Last night I was in San Francisco. This morning I am in Los Angeles.
…I own one pair of shoes. One. (Ok, that’s not really true, but only ONE pair that I can wear in public & that fit). The last few weeks, I have been walking around the streets of Oakland & San Francisco…with massive holes that went all the way through the soles…leaving my feet & socks to be what actually hit the ground each time I set foot to pavement. Holes in every pair of socks I own now: not good. Broken glass, dirty syringes & who knows WHAT else touching my feet: very not good.
Something had to be done.
So, the day before yesterday, I (completely accidentally) found a lovely, obliging older man in a shop, who for a (rather ridiculous) sum of money would put new soles, both on the inside & outside of my shoes. Overnight. Expensive, but done. (And still cheaper & easier than buying new ones). I accepted.
I knew this was going to be an interesting voyage however, when I called last night, a few hours before my bus would depart the Oakland Greyhound station, only to find that this same ‘lovely’ gentleman had decided he was closing the shop half an hour early & under ‘no circumstances’ would he hold the door (despite offers of money mixed with near sobs & pleading that this was the only pair of shoes I owned), not even an extra 10 minutes so that I (or someone else) might pick those shoes up…
Los Angeles. The city of beautiful, expensive & stylish people.
And I am stuck wearing….a pair of torn-up Puma’s that are two sizes too small which give my feet blisters & cause me to waddle like a duck only 10 minutes after application… Well. Ok. Could be worse…perhaps I will….buy some flip-flops…? (Sigh). I mean…you can get away with that in LA, right? A sexy black minidress…and flip-flops? Right? …(I certainly hope so). However, this trip has turned out to be serendipitously good, it would seem: Long before my shoes decided to stay cooped up in the Powell St. mall, I wasn’t even sure if I would make it here.
You see, I am living on a less-than-poverty level allowance these days, (by SF standards…actually, by most standards) so journeying to a foreign city, let alone arguably the most expensive one in the country, to volunteer & dance for a few days might seem reckless…but Tango calls & I must follow. (I really don’t have a choice in the matter). (No, really: I don’t).
Each time I have all but given up hope of this trip even happening, it seems something…extraordinary occurs. First in the transportation: how on earth was I to get to Santa Monica, on a budget like mine? No one wanted to carpool. No rideshares seemed to be leaving, no matter how often I checked…(oh they left DAYS earlier, but where would I stay? They left days after, but that would defeat the point of getting TO the festival, now wouldn’t it? Airline ticket were ridiculous. Amtrak & Greyhound…oy!) After weeks of searching & nothing doing, I am nearly about to call & cancel, when…just as I am about to hit send on the e-mail, I decide one last time to log onto Greyhound…and, low & behold there is an ‘express’ bus fare for $29. And it gets me there (well, to downtown LA) in under 7 hours. Overnight. Hot damn!
…(Children, cover your ears).
I buy it. (I don’t actually have $30 I can afford to spend this month…but this is Tango. Who needs to eat, when you can dance…right? Hmmm. Well…I have incredible faith that something will happen. And I just got work for the summer, so I am willing to be a tiny bit reckless).
Then comes sleeping arrangements: I am surfing the couch-surfing netwerk, like you would not BELIEVE (despite the fact that I am have never used it before & have been warned by many women in the area, ON the site that it is very dangerous to do here, DON’T trust guys, but sorry you can’t stay with me, etc.). Yet, I am a mad woman: sending out all sorts of requests, looking up hostels, trying to crash on people’s floors…anything. Again, to no avail. But I’ve already bought the ticket…
So, just as I am about to put down a deposit on 4 nights in the cheapest youth hostel I can find (a feat that would cost me $130, a ridiculous sum in my allowance), again, while I have received no e-mails in reply for the tons of messages I have sent out… I decide, for some reason, One. Last. Time. to check the couch surfing website itself. RIGHT before I press the button. And…low & behold, though it did not post to my eail address for some reason, there is a message from a lovely woman, living a 20 minute walk from where I need to be, who says: cool. Come stay with me & my cat, Mazzy. J
I figure there has to be a catch, somewhere… but no.
In any case: here I am, in LA. I was dropped off in (apparently) one of THE most dangerous parts of LA, at the greyhound station this morning, half an hour before schedule. I walked out of the station JUST in time to see the downtown bus I needed to catch, cross the street & walk RIGHT onto it. The gentleman at the door took one look at me & said,
“You a martial artist?” …(The exact same thing the security guard at the Oakland station said, the moment I walked in the door). I said…kind of. “Where you coming from?”
“San Francisco.”
“Oh! Frisco! …..You an artist? You an artist, huh?” (I thought for a minute…‘Why? Do I look like an artist? It took me a minute to realize – oh. Of course. White female, in here late 20s – early 30s…of course. Only someone in the arts would go from SF to LA on a greyhound & ride the city bus. Anyone else could afford a plane ticket. Huh, indeed).
Did you know, they have TV’s, even on the busses in LA?
But long story, not much shorter…I have arrived. My host informed me she may or may not see me much while I’m here, but Mazzy the cat is, as she said 3 times, ‘a cuddle-bug,’ which is very true. She, herself (my host) is utterly charming & sweet: (we have already bonded over the necessity for certain B-rate movies and generous beyond belief. My key to her apartment is on the table, as is the code to her bike lock, if I should wish to use it; there are 2 pull-out beds, I am in a relatively safe neighborhood…and the beach is a 15 minute walk down the street. Oh, and there’s pasta in the fridge.
I……..don’t know what to say. Shoes aside, I am overwhelmed by the trust & kindness of this stranger & of my good fortunes every way I turn so far. I am afraid of jinxing something by say too much, too soon….but if this is how the weekend goes…LA? J
…I think I’m gonna like it here.
I have already found great espresso…now, off to find some shoes. (Cross your fingers…and toes).
Til the festival begins, all the best in your wanderings,
~ Genevieve, The Whistler
1.jpg)
Posts
