They burned my barn and stole my horse

I saw the beard before I saw Greg. He was driving towards me and I had to stop and look twice to make sure my eyes weren't decieving me. But sure enough, it was my good pal. I had spent my last night in the US with Greg and Nicole, crashing on their futon in Chicago about 11 months ago. And now I was heading to their new place in San Diego to crash on their air-mattress. It's funny how the life takes you around full circle some times.

It was strange being back in the US. I cringed at the rows of cookie-cutter condos I scattered from Chula Vista up into downtown. When Greg and I went to the grocery store I marvelled at how one single store could have 30 different varieties of orange juice.

I had managed to make it into town 3 days before the Dylan show, earlier than I originally thought. But I was feeling ready to go home. The next few days were a blur of submitting resumes, arguing with the DMV, looking for an apartments, and trying not to let my spanish slip out at inopportune moments.

I talked to Bill and he told me of his idea to head to the northern beaches of Brazil. I talked to Sean and he told me he was heading back to Colombia for the holidays. Yanet was finally off to Mexico. And I started to wonder what the heck it was I was doing back in the US. I wanted to run, it was all just too much, too fast. And no matter how many times Greg and Nicole told me to just calm down and take it a little slowly, I just couldn't.

Nicole fed me with her excellent cooking and Greg did his part plying me with beer and his famous fried eggs. It was nice to be somewhere that felt a bit normal again. Greg was even generous enough to let me borrow his car while he was working, which happened to come complete with a copy of "Modern Times" my new favorite CD.

And soon enough the night of the big show was upon us. As Greg and I excitedly rushed off to the Cox arena to see the man in person. Before the show I told Greg, I need to hear "Working Man Blues #2" I wasn't a working man as of yet, far from it, truth be told, but when Bobby told me about the declining power of the proletariet or his inability to give away what he had, I felt it too. He played Watchtower, Like a Rolling Stone, Cold Irons Bounds and just about everything else I wanted to hear.

As we pulled away from the arena I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And I knew without a doubt why I was here and what I was doing. It wasn't going to be easy, but there is just no price you can put on the company of a few good friends who get it.

Homeward Bound

I don´t know exactly when it happened, but at some point between shrimp tacos in Sayulita and ceviche in Mazatlan I decided it was just time to go home, wherever that was. Swimming up and down the Pacific Coast of Mexico had proven to be lots of fun, but it was getting a bit tiring. Sure the water was perfectly warm, the food was generally excellent, the people nice (except for whoever nicked my bag while I was swimming in Sayulita) and the scenery beautiful, but I was just kinda done.

I decided against exploring the Copper Canyon from Los Mochis or reliving the history of Hermosilla. Instead I hopped a plane to Tijuana, perhaps the crappiest city in the world unless you happen to enjoy street prostitutes or 18 year olds drinking and yelling ¨woo!¨ It made a lot of sense at the time, I figured as soon as I had enough I would just head up to San Diego and get started on this whole return to normalcy thing.

I knew íf I gave myself a couple days to get used to the idea I could probably get started with all the stuff I need to get done. And if nothing else I´ve managed to convince myself that things truly are going to be alright even though there are about a 1000 questions running through my mind of what´s what.

But I head to San Diego tomorrow, and amazingly enough I even have a place to crash for a few days (thanks Greg and Nicole!) until I get settled in a bit more. And Greg and I have got tickets to the Dylan show lined up already, in just a few short days. A plane ride to Seattle Oct 28th is already purchased and a road-trip back to San Diego with a good friend a few days later is in motion. Thanksgiving in Madison with my family rounds out the plans, although who knows, I might make it back to the Carribean some time in between.

Now if I can just find a job and a place to stay it´ll really start looking like I´ve returned to the real world. But for now, I´m going to be pretty content to go visit some friends and see what the rest of the world has been up to fo the last year while I´ve been vagabonding around. Yeah I´ll miss the amazingly magical sunsets in Mazatlan and the calm tranquil waters of Bucerias but I´m sure there are new, as of yet unimagined adventures to be had as I settle in.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

The two Scotish boys, the Irish boys and I piled into a cab and headed off to the bus terminal. They were heading off to Mexico City, I was going in the opposite direction, to the coast. We all had a brilliant time in Guadalajara, which has the reputation of being the center of the real Mexico. The home of tequila and mariachi bands. We even managed to take in a futbol match, a super-clasico no less (Chivas vs. Club America) and some Lucha Libre. That along with the Orozco murals, street side tacos and variety of cervezas made me feel like I had indeed experienced Mexico at it´s authentic best.

But after spending my last night in Guadalajara playing drinking games with the aforementioned group, along with a few Mexicans and Aussies I´ve decided I´m just too old for this shit. I can´t hang and I don´t really care anymore. A nice relaxing beach sounded just up my alley and that´s exactly where I was heading. Five short hours later I was in Sayulita.

I spent the bus ride like I normally do, staring out the window and pondering all there is to ponder in my life. I watched the landscape change from the blue agave cacti fields set among the low valleys of the central Mexican hills to the drier, more desolate, more sparse jungles of the Pacific Coast.

I`d just recently gotten to the point where the growing anxiety about what my life would be like when I returned to the ¨real¨world was begining to subsist. Find a job, find a place to live, move my stuff to a different city and visit friends and family and start a new life. I was trying to figure out how I was going to manage the logistics of all these contrary needs. I´ve spent much of this trip relying on the kindness of strangers to get by, and while there have been some really rough times it´s all worked out. But as of late a few good friends have decided to go to extraordinary lenghts help me out, levels which have suprised and humbled me.

Somewhere deep inside I had a sense of calm. Things were going to be ok, I reminded myself. They always had been in the past. I remembered to breathe and thought to myself as long as I can make it to the next stop in the road, everything else will work itself out. I idly glanced out the window and wondered where I was. I asked the elderly Mexican gentlemen next to me and it turned out this was my stop. I could see the warm welcoming water´s of the Pacific right around the corner and the next thing on my agenda was to go for a swim. Everything else was going to be alright.