I arrived in Los Angeles March 11. It was a clear day and nice flight down the coast (since I was coming from Osaka). Scott View image picked me up and after lunch in Hollywood we saw John Travolta filming on Sunset Blvd.

That night we headed to the House of Blues to see Pancho Sanchez (afro-Cuban-jazz percussion-led big band) play an inspired show. Then drinks at Hollywood bars the Viper Room and Whiskey a Go-Go. Sort of clichéd, touristy activities but fun no less.

The next day we drove to Long Beach to see fellow Mali RPCVs Renee, Matt and Chris. Dinner, a little bar hopping and watching Renee's Mali videos. It was nice to reacquaint with PC friends. Mali seemed like a million miles away.

Scott kept me in a Pabst induced haze in Isla Vista the following week. It was power relaxation led by an expert in the field. Every day my most difficult decision was what to choose off the menu. I spent the week watching Curb Your Enthusiasm, Wings/Pistons games and Scott pushing unsuspecting republicans into oncoming traffic. I don't recall St. Patricks day.

Culture shock set in when I arrived in Morgan Hill and heard my family talk about half million dollar starter homes. Aunt Shirley & Uncle Mike had their kids and grand kids over to see if the cousin from Africa was still in one piece.

Everyone fed me so well that I put on 10 pounds. My diet included fish tacos in Isla Vista, surf and turf at Cousin David and Jane's and the world's best salmon at the Bistro in Morgan Hill. Cousin Sheila and her new chef/husband Charam looked at my photos while I drank all their wine, ate like an honored guest and spoke French to their dog. I met up with Dan and Glenn—Detroit car industry escapees now at Cisco—and they treated me to dinner in Palo Alto.

I had lunch with Victor in Berkeley. He briefed me on the latest Mali gossip which really is too good to keep to myself. Apparently Jason and Tara were vacationing in Equatorial Guinea during an attempted coup d'état. (Jason extended for a 3rd year in Cameroon). They were detained and interrogated because the police thought Jason was a Cameroonian mercenary. I have no stories to top this one. You'll see them on the talk show circuit soon.

In addition to fattening me up in style, Aunt Shirley & Uncle Mike lulled me into such a relaxed state that I missed my flight to Detroit. The only one I missed the entire trip. The California leg of this journey would have been a fine vacation on its own.

Yes, I am back. Thirty-four, single, unemployed, living with my mother. My God, I’ve become George Castanza. Better not stick to the facts when approaching women at the bar.

It's time to search for a low stress, satisfying, well paying job that affords me a generous amount of leisure time. I'll probably end up in DC or NYC since those are the default places for returned PCVs, and, more importantly they happen to not be Detroit. Motown's alright, it's just time to live somewhere else. Maybe Boston, Chicago, San Fran? I hear Dublin is nice. I'm pretty excited to be working with a clean slate, starting from zero.

The beginning.