing I underestimated about this life is how hard it is to keep your phone charged. My journal updates slowed to a crawl and eventually a halt, as well as anything less essential than calls, texts, and maps. Tonight I decided to go soft and get a cheap motel room, so I'm writing this now while I have a cable in my phone.
At first I was going to hitchhike, and I did. Then someone in St. Louis convinced me to take a Greyhound and gave me enough money to do so. A few days later, I'd survived the unbelievably long bus ride to Los Angeles. In between snoozes and bathroom breaks, I'd made a few friends, too.
"A", a thirty-nine-year old, lanky white guy, dressed in an aggressively hippie style -- odd red sunglasses, a permanent beanie cap, baggie, colorful clothes and a twisted wooden cane -- was newly homeless, like me. There was some situation with his family, I didn't get all the details. He was definitely mentally ill in some way and he did a few more drugs than I was comfortable with, but in every other way he was a kind, really genuine sort of man who always did right by me.
"T" was closer to my age (20), sane and claimed to only do weed and alcohol. He knew LA and the west coast in general, and filled our heads with grandiose plans. He said he had a van, and that he could get us jobs and stuff to sell on the road, and that we could travel up and down the coast. T knew how to talk and how to get people's defenses down. That's a skill I've always envied. Unfortunately, it's a skill usually wielded by assholes, in my experience. T was no different.
Me, A and T all agreed to explore LA together while T tried to get his van back from his mom, who lived there. That should have been the first red flag. After a day of hyping everything up, T got drunk and high, and we were no closer to finding a place to sleep than we'd been hours ago. A complained about this, and T yelled at him. They fell out, hard. I felt caught in the middle, but my choice was obvious. Sleep on a bench with A, or follow T and his impressive charisma to a hostel where we'd split the cost for a night.
After an awkward night in which T tried to invite me into the shower with him and I chose to be responsible and just go the fuck to sleep, we met up with A, who apologized and made up. Maybe he was genuine, or maybe, like me, he just knew he was alone in an enormous city with no resources and no knowledge of the street.
T brought us to Venice Beach, where he continued trying to get a hold of his mom and we hung out at drum circles and slept on the beach. It was a good time, but after we'd spent four days there, and T's mom had finally arrived, T went back with her for reasons I still don't know. I haven't seen him since, although he texted that he wanted to meet up earlier today, and never did.
After that, A and I spent a night with A.W., another traveler, who showed us a spot in West Hollywood where we spent the night. After that I was stuck squatting under a lifeguard stand on the beach with A, freezing my ass off more and more each night, which is exactly not what I signed up for. Waiting for T to get his shit together took too long and I split earlier tonight.
So far, I've hitchhiked twice, slept outside for the first time, made friends with other vagabonds, learned how to navigate Los Angeles, been hit on by guys on two separate occasions (very flattering, I'm bi but just wasn't comfortable with the encounters), learned the immeasurable importance of being friendly and personable with everyone, and taken off to be by myself again. It's been one hell of a ride, and that's just in my first week out here.
Tomorrow I'm gonna walk Hollywood Boulevard like a good little tourist and then see if I can hike up to Inspiration Point and probably spend the night up in the hills somewhere. After that my destination's San Diego, then Slab City. I've learned that making very long-term plans is useless out here. Things always turn up along the way.
At first I was going to hitchhike, and I did. Then someone in St. Louis convinced me to take a Greyhound and gave me enough money to do so. A few days later, I'd survived the unbelievably long bus ride to Los Angeles. In between snoozes and bathroom breaks, I'd made a few friends, too.
"A", a thirty-nine-year old, lanky white guy, dressed in an aggressively hippie style -- odd red sunglasses, a permanent beanie cap, baggie, colorful clothes and a twisted wooden cane -- was newly homeless, like me. There was some situation with his family, I didn't get all the details. He was definitely mentally ill in some way and he did a few more drugs than I was comfortable with, but in every other way he was a kind, really genuine sort of man who always did right by me.
"T" was closer to my age (20), sane and claimed to only do weed and alcohol. He knew LA and the west coast in general, and filled our heads with grandiose plans. He said he had a van, and that he could get us jobs and stuff to sell on the road, and that we could travel up and down the coast. T knew how to talk and how to get people's defenses down. That's a skill I've always envied. Unfortunately, it's a skill usually wielded by assholes, in my experience. T was no different.
Me, A and T all agreed to explore LA together while T tried to get his van back from his mom, who lived there. That should have been the first red flag. After a day of hyping everything up, T got drunk and high, and we were no closer to finding a place to sleep than we'd been hours ago. A complained about this, and T yelled at him. They fell out, hard. I felt caught in the middle, but my choice was obvious. Sleep on a bench with A, or follow T and his impressive charisma to a hostel where we'd split the cost for a night.
After an awkward night in which T tried to invite me into the shower with him and I chose to be responsible and just go the fuck to sleep, we met up with A, who apologized and made up. Maybe he was genuine, or maybe, like me, he just knew he was alone in an enormous city with no resources and no knowledge of the street.
T brought us to Venice Beach, where he continued trying to get a hold of his mom and we hung out at drum circles and slept on the beach. It was a good time, but after we'd spent four days there, and T's mom had finally arrived, T went back with her for reasons I still don't know. I haven't seen him since, although he texted that he wanted to meet up earlier today, and never did.
After that, A and I spent a night with A.W., another traveler, who showed us a spot in West Hollywood where we spent the night. After that I was stuck squatting under a lifeguard stand on the beach with A, freezing my ass off more and more each night, which is exactly not what I signed up for. Waiting for T to get his shit together took too long and I split earlier tonight.
So far, I've hitchhiked twice, slept outside for the first time, made friends with other vagabonds, learned how to navigate Los Angeles, been hit on by guys on two separate occasions (very flattering, I'm bi but just wasn't comfortable with the encounters), learned the immeasurable importance of being friendly and personable with everyone, and taken off to be by myself again. It's been one hell of a ride, and that's just in my first week out here.
Tomorrow I'm gonna walk Hollywood Boulevard like a good little tourist and then see if I can hike up to Inspiration Point and probably spend the night up in the hills somewhere. After that my destination's San Diego, then Slab City. I've learned that making very long-term plans is useless out here. Things always turn up along the way.
