Travels with Blaz

Posted on October 19, 2002 in Encounters Photos Travels - So Cal

I don’t know how to describe the feeling of hosting a friend whose country you’ve visited and who is now visiting yours. I didn’t meet Blaz when I was in Slovenia: I met him afterwards through Boris Horvat who I did meet in 1992. It’s odd to think that I was in Blaz and Boris’s country in a time of war and that Blaz is now visiting me here in mine in a time of war.

Oh yes, we talked a little about that. Blaz said that he’d never seen so many American flags as he had on this trip. He laughed when I pointed out that most of the banners were made in China and told me the story of a patriotic sticker that made the rounds in his home province which, it turned out, had been printed in Uganda.

But mostly we hung out and saw something of the America that most visitors don’t catch because it’s not on the standard tour routes. He liked the pretty Latina waitress at the Inka Grill. When I butchered the pronunciation of the appetizer, she smoothly corrected me. Where my utterance sounded ponderous, she granted it the ring and the cadence of poetry.

After lunch with Lynn, I drove him down to the ocean, specifically to Crystal Cove since he asked for a taste of a wilder beach than most. We attached ourselves to a group of college students following the chief naturalist from the Orange County Water District. Blaz later told Lynn that he thought I knew as much as the naturalist, but this is not true. I listened more than I interjected and spoke mostly in private to Blaz, showing him how to lure crabs and fish from their crannies by cracking a mussel and throwing it in a likely pond.

As we walked back to the truck, Blaz laughed about how dangerous America was. The chaparral burned, plus it harbored poison oak and rattlesnakes. “Europe is quite safe,” he laughed. We agreed that it would not be a good idea to bushwack through the scrub.

We reunited with Lynn at the condo and went down to the Irvine Spectrum Center. This was where I began to pay the cost for forgetting to take my tagamet after eating the yucca a la huancaino at lunch. I bought an alledged acid reducer at a stand (they didn’t carry anything that didn’t come in single packets), took it, and thought my digestion had calmed down enough to have gnocchi at L’Opera. I felt fine until about thirty minutes after the meal, when the sight of the merry-go-horses made me sick to my stomach again.

Blaz drove me home, stopping once to allow me to rally what powers of mind I could to curb the ejective desires of my stomach. “If you have to throw up,” he teased, “please go out of the car.” I laughed. “I’ve already chosen which bush.” A few minutes later I felt well enough to let him start. Lynn guided him home while I leaned in the open window with my eyes shut.

Someone told me once that if you feel nauseous, think about your feet. I tried this last night and, maybe, it worked. I burped carefully to release the gas buildup. Then I thought about my feet. I imagined them glowing. As the minutes passed, they started to hurt and burn. It never got bad enough for me to spontaneously combust, but more importantly, my stomach never gave in to the impulse to projectile vomit. One way or the other, I got home in time to take three tagamet. Half an hour later, I felt well enough to drink some apple juice.

Pictures of Blaz are here. There may be more shots from the adventure tomorrow. He’s not quite the shape that Mikey is, but I think he captivates the camera well enough.

To get the full flavor of the name, pronounce Blaz as “Blahzsh”.