Strangers as guides

It was only a few days ago I picked up Paulo Coelho's book at a bookstore, and randomly flipped open to a page to read what was in store for me. For me, Coelho's like that- a sort of guid who knows just what to say to push me back into the directive flow of the universe. And so, that day Coelho's travel advice was as follows: Avoid Museums. Go to Bars. Find real People. If you need a guide ask someone on the street. It may not work at first but by the end of the day, you'll have a devoted and loyal friend and guide.

These words flashed into my heas as I got off the bus. It was very clear I had overshot my destination - the Newtown Community and Culture Centre- but which direction did I need to go? So I took Coelho's advice and asked the first person I saw. To my surprise, he began to give me detailed directions, finally telling me to hop on the bus across the street. I dashed across the street, showed thank you, dodged two cars and got on the bus. The bus driver asked "where to?" and before I could reply (with a bunch of ums and uhhs) the young man followed me onto the bus and told the driver for me. He sat down on the seat next to me, smiled sheepishly and explained that it was not the nicest neighborhood and he just wanted to make sure I got there alright.

And we got there alright. An hour before the reading started. I saw a small pub across the street and insisted that I buy him a beer. Ofer a drink we chatted, I talked about my project and he asked me questions about the states. At the end of the hour we walked over to the poetry reading. THe audience was a small collection of locals, and I felt a bit strange and out of place. It's probably the most uncomfortable I've ever felt at a poetry reading so far. I'm not sure why. Thee people who got up and spoke were definitely portraying the community accurately. People from various backgrounds read and although I read too and received warm applause, I still couldn't help but feel like an intruder.

My guide, however, left the performance seemingly invigorated. "so what'd ya think?" he asked. I told him I thought it was interesting but the more important question was- what did HE think?
We parted ways at the end of the night, and I caught the bus back to my hotel, crawled into bed poised to write something, then gave up- suddenly exhausted- and fell asleep.