Here I am again, sitting in typical LA morning traffic on the 10 Freeway heading east. On the radio the NPR correspondent is analyzing the results of the Iowa Caucus for the third time this hour and I have the car’s seat warmers set on high. Los Angeles rarely gets very cold, but it does “chilly” quite well.



I have the commute down from my home in Culver City to the office in Glendale and could probably drive the route with my eyes closed. In fact, I nearly do. My bad habit of staying up until all hours of the night means I am making it off of 4 hours of sleep. The lack of sleep coupled with the slow moving traffic makes my eyelids feel increasingly heavy. Can you still call it a “blink” when it lasts a full 3 seconds?

Without taking my nearly-shut eyes off the road, I dig in my purse for my savior – a piece of gum. The action of chewing along with the burst of mint keeps me going as I merge on to the 110 Freeway as it hits the downtown area. Halfway there.

Wishing I were anywhere but sitting in LA traffic en route to a dreary office job, I begin to reminisce about my typical morning commute when I lived in Fortaleza, Brasil for 3 months. Instead of sitting alone in a non-descript car on a crowded freeway, I boarded a passenger van with a few Reals in hand to pay the driver. From the beginning I was cautioned about the safety of these vans and for this reason I traveled light. In my bag were a few extra Reals, a towel, a sarong, my hairbrush and some sunscreen. I also carried 2 2-liter bottles of water, one in each hand. Instead of going to the office, I was on my way to meet a Capoeira Mestre and a few students to train acrobatics on the beach. This was to become my bi-weekly routine.

The first time I boarded the van I was definitely a bit anxious. My Portuguese was still at a beginner level, I was travelling through a less than safe part of town and I was looking for an unmarked section of the beach where I was supposed get off and look for the Capoeira teacher. The directions I’d received the night before only included “get off at the Pague Menos” which I did not realize was a pharmacy chain until I actually spotted it through the grimy van window.

Sitting in my car on the LA freeway is slow and at times agonizing, but it’s nearly always a solo adventure. Taking the public vans in Brazil put me right up close to all the city’s residents. The young woman in a cheap polyester uniform going to work at a local hotel, the old man going to meet his friends for an unhurried cup of coffee, the three teenagers who looked like they’d been up to no good the night before. I clutched my bag and my bottles of water close to me as I got on the van. First time on the van I was going to have to stand as all the seats were occupied. But that’s OK – I’m a veteran metro/bus/van surfer – I can do this. I shifted one large bottle of water to the other hand so I’d have a free hand to place against the van roof to steady myself. I kept my mouth shut (hoping no one would realize I was a foreigner) and kept my eyes glued to the road looking for that mysterious “Pague Menos”. (Note to self: even if you don’t “out” yourself as a foreigner by speaking broken Portuguese, staring nervously out the window for the entire trip will certainly do the trick).

Not even a full minute after the van started back up, I felt a tug on the plastic bags I had in my hand. I couldn’t believe it; day 1 and I was already being robbed! I looked down expecting to see the face of a hardened criminal starring back at me, but instead it was the wrinkled and tanned face of a grandfatherly figure. He was motioning me to give him my bags so I could better balance myself. He wasn’t trying to rob me, he was trying to help me. I let out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, smiled genuinely, nodded my head and let my bags go. Relax, Nailah. The world is not out to get you.

After a long day at the office, the bags I carry back to my car are filled with notebooks and laptops, not beach towels and bottles of cold water. As much as I would like to trade in my high heels for my flip flops, and my dress pants for a pair of shorts, I realize I have to put in at least a few more months of work to be able to fund my next excursion. To England? To Lebanon? To Brasil? Who knows? Hopefully all three. I have plenty of time to consider it as I merge slowly on to the 134 West heading home.