On Journey

The young woman was crunched up in the corner seat, head leaning towards the grimy window. Her dark, curly hair covered half of her face. A young boy asleep on her lap, his head cradled on her left arm, legs dangling over hers. She was dozing when she suddenly felt something moving up the inside of her thigh. Her free hand flew down to the object, her head turned and her eyes flew open. The man sitting next to her was grinning. She swatted his hand away from her and glared at him angrily. Shifting the young boy around so that he created some sort of barrier between her and the man. He was completely unabashed and went to put his hand on her knee once again. She slapped it again and told him to stop it through gritted teeth. She daren’t shout as everyone else in the dimly lit carriage was asleep. She threw a glance across at her partner who sat opposite, slumped, eyes shut and completely oblivious of what she was going through. Her young daughter was fast asleep snuggled in to the soft and comfy marshmallow lap of an elderly nun who was extremely overweight.

The woman sighed. This whole trip was turning into a nightmare. The journey from Tunis to Casablanca was much more complicated than they had first thought. On seeing a railway route through the three countries it had seemed like a good idea. Now though, crammed into an eight seat carriage with 9 adults (including three very overweight nuns) and two children, with a man sitting next to her who couldn’t keep his hands to himself she was desperately tired. But every time her eyes closed he would try to grope her. What was it with these Arabic men that gave them the right to touch foreign women in this way? It had been the same in Pakistan some years ago and it made her feel very angry. They didn’t treat their own women in this way, but western females were fair game it appeared. Even women who were obviously in a relationship and mothers!

Whilst she was regretting not carrying a penknife and imaging what she would like to do with it, one of the nuns suddenly began to fit. Her whole body started shaking and her arms flailed out hitting those next to her. Her body slid down onto the floor of the carriage. The Algerian man leapt up and pulled the communication cord. The train braked so quickly that everyone was thrown forward by the motion. The screeching of the brakes whilst the train came to a halt was replaced by clanking noises as everything cooled down. Then silence. The people in the carriage looked at each other. The woman on the floor continued to twitch. There was no room to get to her and see how she was. Minutes went by. The western man in the corner opened one eye and looked around, he groaned in pain, closed his eye and went back to sleep. The little girl woken by the noise began to cry and was soothed back to sleep by her mother. Suddenly there was a tapping on the window. The young woman was startled to see a face pressed against it from outside.  The Algerian moved to open the top part of the window and had a short and furious conversation with the man outside who turned out to be the guard. Because the train was so full it was impossible for him to walk down the corridor to the carriage. It also appeared that they were in the middle of nowhere and would not be able to remove the nun until they reached a bigger town some miles away. The woman looked out into the opaque blackness from where no help was coming.

Throughout the night the train stopped at unlit stations and people got off the train. Fortunately not many got on and gradually the corridors emptied sufficiently for the nun to be taken off at one of the larger towns. Dead or alive it was difficult to tell. She had received no medical attention and had eventually become still. The young woman held hands firmly with the Algerian man for the rest of the night.

Eventually, somewhere around dawn, the train pulled into the station in Oran where it terminated.  The family had to change here for a train to the Moroccan border at Maghnia / Oujda. The woman picked up her rucksack, gathered her children and asked about her partner’s health. The Algerian man shook their hands, still grinning and totally unconcerned by his behaviour on the train and then waved them goodbye.

The family of four found seats in an open carriage around a table. Alone. The exhausted young woman was finally able to close her eyes. For now.

~wander.essence~  On Journey

Little Italy: Part Three

The final part of my walk around Little Italy in San Diego introduces you to some of the lovely buildings in this area, including several from the Victorian era.

Founded in 1962, the Firehouse Museum occupies the former home of San Diego Fire Station No. 6, which now resides in Otay Mesa. The museum’s brick-and-mortar building in Little Italy features firefighting equipment and apparatus dating back to the late 1800s.

The Washington Elementary STEAM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts and Math) Magnet School has been located in the centre of Little Italy since 1914, making it one of the oldest schools in San Diego.

If you find yourself in San Diego then I would recommend spending a day in Little Italy – there are many Piazzas including a new one Piazza della Famiglia which is in the heart of the area, a 10,000-square-foot European-style piazza on W. Date Street, connecting India and Columbia Streets opened in March 2018. I just might have to go back for one last visit.

~wander.essence~ photography

Little Italy: Part Two

One great thing about Little Italy, is the abundance of public art displays . Walking around the district you can’t help stopping to look at and photograph the walls. There are several very interesting street murals including this one which can be found on the corner of Juniper and India, and was created by Dawn Morrison Wagner, a chalk artist.

Angel Mural (Filippino Lippi)

A mural high on a wall depicts Venetian Gondoliers.

Fragment of the Sistine Chapel on a building wall.

Mural titled I Pescatori by artist Renee Garcia, 2003. Depicts tuna fishermen who lived in Little Italy (many were Italian immigrants) fishing off the coast of San Diego.

Ben-Hur Coffee. A cool old advertisement on the side of an old brick building.

Several murals that together are titled “Eredita Italiana” by Yakov Kandinov, 2004. According to a nearby plaque, this is a Precious Cheese Art Mural Project.

And in Little Italy’s Amici Park you can find four sculptures that depict tables of tasty food. The red and white checkered tablecloths you see are actually glass mosaics. The recipes beside the plates are designed so that inquisitive gourmets can take a rubbing, and bring the recipe home.  The entire installation is called A Recipe For Friendship and was created by Nina Karavasiles in 2001.

These images date back several years so they might not be there now, but I am sure there will be new ones to discover.

~wander.essence~ photography

Little Italy: Part One

Many cities around the world have areas that have been created by immigrants and where you can get a flavour of the culture and cuisine of a nation. Famously, ‘Chinatowns’ spring to mind, but there are also Italian, Greek, Asian and many more where the inhabitants recreate their homeland.

One such area that I have had the pleasure to explore on several occasions is Little Italy in San Diego which was originally a fishing village based around the tuna industry. Now it is still a vibrant ‘village’ with lots of Italian restaurants and upmarket boutiques. I have quite a few photos from my visits so I shall split this into three photo posts, the first being a general wander around the area.

It’s also a very floral place as you can see.

~wander.essence~ photography

Conversations

Travelling on your own I think gives you more opportunities to interact with the locals. Often as a couple you tend to be less aware of what is happening around you. When I used to accompany the OH to conferences I was on my own for a lot of the time and left to my own devices as he was busy with the actual conference. Public transport was one thing I always looked up wherever we went so that I could get around, especially in the big cities where these type of conferences are usually held, and more often than not in hotels outside of the central walking district.

Sometimes I can’t help eavesdropping whilst travelling.

San Diego: No 30 bus from Old Town Transit Center to La Jolla

Young girl, jeans, hippy top, typical scarf wrapped around her neck, several strands of necklaces, long blonde hair and carrying a backpack gets on the bus to Oceanside. She politely asks an older American guy where she gets off for the ¹Banana Bungalow. He suggests she is better off staying in the hostel in downtown SD.

“I just came from there, my friend is staying in the banana bungalow and I’ve heard some good things about it”

“Well, I hope you’ll be safe then”

“Safe? You hope I’ll be safe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know, it’s in a dodgy area. There’s drug taking and dope smoking, marijuana, you know, but if that’s what you want…”

“No! I’m English!” she cries indignantly in a very plummy voice.

He kindly offers to show her the way when they alight the bus on the corner of Mission Boulevard. I am left smiling.

¹A Pacific Beach hostel

Same bus, return journey.

A youngish chap gets on and sits facing me on the side seats. He is trendily dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, dark grey jacket, narrow indigo blue tie and is wearing black nail varnish, silver earring in one ear. He is busily marking some exercise books on his lap.  Next stop a scruffy younger guy gets on and sits next to him. He has long curly, unruly hair, a cap, messy beard and smells strongly of cigarettes.

“Hey dude, you a paralegal or something?”

“No, I am a lecturer”

“Oh, that must be so cool. To be responsible for opening minds and see students discovering stuff and learning stuff”

A wry smile. “Well yeah, that sometimes happens”

“All that finding out stuff”

“Actually I find out new things from them all the time too”

“Great, man. You’re learning, they’re learning, that’s so cool man”

Once again I am smiling.

~wander.essence~ prose