The World of Stuff .com

Adventures with Kate, part three

On the morning of Monday, August 9, Andy drove Kate and me to the Greyhound station. Kate and I would be taking a bus to St. Augustine; while we were there, Andy would be going to Albany and staying there for a couple of weeks. Since Kate and Andy wouldn’t see each other again, their goodbyes were especially poignant.

Kate was a seasoned Greyhound pro by this time, but I had never ridden with them before. In fact, I would venture to guess that not many people have. Besides that it’s inconvenient for a majority of Americans (i.e., the ones who have cars), I think there’s a sort of stigma attached to bus travel in this country. I was about to find out whether there was any reason for that.

Our bus pulled up, and we made our way on. The bus seemed decent enough—there was a good amount of leg room—but we changed seats to get away from some people who were talking. (There are no assigned seats, but you can’t sit in the very front. I don’t even know why they have the seats there if you can’t sit in them, but that turned out to be the rule in every Greyhound bus that I rode on. Maybe someone can enlighten me.)

The bus set off for Jacksonville, where we would have a brief layover. I had only made the trip from Gainesville to Jacksonville once, so it wasn’t really familiar to me. You pass by Gainesville’s cute little airport, and then for most of the trip you’re traveling through small towns in the middle (or, to be fair, probably closer to the edge) of nowhere. You also pass by the Florida State Prison.

It was near here that I happened to notice the bus driver talking on his cell phone. We were driving through a small city—I guess it was Starke—but that was no excuse for his behavior. Still, I was feeling more non-confrontational than concerned. I decided to complain to Greyhound later, but even then I forgot. I think Kate did it. The driver talked for about ten minutes, and when he wasn’t talking, he was singing. Why don’t more people ride Greyhound??

To pass the time and try to ignore the merry bus driver, I continued reading Of Human Bondage, which I was eager to finish by the end of Kate’s visit so we could talk about it. Kate was busy taking pictures with the new camera that I had bought for her. It was a Pentax K-x, a DSLR, and I agreed to give it to her as a gift to help offset the cost of her flying all the way here from Russia. She’s a photography nut just like me, although she’s more serious about it than I am. I don’t see myself wanting an SLR anytime soon.

It wasn’t long before we reached the Greyhound station in the metropolis of Jacksonville. It was a relatively large building with a number of “gates” that different buses could pull up to. (These were nothing more than a row of numbered doors, each of which corresponded to a bus-sized parking space outside.) We didn’t have long to wait, and in the meantime a poster imploring runaways to call a particular hotline for help tickled my fancy. Stigma, stigma, stigma.

Next, we hopped on the bus heading for St. Augustine. We were going to be late meeting with our host. Kate had made sleeping arrangements for us via the CouchSurfing hospitality network, and our host had volunteered to pick us up at the Greyhound station in St. Augustine. When we arrived, he and his roommate were waiting for us in their vehicle. They took us to a restaurant for a late lunch.

The restaurant was located on the water, but the water wasn’t the ocean. It was a marshy, tidal sort of thing with crabs and pink birds running around, and there was a marina nearby with lots of boats. The restaurant also had a pen with a couple of baby alligators in it, and Kate and I checked them out after lunch. Then we wandered around and checked out the boats. Our hosts gladly followed us around.

Then, they took us back to their place. They lived close to the historic part of Saint Augustine, near the possibly famous Bridge of Lions. Actually, the bridge seemed to be going extensive renovations, and the lion statues had been placed in storage. So for the moment it was the Bridge of No Lions.

Later, Kate and I started to explore historic downtown St. Augustine. Kate needed a certain filter for her lens, so our first stop was a camera store that our host had looked up for us. The place turned out to be pretty sketchalicious, selling nothing but the incongruous combination of electronics and beauty supplies. There were cameras and makeup everywhere. The guy at the store had the filter she needed, and he wanted an arm and a leg for it, but Kate managed to talk him down to a more reasonable price.

With Kate’s camera safe from the harmful rays of the sun, we were free to meander around some more. We made our way to Castillo de San Marcos, the historic fort that was built by the Spanish. We didn’t have much time to spend there before it closed, but I was determined to make every minute count. I had only been to the fort once before, and it had been undergoing renovations, so I didn’t get to see much of it. This time, we were free to walk around the courtyard and the various rooms that opened up into it. We spent a long time sitting in the old chapel. Soon after, the fort closed, and we had to leave.

From there, we walked down historic St. George St. (Saint George Street, that is), which I find charming, even if it is touristy. As Kate was taking tons of pictures of the oldest wooden schoolhouse in the United States, a disheveled-looking man started giving me unsolicited ideas for cheap dates, one of which involved watching some owls somewhere. I couldn’t help but stay and listen since Kate was busy taking photos. Little did I know that by this point she was just snapping unflattering pictures of me torturing myself to listen to this guy.

It was getting dark, and we called for a ride to get picked up. Our host took us to a store where Kate could buy some clothes; she hadn’t packed a lot because she had been counting on buying stuff in the US. She didn’t find anything she wanted at either of two stores, so our next stop was the grocery store to pick up some food for dinner (and, in our host’s case, for future meals).

Back at home—the place felt like home since we had our own room—we prepared dinner. Well, really, the host and Kate did most of the work. Kate cut up the chicken, the host made a sauce and got a salad together, and I was eventually tasked with helping to make some couscous. Our dinner consisted of the sauce on top of the chicken on top of the couscous with the salad on the side. And man, was it good, especially after such a big day. The conversation was good too. It turned out that the host had also been a student at UF a number of years ago, and we had even taken one of the same classes with the same professor.

By this time, it was getting to be late, so we went to bed. We would have another big day in store for us.

Here’s how fraudsters make fake credit cards. (Via The Consumerist)

This video is fun (if a little annoying) to watch, but the subject matter is interesting: The surprising truth about what motivates us. (Via Lifehacker)