29 - From Here to Eternity (Los Angeles)

La Habana, CUBA to Los Angeles, USA - 19 april 2003

Frankly, by the end of two weeks in Cuba, I had had up to HERE with hissings and harassments from the sleazy Cuban men. I was actually rather glad to be leaving today. But Cuba had indeed been one incredible learning experience and an appreciated challenge at this point of my trip. It had provoked me to think about the various facets of life and that many things are not what they seem. Gosh, what else is out there? The more I know, the more I realise I do not know.

If the airport departure halls in other countries had been a tad charmless, I was pleasantly surprised by the departure hall of La Habana airport. I was greeted by a huge hall of flags from all over the world, hanging from the ceiling. I kept my eyes skyward and walked around the hall twice. I found that I could only recognise a fraction of the flags up there. Indeed, there is so much more out there.

The plane back to Cancún was not the propeller-sort. It was bigger and less wonky. I also had the chance to practise my nearly-forgotten Russian alphabets on the seat-numbering and buttons for stewardesses. This must either be a repainted AEROFLOT or at least, it came from the same supplier.

Upon arrival, the Mexican Customs asked if I had any cigars with me. I said ‘no’ but I actually had two. The Cuban customs had not stamped on my passport and I knew, for sure, US citizens were not supposed to declare that they had been to Cuba nor have any evidence of Cuban cigars. But I was not sure whether I could or not.

I soon departed for Los Angeles. I was flying to Los Angeles, because to go to Tahiti, I had to fly from there. Yet I could not connect the flights and so, I needed to spend a night.

In June last year, a lady from Los Angeles, Delara, had spotted my bootsnall articles and emailed to me, offering the chance to crash at her living-room couch if I ever drop by. I remembered her offer and had contacted her a few weeks ago. To my delight, the offer was still on and she would pick me up. Wonderful.

However, trying to clear the US Customs was a nightmare. Firstly, I realised Mexicana flight crew had not given me the Arrival/Departure card on the flight. I was one of the first to get off the plane but by the time I filled out the Arrival/Departure card in the corner, the four planes that had arrived at the same time had unleashed the rest of the passengers.

I queued randomly at one. The speed of clearance was moderate but when I was merely five persons away from the top of the line, the officials came and, from me onwards, gestured that we were supposed to turn back and head to other lines as they were closing our counters.

I was at the start of this line. By the time those at the back turned around and made their way out to join other lines, I was at the end of the queue. There were perhaps forty people in front of me. Great.

We moved along slowly and by the time I was halfway there, the officials came to shoo us to another line again. Good lord, enough already.

Finally, finally, finally, it was my turn. Of course, the Customs guy now said I had filled out the wrong card. I should have filled out the green card, and not the white one. He paged for a Mexicana staff. After a while, she arrived and led me from Counter 64 to Counter 9 to get the green card. By then, there was only a trickle of passengers left. All the carousels had long stopped. My backpack lay abandoned in the middle of the hall.

The Mexicana staff then fretted that she only had the green card in Spanish, not in English. I was really agitated by now. I practically snatched it from her, muttering I could read some Spanish. I feared Delara might not be waiting for me anymore. Yet, I could not appear to be nervous in front of these people.

Then, I had to walk all the way back to Counter 64 and face the insipid questionings of the Customs guy. In my haste, at the place which asked me to list all the countries I had been to in the past X days, I wrote ‘Cuba’ and when he asked me where I had been since I left Singapore, I mentioned ‘Cuba’ too. He let me through. But later, other people warned me that I should NEVER have mentioned ‘Cuba’. If I had arrived at the Miami airport, I would be creamed for sure. Oh dear, I had no clue.

Delara was still there, holding up the ‘TRISHA’ sign, slightly droopy by now. My angel in the City of Angels! She was just about to give up. How lucky I was. She drove me to her home to dump my bags and then, we headed to her favourite bar ‘where-everyone-knows-your-name’ for drinks. It was Saturday night. She had worked hard during the week and was dying to meet up with her friends again. In fact, she seemed to know half the people at the bar.

I was still reeling from the shock of coming from a country with not much available to a country with everything available. The language was another thing. I could eavesdrop at other people’s conversations (and pick-up lines) without really trying. Delara is excellent. She was a chatty, confident, funny, very on-the-go, full-of-energy type of person. We talked about our travels and it was really great to learn we shared the same sort of feelings and ideas for our common passion.

I asked her about the side order formerly known as FRENCH fries and to my surprise, Delara had no idea what I was talking about. I had heard from Liliana when I was in Mexico City about USA changing menus and other stuff to remove ‘FRENCH’ from them and replace them with ‘FREEDOM’. I had thought this was the most brainless story I had ever heard in a while.

Guess the stupidity did not spread far from Washington DC. La La Land was safe, for now.

I was introduced to Roy, her flat-mate. He had thought it weird she was going to the airport to pick up a person whom she had never met. Well, once a while, we have to do weird and crazy things, don’t we? Once again, I was really grateful for Delara’s help, for LA sounded rather daunting to me.

Soon, I started to glaze over due to the body clock still set to Cuban hours. When the bar closed, Delara drove me back first before driving her tipsy friend home. Roy had returned to the apartment as well.

Just as I was getting ready to sleep on the couch, Roy came out to the living-room, clad only in a towel. He sat down and started to ask me questions like, ‘Why did you go to Cuba?’, ‘Why choose a country such as Cuba?’, ‘Why makes you do this, travelling and this sort of shit?’.

I explained as best as I could but he was not pleased with my answers. He kept probing - why, why, why, what f*#king difference does it make, so what if you know how life is like in those f*#king countries, so what?, you can’t change the world, you can’t change their lives, the whole world is f*#ked up. (I will have to ask readers to pardon the guy’s FRENCH, or what President B’s supporters would call, FREEDOM.)

OK, despite the fact that Roy was very drunk and had very nearly flashed himself just now, I wanted to listen to his uninhibited opinion for it was from an angle that I never got from the usual people I met… for most of those I met while travelling are people, more or less, like me.

He proceeded to name a few countries and claimed them to be really f*#ked up. “But here in LA, this is the place TO BE. Nothing will ever change, so I just leave the shit there and f*#k it. Here, we make money, we PRINT money. Ultimately you only have one life and you should live it well for you. Why bother with the rest of the f*#king world? I’m rich, I can do whatever I want. People go to Cuba and have a blast, spend money and do all sorts of things they can’t do here. I don’t see you as that sort of person…”

He explained that he had a lot of respect for what I had done, he confessed he was ignorant and agreed he would never experience anything close to what I had but so what?, ultimately, I have to stop this and I would settle down and place kids on this world, live my life, earn money for my family because that is MY LIFE and this whole thing, so what if I learnt something, would just be a ‘waste of time and money’.

And so, my entire 11-month-and-3-weeks had just been summarized as a ‘waste of time and money’.

I seriously suspect that if this had happened in another time and place, the old me would have flared up and throttled someone’s neck. Now I know for sure, this trip had changed me.

The words ‘compassion’ and ‘empathy’ came into my mind. These are the main concepts Buddhism tries to inculcate in us. If you have peace of mind and a good state of well-being, you will be happy. For any situation, you have to be compassionate and try and understand the other person’s angle and feel it from his or her side. Then, misunderstanding can be avoided and you keep your peace of mind and good state of well-being.

I was glad I had this conversation for I had nearly forgotten, had hardly ever come face-to-face with people of opinions such as these, for we orbit in entirely different ellipses. If he chooses to live his life this way, it is because that is what he knows. If he is curious about this other sort of life, I think it is difficult to pick my brain just like that, to know why I do the things that I do. I can only share certain things. The rest is up to him.

Meanwhile, he made me search deeper for my own answers. Why do I do the things that I do?

I agree there is only one life. And this is HOW I want to lead it. He was right in some ways, there is nothing I can do to change the world. I never set out to change it or to accomplish anything noble. If anything, the world changed me. Whatever I had done, I had barely placed a dent in anyone’s lives. But the people I had met impacted me in more ways than one.

To describe your trip by saying I have done this, this and that; I have been to here and there and everywhere; I climbed this; I visited that; I sailed down here; I crossed into there; yadda yadda yadda… sure you have, whatever… But all this LISTING just trivialized everything you had done. You cannot describe the WHOLE EXPERIENCE in this way. You can paint your impressions of certain specific and special moments, yes, but the complete experience, well… difficult.

Its effect is private. The rush of joy, the tingle in your heart, the astonishment of setting your eyes on the amazing sights, the overwhelming feelings choking at your throat when you see the kindness in people’s soul… these are difficult to translate to the mind of another. Perhaps a person 1000 times more eloquent than I can attempt to do it but the listener, if he just listens and goes ‘uh-huh’, will 1000% never get it.

Some of us have the GIFT of choice to decide what kind of life we want to live. Others, unfortunately, do not. I realise I am one of those with this GIFT and so I choose to go down this path of learning. Because I choose to go down this path, I KNOW others do not have this same GIFT of choice. Unfortunately, I cannot help them much. Yet from them, I now know how important ‘compassion’ and ‘empathy’ are, I now gain so much more in knowledge and memories. From them, I appreciate and treasure my GIFT so much more. The money I spent on this trip is US$XXXXX. But the return I got back is priceless. Which ‘business deal’ gets this sort of returns?

Sure, I do not have anything tangible to show after this. I only have something invisible to hug to myself. In a month or two, my friends and family will forget this ever happened. I will have to get a job and try to place food on my table, I agree, but in my heart, these personal priceless memories and experiences, difficult to share with others (I can only try), will linger forever.

The smile of the Tibetan woman whom I reached my hand out to to admire her turqoise ring… The near cat-fight with rogue taxi drivers at the China-Mongolia border… The final wave of farewell from the Herdsman as he crossed the rushing river on his horse… The spattering of saliva from the drunk and very happy babushka… The childish but exhilarating experience of sticking our heads out of the Trans-Mongolian train to smell the taiga and trap Siberia in our hair… The painful walk through the Polish mountains in the rain with a sprained ankle… The crazy roll down the grass-slope with Jane… The hug from the delighted old Brazilian woman just because I was a ‘china’ and simply by walking past her door, I had apparently lit up her day… The magical power of the Iguaçu Falls… The honest sincerity and unmeasurable friendships given to me by Pablo and the friends I made in my stay in Buenos Aires… The ‘Trisha’ song composed by Pablo’s niece and nephew… The huge sense of achievement of surviving Torres del Paine… The blinding climb up and down the Volcán Villarrica… The touching hospitality of the families who invited me to stay with them, to eat with them, to dance with them… The excited children who ran over to show me an insect just as we were leaving the remote Chachapoyas town of Cochane… The sweet guy who gave me money to get on a bus with him just so I would not be lost in Mexico City… The curious looks from the Cubans when I stood in line with them to eat stale bread and drink questionable syrup…

And all the wonderful friends I met, shared my trip with (some, albeit briefly) and learnt something from… these kindred spirits whom I will always treasure.

Well, like I said, I can only faintly paint certain moments to share. But this ‘waste of time and money’ sure makes me feel good.



Los Angeles, USA to Papeete, FRENCH POLYNESIA - 20 april 2003

Delara was highly amused this morning when she heard from Roy that he had come to the living-room, barely clad in a towel last night and said those things that he said. She wanted to apologize for his behaviour but, nah… she did not need to apologize. It was alright. If anything, it made me understand myself better.

We had our breakfast at 1pm. After Cuban food, gosh… anything sounded wonderful… omelette with spicy sausage and baked potatoes was perfect. Yummy. Thank you!!

I was driven to Venice Beach for my quintessential LA experience. Naturally, there were Dance-for-Peace, Skate-for-Peace, Donate-for-Peace, Art-for-Peace events organised by freaky and weird people. There were protests against the war, not unlike those I saw in Buenos Aires and Mexico City, but with a hippie-slant. Tattoo, psychics and tarot card readings, Indian incense sticks, the chance to take photos with aliens, they were all there.

Delara had been great. She is one super cool chick. Her energy, positiveness, spontaneity, interesting and inquiring mind were just amazing. While my stay was short, not even 24 hours, I had a terrific time. So she went to the airport to pick up a stranger but life is too short to just do boring things like NOT pick up strangers from the airport, isn’t it? She deserved one of the very illegal Cuban cigars I smuggled in.

And so I flew tonight to what President B’s supporters would call FREEDOM Polynesia Islands and would probably eat a lot of FREEDOM loaves soon.