Green Tea and a Salmon Sandwich

I was lying out, half hidden by the top bunk’s partition as my other roommates entered our dorm room and started talking. At what point do I make myself known, I wondered? I wasn’t sure, so I stayed quiet, trying instead to read, but in vain. So I listened.

The first two to return from exploring L.A. are an Australian and a Slovenian. They bond over their disappointment with the city. Well, there’s something I have in common, but still, I stay quiet. I tried talking to them before without hitting it off. I find it hard to speak with people who say “Fuck” as every other word.

Next to enter is a girl from San Francisco. I spoke to her when she first arrived two days ago. She is a dancer and down to work on some project having to do with the Holocaust (don’t ask me how dancing relates). The group goes over the same details in introducing themselves and it becomes painful listening to the flirting between her and the Australian. To be sure, I think she was ignorant of the whole deal and came off a bit awkward, but who am I to talk. Nonetheless, when she agreed enthusiastically to his notion that relationships are overrated, I knew he thought she was on the hook.

The American girl excused herself to check on her laundry and naturally the two guys talked game. The Aussie boasted of a Brazilian he had the night before and they were still on the topic when Ms. Dancer returned to an inopportune comment about the “bitch.” She laughed it off and the flirting continued, but soon it became clear to the Aussie that she was too tired out from the day to do anything. A fourth person entered, this time a Dutchman. He was the only one who had been at the hostel longer than me. The conversation took a turn to centre on him and so the Aussie left to join the party in the lounge.

This Dutchman had quiet the history, so he travelled the world talking at different churches about his past. And boy, could he talk. At sixteen, noticing his family was poorer than those of his friends, he began buying soccer jerseys and selling them at a markup. He gradually designed and sold other operations and seemed to be living the high life. His record for one night was making out with six women. But this fortune and loveless exploration didn’t make him any happier, so one day he found himself at church crying at a sermon and repenting his sins. He seemed now an altogether happy and educated man as is common for one with the gift of easy speech. Inwardly, I questioned his veracity and character. It was his knowledge of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict which was his saving grace. I, of course, have no background on the subject, but his facts were corroborated by the Slovenian, whose military father had spent some time there. Eventually, the Dutchman excused himself to reflect and write in his blanketed-off lower bunk. The room became quiet as each person, primed by the Dutchman’s noble life story, considered what they were doing with their lives.  As for me, I continued to lie in my bed, less tired than before and down on myself for the insecurities that kept me from making the most of this trip. My last night in L.A., I struggled to fall asleep.

The next morning, I checked out of the hostel and caught my hour and a half flight to San Francisco. I still felt bitter about my adventure thus far. Los Angeles wasn’t what I had hoped for and I believed that my mentality was to blame. I continued to think about what I was missing by being away from home – exercise, good food, general comfort. The grass is always greener.

Reflecting on my poor mindset as I sat some 30,000-odd feet above the California coast, I realized that I had made one positive change that morning. During the past few days, I had subsisted on meals of burgers and Coca-Cola, but at the airport I had picked out a green tea and salmon sandwich from a bunch of less healthy choices. Well, it seems silly, but it was one of those moments of clarity when I realized that change can come any time I decide. I looked over to the man next to me and started a conversation. I broke the 3-second rule getting the nerve to say something, but I did it!

The man was wearing a suit, so I asked if he was travelling for business. Of course, he said that he was, but I was caught by his southern accent. He was a banker from New Orleans and regularly travelled around the US on business. This particular afternoon, he was on his way to an annual weeklong conference. We discussed for a while my studies and his job. Although he travelled a bunch, he rarely left the States. He wondered if I ever hiked in the northern parts of Canada – those kind of outdoor vacations were what he enjoyed most and I had to agree with him. I asked about one such trip that he took throughout Alaska with his wife and he confirmed its rightful spot on my bucket list. As we unloaded, he paid me quite the compliment. He said that I could make a good president one day. Even though I have little to no political ambition (and I’m not American), I was proud that, for a while at least, I held company with a stranger who appreciated talking with me.

That good feeling held out for the rest of the day in San Francisco. Certainly, it convinced me that this city was miles above Los Angeles. I checked into my apartment hostel near Chinatown and the Financial District and then tried to make the most of my 23-hour layover. Surprisingly, my legs held out. First, I walked the length of Lombard Street. On the other side of this hill, matching its winding road, I had to stare at the wall that was somehow a street. Cars were parked perpendicular to the curb. Next, I made it to the water’s edge and looked out at Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. I walked along the park to get a closer shot of the bridge, but eventually settled. Making my way back during the dimming sky, I stopped at the Palace of Fine Arts whose grandeur and peacefulness amazed me more than any historical building in Italy.

One last thing to do during my short stay was to visit a Samovar Tea Lounge. I hike the streets for a long time and, unable to find the closest location, I hurried on to the next before it closed. I sat myself along a bench facing the front window and ordered a Jasmine Pearls Green Tea. Patrons behind me in the lounge talked away about life and business while I decided whether I could build on the morning’s conversation or if I had earned a peaceful evening to myself. I decided the latter, but wished I had approached one man who looked a lot like a former housemate. I knew he was originally from the West Coast and had a twin brother, but the coincidence just seemed too big. Baby steps. Satisfied with the day’s achievements, I strolled slowly through the streets of one of the most mesmerizing cities in the world.