Out of the classroom, and onto the road - Cali summer is a time for wild adventures

I’m sitting at a desk in a white room with a fresh folded towel and a basket with soaps and shampoo on the bed next to me. I just got dropped off in Berkeley by fellow co-opers who were going surfing somewhere in the Bay today, and checked into the Greater Good Summer Institute for Educators. A six day conference about social-emotional learning and education, hosted by a Berkeley-based positive psychology research center that focuses on themes such as gratitude, intuition and empathy. The conference will commence in an hour, with a dinner “served by our award-winning staff”, and with it, my adult life. While I still feel like a fraud now, a fresh college graduate with no work experience to speak of, this conference should prep me pretty good for my next big venture: exploring the world of education, starting as a substitute summer teacher at an alternative education preschool in Davis.

Yosemite

But hold on a minute. I’ve barely been able to catch my breath after finishing college two weeks ago. I feel like I pretty much walked out of my last exam ever, straight into a range of wild adventures that took me to mountain ridges and Jacuzzis and underground clubs and beaches. Friday two weeks ago, the Domes hosted the last party of the year. In a haze of drunken dancing under a starry night sky and after a bewildered 4 mile solitary walk in the dark, I rolled into bed for the last time in my beloved old house filled with friends that feel like what I imagine siblings to feel like, now a barren abandoned  summer mess… Only to wake up 2 hours later, at 5AM, hoist my backpack onto my back and set off for the Amtrak train station with good old Joe. A good 12 hours, a train, two buses, three car rides and a ton of walking in the blazing Cali sun later, we finally start our real trip: hiking up the main valley of Mighty Old Yosemite, the ‘greatest of all special temples of Mother Earth’ according to Yosemite’s ‘discoverer’ John Muir. The rest of that long day we hike up a trail until our poor trembling legs just won’t take it anymore. With the majestic Half Dome ablaze in the setting sunlight, we throw together our dinner burritos and gulp down our ‘celebration beers’ with pathetically little energy  for celebration of any kind, huddle up in our sleeping bags by the side of the trail with the cold night breeze on our faces, and close our eyes, secretly hoping (me at least) to be visited by the black bear everyone was telling us about. The next morning we continue further uphill, wake ourselves up in an icy cold mountain stream, and for the first time in three years I get a chance to indulge in one of my secret little delights in life: digging my own little hole and taking my time for a good dump while enjoying some spectacular natural scenery. That day we hike for 8 hours, along the ridge enclosing Yosemite’s main valley, to the bare-rock North Dome and down on through forests with fluorescent lichens and thick pinecone carpets, until we reach our final destination for the day: Yosemite Falls.

We go to bed early, and with Joe already fast asleep I lie there for a long time taking in the perfection of sleeping in the wilderness: the refreshing nightly breeze, the pine needle bed, the rugged face of mountain cliffs, the silhouettes of sweet-scenting trees, the fiery color show of sunset that gradually lifts the blanket of day off of our planet and graces us for yet another night with a view into the grand nothingness of our cosmos, reminding us of our place in existence. Joe and I, Europeans astray, both agree that one of the many things to love about Californians and their land is how in touch they are with each other. The Californians we know – and that may well be a very biased sample, of course – love their nature and grew up trekking through it with their childhood friends. We’ve both come to realize that Europe is a damn tiny place, and resolved to seek out our own nature more, once back in the First World. The next morning we get up at 5AM again, and hike back down to the valley with the rising sun. ‘Yosemite is pretty,’ we thought, ‘but those Americans really do make a big deal out of it.’ But as we hike down the steep trail, we are greeted by a magnificent ray of sunlight bursting across Half Dome and into the grand valley, and looking to our left we see we are hiking down the full length of the 2,500 feet tall Yosemite Falls, launching off of the top of the valley and in dazzling freedom and magnitude cascading down a gigantic sheer granite wall. Alright John Muir, alright Americans, we’ll have to admit, this is indeed a breathtaking special temple of nature.

Los Angeles

We wander for distraction, but we travel for fulfillment – Hillaire Belloc. 9 days in LA, and me and travelling, after our long and rocky history together, have finally and fully reconnected. It is a powerful, magical, transformative thing to do, and I love it deeply.

Next on the planning was a bus ride all the way down to Los Angeles with Jessica, my theatrical colorful friend who I lived with in DSC in winter quarter. I would go straight from Yosemite to San Francisco, where I’d meet him. But I hadn’t managed to get a hold of him, and knowing him well enough, I was suspecting there would be no Jessica in SF once I’d get there. So on the way back up I changed my train ticket and travelled back to Davis with Joe. Back home. Just for a night. It was Joe’s last day in Davis, he would be leaving for good the following day, back to Scotland. For a little second there, I was reminded of that ominous sword of temporality hanging over my own head. I hadn’t felt it for a long time, too caught up in living the intense life I had been living in Davis the past months ever after I decided I was not ready to leave yet. ‘This will be me, in seven months,’ I thought. ‘Ultimately, there will be no escape. College is transient, the curtain will fall, and I will have to leave this precious place, and these priceless people.’ But I managed to push the thought away. I was heading into summer, with already a bunch of new adventures lined up for me, and as long as I’m going to be here, I’ll not deal with it just yet, and be grateful for the glorious opportunity to have the college dream be my present reality just a little longer.

I had been right about Jessica, and the next day him and I catch a ride to the Bay, where we spend the night visiting friend and fellow co-oper Isabel who’s living in the Berkeley student co-ops for the summer. Every time, Berkeley, you get me every time. What a wild and crazy place. Somehow out of all places I’ve been outside Davis, Berkeley is the best at lifting me out of my own little head and dropping me on the sidelines of my myopic little world for a while. It’s healthy, getting that brief outsider’s perspective, but every time I am also deeply grateful for Davis, for the manageable, benevolent little home that it is. At such a much smaller scale, it is much easier to connect to a place and the people at a personal level, and easier to make it feel real.

 At 11PM, we meet up with a guy who is moving all his belongings to Los Angeles that night, and join him in his moving truck for the long 6 hour drive taking us through the night, all the way to the City of Angels. What a ride. Each time I would open my eyes during that long doze, there would just be vast dark plains of nothingness to the left and right of me. The silhouette of a faraway mountain range and the occasional dome of hazy light, a city in the distance. The blindingly bright freeway snaking through it all over the edge of the horizon, and a big fat moon ahead and stars in the black sky. So much space in this enormous land. I think of little Holland a lot when I travel here. 5AM and we are there, in the capital of ‘SoCal’, Southern California. We’ve crossed that imaginary boundary where people don’t say “hella” anymore, speak with drawn out syllables and a fat “ae” accent, need cars to get anywhere, and aren’t as in touch with their deserts as the Northerners are with their forests – or so they claim up in ‘NorCal’. I’m not aware at the time that I’m in for a crazy 9 day rollercoaster ride that will take me friend-hopping to five different Davis friends, drowning in luxury, no time to plan anything, just go go go. It would end up being one of the best holidays in my life, the perfect balance of alone time and one-on-one friend time, and diversity and depth. All you need to do is surround yourself with some good people that you love, pick a good setting, and don’t plan anything else, and the adventure will come to you.

 The first two days are spent with Jessica, who leads me on into his high school days, visiting the movie theater where he worked for five years where everyone still greets him excitedly. We get our car towed, and after hours of trying to get it back and a fortune in fines later, wash that painful memory away with lots of margueritas and rum&coke, singing karaoke all night. The next day I find myself in a park in Hollywood, painting the set for Shakespeare in the Park. I love those random stints that find you in unplanned adventures. Then I take the train and relish the magic of spending time alone, on the road, for the first time in many months. Nothing like traversing new terrain alone, empty hands, full heart, the overwhelming sense of absolute freedom. Doug picks me up at the train station in Camarillo, and the next two days are spent in glorious abundance: sunsets over the rolling hills with orange groves and strawberry fields, night-time hot tubs and Belgian beer, surfing in the Pacific and swaying contentedly for the rest of the day with the waves of the ocean still in my body, and finally driving down together along the Pacific Coast Highway, every glance over my right shoulder a perfect postcard, back to Los Angeles. There, we meet up with Lili and dive into the mad merry-go-round of Venice Beach for an hour. An outdoor body-building gym on the beach boulevard, fortune telling stands, drifting druggies, street dancers, Native American spirituality shops, noise, dirt, one big exciting, enticing freak show.

We say bye to Doug and there we go, off to the next adventure. Lili takes me past her old house in Venice, and then we hit the freeway to Pasadena. Parents and brothers, Farmer’s Market and block party, s’mores and homemade carrot cake, strolling downtown and some quality analyzing of our co-op experience over coffee, hiking down into a canyon at day, and up to a hilltop at night, just melting together in such a beautiful deep soul connection overlooking bobbing city lights as far as the eye can reach. Our friendship is so pure and bright, so full of love, sharing our ecstatic passion for life. Lili is the realest thing I have here. She drives me back to LA, and I find Jessica again, my welcoming home base this whole trip. We swim in his dad’s pool and visit our dear Peter Pan friend Josh. We celebrate his 21^st birthday with him and all his childhood friends, and the next day I visit Alex at UCLA. Finding back old friendship on a stunning campus with wide stone stairs and gushing fountains and a Cambridge-meets-Alhambra architecture. Next day, an hour long bus drive and another hour long walk (all still in the same city, and not even covering half of it! This place is BIG), and I’m back at Jessica’s. After a night of clubbing with him, his dad and his coworkers, we find ourselves in the car of our friend Hank and driving back up again, during the day this time. The nothingness looked a lot more compelling in the dark.

Summer in Davis, winter in Pierce

After that flurry of overflowing hearts and palm trees everywhere I come home, dear sweet home, to the Tri co-operatives. Everyone is gone, the living room a mess, the bedrooms empty and overturned. Pierce is a quiet, dirty summer ruin of the life-filled home it was a mere two weeks ago. I want to get out of here. It’s a good thing I leave for Berkeley the next day.

The conference has started by now, it is 10:30PM and everything is quiet. For introductions, we were asked to bring a meaningful object with us and tell our fellow participants about it. In the benign, caring space that’s so purposefully being created with these strangers on the first day in this special place, I bring out the rose quartz that Doug cut off his collection all those months ago, in our first real conversation when we barely knew each other. Budding friendship, our hearts sending out feelers to test the waters. “I want to give this to you, to help you find your love”, he’d told me. At the time, I appreciated it as a beautiful and kind gesture, but not necessarily something I resonated with a lot. Now, however, I’m telling these strangers in a three minute flash what the people in Davis mean to me. With the rose quartz in my hand, and the empty bedrooms of Pierce in mind, I feel a sudden rush of clarity. Suddenly, I feel sad, missing all my friends, followed by a deep deep gratitude for the love I have found in Davis. I don’t know if it’s a California thing, or a Davis co-operatives thing, or just a thing of a few very unique individuals, but the hearts that have so readily opened themselves to me, and extended their love so generously, have touched me very deeply and have been a salve for my soul. My heart jerks when I think about having to leave this place eventually, but the knowledge that you can go anywhere in the world, with your open heart and empty hands, and found a new home, so easily and quickly, in the hearts of fellow human beings, is the most profound and beautiful piece of understanding that anchors me to this world.

My dearest Davis friends, I am so thankful for the love you’ve extended to my heart, and the deep contemplation you’ve engaged my mind in. You give me a new faith in humanity, a belief that I can find love and connection anywhere in the world. It is for you, all for you, that I’m staying in Davis twice as long as planned. I want your healing for just a little longer, root this newfound faith within me just a little deeper.

And while we're at it, I want to express my appreciation too, of course, for my friends back at home. I know that the flipside of extending my visa is making a statement towards my home country. But while a year abroad will undoubtedly thin out my friend group at home, I think it's only healthy. I hold you in a dear place in my heart, friends from the old life, and will come back, eventually, very grateful to those that will be there for me, while at the same time respecting that life is flux, and I would never want the river to stop flowing. Once again, I align with the universe. Existence and I take each other by the hand, and I let adventure come to me, unplanned.