so you want to be in love like the movies.but in the movies they're not in love at all. with a twinkle in their eye, they're just saying their lines.

westward ho. rolling into california on "the ten" ( how do people out here know to call it "the 10" but it's still just plain 77 or 95 on the east coast? No one says "the 77"! ) toward joshua tree national park. hang a louie on 111 towards the salton sea. destination: slab city. driving along a two lane road parallel to a carrier train, the only proof you're not seeing a mirage. hot. i've never been this hot. never seen such an expanse of desolate nothingness. and then, out of the haze on my right, the sand breaks to blue. purple mountains rise up out of a sunny fog. i squint to make sure i'm actually seeing this. then an oasis. a patch of trees and picnic tables. salton sea campground. i pull into the deserted parking lot promising the marley dog a dip in the water. he's miserable. this is no place for a mountain dog mix. he tears across the parking lot and stops short of the edge. motionless water. no waves. a flat tranquil blue as far as the eye can see. beautiful. but then i'm hit with the stench. dead fish. the shore is lined with them. i scream for marley to back away, but he takes a handful of steps into what i can only imagine to be toxic death waters. i run to his rescue, tip-toeing in to grab him by the collar. he's watching tiny fish swimming underneath him. signs of life. i notice there are pelicans on the horizon. so why the dead fish? i step off the rocks into the languid pool. warmth envelops my toes. warm like bath water. marley paws at the rough bottom and touches his tongue to the surface. retracts, disgusted. the heat overtakes us. sweltering. i drag marley into the campground shower. dog. heat. dead fish. not a good combination. especially not in the confines of a ford focus. the water runs clean. marley's looking good. smelling decent. slightly cooler. but still miserable. we head for slab city. not sure what to expect. sean penn's idealized version of hippie paradise turns out to be a run down ghost town. poverty stricken. streets lined with trailer homes. far from the music and merriment in the film. we find salvation mountain. an absurdly colorful collection in the middle of citrus groves and desert expanses. executive decisions are made. we are not staying the weekend as planned. too hot. too depressing. no hollywood ending here. "happiness only real when shared." i crave the comfort of friends. i want to escape this desert. katie is unreachable. still in italy. but i waver between san diego and los angeles anyway. stephanie, lindsey, and jacob aren't expecting me until tuesday. they are all out of town or moving. i drive until the raod dumps me onto the ten. looks like los angeles wins. turbines on the hillside. sun lowering itself in the sky. i exit onto the five. just in time to watch the sun set over santa monica. we've reached the ocean. i can relax. we pull into a neighborhood. we sleep amongst the malibu homes and hippie vans.