A fat guy called Stanley sat opposite me in a campsite hot tub back up in Oregon. “The best resource for people,” he proclaimed, “is other people.” Stanley, it appears, was on the button. Even earlier in our wee trip, we had got talking to a bearded chap by the name of Steve, propping up a bar in Seward, Alaska. Steve had given us his number and told us if we ever got to Santa Barbara, (he seemed more sceptical than even us that we’d make it) we could call him and he’d have us stay in a bus in his driveway down there. Skip forward 2 months, and there we were, cooped up in a converted school bus (it had beds and everything), basking in the Californian sunshine and swapping stories with Steve, his family and his next door neighbours. We ended up staying for 4 nights.
This was partly because Steve’s driveway was being resurfaced and he needed some extra hands to fill holes with dirt and transfer piles of bricks to other piles of bricks. We’re not sure if he’d just been waiting for us to arrive to get this done but we were happy to get our hands dirty for a change. Cheap labour aside, Steve also took us out on his flat-bottomed speed boat, which whizzed along at a fair pace and hit each swell with such severity my tail bone was crushed into a fine powder. G got a shot at driving the thing while I dived in and swam with some dolphins that were performing a cheeky fly-by. They whooshed right under me and headed off to eat some fish – none of this playing malarkey unfortunately – but I was pretty giddy.
Steve’s next door neighbour also left an impression. His name was Court and he was a mystic of some sort (and also a very accomplished skate-board artist, who used to design Tony Hawk’s decks), who declared immediately that both G and I were “Level 3 Old Souls” and most intriguingly, “twin souls.” Twin souls have spent numerous past lives together and it appears that G and I have had a few adventures in the past, including one occasion where I was Issac Newton and 17th Century Cambridge G managed to secure me some funding. I informed Court that in this life I actually failed maths, (not to mention G would more likely give me a kick than any money)but that was irrelevant. Court was one of the most fascinating people either of us have ever met. We just sat in his house, listening to his birds chirp in the background, while he smoked endlessly and proffered musings and poems on our previous lives. It was a very surreal few days.
Now we’re in San Diego and tomorrow we head south to Mexico, with a new recruit in the shape of Karen, an English lady who dives for a living and knows Spanish. A rather useful trait as our Spanish learning has been a little slower than anticipated. By slower, I mean pretty close to non-existent. San Diego is sunny, filled with hippies, $1 fish tacos and waves that gobble your surf board like a Hungry Hippo. The hostel is good fun though, although a fat bloke in our room snored so loudly last night (and thrashed around like the girl in the Exorcist) that none of us slept. It was like trying to sleep through a thunder storm. I genuinely could not shout as loud as he was snoring. So we moved rooms. I reckon he’ll get the hint when he beds down tonight and he’s all alone – saying that we’ll probably still hear his dying walrus impressions from the other side of the hostel. Ridiculous.
I forgot to mention in a previous post that we went to Napa Valley. We got lots of vouchers and drank all the wine. The End.