A Living Magazine - Day 153 - A Different Fare and Flare

What a great night! No dew at all. I slept very well. Usually, I get up at least once to pee, but not on this last night. It was a full six hours or so of rest. 

Now, I'd like to take credit for the lack of moisture--having learned to always use the tarp now, but alas, it was simply the fact that the temperature didn't fall below the dew point... 

Praise the dryness!

I was feeling much better about the sleep spot. I'd had no problems with people being interest in my presence in this field. Also, besides the odd ant, there were no animals. I'd smelled a skunk on the first night, but not since. 

Heading back downtown, I took a few more pictures of the hospital complex, which was very near the Jefferson County Department of Health...

Sky bridges connect the entire UBA hospital complex. The

medical campus takes up four blocks and is all interconnected. 

Before I'd gotten to 19th Street, a black car pulled up next to me, a pretty young woman got out of the passenger's side with a little white bag, and walked right up. She said, "Good morning! Would you like a bagel?" I was taken by surprise and looked at it for a moment. We are told as children not to take treats from strangers, but I got the idea what was going on right away when I saw the writing. These were Christians spreading the word by bagel-crusade! And she said nothing further. there was no related advertising or church address. Good enough for me. I thanked her and enjoyed this cranberry treat...

Funny that bagels were originally a Jewish staple in Poland,

and are often associated with Hebrew culture, but now handed out by Christians.

Maybe I am the only one to appreciate this irony?

I got to Starbucks and published "A New Age of Heroes" essay--something I'd been thinking about even before leaving Maine, after several hours of work. Unlike much that I've written lately, I was not fully satisfied with how it turned out when I left it, and I may go back and tighten it up at some point. Still, I needed to express it, because it was too important an experience for me and too prescient to what is just historically around the corner. It had to be written down.

I hadn't eaten all day again, was still shakingly processing the caffeine from a morning dark roast, along with a free sample of "Ethiopian" handed to me by the nice folks at Starbucks.  And, I should say, this particular restaurant (308 20th Street - the corner with 3rd Avenue - in Midtown, Birmingham) is the friendliest and most comfortable of all the hundred or so Starbucks I've been to on this Journey. On that first rainy afternoon, I walked in and they greeted me warmly; not as a bum, like some other places had. Ever since, they've remembered my name and my usual preference (a tall dark roast and an ice water with extra ice). I will sometimes purchase a sandwich or pastry, and I always dump my pocket change in the tip jar.

Getting back to my hunger... I needed a break from cheap fast food--not a nutritional break, but just a little variety from the hamburgers and chicken sandwiches I'd eat for what seemed like forever. I'm not sure what it is, but something about McDonald's hamburgers turns them into both a laxative and gas-producer within about fifteen minutes of ingestion. I stay away from them now. Burger King hamburgers don't do the same thing. Chicken in any form seems to be free from producing this digestive malady. Usually, the idea of spending more that about $6.00 on a meal repulsed my tight-wad sensibilities. But, shit, everybody deserves to treat him/herself every now and then. Right? Well, RIGHT?

I'd read reviews on a bunch of restaurants near the south side of town. First, I craved pizza, but reading the Pizza Hut reviews (the only pizza place around), you'd think they were intentionally dropping pizzas on the dirty floor and then serving them. Then I checked for Asian places. Well, I was in the right part of town. The further one goes southward on 20th, the more ethnic restaurants there were. The Thai places were too far out of town. The Indian place had strange hours that I couldn't figure out. The sushi place seemed too crowded and expensive. (All of this was based on Google, Yelp and TripAdvisor reviews.) Finally, I saw a basic Chinese place called, New China Town. The prices didn't look bad at all. Reviews weren't too bad. So, that won the contest.

I made my way past the 6th Avenue route I was used to, and continued up a hill to the south part of the city. There, I met a black guy - didn't get his name - who begged me. And, feeling guilty that I was about to have a Chinese dinner, I gave him $2.00. He was a nice guy, well spoken. We talked for a moment. He said he was homeless; I said I was also. This surprised him a bit. I told him I had a job as an independent journalist reporting of the cities I was visiting. He said he was unemployed. He told me he slept at a mission. I told him about my experience sleeping outside, and that I never slept at missions or shelters--with my tent and sleeping bag. He thought this was interesting and said he'd never considered doing that. I didn't want to promote something that might be unrealistic for him, but I did want to show him that there are alternatives.

My stomach growled, and I asked him where 1020 20th was. He pointed right across the street. I thanked him and he joked that the directions must have been worth another $2.00. But we both knew it was just a joke. He thanked me again, and I handed him my card, then crossed the street.

I walked into a completely empty place, filled with red tables. It was not quite as dive-like as some of the reviews had made it sound. I really wanted something that I could eat half of and bring the other half back to the campsite. The house specials looked good, especially the General Tzo's tofu. In fact, all of their tofu dishes were quite appealing. The older, unsmiling gentleman who sat me asked what I wanted to drink. I asked him if they had beer? "Naah." Okay. I ordered a Sprite and he just said, "Uuuh."

Not a good first impression of the service, but I'm a patient guy (sometimes), and held out hope. While I waited for my soda, and studied the appetizers, I reluctantly decided that a pu pu platter would be most practical in that it only cost $10.95 (the same amount as any of the main dishes), but came with a lot more food--finger food; good packing-up-for-later food. My drink took an inordinate amount of time to arrive, so I pulled out the laptop and got online.

While I surfed the web somewhat aimlessly, I overheard three college girls, who had been seated behind me, talking about the research that one of them was doing in prenatal susceptibility of the fetus to the effects of the mother's drinking while pregnant. It was pretty fascinating--state of the art stuff. From what she said, her results showed that the placental blood barrier appeared to provide a lot more protection than once thought. But, it was not enough protection for regular and heavy use of alcohol, implying that perhaps a drink a day would be okay. She hastened to add that findings like that would probably not be very politically correct to trumpet out at the masses.

Her friends asked about her recent trip to India. She said it was exciting but often overwhelming. She had gone with her college class. It was mostly girls, apparently. And, she related just how creepy the Indian men could be. In India, people stare at you--intensely; especially if you are white and female. There is not the same sense of personal space or respect for privacy. The girls in her travel-group could not get used to these guys walking right up to them and staring, while they sniffed at them like animals might.

There was one blond girl in the group, with long hair and blue eyes, and she became like a source of gravity for the guys in the street. A whole pack would surround the blond girl. And, when she'd try moving into the middle of the group of her friends, the guys would flank their entire group, moving along the street like a pack of drooling, horny dogs, occasionally sneaking in to touch the girls' hair or give the odd goose, causing a squeal of horror from the girl who had been pawed at.    

The server returned with my Sprite, and I made my pu pu order, with a side of fried rice. He "uuuh"ed again and disappeared out back. I didn't have to wait as long for the meal as I did for the drink, and a much nicer woman brought out my flaming platter. I thanked her and asked if I could get my fried rice too. She apologized and while walking toward the back again, chided the older guy in Mandarin. He was enjoying a tea break at another table, and didn't even look up at her; only replying, "uuuh". She came back shortly after with the rice.

It was the typical fare: three crab rangoons, three dumplings, three things that appeared to be deep fried crab meat-wheat bread sandwich corners (?), two egg rolls and two skewered over-cooked chicken kabobs. The fried rice was bland, with no vegetables and no meat. For the price, I really didn't care about the shortcomings, and ate half the food, while screwing around online. The fried sandwich corners were actually quite good. I like eating unidentified items. I could feel the MSG beginning to kick in and prepared myself for the "Chinese hangover".

The nice server returned and she brought a small styrofoam box for the leftovers. I piled them into it and wrapped one of my larger hair bands around the box to keep it closed. Then, she brought the check over; it was only $15.00. Whenever I splurge on non-fast food, I figure $20.00, so this had worked out well.

Upon leaving - now satisfied - I walked back down the big hill to 6th Avenue turning east for the two mile trek back to my Golden Flake field. The wind was increasing as I pushed into it. I knew the field would be even windier. Temperatures were falling and I was looking forward to getting into the shelter of the tent.

While passing the Golden Flake guardhouse, I noticed the white-shirted guard with his head on the desk, fast asleep. That was good. I considered sneaking into the factory and pulling a potato chip heist of the highest order (kidding).

The field was very dry, and the sky had turned overcast, with the city lights reflecting back down on the grass, lighting it up significantly. Under a clear night sky the tent pretty-much disappears. The drab orange is perfect for such circumstances. But, on this night, I really could see it very well standing about twenty feet away, after assembly...

I was all in and settled, when at precisely 9:30 pm, I heard, BOOM! Through the little window I make by tying up each flap, I saw a colorful explosion. Fireworks! This was - I think - the third time I'd been treated to a fireworks display on this Journey...

A little video.

I searched my limited memory banks for what special occasion this might be celebrating but came up with nothing. Today - even as I write about this - I have not been able to pin down the reason for this display. Stranger still, it only last for an intense five minutes. Nice thing to see before sleepy time though. I'm just a big kid when it comes to such surprises. I smiled and drifted off to sleep.