white smiles and big cars

i'm sitting here in frances' silent and sleeping house, with a bowl of freshly picked plums to my left and a cup of coffee on my right. Although i'm not jetlagged, i'm finding it very difficult to achieve any kind of meaningful sleep-in, and I'm waking up as soon as the sun comes streaming in through Frances' bedroom window, approximately 6.15am. Which suits me just fine. I'm finally here in California and I doubt anything could piss on my parade right now.

I left Melbourne at midnight on Wednesday and arrived at 1.05pm on Thursday into Angeles. Which looks good on paper. But it was during my 16 hour stopover in Nadi, Fiji that I found out the real reason behind the basement bargain price of my airline ticket. I arrived there as the sun was coming up and already it was stinking hot and humid. I kicked around the air-conditioned airport a bit before deciding to head into town. The taxis were a rip-off, so I caught the "local" bus instead with the school kids and shift workers. The bus was windowless and played 1960s hits full-volume as it trundled along at a leisurly pace. Number One news item was about Fiji having their first democratic elections since the coup, which the population are ambivalent about - everyone I talked with prefers military dictatorship to the endemic corruption of the previous government.

Nadi is a dusty, dead-end town, thriving solely on the fact that an airport is located 9 km away. It's been a while since I've been to Asia and I wasn't really prepared for it (i.e. i thought people really did want me to have a cup of kava with them because they were showing me the true Fijian hospitality - i got smart pretty quick). I had a look around the Hindu temple and went to a beach - both legit, touristy, stop-over activities, but in the course of which I was approached with various offers of fruit, food, kava, free taxi rides, free horse rides, alcohol, sex and drugs. After five exhausting hours I hailed a taxi and was taken back to the safe haven of air-conditioned airport, feeling like a culural failure. The next 11 hours are so uneventful they're not worth mentioning but suffice to say I got back on board the plane and before long was touching down at Los Angeles International.

Airports used to fascinate me but now they just piss me off. I got through US Customs relatively unscathed, following pointed interrogation from the guard who asked "well, if you're a student, like you say you are, then how can you afford this trip?" I was all prepared to launch into my sob story (girl makes rash decision, girl overcomes obstacles and triumphs, etc) but i kept it brief. No reason to annoy the authorities before I've even entered the country. The transition from international to domestic teminals was smooth - with the swipe of a credit card I had my ticket to San Francisco in hand and two hours later I was screaming and running across the baggage collection area into Frances' awaiting arms.

With the Red Hot Chilli Peppers in high rotation in my brain, Frances and her friend Liz drove me to their shack in the student town of Santa Cruz. Their place is amazing. It's easily four times as big as my new abode in Brunswick, with a massive garden full of fruit trees and the obligatory crazy neighbours. On Friday Frances gave me the guided tour of Santa Cruz on bike - the coolest op-shops, the burrito resturants, the cafes where the hip kids and burnt-out hippies hang out, the beach and the boardwalk. At the end of the day we went to an art show in a co-op (a huge house where groups of students live commune-style on the cheap) and drove to stay overnight with Frances' mum Susan in suburban San Jose.

After a heartily cooked breakfast full of culinary delights such as hash browns and hickory smoked rissoles (i think?) we drove back to San Francisco International to pick up Nikki. We had swapped cars and were now driving a "van" or more correctly a "tank" - bigger is definitely better here in California when it comes to vehicles. At least now no-one was going to inadvertently drive over the top of us. C'mon, bring it on !! Nikki's plane was delayed so we went to the makeup shop to work on my American tan. With much screaming and hugging we collected a tired but estatic Nikki and drove downtown to the San Francisco Gay Pride Festival.

Wearing our matching God Bless America 2007 t-shirts, we wandered through the crowds being in turn delighted, amused and disgusted (mostly by the tanned fat man trying to hump the grass, and the glittery penis sunglasses - pictures soon!). Depending on which guidebook you consult, the gay population of SF is between 12 - 25% (the top figure according to Out And About In San Francisco). It seems like such a vibrant, open and in a way powerful community compared to anything in Melbourne, when it's rare to see gay people holding hands, let alone organising a massive city-wide celebration. We certainly had fun, especially Frances, who ate a Polish Sausage in a bun, but only realised the double entendre much, much later.

We stopped in at San Jose for a home-cooked meal and then drove back to Santa Cruz to to get Nikki into a shower and a bed. Today we're just going to do some serious chilling and planning our next couple of weeks. We don't know much for certain yet, except that our Swedish accents are going strong, and that our anthem will be As Long As You Love Me by the Backstreet Boys. More news as it comes to hand.