Don't feel like writing at the moment, but thanks for continuing to check in. I'm back on the DB16. Nothing much is happening right now, nothing worth mentioning anyway.
But here are some pics for you to look at, from NO and my visit to MN while back on the beach:
enjoying Mr. Stevie Wonder with the masses, at JazzFest.
with my beautiful little niece, Emily, on our way to
the lovely Mrs. Jeannie Kenevan, with the newest2 things of note in the past few days: my supervisor almost lost the ROV yesterday, and we're heading back to the beach tonight, late.
We moved to a new rig the other day, due to weather and also, I think, because we weren't really getting anywhere with that particular portion of this job, and the higher-ups were getting antsy. We arrived at the new site early yesterday morning, and were awakened at 5:30am to attend a briefing with the dive crew and company reps. We got in the water shortly thereafter, with less-than-optimal, though still within acceptable, limits. The long and short of it is that the tether may or may not have gotten snatched up into the barge's thrusters, and soon I was pulling up a tether without an ROV attached to the opposite end. I ran to the port side, as high up as I could get, to stare off into the distance, in hopes of seeing the ROV pop to the surface down current. After 10 minutes I walked back to the ROV shack, knowing that if the current had taken the wee-bot, it would surface far and away, long outside the reach of my gaze.
Happily, back at the shack, members of the dive crew were gathering in the other end of the tether. Fortunately the ROV had gotten fouled inside the structure, and didn't float off. We were left with enough tether for the divers to follow inside and around the platform jacket, allowing for a timely retrieval.
And even though I had wanted to stay out here forever and ever, tonight I'm on my way home (which is really such a relative concept at this point in my life...). We had been expecting to leave sometime tomorrow, but apparently the weather is about to turn to 9' seas (big, bad waves), so they scooted up the time by about 12 hours. The crew boat is expected in about 30 minutes, and after the new crew arrives, and their orientation is completed, and the arriving and departing gear is swapped out, and the several grocery crates are unloaded, then we'll transfer over and begin the journey back to civilization.
For some reason of cosmic non-understanding, we've been roused from our beds the past few mornings to get the ROV in the water. Yesterday, the time was 7:30, but this morning it was 4:30. Too early, I say.
DB16, as seen from the heli-deck.
dirty diver boys.
650-ton ST160E platform being lowered onto materials barge.Crew change today. The supervisor I've been working with for the past 2 weeks headed back to the beach, and a new guy came out. My buddy, Rob, also went back to the beach, leaving me without the safety blanket I've had in place since we came out. It's actually not so bothersome, I've gotten to know a few of the guys out here pretty well, so I'll be far from alone. It does leave me without any *girls to talk to about anything personal, so if I hit you up with a long, emotionally-charged email, oblige me, ok? I have no intent to send any such email, but you know, just in case ;)
It's been a funny day, and the energy on the boat is a bit different. Certain things aren't going as planned, and the dive crew just lost 2 of their number: 2 tenders (i.e. low man on the totem pole) came out to replace a couple of guys who were leaving, but because there's a no-contacts-lenses-on-deck policy, they got sent right back. Other stuff is going on, too, communication breakdown, slight confusion, just little things here and there.
My friend Carlo told me once that right around the 12th day offshore, you start to feel like you've been out there forever. I guess I sort of feel that, although we don't work every day, so I don't think it translates exactly the same. It does feel like I've been out here a long time, and maybe some of the charm is wearing off, since we're looking at several days without any work to do. But kind of like the tide, things can change pretty quickly out here, and tomorrow's always a new day.
I've now experienced the first relational victim to life offshore: the boy broke up with me via email tonight. Doubtful it will be the last time. It's almost like a badge one wears out here, as most have experienced it at one time or another.
I'm upset, of course, but not exactly surprised. We've broken up before, after all. Though this time is undoubtedly the last.
I would never have guessed it, but taco night makes the divers drool.
The food here is basically cafeteria style, and considering the limitations of an offshore kitchen, it's pretty tasty, with some pretty good options, and even some grilled meats from time to time. There are always desserts and sweets available, all hours of the day, which both pleases and frustrates the crew, who can be heard alternatively praising the day's goodies, and complaining about gaining weight offshore. Tonight was taco night, Saturdays and Tuesdays are Steak Nights, with lots of fish (for the Catholics, on Fridays) and chicken thrown in.
We've been making progress on the project we're working on here, and after a week of the ROV being out of the water, we've been asked to dive the past 2 days. This morning we were even roused from our bunks to get in the water. The rig we're decommissioning has pipes driven into the sea floor (called conductors), which measure about 120 feet from top to bottom. Two of these have been pulled in the past 2 days, and we were there to take video of the cuts as the pipes were lifted (to ensure the pipe had been fully cut).
Tonight we pulled the top deck of the rig. Words can't really convey how crazy it is to see a crane, on a barge, pull the top deck of a rig, weighing in at about 600 tons (approx. 1.2 million pounds.), keeping it lifted for more than an hour, and then dropping it onto a materials barge (about the size of a football field).
The ROV’s been out of the water since yesterday afternoon, due to thruster failure on the barge.
Here’s some (very simplistic) info on the vessel I’m currently calling home. The DB in the name DB16 stands for derrick barge. A derrick barge is quite large, and pretty useful for lots of different operations. This particular barge is navigated by use of Dynamic Positioning (DP) meaning that equipment on board receives a GPS signal telling us where we should be, and the thrusters, which are connected to that system, keep us correctly positioned, and can be accurate within a foot. Considering this barge is about 400' long by 100' wide and located somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, that kind of accuracy is pretty amazing.
The aim of this particular job is to decommission a rig for British Petroleum (BP), a feat accomplished by way of disconnecting the top deck of the rig and sending it to salvage back in Morgan City, and then lifting the underwater portion (the jacket) via a HUGE crane (imagine it- attached to a barge, capable of a 750-ton lift! It's gi-normous!) and towing it elsewhere to become an artificial reef. There's a chance I might be able to stay out here for a few months, and able to witness all of this happening with my own 2 eyes, which is sort of necessary, because I really can't fathom how any of it is going to work, or even what they're doing for that matter. It's been explained to me a million times, but I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it all.
In the interim, there's not a lot for the ROV staff to do, except stand by, and be ready when we're needed. Sometimes I'm in the shack on the internet, or trying to study a bit. I also like to spend time walking around the barge, getting a better idea of who everyone is, and the what/why/when/where of their jobs. I like spending time with the divers, not only because my roommate is over there most of the time, but also because I've gotten to know the guys a little bit, and have a good rapport with them. I actually miss it a bit, watching them do their job. I chose to work with ROVs partially because I was intimidated by the idea of working for a diving company, of working with all those guys, of starting out as a tender, of everything I've heard about working for a diving company. I guess I wonder a bit if I might be happier actually working in diving, rather than what I'm doing. But I also think there's plenty of time to explore the industry, and that I'm learning a ton just being here.
I'm not sure if it's being on the open water like we are, or the too-much crappy coffee I drank this morning, but I've been feeling only so-so all day today. It could also be the heat + air con, and the constantly going back and forth between the two. Most likely it's just a mild case of sea-sickness, nothing to worry about (but let's never mention it again, shall we? But speaking of which, we're now taking on rougher seas, so says roommate Rob).
We've been slowly working toward a 6am-6pm workday, moving our start time up one hour each day, so today we assembled in the control shack around 7am to begin work. We'll arrive at the site tonight, but we're not sure how much or how little the ROV will be needed for this job, or what hours we'll be needed. Since all other operations on board are 24 hour, we might be needed to fly the ROV anytime, day or night. They want us available, and they want us rested. Most likely though, we won't be needed during the first day, so tomorrow we'll test the equipment and test drive the ROV.
Once again, I'd love to write more, but I'm exhausted, and must sleep.
I'll end with this: walking toward the galley today, I spied something yellow. When I lost sight of it, I assumed it was a piece of warning tape gone astray, and went on my way. Later in the day, however, I spied that same shade of bright yellow in the form of a wee chubby bird, flitting about the deck (perhaps chasing the abundant dragonflies?):
yellow warbler.Last night, at the dock, I braved the twilight mosquitoes to talk on the phone for the last time until we return in a few weeks. Today I discovered a million lovely dragonflies on deck.
We shoved off today at noon and, despite having been out to sea for a scant 10 hours, somehow I’ve already lost track of time.
We had a busy day, organizing the shack, and arranging our equipment on deck. We learned a bit more about the scope of the project we’re out here to do, and got a sampling of what our daily meetings will consist of. My supervisor, Alex, and I talked about SeaTrepid’s procedures while going over the daily logs we’ll fill out, and met with the superintendents who will guide our steps once we’re on the job site. I’d like to elaborate, but we are 4 now in my room, all on different schedules, and I worry the tippity-tap of my keyboard distracting to those who are trying to sleep.
After a few days of chaos and uncertainty at the shop, we finally left today for the DB 16 job (DB stands for Derrick Barge, the type of vessel we're on). It’s pretty commonplace for details to shift, and dates to migrate in this business, so the state of craziness in the shop this week was simply another part of the learning curve. Because this job is longer term (60-90 days), and because the tasks we’ll perform could potentially require specialized tools, ours was a heavy load-out (meaning more equipment, more inventory, and more work). In addition to our heavy load-out, another heavy load-out left this morning, with far more specialized tools and equipment (including an 8’ x 6’ ROV sled designed and built specifically for that job, to track pipeline beneath the sea floor). It was a relief to get on the road.
Normally our driver, Kip, delivers us to our jobs. But today, James, our boss and SeaTrepid’s Project/Personnel Manager, drove us to the site. I love Kip, but it was way more fun to have James drive us out. Kip simply gets us from point A to point B, arriving at the appointed hour; when driving with the boss-man, there’s a little wiggle room, time to stop off and run errands, time to have a little Wendy’s salad and a vanilla frosty, time to stop off and buy some FRCs (fire-resistant [retardant?] clothing) that fit a girl.
We arrived in Morgan City (one of LA’s bigger offshore port cities), and came to the J. Ray McDermott… facility? complex? I’m not sure what to call it, because it’s huge. Boats live here, on a river I don’t know the name of, but McDermott also designs and builds very, very large structures, like oil platforms that will eventually be set out somewhere in the Gulf. And you can’t possibly imagine how massive they are.
We came aboard and directed the welders where to cut and what to burn off. On vessels like this one, we have our own little shack on the deck, and our own small crane, or LARS (Launch And Recovery System). The LARS sometimes needs to stick out over the edge of the vessel, which requires the removal, by oxy-acetylene burning, of 6” diameter round steel railing. The shack and the LARS are lifted onto the deck by the on-deck crane, and then welded into place.
I am bunking with 3 other ladies, which makes our number 4, out of approximately 150 people. We have our own little area, with a private bathroom. One of my roommates is Miss Yvonne, who gave me her own little orientation to [a woman’s] life offshore. For as much as I’ve already learned about my job, of diving and platforms, and of offshore existence, I’m glad for the wisdom Miss Yvonne had to share.
Sometimes I marvel how different one existence can be from another, like how opposite my life here is from my life in California.
I'm waiting to go out on my first longer-term job, which should last 3 weeks. Originally, we were slated to go out early this morning, then it was moved back to Friday. Today we learned that we'll be leaving Saturday, at the earliest. Since I don't quite have my own vehicle just yet (one is arranged, just waiting on documentation [not as questionable as it sounds]), and because my workplace is just over an hour from where I'm staying, I caught a ride with one of the guys when he came up on Monday. Robert is a pretty small town, with one major intersection. Not much here besides a grocery store, a few eateries and a post office. So, at the moment, not much is happening. It's good to be near the shop, so I can be there during the day, getting to know more about the equipment, and talking with other operator/techs, and earn a little moolah. Eventually we'll get called out on the job, but in the meantime, it's pretty low key here at the bunkhouse.
Fun-ness about the job I'm going out on: the diving company we're working with is the one my roommate, Rob, works for, and by some bizarro twist of fate, he's going out on the same job with us.
I may have to start sending out care packages for all those who've visited NO, and miss this or that about the place. Ya'll love this place. When I have my own apartment, please come visit. We'll find some crawdaddy chips, or a crawfish boil, or a wall to paint a mural, or au laits and beignets in the qua'ta.
Almost a month now since I've been here. This past week felt a bit dramatic, inwardly, but I attribute that to my own (very special) chemical makeup, and nothing more. At the end of the day, nothing really dramatic has happened, and here I sit, on a quiet Saturday night, enjoying my drive-thru daiquiris (btw, have you ever tried to spell that word, daiquiri? strange.).
I drove to Louis Armstrong Int'l airport tonight to pick up Josh, the roommate whose car I've been driving since I arrived (bless his heart, that Josh). While driving back home, we talked about things uniquely New Orleanian, like mid-block u-turns, meandering crescent-shaped roads, and the fore-mentioned drive-thru daiquiri. Half of our education in Dive Camp was about diving; the other half pertained to life in this back-assward state of Looziana. Geoff, instructor and bevy of information both great and small, told us of many things: of ports and rigs, of saturation and inspection, of coon-asses and rednecks, all of which we readily accepted and believed. But the idea of drive-thru alcohol was too much for us. But it's true. Here in the great crescent city you can find drive-thru or take-out alcohol several times in any given block.
redneck, or coon-ass? you decide.
I came across this video by chance, but it describes pretty well the flavor of Louisiana. What I particularly like about this video is that these ladies are kind of scrutinizing the drive-thru place, while seated in the back of a pickup truck, with a 12-year-old, and then later driving past the double wides representative of where they're probably staying for vacay.
Hit that last 2 minutes of the video, and you'll get a pretty good idea of life in LA.
If the trouble in Santa Barbara was cost of living, the problem in New Orleans is finding decent quality. I've been looking for a car for the past week, and keep running across decent cars with major mechanical issues, especially where CV axles are concerned. After driving the city for only a few weeks, this comes as no real surprise (the roads here are terrible-more potholes than MN after the spring thaw). There's a funny character trait I've noticed though, talking with people about their cars for sale, and maybe it would be the same anywhere, but I've experienced it at least 3 times now, with 3 different cars. When asked if anything is wrong with the car in question, I'll get no for an answer, unless it's an obvious physical flaw. After I drive the car, hear whatever clicking, whirring, pinging noise the car offers up in the few minutes I drive it, and go back with questions, they'll readily admit the problem. It's strange, it doesn't necessarily feel dishonest, per se, but I don't understand it. It doesn't help that I'm pretty limited in how much I can spend, because I'm obviously scraping the bottom of the Craig's List barrel. My co-workers have been really helpful though, keeping their ears open for something good, and I'm sure I'll find something in time.
Today is the 2-week mark since I arrived in New Orleans. I'm spending time in the shop this week, reading up on ROVs, tomorrow I'll learn some basic trouble-shooting techniques. I'm spending time with the engineers and shop techs, learning the dos and don'ts of the trade. There's so much to learn just about the ROVs, and then so much more to learn about flying the wee buggers, and even more about the actuality of working in the oilfield.
Saturday was my first day out in the Gulf. We were only out for a day, but it was a really good intro. We left the shop at 2am for the 3-hour drive to Fourchon (pronounced FOO-shon), which was a little like the Holy Grail. Many times I'd heard the name of Fourchon, from the stories Geoff would tell us in class; I could only hope for the day, so quickly!, when I, too, would set sail from the place.
us, and them.
ROV console, plus Jim.
I guess I wasn't quite clear in my last entry. The helicopter simulator videos were similar exercises to the ones we performed in class this week. Underwater helicopter egress is necessary because crew is sometimes transported to the rigs/ worksite via helicopter, and in the event of a controlled or semi-controlled emergency landing, I'd need to escape, which I'd be able to do, having completed the helicopter underwater egress training (HUET). Does that explain it? It all makes sense to me, so I'm never sure if I'm explaining things adequately.
I finally finished my offshore emergency/procedural training today, and left Houma, LA early this afternoon. I was meant to leave after yesterday's class, but the office called as I was driving away to let me know they'd scheduled one more class: BP's own offshore safety training, a prerequisite for working on a BP rig, which I'm leaving to do in just a few hours. So, tomorrow's the big day! My first time offshore. I'm curious and excited and a little nervous and freaked out, but I'm basically too damn tired to really feel all of it, which is good, because if I could sense emotion, I probably be over-thinking and mind-f*&king everything. As it stands, I'm getting up at 1:30am to drive to the dock, to take a boat to the rig. The job tomorrow is a one-day inspection, most likely no more than a few hours on the rig, then back to the dock. A good intro, I think. Good to have a look around, but not too intense.
Fun Louisiana tidbits from this week... Apparently the whole of LA is Catholic, or enough of it that Good Friday is a holiday, and everyone takes the day off. And everyone has a crawfish boil on Good Friday, which sounded kind of gross (boiled. crawfish. Huh?), but is actually extremely delish, and totally addicting. I don't know if you've ever seen a crawfish, they're just wee little clawed lobsters, that grow in the rice patties and in the swamp (on my way back from Houma, I kept seeing groups of people with nets, near the marshy roadside ditches. I finally realized they were huntin them up some mudbugs, mmm-hmmm.) Since they're not so big, you need to eat a lot of them to get a good meal. So you put a lot of them in a pot, with some boil seasonings (which are cajun flavor, mais oui), and maybe a little sausage and maybe a little corn (I'm not sure if it all goes in together? It all gets served together, though.). Then you serve a huge pile of them with some dippin' sauce. To eat, you sever the tail, suck out the cajun-flavored juices from the head (best accomplished by sucking whilst biting down on it), then peel the tail and eat the meat therein. You can also eat the meat in the wee claws, but it seems more trouble than it's worth. Also, you must always roll up your sleeves when eating crawfish, says Miss Margaret, my crawfish tutor and dining companion.
Did I forget to mention I got a job?
Actually, I didn't forget, I just wasn't ready to make mention of it. I didn't want to jinx it, or just wanted to get comfortable with the idea, and celebrated it a bit myself before I shared it with anyone. I'll be working for a little ROV company called SeaTrepid. I've gotten some mixed reviews, but mostly no one's ever heard of them down here. I like the company because it's small, so I feel like I'll be able to gain experience, plus it's not so scary starting out as it might have been working for a bigger company. They also sound to be heading into new and bigger applications (bigger ROVs, also potentially designing and marketing their own ROVs). That it's a smaller company also puts me a bit on edge, as my experiences working for smaller companies haven't all been great. But, it's a good start, I think.
In order to go offshore in the near future, I need to have a bunch of new certs (more cert cards- yipee!), so today through Thursday, I'm in Houma, LA, at a training facility. Today was Offshore Water Survival (for sure the funnest of the classes), tomorrow is Rigging (useful), and Thursday is Safe Gulf (which I've heard is a snooze). Half of today's class was in the pool, and this gives you an idea of the day's last drills, to simulate an underwater helicopter egress:
I was just thinking that it's not even been a week since I left Santa Barbara.
My first couple of days in New Orleans were a bit jarring, but I'm slowly coming around. I'd been here once before- for Mardi Gras 1998, for a long weekend. But most of what I saw then was seen whilst a bit tipsy, or in the dark, so I actually didn't see a whole lot. I'm certainly seeing a whole lot now.
I've been doing a ton of thinking, and processing, and I'd love to share my thoughts with you; however, it's Saturday morning, and I would really like to get out and see some stuff. There are historical plantations here, and parts of the city that I'd like to see, and I want to do some shopping. So, a quick update will have to do.
Wednesday I laid around, went to Target, then later for drinks at a local bar with Rob. Thursday we ventured into the French Quarter, which was so cool to see, and parts of which were ridiculously obnoxious even on a post-Mardi Gras mid-afternoon. We wandered around and ate at a hotel restaurant (we wanted better, but we were getting HUNGRY!), where the bartender suggested that New Orleans is a city that grows on you (which I'm already noticing- I reach my threshold for the post-hurricanes desolation, and have to retreat, but something pulls me right back the next day). Friday I had an interview, and drove around a few areas of town.
Today I might go buy some steel-toe boots (a necessity in the offshore environment), and drive the river road to look at the plantations.
I had a funny thought while I was driving around town yesterday. Up to this point, I've not been so great at committing to things. This endeavor to work in this industry is the hardest I've worked to get anywhere, to do anything. And the follow-through, that's also new for me. Previous incarnations of myself would have finished the program, but might have flitted off to Peru for a few months, rather than actually finding a job. And though amazing in its own right, living in SB was no walk in the park. But yesterday, as I was driving down Elysian Fields Ave., the idea occurred to me that maybe, after everything is said and done, maybe it was all worth it.
Humbling.
Happy to say I've arrived in New Orleans, safe and sound. Everything went well with the train and luggage and getting picked up at the station. I have lodging for however long I need, a car to use for the next month, and some cash in my pocket.
This is definitely a change from SB.
My train chronicle, from Sunday leaving Santa Barbara, til Tuesday nearing New Orleans.
I.
On the train now, running parallel to my favorite stretch of the PCH. I’ve driven it a hundred times, but have never seen it by train. The scenery’s not much different, it’s just that I’m not driving, as is usually the case.
Long week, this past. Finished working my temp job a week and a half ago, then went to Death Valley with Chris for a long weekend. 4 good days in the desert was enough to steel me to prepare for the move. A few weeks ago, someone suggested taking the train to NO, and at first blush it seemed completely implausible. As time wore on, however, the idea grew on me, and I started realizing I could make it happen. My ticket cost $138 with my AAA discount- that’s 3 days by train, Sunday morning at 9:30 until Tuesday at 4pm.
II.
Somewhere in the desert now. I met my neighbors, who are lovely, and who help break the trip up a bit. Jerry, from Tucson, seems to know everything about the train, and is an excellent ambassador for the Amtrak brand.
Feeling better after a snooze this afternoon. The week has been stressful and wearing. It’s good to sit back with my feet up and nothing to do.
The trouble with being on the train is never being sure of your exact location. We came upon such a beautiful valley, but I have no clue where it might be located on a map. I only know that it’s somewhere between Ontario and Palm Springs.
Nearing Palm Springs we’ve come upon fields of power-generating turbines.
My neighbors suggests that the fruits and veggies I’m carrying with me for snacks explains my attractive figure. I muse that living in southern California for too long warps a person’s good sense of body image.
I’m getting excited to make a new start. So much attention has gone to getting ready for the move, I’ve not thought much about arriving, and what comes next. But, here’s what I decided a few days ago whilst being gripped by the assumed futility of purging, organizing and packing my way-too-many belongings: deal with it as it comes. Now, I realize I already mentioned this idea, by way of AA reference in an earlier post. But the idea struck a note at exactly the right moment when I could apply it, right when I was feeling debilitated by the magnitude of the task at hand, as well as the myriad tasks to come, and once having applied the philosophy, I carried on, rather than turning unproductive circles, wondering where to begin. Not the most original idea, per se, but it’s been helpful in being prepared, on time, to get on the train and go.
III.
The sun just went down, and it’s a soft twilight over Palm Springs. I've tried to stare out the window for as long as possible, leaving until later the reading and other busy-ness that distracts from the lack of view out the dark window. The sunset is beautifully pastel, soft, with white fading to pink fading to blue.
IV.
It’s my first morning waking up on the train, and I actually feel like I slept pretty well. My seat mate disembarked in Tucson early this morning, leaving his seat for me to stretch out on. The seats are surprisingly comfortable, with a decent amount of leg room. I may treat myself to dinner this evening in the dining car, though I have quite enough food to sustain myself for the next day and a half.
I spent last night reading a travel guides about New Orleans. It strikes me, even just being on the train and seeing the people headed in the same direction, how very different a place I’m going to. It’s funny, I loved California when I got there, was always sort of in awe of it. I don’t know how or why or even when I got over it, because it was never a very forceful, obvious sense of not liking the place anymore. Maybe it was money, or wardrobe, or being brunette, or being more shapely than your average Cali girl, or living in a place as bucolic as Santa Barbara. It may have been all of it, or nothing. It seems I always felt just a bit out of place. It was beautiful, but I don’t think the stress was worth the beauty. A friend, who also travels, and is moving away from California, suggested that we’d been to far more beautiful places, where one can actually afford to live; that we knew there was more out there in the world to sequester ourselves in a place like California.
Other things, too. Like feeling isolated. Like not knowing very many people my age. Like feeling a bit old and ugly in a town like SB. Like worrying about money every spare minute. Like working my ass off for dodgy small-business owners. Like feeling stuck.
But good things, too. Like my boy, Chris, and friends Ale & Dada, Eric, & Claudia, Ruth & Sam, Deckhand Aaron, and the random people who’d come out of the woodwork just when I thought there wasn’t anyone authentic left to meet. Like driving home from work along the PCH as the sun sets. Like sitting on the beach, watching surfers in the afternoon. Like afternoon hikes. Like 80 degrees in February. Like riding my bike everywhere. Like seeing the Channel Islands in the distance. Like dolphins on the bow. Like sunrises on my way to school. Like all my stinky boys and my instructors.
Like having accomplished what I went there to do.
V.
Yesterday was 100% desert, but today I find myself in the swamp. My first sight out the window was of trees and swampy trenches along the side of the tracks, immediately followed a huge expanse of water on both sides, which turned out to be Lake Houston. It’s grey and cloudy here, which reminds me that other parts of the world have weather, unlike Santa Barbara. It looks like it just rained here perhaps, the trees have little green buds on them, There are puddles in the fields. It’s a good thing, I think. It was weird living in a place where the weather conditions never coincided with the season. For example, summer in SB was foggy, and kind of dismal; autumn was sunny and beautiful; winter was cooler, with rain sometimes, but also with 80-degree days; spring was… I’m not even sure. There was also a lot of sun, maybe a little too much sun. It’s exhausting when there’s so much sun, like you never have a reason to lay on the couch and read a book, or you always feel guilty about sitting around watching TV, because, even when the weather is bad, it’s never so bad that you’re forced to stay indoors (except for the 3 days a year when it rains). I don’t think I’ve made a very good argument here, but then again, I’ve only just woken up.
VI.
The train is quiet today. Only about 5 hours left to go now, as we are supposed to arrive in New Orleans on time. Per usual, I start to get a little uptight about the details and logistics of arriving: how to deal with all my luggage, will Rob be there to pick me up, will there be carts to move all my stuff around, etc.
I am getting a bit nervous, I guess. But then, I’m thinking too far ahead. If I focus on what’s happening only within the next few hours, I feel ok. If I think about the rest of the week, I get a knot in my stomach. Et voila, I’ll just focus on what’s happening now. There are fields and trees and lots of water around. When passing the water-filled trenches beside the tracks, I see disturbance at the surface, as if a fish has just nipped at an insect, or a gator has just submerged.
VII.
Passing through southern Louisiana now. Next stop is New Iberia, a town that is familiar to me because some of the diving companies are based here. It’s sort of the end of the world, mostly industrial, with trailer homes up on blocks scattered about. I kind of like these funny little towns.
I’m almost ready to be done with the train. The toilets are getting a bit funky at this point. I don’t think everyone knows how to locate the flush button (think of the toilets on airplanes).
For some reason, I’m finding a lot of solace in being back in the same time zone as friends and family. Strange I should find comfort in that, though it seems very strange not to have to recalculate the time at the location I’m calling.
VIII.
Getting very, very close now. Feeling nervous about arriving, but also excited. New Orleans is a city I’ve been to, that I even speculated would be fun to live in for a while. Something about its history interests me, I’m curious to explore the place, excited to start over again, to see how what I can find here.
I've been mute lately. For good reason: I've been trying to figure out what to do with myself. The plan all along has been to get to the gulf to get to work. When my car died, though, I had to reconfigure the plans.
So, here it is, the run down. I'll be brief, because my mind has little room for fluff and sentence formulation.
1. I'm kind of liking not having a car. I like not having to worry about when the car's going to explode, implode, whatever. It's kind of nice. Plus, I'm communing with my bike again.
2. Now, however, is not the most convenient time for me not to have a car, having planned the whole x-country drive to find work, and all.
3. Amtrak is a potentially plausible alternative to driving, by myself, for 25oo miles, for the second time in as many years.
4. I am blessed beyond belief by amazing relatives and friends and coworkers who offer little bits of help along the way, especially Rob, an MDT grad, who offered to help me get to the gulf, and housing once I get there, and Claudia, Ale, and CK + current coworkers who listen to my ramblings and sounding out of potential schemes, helping me to see reason beyond all the emotional nunsense in my head.
So. This is my last week of work. I'd love to say I've stockpiled loads of cash and am totally set to move, but you wouldn't believe that of me anyway, right? I'm glad to be getting out of SB before the sea swallows up the rest of my cash, and my tax returns. I thought it sounded like a good idea to stay, work full time for a while, but in reality, it's still not enough. This damn town eats a girl's money like an alky on a bender. It costs SO MUCH MORE MONEY to stay here than I'm actually making. I seriously don't know how or why people live here. For real, it's ridiculous.
My boy and I had planned to go to Death Valley for a last weekend together, but I'm not sure that's going to happen. If we do go, I'll start really packing/organizing next Tuesday. But (and this is the more probable possibility from where we stand at this particular moment) if we don't go, I'll just start packing on Sat., putting me on a train somewhere around Monday. The train takes 3 days, and I think I'll be opting for the:
The go-kart, in Death Valley.
