SLO (as San Luis Obispo is affectionately called by all the cool kids) being the town where all of God's favorite angels all live on Earth, has a swap meet every thursday morning and my new friends invited me to go along. We all rode our bikes there. A clan of about six or so of us peddled down the street to the swap meet and back. I was on a wanna-be mountain bike with messed up gears. I was peddling twice as fast and sweating twice as much as everyone else. Except for the fact that no one else was sweating at all, or peddling fast. And we were all going the same speed. I felt like a fool, but what better way to make yourself the center of attention, right? Besides, leisurely bike-riding is over-rated. It's 8am, and I apparently need my cardio.
I, however, being completely delusional on occasion, like to pretend that I did not look the silliest on my bike. Silly award goes to my new bee-keeper friend who had a huge extension on the back of his bike held up by two small wheels. It was a wooden flatbed for a bike on which he carried a box. Not just any box, but a box to catch bees of course.
A couple of days after the swap meet I saw him at a cafe in town where people were walking by and warning everyone of the giant swarm of bees nearby. I have never seen anything like it. Thousands of bees buzzing around a tree. The sound of them was overwhelming, and when my bee-keeper friend came outside to see, he was ECSTATIC.
"BEES!!!!!!!" He squeaked like a little girl, "I'M A BEE-KEEPER!!!"
He jumped up and down a couple of times (really), ran frantically towards the bees, and then ran frantically back to his bike to fetch his box. He walked into the swarm of bees carefully with his bright green hat that he must have gotten back in 1982 before he was born. When the bees attracted a crowd of people he proudly stood around telling them everything he knew about the life of bees. They were enthralled with the bees. I was enthralled with watching him.
Every day something exciting seemed to be going in in San Luis Obispo. Luckily we didn't need much money to participate because none of us at the hostel had any money. Laura, Jonny, Mike, Jarred, Emily, and I scraped around, dumpster-dived occasionally, and used the resources the Elaine provided us at the hostel to make silly things like dumpster-dived-doughnut-pancake-cake. We enjoyed the farmers market every thursday. We rode our bikes around town some.
The most entertaining of days by far was Gangsta' Day. For an entire week Jarred, Jonny, and Laura listened to the ever-talented Afro Man (...) because they had tickets to see him. Twenty four hours before the concert Gantsta' Day began. This involved plenty of marijuana, fried chicken and waffles for breakfast, hoola-hooping, and of course, watermelon. Jonny and Laura had a half-baked conversation about what would happen if they met Afro Man, and if Jonny would be the big spoon or the little spoon. Jonny wanted to be the little spoon. It's Afro Man! Of course!
If you don't smoke week, you probably shouldn't listen to Afro Man because I'm sure it will offend you greatly. Unless you're my sister, Julie. Then you'll probably find it hilarious, along with the movie Superbad.
As days came and went in San Luis Obispo and at the Hostel, motivation in me drained. Even in a great town, on the California coast, with incredibly friendly people I got very lonely. Sunny days made me want to be sick. I grew up in the midwest. Never in my life have I seen so many sickeningly sunny days. It was the same. every. day. There were never clouds. The temperature always stayed the same, and there was no freaking rain. Ever. I still don't understand how people live in such perfection every day. I'd like a cloudy day to suit a grey mood once in awhile. Thunderstorms are exciting, too. Apparently not in California, though. Everyone quickly became sick of me complaining of the sunny days.
I became a hermit in my room coming out rarely even for food. I wasn't interested in the art walks or farmers markets anymore. I started spending days alone in the bookstore with my nose in my journal, and in books. I eagerly counted down the days until Aaron, my soon-to-be boyfriend came to pick me up and take me out of California to be with him. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. And I was looking forward to going to Branson. I hope that says something about the despair I felt. Branson.
I wanted to sleep all day to escape from my emotionless state. And I surely didn't want to be around anyone for fear that my mood might rub off on someone.
This feeling was all too familiar in my travels. No matter where I go, no matter how wonderful it is, lonely feelings and a sad heart are sure to follow, allowing only a few weeks of fresh joy.
Why is such a horrible trend so deeply involved in something I love as much as traveling?
