Medicine Man

Travel is grand. Travel is exciting, liberating and just plain fun. Travel reminds you that it's a big world out there, and that you will never, ever, no matter how achingly hard you try, sleep anywhere close to as well as you do at home.

But, let's not forget that travel is also a super way to meet new pals! Wherever your journeys may take you, know that you will find magnificent people in every nook and cranny.

So we just came back from a trip to Los Angeles, where I learned that the only thing that can make strip malls uglier is palm trees. LA is an odd place for the newcomer - big but weightless, sunny but sad.

When we arrive in town, we do our best to settle into our Best Western on Sunset, get the kids unconscious, and relax our scrambled minds. I need to clear my head that first night, find my footing, and I think a stroll up to the hotel's courtyard pool is just the ticket. I plant myself on some steps near the pool, protected by a huge wall of blooming foliage, and sit in the surprisingly cool night air. I'm restless and a little cold and a little sad.

And then he joins me.

He is unassuming, for sure, but looks far too much like Jimmy Buffet to not notice. Worn T-shirt, khaki shorts, flip-flops and longish salt-and-pepper hair sticking out at the back of his well-loved baseball cap. He passes me without seeing me, stops at the railing a few feet away and reaches into his pocket. Turning around to get down to business, he finally spies me with a dramatic start. Hmm, too dramatic, I think. I don't buy it.

"Hey, there, little buddy," he starts. Great.

"Oh, hi," I fire back.

"You don't mind, friend, if I scent the air with a little... marujana, now, do you?" He holds up a joint or tiny pipe or something I can't make out in the dark. Great.

"Oh, no. Not at all. Go right ahead."

"I grow this myself, you know." (Who doesn't say that?) "I grow it myself, indeed. It's... medicinal, you know." (Who doesn't say THAT?)

"Totally," I nod, realizing that 1) this is not the head-clearing experience I was after and 2) he is about to...

"You want some, friend?" Ah. There it is.

"Oh, what? Me? No. Nah. No, thanks. Oh, boy."

My new pal's joint is now fully operational, and, as he enjoys those initial intakes, he smiles broadly at me. I hate this more than I want to hate it. He closes the gap between us, reaching down to put his hand on my shoulder.

"You see those pictures of Obama smoking weed?" he starts in. "Holy crap, how about those, right there on the internet! Smoking it up!" He leans closer, squeezing my shoulder more powerfully, making me smile harder through my mounting despair. He smells like pot, beer and something more pleasant, all mixed together. "Not afraid to say he inhaled! Now there's a president. Am I right? You see those, man? On the internet?"

I haven't, but I nod anyway.

I end up getting saved by this man's wife or companion or something. She yells down to him from the pool above to get inside. She sounds pissed. He overdoes the embarrassment and takes his leave, giving me a final pat.

I pad my way back to our room, fully refreshed and ready to take on a night of sleeplessness.

It's a couple of days later that I see him again, and this time I'm with my family. It's mid afternoon, and he and she are exiting out of the hotel elevator as we are going in. He winks at me, gives my shoulder a familiar squeeze and toasts the kids... with his open Heineken.