November 8, On The Greyhound Bus

It's seven in the morning and the bus I'm on is driving over the Bay Bridge leaving San Francisco for Los Angeles. I take a last look at the city and then I sit back and relax. I got myself a seat on the right side of the bus in order to see the ocean when we drive through Santa Barbara. But it's a long journey, 12 hours on the bus. Maybe it was a mistake to take the bus on a Sunday (got mixed up with the days, even in California the weeks have one Saturday and one Sunday)! It was Saturday when I went on a bike ride in SF, it's Sunday today and people are getting on and off the bus continuously. Mostly on, and soon it's crowded. I watch the people. It's certainly not the same type of passengers that travel by Amtrak : these are the poorer people. I'm probably the only tourist on board. Later, as we pass cities like Salinas and King City, I can tell that most of the passengers are field workers from South America; either on their way back from visiting friends and family or getting a few days off to go see friends and family. It's mostly man with dark complexion and very dark hair. But none of the people on this bus suspect that I'm a tourist. The way I look, I could be a Mexican grandmother riding the bus on a Sunday on my way to King City to visit some one.

I'm on this bus though because I wanted to see the coast although I'm starting to think that maybe it will be dark when we finally get there! And it will be dark in Los Angeles, but that doesn't matter because I'm not in a mood for Los Angeles. I haven't planned anything for when I get there. So maybe I will just keep going on to Las Vegas.

Right now though, I watch the landscape changing. First come the dark soil of the winter fields, empty fields as far as the eye can see, the soil freshly turned ready for the next season. But I also see fields and fields of Brussels sprouts, artichokes and low plants with red berries on them; strawberries! No wonder we can buy strawberries all year round. Later the flat landscapes turns into hills and vineyards; the vineyards snaking around the hills stopping just shortly before reaching the dry soil of the top. I'm so glad I got to see a small, small portion of the California food belt. After the last vineyards the bus travels through a valley, some dry desert hills on the left, lush looking hills on the ocean side of the valley. In the afternoon the bus finally reaches the most beautiful part of its voyage down he coast: the stretch between Watsonville and Santa Maria and then again between Santa Maria and Santa Barbara and on following the Santa Barbara Channel. Tonight I watch the sun set in the Pacific Ocean right around Ventura Beach. I can see people standing in contemplation on the beach, a few feet away from their parked cars, and there are some surfers riding the waves. The sun sets in a huge fire ball and then the night comes quickly. It's pitch dark when the bus pulls into the station in North Hollywood. I watch in vain for the famous sign that says HOLLYWOOD, but I don't see it. I don't know where to look for it, and the Greyhound station in Hollywood looks as plain and ugly as any other Greyhound station in the States. Somewhat filthy, jammed with people day and night and with some busy-not- too-friendly-looking-staff. What I noticed today on the journey by bus though, is that at every bus stop there is a bored looking sheriff, handcuffs and gun, ready. It's somewhat comforting but also very strange. During the ride today we got a lot of 10 minutes stops that always became 20 minutes so that the driver and passengers could have their smoke and a chat. But the bus pulls in on time at the Greyhound station in Los Angeles. I don't see anything interesting around the station, not even a little Starbucks for a coffee, no little hotel where I could spend the night. The Greyhound station in LA must be in the most run down, scary looking area of the city and so I buy myself a ticket on the night bus to Las Vegas.