A Swaying Suitcase Full Of Angst

Airports. There is no better place to witness our deep-seated nuances and idiosyncrasies. Splayed out like a genetic & socially crafted deck of cards for all humanity to see. This is, in my mind, a perpetual source of pleasure.

The young and old. Rich and poor. People of all nations and walks of life. No where else can one go to catch such a full breadth and variety of life in quite the same way. A million different paths crossing a million different stories. All collating here. It's where waiting lines form and patience tested. More often than not the more noble virtues take a back seat to one's own personal convenience. This being the nobel cause on everyone's mind of course. Pushing and shoving. Unsavory words left lingering in the air after disputes irrupt and subside as quickly as they begin with the firm voices of those in charge announcing that no one is going anywhere soon, "So everyone just settle down now, OK?"

I'm flying standby. Initially this stood out as a good idea as it only set me back about $60. Initially. The problem was the airline I was flying only went to Palm Springs, a 3 hour misfire from my final destination of Escondido, CA. I knew this could add a little complexity to my trip. I also understood that taking the bus as an additive means of travel to get me to this final destination might add a few additional complications along the way. But depending on who you ask, one man's complication is another man's adventure.

That's all well and good until you find yourself neck deep in adventure with no signs of a way out.

The Palm Springs "International" Airport is little more than a plaintive outpost nestled somewhere in the middle of the Californian desert. In spite of my 9pm arrival, as soon as I stepped off the plane I was greeted by a blast of what could easily be described as the sweltering breath of an oven hard at work. After being in Colorado for so long it's hard to believe that the humid air other people breathe elsewhere in the States is really something you breathe so much as suffocate on. Needless to say I was instantly wet as much as I was discouraged at the idea of hiking through town under such conditions. Because I obviously wasn't going to pay the exorbitant prices the taxis charge for a negligible 3 miles worth of hiking. I am a Colorado boy after all.

If you can imagine a sweat drenched me walking through a deserted part of Palm Springs at 10 at night with a Cool Blue Ice Poweraid in one hand while dragging roller luggage in the other you might get a pretty accurate picture of what was going on at that point. I might add that it seems clear to me now that my luggage was designed to continually attempt to topple itself over. Especially at the most inconvenient of times. Add to this scene the expansive swath of lightless buildings of an industrial quality and a vacant blotch of desert beyond as far as I could see and you'll have the establishing shot for the events of the evening.

If I was honest with myself I really didn't have a clear plan in mind. Part of me believed that I could sleep at the bus station upon arriving until my 9:50 departure the next morning. The plan seemed simple enough albeit a little under thought.

What was earlier described as industrial soon turned into glamorous a mile into my sweltering hike. Resorts appeared out of seemingly nowhere. The Palm Mountain Resort abruptly appeared on the right hand side of the street. The chinsy blue under glow of the neon lights bouncing out of pools and bathing the cheap imitation Sphinxes in front of the resort was a welcome change in scenery. A bit strange, yes, but welcome. It wasn't long before casino/resort/club like establishments crowded in on either side of the street in The Middle of Nowhere, CA.

It was at this stage of my journey that I was introduced to "downtown" Palm Springs. I was marching through the epicenter of the Palm Springs tourist industry with my swaggering luggage in tow. I soon found company by way of window browsers, clubbers, street bums, and drunk people desperately trying to sound like Don Henley at a nearby open faced karaoke bar. Honestly I was slightly tempted to pound a Gin and Tonic and join the motley crew of 40-somethings in their attempts to capture the allusive lives of a Rock Star they probably dreamt about in their younger years.

Can you imagine singing the third chorus of "Desperado" in a town you just arrived at, with people you don't know in the middle of the California desert? I found the whole thing surreal even though I chose not to participate in the silly pass time I could never really understand.

It's just humorous to think about.

While I had directions downloaded from Mapquest – which were wrong – and about 10 different people telling me where the Greyhound bus station was – all varying slightly and at times completely contradictory – I could not find the station had my life depended on it. I had first taken a left when I should have taken a right per Mapquests direction bringing me to what I would later call a mile in the wrong direction. Up and down, back and forth I went crisscrossing Palm Springs like the distressed stitching on a broken down pare of chaps probably worn by the guys who discovered this forsaken stretch of land. Asking everyone I came in contact with: security guards, late night shoppers, cops and drunks, which may explain the contradictions in the directions I was given. I should say I tried to ask a cop. I guess the moral of the story is: Don't ask for directions from a cop who's in the middle of busting a couple of guys for possession. You won't get far.

Every time they told me with absolute certainty where this place was located and every time I felt I was getting closer. At some point I conceded to the fact that I had been beaten. I was burdened under the haunting idea that perhaps I'm just incredibly stupid. The notion that something is way easier than what you're making it out to be is a difficult notion to operate under. Especially at 1:30 in the morning. After dismissing the compulsion to simply plop down on the meticulously trimmed lawn of one of the local businesses and go to sleep I found myself checking into a Best Western.

And my margin of savings shrinks.

As I made my way down the Palm Springs strip the next morning, I kid you not, I saw the Greyhound bus sign about 500 feet away. Granted the building wasn't the largest or the most distinct structure around but I'm sure you could understand my consternation.

Oh and by the way, had I found the station the night before it wouldn't have mattered. IT WAS CLOSED!

A racially charged fight, a blood smeared phone, a severely delayed bus, a root beer float, a pack of cloves, 4 bottles of vending machine junk and 10 hours later I finally got to Oceanside at 7:00 in the evening. Apparently there was a fire on the highway which derailed the bus drivers plans on getting us to Escondido placing us in the next town over. This worked out fine in the end however. My day ended with a hot meal and pleasant conversation with a friend I've known for over half my life along with his very pregnant wife. Not a bad way to end the day at all.

It was a pleasant trip to be sure. A much needed vacation. It was good to see old friends. While I didn't really save a whole lot of money I did experience a little adventure along the way which, I think, makes it worth the cost.

Oh, and if you're ever in Palm Springs looking for something to do, I've got a few ideas.