Los Angeles

The land of Chandler, Babitz, Connelly, Didion, Reagan, fruits, and nuts …

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and makes your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that, every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husband’s necks. Anything can happen.” — Raymond Chandler, Red Wind

As we departed Santa Barbara and headed south the one thing we were hoping for was warmer weather. We would have licked every toilet seat in Yankee Stadium for a “hot dry Santa Anna”. Alas, we were disappointed. It was cold. All of California (including LA) was experiencing one of their coldest winters (for them). It wasn’t so much the chilly temps that got to us (daytime highs in the low 50s), but the unrelenting wind. You could tell the locals from the tourists as the former were dressed like Eskimos.

If there are any features that uniquely define Los Angeles (aside from the sunny weather) it’s that everything seems to be at least 30 minutes (or more) from everything else and the entire town consists of steep hills and narrow canyons traversed by two-lane roads. At least that was our experience during our drive from Malibu to Hollywood. In contrast, if there is anything that uniquely defines New York City (or at least Manhattan) it’s scaffolding. There was next to none in LA, but (and you notice this upon returning) it’s everywhere in New York and it’s a modern urban blight.

A Sampling of the Hundreds of RVs Camping Along the PCH

“The beaches at Malibu are neither white nor as wide as the beach at Carmel. The hills are scrubby and barren, infested with bikers and rattlesnakes, scarred with cuts and old burns and new R.V. parks. For these and other reasons Malibu tends to astonish and disappoint those who have never seen it, and yet its very name remains, in the imagination of people all over the world, a kind of shorthand for the easy life. I had not before 1971 and will probably not again live in a place with a Chevrolet named after it.” — Joan Didion, The White Album

The Beach where Jim Rockford Parked his Trailer

Grace and Frankie’s Beach House

View from Our Hotel

I really liked LA, although Babs didn’t like the area we stayed in (Hollywood). I went for a run along Franklin Ave and the nabes got nicer and nicer with each block. I think I saw 5 people on the sidewalk and half of those were gardeners/lawn care people. I really get the sense that LA actually still has some ethnic neighborhoods and restaurants, unlike NY which has been completely homogenized (at least Manhattan and Brooklyn). We had the best sushi ever at a place around the corner from our hotel, Sushi of Gari (and they have 5 restaurants in NYC so we plan on eating there again).

Side Street Off Franklin Ave in Hollywood

We hit the Griffith Observatory, which turned out to be really, really interesting. We figured we’d park (huge hassle), take a few photos with the famous sign in the background and leave. Instead, we ended up spending two hours inside and even our teenager was engaged.

Downtown Viewed from the Griffith Observatory

Money Shot (Hollywood Sign in the Background)

Despite what everyone else says, the traffic was nothing — and I mean NOTHING — compared to the mess we have in the NY Metro area. We stuck to the surface streets and seldom encountered any problems. The other drivers were unfailingly polite and would let us pull out of parking lots or change lanes without challenge, almost as a natural reflex. It must be all the sunshine. Zero problems on the freeway. Of course, we were only there two days.

We drove from Griffith Park to downtown, specifically to Angels Flight, an inclined railroad that goes to the top of Bunker Hill (maybe 3 blocks). I think only Harry Bosch fans and a few commuters take it. It’s the setting for one of the books (which I just read) and season 4 of the Amazon series (airing in April). Across the street was an open-air market called Grand Central Market. Tons of ethnic stands with food from everywhere. Unfortunately, we’d already eaten lunch. It turns out driving was dumb (and long) as we could have dumped the car at our hotel and taken the Red Line from Hollywood to Downtown. We typically like to take the subway in whatever city we’re in but forgot in LA.

Angels Flight

The View from Angels Flight

Cool Neon Advertising in the Grand Central Market

This place was a few blocks from our hotel on Hollywood Boulevard and it’s every bit as creepy and disturbing as the name suggests. And the employees looked pretty much as you’d expect. The museum is an homage to all means and methods of terminal dispatch. Serial killers (along with their artwork and correspondence), death cults, mass murderers (only the interesting ones), and the various methods of capital punishment employed throughout the ages (including photographs and very vivid descriptions) are all well represented. A loop of an 80’s era documentary on serial killers played in the room dedicated to those characters, another in the execution room, and in the area set aside for death-related tackle (coffins, mortician gear, etc.) an instructional video on the embalming of a corpse, complete with the details of how to select and insert artificial eyeballs. Our daughter loved it.

Museum of Death

History