ENTRY 5: LOS ANGELES/NEW ZEALAND

I’m sitting in LAX and feeling reflective. Today ends almost three weeks of discomfort. Discomfort physically, emotionally and spiritually. It seems it has never been more than a day before we are uprooted again to experience something completely foreign to our lifestyle in New Zealand.

This morning I was outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre again. I’ve been really enjoying the opportunity to place my hands and feet in the prints and see who I match up with. It seems me and Tom Hanks share an anatomical bond unlike that of any other star on the patch. I also manage to out-size all of the Harry Potter kids, and Judy Garland from the Wizard of Oz. As I was walking around a gentleman approached me who was filming a documentary on Hollywood for some project that Nicolas Cage is working on. I answered a few easy questions before he floored me with something out of left field; ‘What is your Hollywood dream?’. Suddenly I had flash-backs to childhood dreams of film-school and ‘making it’ out west. I turned to the camera and gave a very mature answer out about how those kinds of dreams are ridiculous and childish. The truth is that at the core of me I knew that if I didn’t believe in these kinds of dreams I wouldn’t have stood there for hours trying to stretch and squash my palms into the spaces made by ‘greater’ men and women than me.

As I reflect on my childish dreams I remember a guy we talked to waiting in line for Splash Mountain at Disneyland. He was one of those hardcore geeks who probably made his buck out of developing a new Napster or Myspace or something. He had a particularly bizarre affinity for Disneyland. He could remember how old he was when he first rode Thunder Mountain, how many snow-monsters there are on The Matterhorn, and could also tell us which animatronic figures were most recently added to The Pirates of the Caribean ride. For him, the return to Disneyland was a return to his childhood. Like hearing a favourite song, being there evoked an emotion in him that nowhere else could.

The thing that strikes me again and again about California is a creepy nostalgia that hangs like a cloud over everything. This entire place, from Disneyland to Hollywood Boulevard, is simply a poor reflection of what once was. The glitz and glamour that once held downtown Hollywood is now replaced by dirty shop frontages, homeless war vets, and sleazy sex shops. Where Disney was once a place of timeless myths and stories, it now has product placement as far as the eye can see. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong! But it’s not what it was.

Then there’s Rojo Gomez, Mexico. I wish I’d known enough Spanish to ask the children there what they dream of. I wonder if their mothers dreamed of life being as hard as it is. I wonder what dreams they still have that seem to keep them so joyful amongst all this hardship.

I think the dream is heaven.

Maybe this is what Walt Disney set out to create in 1955. The ‘Parade of Dreams’ down Main Street declares, ‘Welcome to our family time, welcome to our brotherly time’. The ‘Small World’ ride presents a picture of all races and peoples united in song. Sounds pretty similar to the imagery of ‘every tribe, every tongue and every nation’ in passages like Revelation 5:9. And then millions flock to the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese theatre to place their hands in the imprints of those they idolize and deify. Not too dissimilar to Thomas, who would not believe it was really Christ crucified until he placed his hands in his wounds (John 20:25).

The ‘City of Angels’ is drenched in a desire to see heaven. To see God’s kingdom come, to see the beauty, mercy and compassion of a world where Love wins. It’s painful to watch people with so much wealth miss the mark, while the poor in Rojo Gomez and El Nino seem to understand it better than any of us.

Bless.

Thanks to those who have followed this for the last few weeks. I'll continue to post as I digest thoughts from the trip. Unfortunately blogger's pics aren't working at the moment, so I'll put some more up when I get back.

ENTRY 4: MEXICO/USA

I’m in a dodgy corridor in Hollywood. There’s a horrible Classic-hits station playing at the moment which seems to have only ‘Walk this way’ and ‘Back in Black’ on rotation. The youth hostel which promised wireless internet has failed on yet another of its key selling points. Despite a little frustration over the many things this place over-promised and under-delivered on, I am happy to be in Hollywood. Already I’ve seen a few landmarks which were etched in my mind since age six or seven when I saw them on TV specials. Of particular significance was Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. This was the original release site of Star Wars on May 29, 1977 (scarily, I did know that date off the top of my head). Now begins the authorial nightmare of evenly dispersing the content of the last week in the slums amongst the comparative glamour and sophistication of downtown Hollywood. Hmmmm, where to start…. How about where I left off nearly a week ago? Hmmm?

The Silver Ferns have an interesting warm-down technique after a match. They move from ice cold buckets of water into blistering heat. Back and forth they go for some minutes. Apparently the variation in temperature helps to keep the muscles active without risking bruising or tearing. This seems an accurate description of what the last week has been like in my journeys from Mexico to the US and back again. From the desolate slums of Rojo Gomez, to the pristine and affluent inner-city of San Diego – Back to the poverty-stricken streets of El Nino, and then to the hustle and bustle of downtown Hollywood. I’m not sure there’s any way I could have so perfectly taken in the contrast between the two lifestyles. Grass and vegetation in the slums is non-existent, yet only half an hour across the border suburban lawns sprout lush crops of green grass. I’ve spent time in crowded homes which stench with the smell of many people, yet in the same day walked through air-conditioned shopping centres which seem to stretch for acre upon acre. What a strange life we lead in the western world.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t feel like Mexico had changed me at all until I stood in a San Diego shoe store a few days ago. A pair of Nike’s were on sale for $49 US. I was only inches from buying them… but poverty is hard to ignore now I’ve seen its face. As much as I’d love to ignore it, I knew this product was soaked with the sweat of kids just like the ones I’d spent time playing with in El Nino and Rojo Gomez. It’s startlingly difficult to work out how to live ethically in a western culture after an experience like this.

Now at 2am in this LA Backpackers, I can’t help but think that Hollywood is the perfect metaphor for our western culture. The glitz and glamour you’ve seen on TV stretches all of a hundred metres at most. Walk a little further down the Boulevard and you meet the real America. Struggling both inside and out with spiritual and physical impoverishment. The people of Rojo Gomez and Baja are blessed that they will never see this. We are cursed to see it every night during primetime.

I don’t really want to say much more about Los Angeles. Just trust that we’re doing everything we’re supposed to while you’re in a town with this many theme parks and beaches. I think for the rest of this trip I’ll just use this blog to reflect on some of the stories from the past week. There’s a lot to tell.

Be in touch.