Los Angeles

Day 2 in LA Cathy gives me a tiki tour of the place. We drive for hours and take in places like Beverly Hills, Belair, Hollywood, we even go through the area where all the homeless gather - i cant remember the name now. We are indirectly on our way to a photo shoot. A friend of Cathy's is doing some work for her book and she kindly offered to take some picks of Cathy's son Winton while they were at it. Winton is getting to the age where some sort of income is necessary to support all the wants. And as he's a pretty good looking boy and it is LA after all, how better to earn some pocket money than modeling. The studio is in an old warehouse and is also someone's home that is rented out for this purpose. Their lounge room is a set, it's a clutter of antiquey nik naks and furniture and the models are dressed in silk and lace and beads, it all looks very old worldly. It's an interesting process to watch. I'm particularly interested watching the artistic director. I think if I'd had my time over again, (this time with some sort of encouragement and guidance) that perhaps I might have liked to have been an artistic director when I grew up. And I can actually see that my daughter Ella would be very good at it. Mental note to plan a day of shooting. Pic below was on one of the walls of the studio.


That night we have 4 tickets to see Prince play at the Forum. Theres a bit of juggling about who's going to go and eventually its Cathy, Georgina, and vivienne's husband Kevin and myself. We get there about 8pm and Cathy has chosen the seats well, we have quite a good view of the cross shaped stage. Mary J Blige is the support act. All my cousins knew her but i wasnt familiar with her. We can see from where we are (with a little help from the huge screens) that she is strutting about on heels that must be about 10cm high. She is not only strutting, she is dancing and jumping and I have no idea how she does it. Then comes Prince, and he also is strutting about in pretty high heels. And he also is pretty agile. He is an excellent performer and he doesn't disappoint. He plays all his top songs, minus the real raunchy ones as he is now apparently a Jehovahs Witness. :(
we sit in the car in the car park for 40 minutes before we can get out. It's a great night.


Day 3 in LA, we actually head out of LA and to Santa Barbara. A friend of cathy's is involved in a street art exhibition at the old Santa barbara mission. We drive up the coast highway, One if I recall, through places like Malibu - I have seen so much of LA in the three days I've been there. The day looked like it was going to be windy but when we arrive at the old mission, it is beautiful. The festival is in it's 25th year, some of the artists have been drawing there since it started. Cathy's friend, also a Tracy, has been drawing there 15 years.




There is also Italian food stalls and we all queued up for our choice and wow, what a feed. Those Italians sure can cook ;)
From there we went on to some of Georginas in-laws. Pat and bonnie McElroy. Pat is a top firefighter and if my googling is correct had the dubious honor of naming the Jesusita Fire that ripped through Santa Barbara in 2009 - I really must make a note of these sorts of things as i go so I don't have to do the google thing to make sure I have my facts right. Whatever, these were very lovely people and once again I found myself sitting around a dinner table with family, eating amazing food.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

LA Digs

I have no conflict and drama to relate in this blog. As a writer I know they are essential ingredients to a compelling read so hopefully I can at least entertain with all the good stuff since the last blog. Just when you started to think I was a whiney old cow.

The greyhound bus folk wanted passengers at the terminal one hour before departure. Seemed a bit excessive but I wasn't going to tempt complications so I allowed plenty of time and was there about 75 minutes before departure. I cruised through check in and wheeled my bag to where I was shown and the ticket person at the next departure door asked did I want to catch the earlier bus that was just ready to leave. Shit yeah! Strike off a one hour wait. Excellent. I board the bus, and get a seat to myself. Double Shit yeah! Heaps more leg room than a plane. Yeah, I was liking this greyhound bus idea. I took out my iPod and headphones and tilted the chair back and we were off. Luxury. A day of music and scenery. The only bad thing about the trip was the burger king lunch. I made do with French fries and an iced coffee - an iced coffee without strawberry, chocolate or caramel that is. Americans excessive? Never!

I got into LA at peak hour. That was dumb. I thought when I booked the trip that 10 was a civilized time to get a bus but I didn't really look at the big picture. Bit like when I play pool, I can only ever concentrate on the shot in hand. So getting into the terminal and then the cab to Mar Vista where I was staying took nearly two hours. But was I in a hurry, no. I just sat back and soaked in the sites.

I'd arranged a place to stay through a website; www.airbnb.com. I'd done my homework and found a place as close as I could to my cousin cathy's place. Cathy had kindly offered me the couch at her place, but Being such a shit sleeper I didn't think I'd fare too well on a couch for 4 nights. One maybe. The place I'd booked is an old airstream trailer that sits in a secure backyard. Very retro. It's been totally refurbished, with a lot of class. Yes folks it's a classy trailer, no trailer trash for me! All that's missing is the star on the door. The bed linen is a zillion thread count cotton sheets, that smell divine. Plump towels. Waiting for me was a little cheese platter, ground coffee and a plunger, and a bowl of fruit. Everything so thoughtful. An iPod dock, wifi, a little outdoor sitting area along side a water feature and beautiful heaps of bougainvillea. Such a far cry from my 'host' in San Francisco. Faith in humanity restored.

I let Cathy know I'm settled in and she's over in no time. We head out for some dinner with her 15 year old son, winton. I can't remember when I last saw Cathy, but years and distance vanish and not just the family connection but a like mindedness kicks in and we are immediately chatting our heads off. We drop winton off after dinner, he's bored with our chatting - he is 15 after all, and we go on to a little local bar for a nightcap.

The next day, Friday, is traditionally sista day for my 3 cousins. When they can, they get together and do stuff. So this Friday I was to be included. They'd planned a BBQ. It was a lovely day. We sat around, more chatting, and watched the gorgeous 3 year old Addi wear herself out swimming in the heated pool. We ducked out to the Mall briefly as Lenny had me on a mission to get him a genuine New Orleans Hornets jersey. But alas, they only had limited sizes, this being LA after all, so he will have to settle for a t-shirt.
The BBQ was fantastic. My family, on both my mothers side and my fathers side are all, I am proud to say, brilliant hosts and cooks. I enjoy watching some of the many cooking shows these days and I'm always a bit peeved when the Italians come on and suggest they have some sort of exclusivity on the whole food and family thing. When my family comes together it is generally around a dinner table with lashings of gorgeous fresh food prepared with love and care. I could think of no better way to be spending one of my three days half way across the world in LA with my 3 cousins and their family. Streak that had been marinating all day, marinated veges cooked in a basket on the barbie, and Vivienne - that mushroom sauce was to die for!!!! I could have eaten a plate of that on it's own. A wonderful day, thanks cuz girls and Scott and Kevin too. And yes, I've figured out how to attach pics!!!!





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I see dead people

It happened on my last trip. I dreamt about dead people from my life. So far this trip I've had two different dreams like this. It begs the question, are these spirits traveling with me? That's more than fine if they're looking after me. But last night's dream was just so incredibly sad and disturbing, and scary. I'm still trying to unravel it. And I'm tempted to make a call home to check everyone is alright as I've had dreams before, birth and death dreams, that have carried relevance to actual events. The dream woke me at about 2am and at first I didn't know what had woken me and then I remembered, and I cried and cried. (jeez, I'm crying a lot aren't i?) I had difficulty returning to sleep and had to get up and get my kindle off the charger and read to push the thoughts from my head. Another shitful nights sleep. I woke again at 5am, another disturbing dream but for the life of me can't remember that one. And when I eventually woke just before my alarm at 7 I had departure stuff on my mind and didn't think about the dream. It wasn't until I sat in my seat on the greyhound bus to LA that it came back to me with a whollop. Before long I had tears streaming down my cheeks. If ever I'm acting, not that I have aspirations, I know that just a quick thought to that dream would induce tears without a doubt. Thank goodness for my dark sunnies. And I'm sorry to be elusive, I can't say this dream out loud, it's just too... Ominous. And anyway, I'd start bawling again.

So, on a cheerier note, I'm on a greyhound bus heading to LA. My San Francisco stay came good at about 11am yesterday when every bit of evil had been excreted from my poor hungry body. I had to eat and just across the road was the most perfect place for my first meal. It was a buffet but the freshest most appetizing looking food I have ever, EVER seen on a buffet. Actually, it looked like something my family or friends would produce when we have a pot luck. I served up a plate of freshly chopped fruit salad and a croissant, perfect. And it was the first decent coffee I'd had in the states. I was beginning to feel human again, and the rain that had threatened to ruin my last day had begun to clear. That settled it, I would venture out and take myself to Alcatraz. I thought if nothing else I would enjoy the ferry ride.
It was an easy trip with the trolley cars running right outside my hotel's door, and dropping me off right at pier 33 where I caught the ferry. No waiting and minimal queues.
Alcatraz was wonderful. It had turned into a beautiful day. I went berserk with the camera. I knew Alcatraz had been a federal penitentiary and a military barracks but I didn't know that at one point native Americans took over the island. It was a protest about the standard of the missions the government had begrudgingly given them. It was interesting to learn this on the day that back home was 'sorry' day.

I was on a safe bet with the buffet across the road and still feeling very finicky about what I felt like to eat so I returned there for dinner and then again this morning for breakfast. I was hoping they'd have their sandwiches prepared so I could buy one for the bus ride but alas, no, they didn't put them out until about 10am. And double alas, the driver has just informed us we'll be breaking for lunch at Burger King, nooooooooo!




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

San Francisco

Although $300 was a such a lot to pay for a room, I was very glad to be there. At about midnight the vomiting started. I've never vomited up lettuce before and let me tell you it's just as revolting as any type of vomit, and it clogs drains!! For some stupid reason I thought it would be more comfortable to throw up in to the hand basin rather than kneeling over the toilet bowl with my dodgey netballer's knees and so at 1am I am standing there scooping the devil from the handbasin in a glass to the toilet, almost vomiting with every scoop, not sure if I'm more distraught about the idea of someone having to come and clean up after me or the bill I might get for blocking their drain. Woe is me. Where's my beautiful nurse Nina when I need her? The night dragged, I was awake every hour on the hour. I enjoyed a shower at about 3am. I just kept hoping by check out time I would feel halfway human and well enough to move to a cheaper place. At about 5am I started googling alternate accom and had a short list ready to phone a bit later. I was thrilled to find out check out time was 12pm. Surely I'd be okay by then.
By 12 the vomitting had stopped. I just felt woozy, exhausted and the headache I had was threatening to go migraine. I dosed up with my last panadol and checked out feeling semi human. The cabbie was quite chatty so I asked if i had only one day in SF what he would recommend. He suggested seeing the sights of the city but explained tour buses didn't go a lot of the interesting places as the hills were too steep and some of the corners to windey, the best way to see it was in a cab. He wasn't doing the hard sell, he thought I'd meant I wanted ideas for the next day. But I thought, he's nice enough, a good communicator and knows the city well, and really I didn't have the time or the energy to organize much else so I asked if we could do that straight away. So for the next 2.5 hours we drove around the city that he obviously loved, and we chatted about the prices of homes etc and I felt like I got a really good picture of SF from him. He pulled over regularly to let me take pics and even offered to take a few of me too. He even offered to sit down and have lunch with me but I seriously didnt trust my stomach. I think I was lucky this guy picked me up. Again, I may have paid a high price but I felt it was justified. I just really wasn't well enough to be doing anything else than be chauffeured around and it would be such a waste to be sitting in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself.
I checked into my cheaper digs, and they were fine, except I had to try three rooms before I could get the wifi. Traveling on my own, my iPad has been an absolute blessing for things like finding alternate accom, and doing research and it's great company. I turned the tv on briefly last night, it seemed every channel was loud hosts and the studio applause of reality shows, American idol, biggest loser, so you think you can dance, dr Phil, etc etc. No thank you, very happy to have me time with my kindle, music and blog. But I do look forward to meeting Merryon in LA in 5 days and traveling with a good friend. I'm over the lone traveling. There, I said it.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Food poisoning hell

I arrive at LAX with plenty of time for lunch and an insipid cup of coffee. I really haven't had much of an appetite since I arrived. I got hungry once at Rosarito Beach and after a couple of days of nachos, refried beans with lashings of melted cheese that never failed to make the meal look like vomit, I felt like some unadulterated food. Back home I'd been watching what I'd been eating for months, a huge cut back on carbs and dairy so corn chips and cheese were a bit of a shock to the system. I'd seen this amazing looking steakhouse and I thought that was just what I was craving. And it was excellent, the best meal I'd had so far.
So at Lax I order a chicken caesar salad, can't go too far wrong with that. Hmm, the salad consisted of a mountain of lettuce and that's it. I ate up and went to wait at departure gate for about an hour or so. About 10 mins before we were due to board I start getting pains in the stomach. By the time I'm sitting on the plane they are getting pretty serious. But as the plane has already started moving, I can't leave my seat let alone use the toilet. The plane has moved but it comes to a stop, it's waiting for the okay to use the runway. So I too am waiting. Waiting, waiting. The pains not subsiding, getting worse. Finally, I get the okay to leave my seat. And sure enough the pains were no idle threat. This was food poisoning. I return to my seat hoping that's the last of it, but the pains soon reappear. I'm sweating and then I'm shivering. It is not fun. I'm going to have to go again, but it's a short flight and now we are beginning our decent. We must belt up. Again I have to hold on. I just hope and pray there are no delays getting off the plane. I don't have overhead luggage so I should be able to get up and out pretty quickly. The seat belt light goes off and I'm up. I excuse myself as I try to squeeze past the people in front of me. Not the done thing I know but hey... Apologizing profusely, saying it's an emergency, I push my way through. One woman turns and snaps at me, we all have to get off the plane! I'm sorry I say, I just didn't want to vomit down your back! Some people make way for me and then I come to this man who just refuses to move, and I can't recall what he said first but I snapped and he called me a stupid bitch. He just wasnt going to move for me. Then, still in front of me once off the plane and going down the narrow hallway, he intentionally blocked my way. I wished I could have spewed on him. But all I could muster was some top swearing, you fucking arrogant prick. Finally we're at the Terminal and I can storm past him. I get to the loo, and I burst into tears at about the same time I burst elsewhere. I am sooo not a happy camper.
I collect my bags and make my way to the shuttle buses. Originally I'd booked a hotel in San Francisco but I cancelled when a lady I'd met on couch surfing (google it if you don't know what it is, but basically it's a friendship site for worldwide travelers) insisted I could surf her couch. She seemed nice so I cancelled the hotel but kept the booking for the shuttle bus as the hotel was not for from this woman's apartment.
When I get off the plane I see that somehow the battery in my phone is in the red. Don't know how that happened, it's not like I was using it. I thought i would try and contact my couch surfing friend and suggest i stay the night at the hotel after all. The thought of prolonging my journey any longer than necessary not appealing to me at all. But the only room the hotel has got has a share bathroom so i make the call, i will go to this womans place afterall. But when I get there, there is a security gate between me and her front door and no intercom. I hope there is enough charge in my phone to ring her. I go to my contacts, and shit, I haven't put her number in! I could have sworn i had. Her number is in my emails but without wifi, I can't access anything. I try rattling the security gate. Remember I'm still getting hot and cold flushes and pains and would desperately like to have the safety of a toilet nearby.
I am really distraught and close to tears again for the second time in one day. I know I have her number written somewhere amongst my paperwork. Please don't make me have to unpack my luggage on the footpath. It is a busy area. And then, she comes out the door. She hasn't heard me, she is on her way out. Im later than we Both though id be and she's made other plans to go visit her new boyfriend who is sick too. It's a bit awkward. I explain I'm sick. I say I'm quite happy to just go inside and lie down, more than anything I just want to lie down somewhere. But she says no, she doesn't think it's a good idea for me stay there if I'm sick! Really? I suppose I can sort of understand but my true reaction is I'm gobsmacked. I try to imagine myself in the same situation. Would I turn someone away who's spent all day traveling and is sick? I'm sure I wouldn't!
It's okay she says and points to a hotel a block away. She's walking that way she'll walk with me. We say our goodbyes, maybe we'll catch up over the next few days she giggles. Not bloody likely girlfriend!
It's a freaking huge Holiday Inn, so I can't believe it when they say they are full. Whaaaaa, there's those threatening tears again. The receptionist is nice enough to phone through to some info line who tells me where the closest subsidiary hotel is. Whaaaaa. Back out to the cab rank. A passing homeless gentleman opens the cab door for me. Bless you kind soul, I manage a smile. I head to the next hotel. And yes, they have a room. Thank goodness, hooray. But says the lady, it's quite expensive. Oh, I don't want to know, because I know I do not have another skerrick of energy left in me to try somewhere else. How much I ask. $300. $300. $300!!!! I have never paid that much for a room, and nor am I likely to ever again. But I handed over the credit card hardly able to believe that soon I could sit on a toilet, have a dam good cry and then hit the sack. And my, what a beautiful bed it was.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Getting back into USA.

After my horrendous journey to get to Rosarito beach I was keen to find a better option for getting back to LA. From LA I was to fly to San Francisco for a few days. The staff at the hotel put me onto a guy, Isaias, who did tours and charters. He could drive me straight to LAX, no stops, no changeovers and super safe. It would be twice the price of what I payed for my journey from hell, but worth every cent I thought. But in the meantime I sleuthed around the festival guests for someone traveling to LA. There were one or two heading that way but on the day before I'd planned, so I would lose a night accom and have to organize another. Besides, I felt like I really needed a day to unwind. So I stuck with the isaias plan.
I meet isaias as planned, he has his 18 year old son with him. Theres a change of plans as he has an appointment to keep that afternoon. They are going to drop me at the borderline, where another driver would take me to LAX and then he is going to take his son shopping at san diego before his appointment. As we drive he carefully explains how this will all happen. How as a passenger I will have to get out of the car and cross the border on foot. There's something quite intrepid about that don't you think? He explained buses or chartered services such as his go through a special lane that usually moves quicker but that the search they do on the vehicle is pretty extensive and can sometimes take 1/2 an hour. Once the driver gets to his checkpoint I am to get out of the car and cross the border and then i am to wait for the driver on the other side.
We get to our special queue, and we have been sitting there for 25 minutes and haven't even moved. My driver does not speak English. I am starting to get a little worried. And just as I'm starting to get worried the drivers phone rings. It is isaias, he says he's been watching from his queue and is about to go through himself and he's seen that we haven't moved and he is worried for me too. He says change of plans. He will now take me to LAX himself, he has canceled the appointment he had that meant he couldn't take me all the way to LAX as originally discussed. He says get out of the car now and wait for him on the other side, he will be 5 or 10 minutes. I do as I'm told.
It's when I'm standing there all on my own I start to feel quite vulnerable, and suspicious. Oh dear, what if this is a rort? He has my payment after all. Oh dear. I try calling the number he gave me so we could keep in touch Nothing, some unidentifiable beep. I try again - nothing. I try a third time and Just as I do I feel a hand on my arm. It is isaias. This way he says, leading me to his car, ever the gentleman. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and jump in the car with this charming polite man and his son.
I always keep an eye out for my customers he says. I like to take care of them... What sort of music do you like? He tunes his radio to a station he thinks will suit. We head to LA, a road trip with a good looking Mexican - and as conversation would disclose; single. what more could I ask for?


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Festival and awards

A 9am start to the festival after a 2am finish was a tad optimistic so I missed the first film, a documentary 'happy' that was apparently good. I stayed in my room working very hard to convince myself I did not have a hangover. On a scale of one to ten it was probably a three. A three requires plenty of water, not a lot of movement, and minimal critical thinking. A four or five is when you start reaching for panadol, and a six to eight requires a bucket, and eight to ten requires absolutely no critical thinking, a bucket, a bed, and a whole day for recovery. You can see why I was determined not to have a full scale hangover whilst away. I felt lucky and a little impressed with myself to escape with a three. But As the day wore on it did work it's way up to a five, and I had to take a break from sitting upright and reading subtitles - i was nodding off. So at about 4pm I headed back to my room for a nanna nap.
i thought it a little strange that it wasnt a given that all the award winners films were screened. Push Bike was not going to be screened because it had been entered into the screenplay competition and it wasn't a requirement that the screenplay had been produced. However, at the mixer the night before Voula (which I spelt wrong in an earlier blog) took my copy from me and said they would screen it. Unfortunately though the copy I had wouldnt play, so... No go. I agreed with the festival's choice for the only trophy of the festival, everyone else just received certificates. the winner was a comedy 'the shoes maketh the man' and I thought it deserved the win, it was one of my favorites, particularly the lead actor's performance.
My award for the dud of the festival went to... I'm trying to think of a good word to describe it but I'm sitting here in the airport shaking my head, at a loss to explain how monumentally crap it was on so many levels (sorry Voula). Perhaps if I just say it was funded by a church, had no live action, was way, way too long and was what seemed to be a not very accomplished exercise in photoshop. For example, the last sequence was saying He is in you, so we saw a whole string of images of people, all types from all over the world, and their faces would be Photoshopped out and jesus's face photoshopped in it's place - brilliant hey! all the while some sort of ugly synth music playing. Oh how I hate to be preached to in films or literature!! I was a little annoyed at myself for not walking out but I wasnt in my country, I was a visitor and I didn't want to offend.
The award ceremony followed, and it was lovely that all the recipients were allowed to make a little speech. here we found out that filmmakers from all over had traveled to be there. All parts of the US of course and Japan, Austria, Vancouver, and me from Oz. And then after the ceremony, guess what, more karaoke!
It was disappointing that so many were scared off and didn't come, I really felt for the organizers Voula and Karla. If it wasn't for their bright, warm and enthusiastic interaction with us all it could have felt like a real fizzer. But they rallied at every opportunity to make us all feel welcome and valued. And they wrangled us all together at karaoke, organized our drinks and they even bought me a breakfast and lunch! they made the difference between it being a non-event, or worse, to a time I will remember forever.
Mwuh girls xxxx


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

I'm no singer, apparently.

So, a shower and twelve hours sleep was brilliant. And now that all the travel was over I could begin to focus on what I was here for. The Mexico international film festival. The first event is a mixer, where all the award winners, and any other industry types could get together and mingle and network. Not my strong point and it really does require psyching and usually a few drinks prior for dutch courage. But, those who know me, know how badly I suffer with hangovers and they are hell at the best of times at home let alone in a strange hotel room on my own on the other side of the world. I was really conscious of how, when nervous, I am inclined to guzzle drinks and i was going to make an effort to not go there. So there were no drinks prior.
I am the first to arrive. Great! Loserville already. The organizers, Carla and ula, tell me they have had 60 Americans cancel at the last minute, due to severe danger warnings for travel in the area given by the US government. They give me a few extra complimentary drink coupons, since half the guests won't be coming - dangerous... I knock back my first genuine Mexican margarita. It's not bad. Like me they don't put triple sec in it like some places in oz do. I'm glad, I hate that stuff in my margaritas. I get another. I'm twiddling my thumbs waiting for some other guests to arrive and finally a few more straggle in. Theres really not many of us. How disappointing for the organizers. But we all make the best of it; we're kindred spirits all happy to be there and to enjoy a bit of glory for our efforts. A few more drinks and the chatter becomes easier. The event officially finishes at 9.30 when the karaoke kicks in. We're all invited to hang around and about a dozen of us do.
Now, I have never sung in public before - not that I remember. Although I do have a recollection of holding a piece of paper with the words to a song on it at a party not so long ago. A party I choose to forget, such was my disgrace. maybe I sung there... (shhhhh Colleen). But they say travelers take risks. No one here knew me. Every one was having a go. It looked easy enough. I perused the selections and jotted a couple of song titles on a serviette, just to be prepared. Just in case I mustered up the guts to get up, and sing. Id pkay it by ear. Well, naughty Ula whisked up the serviette and took it out to the MC. Keeerist! Better have another drink.
The place is a haunt for locals, which included quite a few Americans who'd obviously escaped to the place as a semi retirement plan as they weren't really quite retirement age. Throughout the night I collected cards from a few I spoke to. Like Linda, who custom painted rocks she collected from the Rosarito beach. Children's names, company logos and she specialized in stones for pets burial sites. Yes. I desperately wanted to ask if it was a profitable venture. And how the rock supply was holding out.
They ALL took their karaoke very seriously, and most of them sung quite well and even confidently busted the right moves. This wasn't a one of event for them. They were regulars and karaoke to them was like golf is for some other folk around their age.
My turn came. Lordy. And deary me. My song choices; People Are Strange by the Doors and Something Stupid, Frank Sinatra. The music starts. The words start to roll. Right. I'm reading the words to myself. Im listening to the tune. Getting the feel. Concentrating. When I should be singing! Okay, so where am I? Where are we up to? I try a line. No, thats not right. Shit, where am I? Ummm, ummmm. Shit the music's going way too quick for my reading capabilities. I am such a slow reader! This isn't going well. I can feel all those margaritas flushing up to a redness in my cheeks and sweat in the armpits. The song ends. I die a little death. Maybe the next one will be easier. It's heaps slower. I psyche myself up while I wait for the MC who is having trouble finding it. And then up comes a Mexican gentleman to the stage. No more for you, he says. Only one song, you're only allowed one song. But... Hang on, everyone else has done two. Everyone. I thought that's what you did. No he says adamantly. Only one song. Off the stage. (who's thinking soup nazi here?)
All I can say is given my maturity with regards to drinking these days (I only woke up with a slight hangover) I am never ever likely to be drunk enough to ever get back up on a stage and sing karaoke!!! Yuse can all eat a dick. Especially you, little Mexican man.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Two for one Margarita?

Strolling up the street from the hotel it is mostly cafes, restaurants, and gift shops. I get the feeling this place has seen busier days. And reading the hotels blurb they skite about such visitors as Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, Rita Hayworth and Gregory Peck and it kinda ends there. Traders pounce on me, and invite me in to their stores to look. I can see it's mostly the same product in every store, and a lot of the stuff is pretty tacky. But I do wander into one or two. I admire a ring in one shop and the shop keeper is quick to take it out of the display case and put it on my finger, assuring me it's silver and a real stone, over and over. The ring is nice but the silver is so thin I suspect it would actually cut my finger when wearing it. She says I can have it for $85 but I'm not keen and so then she suggests she get her daughter to go get the ring weighed so she can determine her best price. It goes down to $60. I'm still not keen. She asks me to name my price. I insist I'm just going to think about it. $45 she tells me, because she wants to make her first sale. But I'm still not keen, I know I could get something similar at a market for half that. This battler has not made her first sale.
And it is like that at every store.
All the lanes to my left head down to the beach. I see a photo opportunity and head down one. A gentleman who'd been leaning against a post on the corner drinking a cup of coffee follows me. This is where everyone's warnings of imminent danger kick in. I take my photo and quickly head back to the main street, a shiver down my spine and it's only 10am. The next lane doesn't look so dingy so I head down thinking I'll walk back to the hotel along the beach, get away from the relentless hawkers. But no, this is where it really begins and I see that there is no such thing here for a trader to sit back and wait for you to come to them. All along the beach there are little drink stalls, the vendors call out as I pass, juice? Margarita? Two for one margarita? And remember it's still just after 10.
I head for the big long pier that is directly in front of my hotel (pics to come) I see there is a security person at the start of the pier, many of the hotels have security lurking at their entries. As I pass him he calls me back, I must have a ticket he says. Wow, they don't miss a trick. I realize the pier must be the hotels property so I show him my keycard and he lets me pass. At the end are a whole lot of people fishing. I look in some of the buckets and at least they are catching some for their money.
Later I head back down the street for some lunch. I have potato and cheese soup and a Sol beer. It's going down pretty well. From my table I can see a band of musicians coming down the street. I know they are musicians because they are carrying their instruments. It looks like they are going to set up in front of me. Cool. One asks me, you like music? I smile, yes thanks. He asks me for money. Now I know I'm in a different country and all but my idea of busking is for me to throw money in a hat if I like the music, and I do - if I like it. I'm a bit thrown and my first reaction is to say no thanks to the price he is asking, but once they have left I regret saying no because I'm sure with a double base, an accordion, and a little drum they probably would have been shit hot, but they are gone. The funny thing is they just head straight back to where they came from which was a club on the other side of the intersection, not as I would have thought, off down the street to try their luck at another of the many cafes. So I'm sitting there thinking, did the restaurant owner give them a quick call... Hey amigos, I've got an eat pray love type sitting in my cafe, just ripe for fleecing, come on over and try your luck?? or am I being cynical? Or am I actually getting a bit worldly wise?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Crossing the border to Mexico

I'm in a bus all to myself, so I spread out. The driver does not speak much english so there's no chatter. Relief is chorusing through my body. I will make it to my hotel. Its about 5.30pm, peak hour. The traffic is crazy and bottleneck around the border. Being in a bus we don't have to go through with all the cars, we zip up a special lane. To my right we pass a heavily gated enclosure. Standing in a line, with their arms above their heads against the side of a shed are about 12 men. They all have plastic bags in their hands. I wonder what's in those bags! (I have pics, but as yet haven't worked out if I can post them on this blog with this application)
Border security just wave us through. We're off. The driver puts his foot down. We hurtle through what I guess are slums. Being white middle class I can't say I'm an expert on slums. I'm intrigued by the dilapidated houses, the unsurfaced roads, the bomby cars. An unsurfaced street, we just don't see that. We move through that area and after about 15 minutes the class of the surrounds have lifted. We're traveling along a coastal road and speckled along the way are numerous new looking condos. Such a contrast.
And finally we're at the hotel. It's pretty bloody big and looks quite old. I imagine back in it's day it would have been pretty swish. Everyone speaks English so checking in and getting settled is easy. My starving belly is thrilled to hear evening meals are included in my tariff and the restaurant is open until 9.30pm. My room, which I have got at a heftily reduced rate because I'm a guest of the festival, has an ocean view, what a treat. Its pleasant enough, slightly shabby, but clean. I dump my bags, don't bother to shower and go and quickly eat some ok Mexican fare. Then it's back to my room, where I sleep for 12 hours!!!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Long day continued

The mechanic arrived and had the train running again pretty quickly but soon another announcement came over the PA. The train would be terminating two stops short of San diego. We would wait another 15 minutes for the next train. Make that half an hour and we were off again. But at least on this leg of the journey we started to travel alongside the ocean rather than past the back of industrial areas and mediocre housing. There were a lot of surfers out all along the way, and some pretty impressive beachside mansions. I could feel a few knots working out of my tired body.
At San Diego I planned to get advice about the next couple of legs of my journey. I already knew the area around the border was dodgy and chatting to a lady waiting for that second train to San Diego I was warned about hiring and driving a car to get from where the trolley let me off across the boarder. The Mexican police are well known to be one of the bigger dangers, exploiting Americans at every opportunity. So shelve that idea.
I Suss out the information kiosk, but at 4.30pm that was closed. I ask the ticket sellers about the best way to get to Rosarito Beach. He points me around the corner to a bus company. I get around the corner and the bus company he mentioned is nowhere to be seen but there is another bus company in it's place.
Here is where my faith in people is boosted. The chap in there empathizes with my predicament and goes out of is way to help me. He contacts a shuttle bus company and sorts out a ride for me, luckily catching them before their office closed, they would hold the bus for me. A whole bus!, there were no other passengers booked so I would have to pay the minimum capacity rate, one fare by five. I didn't care!, just get me to that hotel and bed. By now I was hitting 31 hours on the go.
This gorgeous man has printed out a map to the place just before the boarder where the shuttle bus is waiting, as none of the cabbies speak english he explains and fewer have GPS systems, and he walks me out to the cab rank. I was tempted to kiss him.
My Trinidadian cabbie does speak English and he does have a GPS, and is in fact very charming. This doesn't stop him getting lost! The shuttle bus company is holding the bus for me and we can't find their depot. I am close to tears. I feel useless because I have not had an opportunity to organize a sim for my phone or iPad so can't google anything or even find the number of the bus company to ring for further directions. The cabbie has pulled over and is walking around asking questions. I ring my cousin Cathy in LA, and ask her to find the number of the bus company for me, just as the cabbie returns and says he' found where it is! Fucking hooray. Do I care the cab fare has gone up nearly $20 while we looked for the place? And we would never have found it if the cabbie hadn't asked around. It was stuck inside an enclosure where market stalls were. There was a sign but it was nestled in amongst other signs and awnings and both the driver and I had missed it.
The cabbie wishes me all the best, says he'll pray for me for the rest of my holiday and I'm off. To my hotel. TO MY HOTEL!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Not so flash

True to form, not a wink of sleep on the bris/Syd/LAX flight. That would have been okay if it was the end of the line, but there was still more travel to be done before I could get horizontal. From LAX I had to get to a tiny little coastal town, Rosarito Beach, just south of the Mexico boarder. Where the festival was happening. Research showed me that would involve a shuttle bus form LAX to Union station, then a train to San Diego, then a shuttle bus across the boarder to Tijuana. And from there to Rosarito Beach, well I wasn't entirely sure -possibly an expensive cab ride. All this in an area where Smart Traveler advised not going if not necessary. Hmmm, anyway smart cookie put a post on the festival's website looking for a travel buddy and lo and behold I got a response. A Latino filmmaker who was receiving an award for his documentary. He would meet me at LAX and we would hire a car and eliminate all the above hooptedoodle. Great stuff!
Except that I got stood up! No sign of him, my text msg on arrival at LAX unanswered, my phone call to him straight to voicemail, and not a word until I next get wifi and access to FB 12 hours later. (he'd read into wrongly thinking I left on 19th and so arrived 20th, but we lose a day...)
Call me a wuss but I didn't have the guts after 20 hours no sleep to get behind the wheel on the wrong side of a car and drive that car on the wrong side of the road out of LA into an area where I shouldn't be. For some stupid reason I thought all the hooptedoodle mentioned above was the better option. And I got to union station okay, and even just in the nick of time to catch a train to San Diego.
But! The train was 45 minutes late leaving, I stood in a queue for 45 minutes. bugger LA this place should be called QA - ay!
So finally we get away and the conductor tells us there'd could be more delays because we are late, the train doesnt have priority any more and will have waits along the way. Grumble grumble. At least we're not queueing - ay!
But wait there's more! Now, as I write, the train has broken down!!!,! We have been waiting for over 30 minutes for a mechanic to come fix the fucker. So I've hit the 24 hour mark with no sleep and no likely hood of it for at least another 6 hours.
Someone remind me, why am I doing this?

Packing

Serious countdown figures now at just over 30 hours before my departure and I feel like I couldn’t be more organised. The one thing that was daunting me about my trip was the leg from LAX to Rosarito Beach, just south of the Mexico border where the Mexico International Film Festival I’m attending takes place. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has warned me about the dangers in the area. But now, thanks to the wonders of connectivity that facebook provides, I have ‘met’ a fellow filmmaker to travel with from LAX to the festival. That he is Latin will add a little to my safety I’m sure. And checking his credentials, he is an accomplished documentary maker so it will be an interesting road trip indeed.

I wish I could feel a little more organised about leaving home though. There’s something about having an ocean between you and your family that incites separation anxiety, and perhaps more so for a mother, and then some for a single mother who knows her kids only have the one point of contact, HER, when drama strikes. This year has been quite a test on the family front and I am leaving a volatile somewhat unravelled nest. Here’s hoping my positive maternal vibes can be just as effective from the other side of the world.

So, tonight my bags will be packed. Packing for two climates is a big pain; I’ll have temperature extremes from around a low of 8 degrees in San Francisco to a top of 36 in parts of Mexico. And then there’s the extremes of dress standards from ‘upscale fashionable’ for the awards ceremony I’m attending to the ‘downscale don’t-stand-out’ treks around Mexico. My bags will be bulging, that’s if my head hasn’t bulged to explosion point with all the wardrobe decisions I must make.

Countdown

In two weeks I head off on my second ever overseas trip. My first trip was about two years ago. I went to New York and Spain. I blogged that trip on Myspace. It was most interesting, particularly during my first week as I had a big falling out with the traveling companion I chose and ended up going solo. That made for some great subject matter!! This time I have chosen my traveling companion more wisely, but as we all know or can at least imagine; traveling together is a big tester on a relationship.
This trip I am traveling to Mexico with my friend for three weeks. First though I have 10 days on my own when I will go to a little beach town, Rosarito Beach in the north of Mexico. I'll be there for three days. I am going there to attend the award ceremony of the Mexico International Film Festival as a short screenplay I wrote a few years back received an Honorable Mention in their screenplay competition. From there I travel back to Los Angeles then onto San Francisco for a few days, then back to Los Angeles for a few days with my three cousins before I meet Mez, my friend, at LAX to head down to Mexico.
So this is a little introduction of what's to come, just to get this blog started.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rp0NlkwKNGc