Scerenity: October 2008

29 October 2008

Thoughts

It’s snowing in Toronto.

Well, sort of.

I look out the window and see little white specks, just dancing with each other, playing in the wind, oblivious to the world around them. They look as happy as can be. They don’t even bother going straight down, or even sticking to any surfaces for that matter, so content are they in their own ways – no, they’re much too lighthearted for that sort of thing. They’re just jovial enough to flicker for a moment in the air, flowing back and forth in front of us, giving a short burst here and there, and then disappearing from our sight forever.

I’m not thinking too much, or anything. Swear. It’s just really, really, really cold outside, and no way am I going out there today. So I’m gonna chill (heh) inside, relax, read, write, take advantage of internet access while I have it (aka stock up), and ponder the ways of the world. Being alone for prolonged periods seems to have this effect. I don’t think I’m unique in that way, it’s just the isolation. Nothing to do outside? Ok, then; time to go inside.
While trying to go to sleep last night, I was having trouble for two reasons. 1) I couldn’t get this nagging feeling out of my head that I needed to prove to myself that I have in fact done something with my life, and 2) the newest member of the dorm room snores like an industrial jackhammer. Running low on batteries. During a thunder storm. I mean, Jesus.

So to solve both of these problems, I grabbed my little notebook and a pen, made sure I had my keys, and set up shop on the little stairwell outside. And I wrote. This is what I came up with:

I’ve taken a piss in the streets of London. I’ve gotten drunk in the fields of Oktoberfest. I’ve been spat at in Spain and been accosted by an old drunk in Korea. I’ve been (partially) conned in Serbia and eaten the most amazing gyros in Greece that you can imagine. With French fries. I’ve witnessed the recklessness of children in Turkey and climbed the Dolomites in Italy; wearing sandals. I’ve known the wrath of a Portuguese housekeeper in Canada. I’ve been the victim of drive-by guinea pig urine in America. I’ve vomited in the waters of the Pacific and flown over the North Pole. I’ve eaten live squid.

I’ve been part of all these things out of an innate love to find the new. I become idle much too easy and find that my complacent self is not deserving of the joys made available to me. I want to experience much more than I have, I want to be taken beyond my comfort, and grow beyond myself. So I will keep going.

I then proceeded to write out a few short steps:

The What: I’m going to write. About my travels, about my findings, about my opinions and reactions, about the people I meet and the things I do. My obsessive need for collecting and my love for the process of accumulating will be channeled into this.

The Why: Because the more I travel, the more I forget. This is mostly an act of selfishness. I don’t want to look back and go “God, I wish I could remember that time when…” That’s not who I want to be. I want to experience my life, laugh at my life, take part in it, and be able to remember it at the end of the day, to realize just how remarkable it is. I want to create and express, and to be someone that I can respect.

The Who: Jason Gutiérrez Marrone, born April 8th, 1985 in Mad River Hospital in Arcata, California, USA. I am fond of hot dogs, quesadillas, and have a particular weakness for root beer of any kind. I have insatiable facial hair that refuses to be tamed. I have a love of music. I absorb art. I have the love of a woman who I am honored to call my person. I like blues, greens, and reds, but am not prejudiced against other hues.
I am me. And my heart is pounding.

The Want: I want to be good at writing. Not only for the sake of my memory, but also to have the confidence to share my thoughts with a complete stranger. To expose myself in such a way, to risk judgment, to gamble my integrity. I want to have this stranger read my words and become engrossed. I want to have a tale worthy of that kind of fascination.

At which point, I thought, and who’s to say I don’t already have that tale? I need to organize my thoughts, align the chronology, and write down all the parts where I felt joy, wonder, puzzlement, curiosity, absurdity, inanity – all the things that make life worth living.

It’s still snowing, but now the sun is coming.

28 October 2008

Impressions and Reactions - Toronto, Canada - Part 2

Waiting for the wash now. I never quite know just how rushed the laundry facilities would be at 12:17 during the heat of day. Don't people have better stuff to do? Like go outside? Be social? Explore the city? God. I'm supposed to be doing things at odd times, thus to avoid the rush. Didn't they get the memo?

And I'm the only one who looks the part of antisocial derilict - the other three people surrounding me are two quite tall, built, and attractive men (aren't they supposed to be out schmoozing or playing hockey or something?) and one extremely tall and thin blond woman (who should definitely be outside schmoozing or playing hockey). One of the blokes is even ironing. Ironing! Damnit, last night I was able to successfully sew a latch onto the back of my bag to avoid having the flap go crazy in the wind; now my quest for guy-with-household-skills position is being challenged. There can be only one.

Something else: I love accents. Not only foreign-language accents (for example, one of the cleaning ladies named Rita is from Portugal and speaks Portuguese, Spanish, Italian and English. I asked if she was learning French, living in Toronto and all, and she scoffed and made a funny face. So she was fun. And her accent engaging), but also the regional accents of English. Turns out I'm rooming with two other Californians, so I don't hear it while upstairs, but down here in the basement awaiting my turn at (now) the dryer, accents are popping up from all over. I'm hearing some Australian, some English, some awesome cockney-isms. I just got a "Cheers, mate" for letting the guy after me know my wash was done. I love that. While doing an Adventure Korea trip, Jessie and I heard "The coach is a bit hot, isn't it" referring to the tour bus. Lino used to dole out all sorts of goodies (which would often lead us to discuss the peculiarities of differences regarding pronunciation and the lack of phoneticism [heh] that abounds in English), and Ron from Harry Potter says "Wicked". How awesome is that? The only thing I can bring to the table is Californian surf-speak, which I refuse to do. Likewise, I don't think Jessie is willing to sell her soul and commence with Valley Girl lingo. So we're just accent-less, and thus cool-less. Bugger.

So the best I can do is adopt a few I like, and chock it up to adaptation. Hey, Jessie does it with Spanish.

Funny thing. Turns out the reason there was a big cram right around noon, is because starting around 1, going till about 5, it's time for all the cleaning ladies to come down and wash the linens, sheets, and pillow cases. Oops. So now I have this clump of wet clothes that need drying, and the dryers are currently bogged down with "official" laundry in 45-minute increments.

Update: Just spoke with Rita, who let me scamper in for a little bit. Bless her. After 5, I'll come down and do my second load (consisting of the stuff I'm currently wearing, cuz it's rank), and then I'll be all set.

To pass the time of waiting, I’ve been consistently getting fresh material for my dilapidated iPod. This mostly involves films or other such visual fun such as comedy stand-ups and random youtube happinesses. Happinesses. I love new words.

My current list consists of Louis CK, Marcus Brigstocke, Jeff Dunham, Eddie Izzard, Mitch Hedburg, Demetri Martin, Rob Paravonian, BJ Novak, Janeane Garofalo, Robin Williams, and a few others. It involves lots of patient downloading, renaming, transferring, and converting, but goddamnit, I'm expecting to be thoroughly mesmerized by the joyous results of modern technology, completely and without remorse on this train ride back down. Or else.

I've also managed to acquire a sandwich. So I feel proud. Not so proud, however, about the time I got it in. Since the laundry has completed itself, I decided I should perhaps go and attempt to complete some other things that needed doing. Namely, finding a US Consulate and getting more pages for my poor, poor passport. Turns out, there's one not 10 minutes from where I'm currently staying. So go there, and comes to be thatthe only time American Citizen Services (ACS, for short they say) applicants will be taken is 8:30 - 12:00. It's nearly 14:00. Bugger. So, failure number 2 of the day (1st being the laundry fiasco), and off to get some lunch.

Oh, and in-between my time-management failure and my lunch, I saw this little treasure, complete with the CN Tower in back:

(If any of my South Korean hagwon students are reading this, look away now, please.)

So yeah. Day 2, check. I plan on finishing my current book (J. Maarten Troost, who I love enough to have bought his second book already), finding dinner (maybe go back to the Sushi place, they were nice), and then early to bed, as I must rise and be official on the morn.

-Jay

27 October 2008

Pictures of us - Chicago

26 October 2008

Impressions and Reactions - Toronto, Canada - Part 1

I've been in Toronto for almost a full day now. I arrived at 22:00 last night, and it's 18:20 now. So, a not-really full day, and here's what I've got.

The hostel is huge. And loud. And strangely reminds me of an opium lounge. When I arrived last night, two hours late courtesy of Amtrak, all but the receptionist was lazing about, in a somewhat contemplative sort of manner, on plush couches and soft fabrics, as if in a vegetative state and couldn't quite figure out what to do with it at that point. Like the entire populace of the building just decided "Well, this looks like a good spot" and dropped down for an evening snooze. I saw faint traces of movement, eyelids flickering about, but I felt as if I'd merged into some sort of Chinese back-door warehouse where the air is thick with the seeds of opium poppies and everyone who sits down for longer than 10 minutes becomes aware of a strange form of telekinesis connecting everyone in such a state.

It was bizarre.

So I hastily made an exit in search of my room, promptly discovered all the electrical outlets next to a bed taken, said fuck it, and went upstairs to sit in the middle of a semi-abandoned hallway. The hum of noise was quieter, the rug somewhat comfy, and human contact was minimal. Perfect. After dallying on the internet (I need WikiNews on a daily basis or I go through withdrawal periods - Jessie can attest), I came back to the room, still empty of other guests, smelled myself, and decided that if I wished to acquire food somehow, I should join the ranks of my fellow homo sapiens and take a shower.

I've realized something just now, typing this: I enjoy food. And it sucks to be without it. Which is strange to say, considering I'm in the middle of downtown Toronto, right next to a plethora of streets chock full of restaurants, bars, clubs, pizzerias, taquerias, and hot dog stands (I saw 4 just on the way from Union Station). It's just that being alone, I have far less courage to muster up going into a dining establishment than I would be if I were with any number of others.

Coming in from D.C. to Penn Station, NY at 1:30 am is a bit like finding yourself in a twilight zone where everyone yells loudly for no good reason, makes threats to others in a comical "I'm so tough I'm gonna tell you just how much I can kick yo' ass" sort of fashion, and flips the bird in your face. OK, so I didn't experience that last one, but I'm still waiting for it.

But that was two nights ago. I found a small store still open, bought a chicken salad, avoided making eye contact for the next 6 hours straight, and then boarded the train for Toronto at 7:30 am. On the train, I was stupid enough to think that we'd make it on time, so I simply contented myself with my Cliff bar (from Montana; yummy) and dozed. Waking up some time later, and it turns out we're two hours late, the cafe car is closed, and customs is boarding.

This next phase lasts much too long, dreadfully long, so I'll just say the next time a customs officer requires some sort of assurance that you are in fact going to return to your country of origin at some point and not just become a permanent member of Toronto's homeless
community, flashing your return tickets would be the recommended action. My mind couldn't quite cope with the concept of me setting up shop in *snicker* Canada (of all places) for the rest of my life, so on the inside I just started laughing, while on the outside I made lots of stuttering noises and did my best to assure the nice customs officer with a gun that yes, I would indeed be returning to the US at the end of my stay. She gave me a strange look and apparently decided I wasn't worth the effort, because here I am.

Although I might be getting a follow-up letter from the border patrol at my parent's address in the near future; just to make sure.

What I'm trying to say, is, even though I'm surrounded by food, I've had only the bare minimum. It's the 26th, and since the 24th, I've had a chicken salad, a Cliff bar, 6 pieces of sushi from the only restaurant I found open (it's Sunday, and apparently that matters here), a hot dog from the street...the end. I need more.

In the room - I'm aware that my silent presence makes others feel somewhat ill at ease. I strangely enjoy that feeling, as it gives me a sense, not just of power in that I'm controlling the shape of the room (however uncomfortable or detrimental it may be), but also that my
existence is acknowledged. In a negative way, however, as I am just that one guy in the room who never talks and makes everyone else feel strange for doing so.

I've also no desire to make friends. Sure I'll chat if they ask me questions, but I'm not in the least interested in asking them any. It's strange, because if this were a mixed room, I would absolutely be more cordial to my roommates (if for no other reason than to prove that regardless of my beard and deathly odor, I really am a nice guy), but when it comes to other males my age, I usually just say screw 'em and put on my headphones. Is that so wrong? I kind of feel sexist.

I'm just not a verbal creature, unless I happen to already know the people.

I'm amazed at the diversity. Not just the French, either. According to Wiki, 49% of all Torontonians (heh) were born out of the country. 49%. Jesus.

It's also one of the safest cities for its size, and remarkably clean. I mentioned the homeless earlier, but really I saw just one, making his nightly rest on the sidewalk with steam coming from below, I assume to help heat him up.

Other things I've found in the first 24 hours:

- The bookstore is called "Chapters." Would you like a membership card? No, really, thank you. The search-help computers are a combination of giant Apple-style touch screen with metallic aluminum keyboard encased in a monstrous white cube. If I didn't know better, I'd say these were the Canadian Macs. The logo was absent, however.

- Bill Bryson's "I'm A Stranger Here Myself," wherein the author recounts his time back in America, is now "Notes From A Big Country." Oh, funny. Because his "Notes From A Small Island" was written during his time in Britain. Wow. I wonder if he knew that title change would take place? Did they consult him about the topic? Did he suggest it? The marketing for the Canadian market does require consideration after all.

- Canadian money is multi-colored. Well done.

- The coins are a blend of American and European. American in that there are four small coins, 25, 10, 5, and 1, with the 10 being smaller than the 5 in physical size, and the 1 being bronze while the rest proudly display their silver. European in that it has both a $1 and $2 coins, with the $2 having a gold border around the edge, ala the zwei-Euro-stueck.

-Center is Centre.

Oh, I also decided to do the genius thing of "syncing" my iPod while on the train, which, unbeknownst to me, replaces the entire content of your current iPod with the entire content of your iTunes library. Funny thing is, I don't keep any of my music in iTunes. I manually rip it from the CD, put it into the iPod, eject, the end. So apparently I saw the sync button, thought "Oh, this looks like fun, let's have a go" and promptly erased every single thing I have on it.

Oops.

So here I am trying to restock on music and movies for the train ride back down, which is excruciatingly long, and then hoping for enough entertainment value to keep me awake at Penn Station (again) for when I do the same thing, but going the other way now.

So. My stomach craves food. Early dinner, perhaps.

-Jay, out.

Toronto, Canada, 18:46

22 October 2008

Chicago, Illinois

Skyscrapers tall enough to cast a near-permanent shadow on downtown sidewalks. Cars and pedestrians who have no qualms about killing each other to get to their destinations. The largest train station we've seen in the states, and free WiFi with your soy chai latte at the first café you see. Welcome to Chicago.

Despite being dwarfed on all sides by enormous buildings that should shield us, Chicago is indeed a windy city. Add to that the chill of the shadow cast by all the buildings and you get a really cold downtown area in the middle of October. At the same time, the architecture is impressive and you can find beauty and reprieve from the glass-and-concrete behemoths by just walking a few blocks from the center of downtown in any direction: to the river to watch the boats glide by; to Millennium Park to enjoy the shiny, creative architecture or race leaves down the steep surface of the metallic pedestrian walkway (Jay won); or you could just head to Union Station and take any one of the many trains in this massive station to another location for a day.

Of all the cities we've seen on this trip, Chicago is at once the most appealing (public transit, huge variety of restaurants and pubs and things to do) and the most intimidating (We got off our train and stepped into what looked like an international airport!)... It's the first city that Jay can envision living in (and he makes his case well).

We're staying near Lincoln Park, just north of the main hub of downtown. The architecture in this area is lovely and we have enjoyed getting lost in the blocks near our hostel and admiring the ivy creeping up the sides of the brick homes. Plus, there's a deep-dish pizza restaurant around every corner.

After eating pizza on our first night here, we walked around the Lincoln Park area to get a feel for the restaurants and activities available. We paused in front of a sausage/hot-dog store that Jay was interested in and considered going there the next day for brunch. As we were looking at the hours and considering whether we should go there the next day, a man (probably in his late 20's) who had been standing by the bus stop interrupted our conversation:

"No. Hey - -No. Fuck this place."

We were confused and a bit amused by his strong reaction to a restaurant, so Jay responded, "Because of the service or the food?"

"Both."

"Huh." We didn't really know how to end the conversation at this point...

"Yeah, if you want good food, you have to go up there - see that light? Yeah, go one more block past that to Fullerton. There's a Mexican food restaurant called Allende's. Best fucking Mexican food in Chicago."

"Okay, well... we'll go check that out. Thanks for the tip!" We started walking that way, and then he began to follow us.

"You know, I think I'll join you. Now I'm hungry. You should try the beef tongue taco."

"The what?"

"Beef tongue taco. Lengua. It's amazing." He nodded a bit to emphasize his certainty in the matter and continued following us down the street, hanging back awkwardly by about 3 feet.

Eventually we reached the restaurant and he headed in and sat down at a booth. We popped our heads in, asked when they opened (9 AM), wished him a good evening, and continued on our way.

We did end up eating there the next day, and Jay tried the cow tongue taco. It was indeed delicious.

18 October 2008

Glacier National Park, Montana

So here we are on the train towards Minneapolis/St. Paul, wishing we had brought more food with us. We had the foresight to make dinner reservations (a first, yay!), but it's not till 8:30pm and our stomachs are angry.

Glacier National Park is remarkably beautiful in the fall, and I wish we had had more time to spend there. As it was, we booked only two nights in the Belton Chalet, a nice little "hotel" literally directly across the train station, which was extremely convenient. Jessie was hit by a Portland death-flu, inflamed by having to stay up till 3am the night before giving me directions via cell-phone on how to get back from downtown Seattle. So we decided to take it easy.

We arrived only an hour late (oh, Amtrak) and made our way across the street to the chalet. Upon coming across sign after sign of "closed for the season" and "please call if you have any questions," along with zero cell coverage and freezing tuckuses, our hopes started to dwindle. A man suddenly popped out of the main building and we ran over to that area - on the back side of the building, up the stairs that adorn the outer wall, and at the second door, as it turns out, was the office. Who knew? When we knocked and explained our reservation status, the lady was nice, but definitely ruffled. "Well, normally check-in isn't until 4:00." Yes, that's wonderful and all, but we're pretty sure that we're your only damned customers for this entire week (we got an entire cabin to ourselves), and we called in advance way back when to inform you of our arrival time via train. Hell, we're even an hour late.

Ah well. The cabins were wonderful and very fancy for the area. This was also one of the cheaper ones. There was a bathtub (glory!), a coffee maker (impromptu tea-cooker), and a nice big bed. Delicious.

All the shuttle services in the park were shut down, so we did lots of walking. Given Jessie's lower level of energy than her normal self (which is to say, she was about equal to the rest of us), we ended up only going about 2-3 miles into the park, then turning around. Citing exhaustion, but also hunger, we made our way back and ate at the only restaurant open during the off-season. I got a buffalo-burger. Mmm-hmm. The Montana hospitality was quite nice here, and we ended up coming back the next night for dinner and dessert.

That next day was even shorter than the first. We got out of the cabin around 3, walked a bit along the river traversing the entrance to the park, then came back.

We know we barely touched the surface. The first day, walking alongside Lake McDonald, was intense. The lake is huge. The mountains are huge. The trees are bright; orange, green, red, brown. So we know we didn't do it justice.

On our way out, waiting for the train, an older lady came up and asked where we were headed. We responded Minneapolis/St. Paul, and that led into a longer conversation of where we're from and what we're currently doing. She seemed intrigued, both because she herself is considering an Amtrak trip (I told her it can get woozy at times, so be prepared if you get motion sickness), and also because "you don't see too many young people going by train."

She was surprised at the brevity of our stay, and recommended we come back in the summer, perhaps get a job nearby, and really explore the park. She said the summer here wouldn't be a part of your normal life. I love that idea. Maybe it's just being from a small town like Mt. Shasta, but the concept of just up and leaving your area of comfort, uprooting and moving to an unknown for a summer, kind of appeals to me. I doubt I'd ever do it, but the romance is strong.

14 October 2008

Seattle, Washington

Ah, Seattle - city of nearly ever-present drizzle. I lived here for about three years, moving to California just before I turned ten. Some of my earlier memories revolve around our old house on Capitol Hill (the new owners painted it), the ridiculously huge rhododendron bush I played in (now trimmed to a more manageable size), and Volunteer Park just a few blocks up the street (still there, though I remember the playground being a bit bigger somehow). It was interesting to come back, map and itinerary in hand, and realize how very much I no longer belong to this city. It's familiar in parts and for certain blocks I remember my way around as if I still lived there, but it is certainly not home. I've been spoiled by Californian weather and the sunny diversity of the Bay Area, but the clouds sure do look interesting in
Seattle. Thanks to a trick that Dana's boyfriend taught us in Portland, we spent most of our time trying to take the same image with multiple exposures to overlay them later. We are very pleased with the results (see photos below).

While in Seattle, we stayed with Carter (a college friend of my parents) and Ruth and their adorable kids, Gracie and Lili. It's been a long time since I'd seen Carter and Ruth and I'd never met the kids, so it was great to see them - Jay also got to reconnect with Dani, the world-conquering theater lioness (although he did miss the last reasonable bus home and then have to take 2 different random buses and then walk for about 30 minutes, getting back to Carter and Ruth's at about 3:00 AM).

On our first day, Ruth sweetly dropped us off near Fremont on her way to work, so we walked by the Fremont Troll...

...along the water...

...to Gasworks Park, which by all rights should probably NOT be publicly accessible (let alone invite people to sit down on the grass for a picnic), seeing as it's a rather toxic site. But it looks cool, so we walked through and enjoyed the views of downtown.

Then we went to the University of Washington campus, where I managed to lose my iPod (hurray!).

Luckily, despite the threatening clouds, it did not rain at all during our walk. We continued south across the river into Montlake, walking through the park and arboretum...

...and finally to Capital Hill to see my old house...

...and Volunteer Park.

We then ate lunch at a Korean restaurant (Kimchi Jjigae!), where Jay giddily thanked the chef in Korean (a high point of the day). Afterwards, we camped out in a café to relax while we waited to meet up with Dani. The actual meeting was mildly problematic, as Jay (1) told her we were Downtown, not on Capitol Hill and (2) had no rain gear, despite my warnings that morning. So when she gave us walking directions (which seemed suspiciously long), we started out from our café. A few minutes later, she called to inform us that she would be a bit late because of the rain. Rain? We looked up. What rain? Oops. So we hopped on a bus (to the rain), Jay got soaked, we had dinner with Dani, and all was well. I went home early, leaving Jay plenty of opportunity to do at least one more silly thing before the night was up (see bus story above). The sweetie does not disappoint. :-)

The next day, I started getting sick (thank you innumerable people in Portland who all apparently had the plague! I have joined your ranks.), so we said goodbye to Carter, Ruth and the girls and explored Downtown - we had lunch at Pike Place Market (which I have to say, now pales in comparison to Seoul's Noryanjin), walked around a bit, and went to the top of the Columbia Center for some photos. While there, a huge group of Koreans came in in business suits with a tour leader. It was cute and very Korean and we recognized a lot of words, which made us happy.

Finally, we picked up a bunch of Korean (are you noticing a pattern?) and Japanese food (and green tea) from Uwajimaya Market in the International District before preparing to get on the train to Glacier Park, Montana.

For now, I leave you with images of Downtown Seattle. Stay tuned :-)