We're not in Berkeley anymore.

Yesterday I woke up far too early with a little more tequila in me than I would have wanted. The fog had rolled into Berkeley and everything was grey. The Oakland Greyhound station is in a beautiful old building with a round atrium and two very friendly security guards. The sight of the hills disappearing in the grey morning made me want to cry. I would have wept buckets if I had known that the quality of coffee outside Berkeley just does not match up.

The little tin can bus we were traveling through the California plains in was also a little sub-par, and the AC was not quite up to scratch. As we toddled along I was reminded of lobsters in a pot, heat slowly rising until they are boiled alive. LA was oddly lovely. I guess they wrote the (metaphorical) book on urban beauty, right? The bus smashed into the back of a car in front as we were leaving LA, so we spent an hour and a half sitting, waiting, while police, ambulance, firemen came and went. Our names and addresses were taken by a very good looking poilceman. I finished my book, and spent the rest of the journey gazing out as dusk turned into night, watching the lights of the cars. I love California.

California Dreamt.

I've stopped writing the diary I've been keeping for five years.  To avoid feeling like a failure I'll write something other people can read.  I don't promise to be very interesting.

I've been in Berkeley for a month now, but I haven't noticed the weeks go past.  Considering how little I have to do I haven't been a very diligent correspondent.  Tomorrow I'll hopefully catch a bus to San Diego, eleven hours of thinking time away.  Then the real traveling will begin.  It's kind of a painful thought.  My bag is really heavy, filled with clothes from the $1 thrift store, and will be a literal drag through Mexico for two weeks.  Then I finally head to Santa Barbara, my surrogate home for nine months and apparently a haven for ironed-straight blond hair, rich kids and STIs.

Not to sound pessimistic.  I love California.  I love the grey freeway loops and the golden brown hills and American voices.  I intend to get good at swimming in Santa Barbara, since everyone here exercises except me.  And eat lots of fruit.