and who cared if a few Hare Krishna types tossed flowers at you?
They probably helped make it a more festive scene altogether.
Oscar reluctantly agreed to come, but confessed that he really
didn’t do well in party situations. I pointed out that he didn’t seem to
do so well in other situations either, so it was worth a try. Plus, I said,
this place sounded like a University of Fun. What you weren’t an
expert on, you could easily learn.
It was clear once we boarded the ferry to Samrin island that we were
headed for a pretty unusual place. The boat was loaded with your
standard-issue hippie types all being intensely individualistic in a
highly collective fashion.
The hippies were pretty much
keeping to themselves, ostensibly to keep their “open minds” free
from any intrusions from the wicked outside world, so instead I
wandered over to where some loud, more conservative-looking
Americans were sitting, and tried to strike up conversation.
“Where in the states are you guys from?” I asked. One of them
began to speak, but he was cut off by a tall, impossibly skinny
member of their group.
“Some of us, I’m happy to say, are not from America.” He spoke
with a perfect American accent and was wearing a neon volleyball
outfit that boasted a famous California surfer brand name. Tied
around his waist was a Georgetown sweatshirt, and his teeth were
perfect. Then I glanced at his bag and I realized what my fatal error
had been: never accuse a Canadian traveler of the crime of being
American. A giant maple leaf sewn to the outside of his backpack
tried to make sure such affronts never happened.
“Sorry. Where in Canada are you from?”
“Ontario. Do you know where that is?”
“In Canada.”
“We only have ten provinces. I can name and locate all fifty of
your states.”
“You should be on Jeopardy.”
Another member of the group spoke up: “You know why most
Americans don’t know anything about Canada, Gordo? I’ll tell you.
It’s because we don’t give a shit.You don’t matter.” Then he stuck out
his hand to me, “ Hi there, my name’s Hugo, but my friends call me
Huge. From Boston. You?”
“Jake Rippy, City of Angels.”
“Nice to meet you, Jake. Sorry about Gordo, but you know how
BIG AMERICAN BREAKFAST
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