I wanted desperately to be the ultimate budget traveler – to be one above any known realm of classic, stereotypical, student/hippie vacationer. I had dreams of showing up, touching lives and hearts, instilling a good message when and where needed, and then disappearing away into the lesser known – and all for minimal expenditures. An image of a prophet. A poet. I wanted to rule the world in order to save it. Still do.
I wanted to take the $.60 bus ride (that was brought to our attention through the Great Book – I mock thee.) to town, to touch a life for little or no cost, but it was late, I was feeling a tad pressured – still quite happy – and we just wanted to set ourselves up somewhere, at least just for the night; Create our command post for the adventures that awaited us.
Really! I was so damn excited about being embraced by the open arms of that great united ‘One;’ that combined essence of the World’s inhabitants - and to feel the heartbeat as I press my head to It’s breast. I felt I was somehow on the outside, and this would be my big hug; my total acceptance and welcoming from the outstretched, loving, arms of the world. It’s not as though - and I want this to be clear - I felt unwelcome, unwanted, or unloved back in Canada. This was not the case at all. It was a feeling of meeting up with a thousand old friends who have been out of the picture for… well, for this particular earthly existence. I felt, on many tiny occasions to this point, I was home after a long and dull absence.
Our paramedic-by-day/taxi-driver-by-night seemed plenty nice, but failed to ease the new insecurities I was experiencing about our unquestionably nerve-racking, sustained rate of speed as we dangled on the edge, weaving in and out of seemingly stationary speeders of the highway. I can assure you that these highway neighbours were, in fact, speeding along themselves. I felt, on a few instances, we began to slip, leaning over that ominous edge, teetering at times, being held by some higher power that could somehow be attributed with righting our chariot and helping us stay the shaky course. It’s only appropriate that a man of my generation would compare this ‘wild ride’ to the likes of amphibians?!?! I thought of Mr. Toad and his scary circuit.
The name of our multi-skilled, single speed driver eludes me at this time, causing me to wonder how Kyle and I ever managed to decipher his occupations – which I was starting to consider we had mistakenly supposed from the initial beginnings. At this point I was reconsidering him as a fugitive kidnapper, now on some insane quest for ransom; on the run, who just happened to be carrying two, green - not by admittance - young men. Was this one of those vigilante ‘red’ cabs that we were supposed to avoid at all costs? Well, no. This cab was neither red, nor the inviting (according to the book) orange colour that was suggested. This cab didn’t even have a relative colour. It was White.
“What does the book say about white cabs?” I ask Kyle.
“Nothing.”
“He seems nice enough,” I put out for thought. White is too pure for anything evil to happen to us. Of course, we would learn, later on down the road, that most things are the same. Our only differences are our defined idiosynchrasies.
And so, our first contribution to the local economy ($12) seemed easier to swallow because of the added excitement of this lead footed, horn hooting paramedic (swallowing at this point might have put my heart back in its prime operating location). His audio/visual genius was an under-priced act unto itself. With hi-beams resembling beat-driven discoteca strobes and musical horn interludes thrown in for extra measure, we managed – WE did nothing but giggle, but HE managed. Our chariot actually stayed in one lane for several minutes as the other cars would slide aside with tailpipe between tires, either seeing our light show or hearing our conspicuous melodies. I beamed. Myself, in glee. And then, my first thought of home: ‘this would be a definite loss of licence back home,’ specifically.
¡Excelenté!
I thought - no longer concerned with my home afar - as we slowed out of light speed and images became sharp again, that bursting into downtown San Jose (and that’s what it was, we actually flung ourselves, within the chariot, off a ramp and, instantly burst, right into downtown.) was completely lucid, but façade-like. There was evidence of people, but the resemblance had a stronger association with an image of a huge street party, complete with parade, that had run its course and then died out. All that was left was trash and litter, and, Oh! A few haggard stragglers taking shelter on littered porches. I felt as though I took a spill right through the tube screen, landing in this capital where our driver neglected to yield to any stop sign or traffic light, and where, aside from the not so typical creatures of the night (I will get to that), I saw nothing or no one; an unexpected, slightly scary, scene for these ‘newby’ eyes.
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