Standing in a long line after a nine hour flight listening to one million different languages.
I'm imagining it's difficult to find another room with such ambience.
Everyone is coughing and it's infernally warm and there's a constant cla-clacking sound emanating from the 22 homeland security booths as they stamp non-citizens into the country they so proudly defend.
A large cop tells you to move and places you in another line where a confused, old japanese man is being sent back and forth. He probably didn't fill out his two forms correctly.
A nice homeland security man asks you questions of your intentions and how many students there are in sweden. Then you move on and go through the process again.
Then you take a cab after gracing the Californian sunshine for five minutes. You still haven't slept since you left sweden. 30 minutes later, we exit the cab and look at our hotel. And the two homeless persons sleeping on the sidewalk next to the entrance. The cab driver says "I've never dropped anyone off here before. Then he points to the left and says "Don't walk that way, there's homeless people there."
The hotel looks like it was built 1920 and never renovated. The hotel room isn't far from a russian one. We're mildly suprised not to find a dead crackwhore under our bed.
The sound of police sirens and agitators protesting makes up a deep, moving ambience. And still no sleep.
We're about to agree that this turns out to be an adventurous trip. However, it seems I'm the only really appreciating Adventure to it's full extent. In retrospective, I recommend hotel Abigail to everyone.
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