We got up the next morning, rescued our car from the Radisson lot, and headed into downtown LA. It was still experiencing an unseasonable heat wave (though it was a little cold in the shade), and it was gorgeous outside.

Our destination was Grand Central Market, a giant building full of vendors and restaurants. I absolutely love places like that.

Our first stop, though, was the bathroom. I still wasn’t feeling 100%. (Shockingly, the bathrooms in the basement were very clean. Also, there’s a weird dollar store down there.)

There are a ton of produce shops there, and the prices actually made me angry. One dollar for a huge bag of avocados, or citrus, or tomatoes??? That’s unheard of. California is spoiled.

We wandered through the entire building to see what was there, and decided our first stop should be for some super-fancy coffee at G&B coffee. (They were delicious.) Also, the market was decorated for Christmas, complete with festive yarn-bombings. The knitter in me was proud.

From the back of the building, we could see the Angel’s Flight. It’s unfortunately not currently in operation, but I have faith that it will be back.

The BBQ place out back didn’t have anything vegetarian, sadly. We decided on sandwiches from DTLA Cheese instead. Mine was a mushroom grilled cheese, and it was possibly the most decadent grilled cheese I’ve ever had. We took them out front and found spots at a table with an umbrella, right next to a guy who was chatting up two girls he’d just met. We learned from their conversation that they were definitely employed in the entertainment business (models, photographers, and such), so I assume they also worked as servers.

After we were done, we crossed the street to see the Bradbury building. It’s famous for being in a bunch of films (such as D.O.A. and Blade Runner) because it’s so distinctive. We were excited to find the door unlocked, so we went in to take a look.

There was an architectural tour group in the lobby, so I assume that’s why it was open. They didn’t seem to mind us being there.

Bally made a friend in the lobby, too.

Our next stop was a museum over in Chinatown, and rather than drive the mile over there, we decided to flaunt all Los Angeles traditions once again and walk. It was really nice out!

City Hall was decorated for Christmas. I like the pink tree.

On the freeway overpass, we found this:

On the way there, we made note of the pueblo, which is right next to Chinatown. I’d been there once before to take photos, but there hadn’t been much going on. Today it appeared to be bustling, so we decided to stop and see it afterwards.

Our destination was the Velveteria, a museum dedicated to the art of velvet painting. It’s located in an easy-to-miss storefront on New High Street.

We went in and were greeted by one of the owners. She didn’t seem to mind that we were all sweaty from the walk in the unseasonable heat. When we entered I was a little dismayed at the $10 entrance fee to look around one small room of paintings (all of which I could see from where I was standing). I hadn’t realized that the curtain over the doorway led into the rest of the museum, which was substantial.

The owner was fantastic, and full of stories. She clearly knew everything there was to know about the history of velvet painting, and told us about how they collected them. For instance, I had no idea people were still working in the medium, so they’re still adding to the collection.

The museum has a no-photography policy, but she said she was fine with us taking a few. They’re struggling to pay the rent, and needed help spreading the word. We were only happy to do so, because the place was fantastic.

It’s divided up thematically into areas and by artist. There’s a big collection of tiki-era work, and the obligatory crying Elvises. They have tons of celebrity paintings, a black-light room, and a room full of nudes. She told us to check out the bathroom, which has paintings of people on the toilet, including Anthony Bourdain. Hilarious.

We loved the place, and loved the stories she told even more. So if you’re in LA, please don’t miss this place. It’s amazing.

Then we were off to the pueblo, a couple blocks away in the direction of downtown. We checked out the mission church first.

(For a nonreligious person, I have a weird obsession with Spanish missions. I’ve been to many of them.)

Then we crossed the street to the plaza where there was a dance group performing, and a ton of carts selling arts and crafts. You know what I’m also obsessed with? Mexican crafts. Especially anything having to do with Dia de los Muertos. I was in heaven.

The oldest house in Los Angeles is there, and you can walk through it to see how they lived. I have to say that it’s actually quite spacious.

We walked through a bunch of shops, with me trying to restrain myself from buying everything. I did manage to find a purse shop with gorgeous hand-tooled leather purses from Mexico, so I decided I needed one even though it was $350. (It was a good decision – I love it.)

Matt found a t-shirt at a really awesome art shop, and we picked up a few other souvenirs. He also noted that a menu posted outside one of the many restaurants had an entire vegetarian/fake-meat section, so he suggested we go there for lunch.

Our meter was going to expire over in downtown, so we decided to go get the car, and drive back to the restaurant. The walk back was quite warm, and we drank a bunch of water along the way (provided by the nice lady at the Velveteria). When we got back to Grand Central Market, we decided to stop at the Press Brothers juice bar. I got one called Rx Tonic that had celery, turmeric, garlic, ginger, lemon, and yam. All I know is that shortly after consuming it, I felt way better than I had for the last few days.

We drove over, parked by the Pueblo, and walked to Las Anitas. The staff was super-friendly, and the food was great. I had a hard time choosing what to order, because they had so many vegetarian options. (That never happens.) I ended up getting a combination plate with a fake-meat taco that was amazing. Matt had carne asada fries and a Tecate, so you know he was having a good day

After our late lunch, Matt wanted to drive up into the Hollywood hills to find the Double Indemnity house. We’d recently watched a documentary about films made in LA, and the narrator mentioned the location. We looked it up on Google maps and headed that direction.

There were pretty great views of the sign on the way there, and most of the traffic on the street was people pulling over to take pictures of it.

I drove while Matt navigated. The further into the hills we got, the narrower the streets became, all blind corners and people parked haphazardly wherever their (very expensive) cars would fit. The houses were incredible, but it was seriously nervewracking driving up there.

But we found it!

Achievement unlocked: visiting Barbara Stanwyck's house from Double Indemnity. pic.twitter.com/FXLxgAwo4B

— Matt Konrad (@mattjkonrad) November 29, 2014

Then we decided to head up to Griffith Observatory, because Matt had never been up there (this continually shocked me, since it’s one of my favorite places in LA). The traffic near the park entrances had at that point become terrible, so we sat at stoplights a lot. Then we turned into the park, and headed up toward the Greek Theater. Suddenly we were sitting in completely stopped traffic, occasionally crawling up the hill. As we got closer to the theater, it became clear that the road to the observatory was closed at the bottom of the (insanely steep) hill, and they were directing people to park there and walk. There was no way we were doing that, especially since I was wearing a dress and had vertigo.

We made a u-turn with the rest of the traffic and exited the park. There’s another main entrance, so we decided to try that route instead. That one seemed to be open, so we headed up the mountain. It was nearing sunset, so the road was really backed up near the top as expected, but it wasn’t too terrible. We finally made it up to the overflow parking and found a spot just as the sun was setting.

I haven’t been up there in the evening before. It’s great.

The air was actually fairly clear, and you could see most of DTLA:

We went into the observatory (which was completely packed) and looked around. I discovered that there was an entire lower level with an exhibit about all the planets that I’d never even seen before. Bally made another pal there, too.

Up in one of the exhibits, Matt saw a sign about how anyone could visit the telescopes. We wanted to see it, so we looked around to try to figure out how to get there. We finally discovered that you have to go out the front of the building and climb the narrow steps up to the top of the building. There was a great view there, too:

I like that you can see all the way to the Pacific. There’s the airport and Santa Monica in the distance:

Once it’s fully dark, you get better insight into just how massive LA is, and why you spend so much damn time driving everywhere.

We walked back to the car and drove down the mountain, this time with no traffic. Since we had dinner reservations back in downtown, we headed that direction.

Since we had some time to kill, we decided to go to The Varnish. We’d attempted to go there on our previous visit, but it was closed because it was Easter. (We ended up at the place next door instead.) It’s in a back room at Cole’s, the famous restaurant that claims to have invented the French Dip sandwich.

We got there a few minutes before the opening, so we hung out in the lobby. Somehow, even though we were sitting there waiting, a couple people managed to get to the door ahead of us. It’s a very small room, and was full within 20 minutes. I’m glad we were there right away!

They had a super-nice, small cocktail menu, and I was glad that they were able to make fancy non-alcoholic drinks, too. We sat there for a couple rounds, and then got our check because it was time to head to dinner.

We drove over to a weird abandoned-looking area of downtown and parked around the corner from Alma. It didn’t look like there could possibly be what’s considered one of the best restaurants in the country in that spot, but it was indeed there. It’s just easy to miss.

We had 8:30 reservations, and were promptly seated. The place was small, modern, and very spare. They offer one ten-course tasting menu every night (with a vegetarian option, of course), and a wine-pairing option. Matt decided to try the wine pairing, even though he’s not normally a wine drinker.

It’s hard to describe how great our meal was. Here’s some of what we had, based on the notes Matt was surreptitiously keeping as we ate:

• Amuse bouche collection: oyster with radish ice, chickpea ‘brick’ with radish aoli, seaweed beignets, mini bagels with creme fraiche
• Dungeness crab with buckwheat and lemon foam
• Shaved salad with celery, pomegranate, and blue cheese
• Shiitakes with mustard greens
• Beef tartare with oyster mushrooms, dill and sunchoke
• Duck liver with smoked maple walnuts, apple, carrots (Matt said this tasted like a candy bar)
• Roasted, broken beets and green apple with hazelnuts (both of these dishes were roasted, and frozen with liquid nitrogen, then smashed into pieces before serving)

• Sunchoke soup with date jam and 64-1/2-degree egg
• Homemade rye bread and cultured butter
• Charred abalone with turnip and dandelion salsa verde
• Romanesco with the same
• Guinea hen with bouden blanc, chanterelles, carrots and hazelnuts
• Fingerling potatoes with fried potato skin, chive puree and creme fraiche (this was basically a super-fancy version of the potato skins you’d get at a chain restaurant

• Carrot sorbet with chamomile meringue
• Black sesame cake with black meringue and beet ice cream (This was plated to look like something had been murdered. The cake was dark grey. So great.)

So when you’re in LA, this is a place you need to go. They don’t even mind if you take blurry pictures of the food.

Then it was late, so we headed back to the hotel and called it a night.

In the morning, we got up and drove up the PCH to Malibu. I remember really liking the beach there, and wanted to see it again.

I couldn’t remember where my sister and I had visited in the past, so we drove up into town, made our usual vacation-obligatory stop at Walgreens to get about 10 things, and then decided to stop in and see what Malibu Lagoon was about. We figured maybe we could walk to the beach from there.

Parking there was expensive, though, so we just pulled in and went to take a look at the lagoon. There were lots of birds hanging out, and a view of the ocean in the distance.

Rather than go to the beach there, we decided to drive back down to one of the many more accessible beaches we’d passed along the way. (The drive up and down the PCH in that area is really incredibly entertaining, seeing all the expensive beach houses hanging on the very edge of California, and all the surfing paraphernalia.)

We decided on Topanga State Beach, because it had cheaper parking, and looked, well, like this:

It was too cold to swim, but it was plenty warm to hang out in the sand, eat some Takis from Walgreens, and watch the surfers and shorebirds.

The waves were pretty small, but it was fun watching the system the surfers used to line up and decide who got what wave. There was a stand-up paddleboarder surfing, too, which I’ve never seen before. Usually they’re just on flat water.

After sitting and staring at the ocean for a good long time (possibly one of the most restorative activities possible), we went and tested the water temperature. It was freezing. (I’m not sure I could handle California water temps even in the summer, though. I turn into an icicle very easily.)

After watching our feet off and putting our shoes back on, we got back on the road and headed back into LA. Our lunch destination was Golden Road Brewing.

We found it between the Los Angeles River and some train tracks just off the Ventura Freeway, and had to park a ways down the street. Despite the place being gigantic – a huge hangarlike taproom, a covered and uncovered patio, and a fenced-in side yard, the place was absolutely packed. That seemed to have a lot to do with the USC-Notre Dame game on TV, and the fact that it was lunchtime.

Matt got a beer at the bar, and we stood around watching for someone to leave so we could sit down. After half an hour or so, we found a couple leaving from the end of a long table shared with a very exuberant group of college friends who had clearly been there for a while.

Even though they were packed, the service was quite fast. I was really excited about the menu, because they had multiple vegan options, including a really delicious tofu banh mi.

After lunch, we headed back in the direction of downtown. But first we pulled off near Griffith Park again, and went into Hollywood to find the nearest natural foods store. As with every visit to LA, I had to stop and pick up a bunch of Sun Cakes. They’re the best!!

From there, we headed into downtown. The 101 was backed up even more than usual, due to Ferguson-related protests. We finally made our way towards LA Live and found a parking ramp very nearby that wasn’t charging a ton of money for parking. There were a ton of people wandering around there already, even though it was a few hours before gametime.

We’d never been to LA Live before (it’s the entertainment complex surrounding Staples Center), and it was much bigger than expected. Also, there was an ice rink set up in the middle with Christmas music playing and people skating. Awesome.

We’d planned on going to Trader Vic’s, because even though we knew it’d be chain-y and far from the original, we still wanted to see it. We didn’t see its name on any of the signs, though, so we went to find a map. Where it should’ve been listed alphabetically with the restaurants, there was a blank spot. Apparently it had closed sometime recently.

We walked around a bit and looked into a couple of places that looked promising, but they had a wait for tables. There was an awesome-looking bar in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlson, but it wasn’t open yet. We decided to try Lucky Strike, the bowling alley, because it advertised that it had a big bar. Thankfully, that was one of the places that wasn’t packed yet at 5pm, and we were able to get a couch in the bar.

We hung out there for a long time, watching sports and the place fill up. I couldn’t believe how packed everything was, because LA Live seems to consist of only giant chains, not local bars or restaurants.

Then it was time to head to hockey! The LA Kings were hosting the Chicago Blackhawks, and we were really excited to see it.

There was a big line-up outside the arena, and the metal detector checks were running painfully slowly. It made me grateful for Xcel Center‘s efficiency. Finally, we got in and found our way to the third level. We were at one of the ends in the fourth row of the upper level, which were surprisingly good seats.

The pregame show had LASERS. Get on that, every other hockey arena.

The people in the seats next to us arrived, and we learned that they were a father and daughter from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. We ended up talking to them for nearly the entire game, because they were even nerdier about hockey than we are. We also discussed various cities in Canada (he refused to accept that we actually wanted to visit Montreal), travel, the awesome hotel they were staying at nearby (the Figueroa – we’d noted the awesome Moroccan-style lobby when we passed it earlier), and the fact that he knew half the staff of the Kings due to previous hockey-related jobs. They were really entertaining.

I’d never seen the Blackhawks play live, despite the fact that the Minnesota Wild is in the same conference with them, and we visit Chicago a lot. (I’m more of a college hockey loyalist with my Gophers, anyway.) The Kings are a really good team, too, but the Blackhawks completely destroyed them. It was amazing to see that in person!

The Kings were losing solidly with a few minutes left in the third, so we decided to head out a couple minutes early. (With most of the crowd, it turned out.) On the way to the car, Matt was regretting not stopping to use the bathroom, so we decided to go in and see if we could use the one at the Figueroa. While we were waiting there, our Canadian friends walked in. We said bye to them again, and headed to the car.

Our next stop was for a late dinner at Chego. We’d really wanted to visit one of Roy Choi’s restaurants in LA (since his Korean taco truck was so awesome), and when we mentioned that to the lady at the Velveteria, she told us he had an awesome place really nearby in Chinatown. We found it in the back of a strip mall, the only place open that time of night.

Here’s Matt’s dinner. My tofu bowl was incredible, too. Plus it was way too much for one meal, so we ate half of it and then wrapped it all up to take back to the hotel with us.

We were going to visit Cana once again after dinner, but at that point it was after 11, parking downtown was a mess, and I was tired. So we headed back to the hotel instead.

In the morning, we got up, finished packing, and checked out of the hotel. Three nights was our longest stay in one place! It didn’t really feel that long at all.

We stocked up on coffee in the lobby and got on the road to San Juan Capistrano, where we had a date with the Amtrak station. One thing we’d learned and yet refused to accept is the Google Maps (or Google navigation) just isn’t that good in California. We got lost a lot, and Capistrano was no exception. We ended up driving all over the damn place, which was really stressful since we had a train to catch.

We finally found our way there, and parked in the ramp. They had long-term spots there that weren’t too expensive, so we were happy about that. We grabbed our carry-on bags, which just had a change of clothes and other necessities, and locked the rest of our luggage in the trunk.

I had never ridden the Amtrak before, at least not since I was a kid in Chicago going to visit my grandma in Milwaukee. Matt had taken the City of New Orleans years ago, but neither of us was entirely sure how it worked. We found a conductor on the platform, and he told us where to wait to board. We had standard tickets, not first class. You know, we’re not fancy.

When we heard the train coming around the bend, I was almost jumping up and down with excitement. I’ve wanted to ride the Pacific Surfliner since the moment I learned about it.

We boarded the train and found an open seat. The windows were configured in such a way that the view wasn’t perfect, but it was still pretty amazing. We headed off, and the conductor came through and punched our tickets. After a while, we decided to go check out the cafe car.

The view there was much better, so we stayed there until the end of the line. The staff working there was hilarious, too… they were mostly interested in smack-talking each other about their fantasy football teams.

We’d decided to take the train from San Juan Capistrano rather than Union Station in LA because north of Capistrano, it pretty much just follows the interstate, which is well inland. Starting where we did, we got just the section where you’re riding along the coast. I’d heard the views were spectacular, and that was absolutely true. We didn’t leave the ocean side until about La Jolla, heading into Old Town San Diego.

We headed back to our seats shortly before arriving at the end of the line, Santa Fe Depot in San Diego. Even pulling into that historic building was fantastic. We walked around to the other side, and found our friend April waiting there to pick us up. She had big plans for us!

April’s friend Dave had come along, because they’d been talking for a while about how he wanted to rent a boat and go sailing again, because it had been a while. April knew that Matt and I would never turn down a chance to go on a boat, so we were thrilled with that arrangement.

We drove out to a boat rental shop on Mission Bay and they made arrangements. It was a little chillier than I’d expected, so I bought a cute blanket they were selling in the shop. (I probably would’ve bought it anyway. Who’s a sucker for nautical stuff? ME.) Then we headed out to the dock, where we saw this amazing thing waiting nearby. I want to own it. (That’s a grill in the center, in case it wasn’t obvious. It has a gigantic sunshade that goes over the top, too.

While it had been overcast when we left LA, because bad weather was approaching, there was nothing but blue sky in San Diego. It was gorgeous.

There was a bit of difficulty sailing out of the harbor, but Dave got back into captainship quickly. Our instructions were to sail under the bridge into Mission Bay, since the opposite direction would take us right out into the ocean. Nobody needs that in a 20′ sailboat.

The center span of the Mission Bay bridge is just barely tall enough for the sails to pass under. It was nervewracking.

Then there was just sailing, and it was perfect. They’d brought banh mi sandwiches for everyone, so we had lunch on the boat. April is the best.

Bally had a good time, too, I think.

We couldn’t stay out long because the place closed before sunset, but it was really nice to get out on a boat again. Also, these dudes were hanging out in the harbor when we got back.

Also, there’s this seagull riding a jetski. I laughed about this forever.

After our sail, we decided to go get drinks before dinner. They took us to an awesome little dive bar called the Aero Club, which, to Matt’s great delight, had an absolutely massive whiskey selection. Like the shelves went all the way to the ceiling, and we spent a ton of time speculating as to how they’d get up there if you were to order from a bottle on top. (Later we found out the answer: they have a stepladder.)

We hung out there talking for a while, and another of April’s friends joined us. Then we decided it was dinnertime, so we walked down the block to Starlite. (You’ll just have to go look at the photos on the website to see how amazing it is.) We had an excellent meal there, and since we spent so much time discussing beer, decided to organize a beer exchange program with them. San Diego is pretty spoiled when it comes to great breweries.

Then it was time to go check into the hotel, so April and Dave dropped us off at the Urban Boutique Hotel in Little Italy. We said goodbye, and went inside. The place was super-cute and in a great location for walking anywhere downtown. Unfortunately, the room had some issues. Like no toilet paper, and the cable was wired wrong so the TV didn’t work. I didn’t discover til the next morning that the shower didn’t work, either. NOT OK.

We dropped our stuff off and headed back out to get a post-dinner drink before bed. It was still really nice outside, and walking through Little Italy was great. (I hadn’t seen much of that part of town before.) We walked down to Richard Blais’ restaurant, Juniper and Ivy, and got seats at the bar.

The place was really nice, and even though it was late, the restaurant was still full. (That’s one of the things I love about the coasts… it’s not weird to go get dinner at 10pm.) We hung out there for a bit, and then decided to walk down and see the Embarcadero before heading back to the hotel.

That end of downtown is immediately under the flight path for planes landing at the airport, so it was pretty awesome to see jets coming in that low over us. We walked down the hill and saw a couple huge yachts with parties in progress, and a very eager pedicab driver waiting to give drunk people rides home. We looked at the museum ships along the waterfront, and then walked back to the hotel and called it a night.

Being unable to take a shower in the morning was kind of distressing, but since it was our last day I didn’t care that much. We washed up in the sink as much as possible, and went to have breakfast. We’d seen a really cute place a few blocks away while walking around the previous night, so we headed that direction.

Harbor Breakfast was adorable. They had really nice versions of the classics, and I was very excited that they had bottles of Stumptown Roasters cold press.

The sun was out during breakfast, but it quickly became overcast, just like it had in LA. There was a storm moving in that evening, so we knew our timing was pretty excellent. (It was the storm that would result in a week of flooding over a lot of the coast.)

We walked through Little Italy again, heading toward a shop we’d also scoped out the night before. We wanted to pick up sandwiches and snacks for the flight.

Did I mention that Little Italy is great? We walked past a group gathered around a podium of speakers, which was apparently a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new pedestrian-only street in the neighborhood. We approved, because it’s a really cute little area with lots of great shops, restaurants, and housing.

(Plus this sign.)

Seeing Christmas decorations in warm-weather places is always confusing to us. We’re going to have to get used to that if we’re moving to the Caribbean, though.

We went into the excellent Mona Lisa Italian Foods to stock up. It was a very Italian store, and I wanted to take everything home with me. (Broders in Minneapolis is pretty good, but not that good.) We bought sandwiches and a couple more bottles of beer to take home with us, and Matt got the duty of carrying the really heavy bag back to the hotel and up to our room. We distributed the items between our carry-ons, at which point I wished I had brought a backpack like Matt, instead of the shoulder bag containing bombers, food, bottles of water and espress, my toiletries, dirty clothes, and the blanket I’d bought the day before.

We checked out of the hotel and headed in the direction of the Santa Fe Depot.

I love this building a lot.

Since we were early for the train, we decided to walk back down to the harbor to have a look in the daytime. Stormy weather was definitely rolling in.

We walked all the way down to the end of the cruise ship pier. It’s always interesting to see buildings like that empty. (There had been a ship there the previous evening, but it had sailed off already.)

I was happy to put my way-too-heavy bag down for a bit. Matt and Bally chilled on the pier while I took pictures.

Then it was time to go back to get our train. When we got back to the depot, our train was sitting there waiting. And it was a double-decker one this time!! I was so excited. We crossed the tracks and headed for it, but were stopped by a crabby conductor who pointed at the line of people standing over by the depot. Apparently that was the boarding process in San Diego. (There were maybe 6 people waiting at San Juan Capistrano, so we didn’t know.) We went to stand in line, and they announced boarding about 5 minutes later.

As we all rushed to the train, Matt pointed out the cafe car also had seating on the upper level. We boarded that one, and found the upstairs nearly empty.

This train was way newer than the one we’d ridden south on. We found seats with the best possible window configuration for a good ocean view, and we were off shortly thereafter. During the boring part of the ride, we went down to the cafe car and got a glass of beer, so that I could enjoy as many beverages as possible.

Though we had a much better view, the weather was nowhere near as nice. We did notice a ton of campsites along the way, and I made a note to do some research on that. (As much as we love San Francisco and LA, I think our next visit should just be to San Diego and environs. It’s such a great walking city, and the beach options are excellent.)

We arrived back in San Juan Capistrano about 1:30, and took our bags up to the car. We still had some time before we needed to head back to LA, so we went over to the mission. It’s one of my favorite places in California, and I was dying for Matt to see it.

This is the view from the parking ramp roof. I love that cute little town.

The sky could’ve done a better job of cooperating, but at least it wasn’t raining.

I probably have 20 different versions of this photo I’ve taken at various times. I’ll keep taking it, too:

Unfortunately we had to rush, but at least Matt got to see it. I resisted shopping at the newly renovated gift shop, and we went back to the car. We hopped back on the interstate and headed north to Costa Mesa, where we had two important stops to make before our flight. The first was Hi-Time Wine, where Matt had his eye on some rum we couldn’t get at home. We bought that and a couple more of those bubble-wrap bottle protectors, since we’d already used the ones I’d brought with me (for beer).

So now we had carry-on bags and a couple more bottles to add to our already-stuffed suitcases. Because we’re super-classy, we dragged our bags out into the parking lot at Hi Time and started re-packing. Conveniently, I had my blanket from San Diego to wrap things in. When both bags weighed in over 50 pounds, we had to resort things again. After some rearranging, we had exactly 100 pounds of luggage in two 50-pound bags (mine was something like 50.9, but I dared Delta to challenge me), and a couple of packed-full carry-on bags. Mine had tiki mugs in it, because we figured they were safer that way.

Our second Costa Mesa stop was a return visit to Taco Asylum, because I had regular fantasies about their paneer tacos. We had a quick lunch there, then got back on the road to head to LAX.

One of the fun parts of planning any return trip to LAX is that there could be no traffic (unlikely) or there could be the worst LA traffic in the world, with cars sitting 14-lanes wide at a dead stop. That option always seems more likely, but we got lucky this time. We made it to the car rental place with no hassle, and hopped on the shuttle bus to the terminal. We were extremely pleased with Delta’s recent upgrades to their formerly-crappy terminal (it looks a lot more like MSP now), though we’ll miss Malibu Al’s fake beach bar, where we’ve spend several hours of delays in the past.

We arrived back in MSP around midnight to brutally cold temperatures, and decided to take a taxi to Matt’s car rather than having to walk the two blocks in the cold. It was an excellent decision.

Matt had another regional conference to attend in LA, so we made it a long weekend!

(The entire photoset is here on Flickr.)

Read from the beginning below, or jump to each day:

• 4/22: Friday
• 4/23: Saturday
• 4/24: Sunday
• 4/25: Monday

Lately, Matt and I seem incapable of taking the same airplane on vacation. On the way to LA, he flew out in the early afternoon on Frontier, because he had a voucher for a cancelled flight to use up. I was flying Delta after work.

Since I have 24-hour parking in downtown Minneapolis, I decided to leave my car in the ramp and take the train, which is only a couple of blocks away. I would be arriving before Matt on the return leg, so that seemed to work out well. The airport was pretty much dead when I arrived, and the security people were barely paying attention to anything. I didn’t get scanned or patted-down, for the first time in a long while.

I got a sandwich at the new Surdyk’s at the airport, then climbed aboard my on-time, not-overbooked (!!!) flight.

We landed in LA around 7:30, and I found Matt near the rental car shuttle. We went to get the car and headed to our hotel, the Marriott at Marina Del Rey. It’s conveniently located near the airport and within walking distance of Venice. The hotel was super-fancy, way nicer than we’d normally choose, but his coworkers had picked it. There seemed to be some kind of ultralounge in the lobby, and an Indian wedding going on. The formal saris were kind of amazing.

We dropped off our bags and headed off on foot to Venice, where we had dinner reservations at 9:30. The place was about a mile away. As we headed down Ocean Drive, we suddenly heard a bunch of loud quacking, and turned to see these guys just standing in someone’s yard macking on a lady duck. They didn’t care that we were only a few feet away watching them.

We were very much underdressed for the Tasting Kitchen (their website says ‘casual’… not even close). We had a cheese plate, fresh bread, fries, and I had broccolini and lentils for dinner. We had a couple of cocktails, too, and their sidecar was the best I’ve ever had. Seriously, I’ve had some fantasies about it since. Also, our server was fantastic. We liked her a ton.

We walked back to the hotel after dinner, and this time it was past the ducks’ bedtime. Not to mention ours, since we’d sat down for dinner at 11:30 Minneapolis time!

This was the view from our room on Marina Del Rey. It wasn’t overcast, just really sunny. So much nicer than at home.

We had breakfast with Matt’s coworkers, then drove over to the site of the conference at Pepperdine University (not the main campus, but the one near Howard Hughes Center). I dropped Matt off, then headed towards Griffith Park. On the way there, I saw a car burst into flames on the 405. Oh, California.

I ended up driving around Hollywood for a while looking for a place to get more caffeine and use the bathroom. This resulted in me using one of the scarier gas station bathrooms I’ve ever been in. Refreshed, I headed into Griffith Park.

I was hoping to do the same hike my sister and I had taken before, which climbs a steep hill and ends up overlooking the observatory and the rest of the valley. When I got there, though, I realized that was a lot harder than it sounded: there wasn’t one trail, there were many, many trails. And many, many people hiking them, which meant no parking spots. I decided to keep driving up the hill, to see if anything looked familiar. It didn’t, but I did end up at the observatory itself. Which was awesome.

There were a ton of people up there, since it was very nice outside. I climbed up to the top of the observatory to see the overlook first.

I then went inside the observatory and took in some science. There are a lot of great displays there, but it was way too crowded to spend much time in there. My favorite part was getting to see the actual telescope.

From Griffith Park, I decided to head into downtown LA for the Museum of Neon Art. It was around lunchtime at that point, so I was kind of half-heartedly on the lookout for food as well. As I turned down a street, I saw a bunch of food carts a few blocks away, so I headed that direction. It ended up being the Fashion District, and it was mobbed.

The Fashion District seems to contain several square blocks of stall after stall selling clothes, accessories, and pretty much everything else you could ever want. It reminded me a lot of every Caribbean port town. There were a million hot dog trucks, too: no other food, just hot dogs. I’d have stopped to do some shopping, but there was nowhere to park, and it took me a good half-hour to just circle a few blocks in that neighborhood. I decided to head to the Museum of Neon Art instead.

The museum was small, but awesome. I talked to the lady at the front counter for a while, then went in to see the exhibits. They had a good combination of classic signs and new pieces. She said they were building a new museum in Santa Monica that would be open next year; I really want to go back and see that, because the drawings of it looked amazing.

It was getting close to time to go pick Matt up, so I drove over to Kassava restaurant to pick up some Jamaican patties to go. They were way faster than I expected, so I ended up with time to kill. I drove through Beverly Hills, then got on Sunset Boulevard headed back toward LAX. At that point I was glad I had spare time, because there was an insane accident that had me sitting in the same spot in traffic for over half an hour. I was glad when Matt texted that they were running late, too.

I got back to Howard Hughes Center before they were done, so I parked and got a coffee at Starbucks. This allowed me to sit outside and soak up the California sun, which was glorious. Matt joined me after a bit, and we went to check into the hotel.

The Millennium Biltmore is hella fancy, and its lobby is famous for being in several movies, including Ghostbusters. The rooms aren’t anything super-extravagant, but it was very nice, and very conveniently located in downtown LA. Also, you can avoid the $40/night valet parking fee by parking in the garage across the street, which is only $15/night.

After dropping our stuff off, we headed to one of the greatest bars in the world: Tiki-Ti. Though it was only 5:30pm, it was already a standing-room-only crowd inside. (That was probably to do with their 50th anniversary celebration, which was just kicking off then.) The doorman was Ken, the same guy we sat and talked to the last time we were there. We only had to stand for a bit, and then a table opened and some people moved, so we got seats at the bar. The bartender let me fondle the 50th anniversary tiki mug, too. (We came home and ordered one a few weeks later.)

We needed some food, so we headed over to El Carmen (mostly because we knew it was full of luchador memorabilia and good drinks). The host told us there wouldn’t be any open tables for a few hours, but we were welcome to hang out by the bar. We grabbed a less than optimal spot and started to look at the menu. Soon afterward, the host came back and told us they had a cancellation, and we could have a table. Score! Our food was excellent, as were the cocktails. Matt had a mezcal that tasted like scotch. We’d have stayed longer, but that would have meant taking a cab back to the hotel, so we headed back to the Millennium and parked the car for the night.

From the hotel, we walked the mile or so to Caña Rum Bar. We’d been reading about it forever on the internet, and needed to go. You enter it through a parking garage, and it’s very small. The tables were full, so we went out to the enclosed patio (it was kind of like a greenhouse), which we had to ourselves for a while. The cocktail menu there was amazing. We had a couple drinks, then decided to go inside the bar because it was getting chilly outside. There, we were served by Allan Katz, the GM and rum-nerd celebrity (I think Matt was a little star-struck). He poured us a personal tasting flight that was fantastic.

We would have stayed all night, but we’d probably never have found our way back to the hotel.

Sunday morning, OpenTable was kind enough to get us reservations for brunch at Susan Feniger’s STREET. We kind of kept forgetting that it was Easter.

STREET was amazing. I had the Kaya toast, which is covered in coconut jam and served with an egg and soy sauce. I’ve been having fantasies about it ever since. We both had excellent brunch cocktails, too. I couldn’t believe the place wasn’t more crowded on Easter.

From there, we headed to Venice Beach. We’d driven through the area and saw enough to know it was awesome, but hadn’t been to the actual boardwalk. It was time to fix that, and it was gorgeous outside.

We wandered down the boardwalk, taking everything in. There was a lot to look at. Then we handed over the best $5 we ever spent, and went in to see the freakshow. It was fantastic.

I bought two pairs of sunglasses from a vendor on the boardwalk, and then we decided to stop at the beer garden and hang out in the sun for a while. Of course we both managed to get sunburnt within less than an hour.

Somehow I always manage to forget how massive the beaches in California area. Seriously, they’re huge.

On the way back to the car, we stopped to buy an awesome calavera from a vendor on the boardwalk, and then for food at a couple of walk-up windows. Matt got samosas, and I got a falafel sandwich from a man watching Armenian television.

It was then time to head southward. Our goal was Costa Mesa, home to the well-known (to booze nerds) Hi Time Liquors. They were only open til 4 on Easter, so we had to time our departure well! On the way, we saw the Goodyear Blimp hanging out at its home.

We got to Hi Time with only 15 minutes to spare. That was plenty, though, because we managed to find not only some of the rums we’d sampled the night before at Cana, but our original goal: Lemon Hart 151. It’s just been recently imported into the US, and it’s extremely hard to find.

Our dinner reservations weren’t til 6:30, so we killed time wandering around Newport Beach. We saw the little town, did some shopping, and wandered out onto the pier. We then stopped into the Newport Beach Brewing Company for a beer, and managed to see the Anaheim Ducks get knocked out of the playoffs. Hooray!

It was then time to head up the PCH to Huntington Beach, where we had reservations at Don the Beachcomber. It’s hard to express how excited we were about that, but holy crap. It was great.

Our table was a little slow to be cleared (actually, we were pretty early), so the server asked if we wanted to sit in the lounge instead. That was an excellent stroke of luck, because the lounge was fantastic, and we probably would’ve missed it if we had sat in the dining room. We got a round table, ordered tiki drinks, and settled in to watch the Hawaiian band. I loved every minute of it, to the point that I didn’t even mind their complete lack of vegetarian food (I ordered a salad without meat).

We sadly had to leave Don the Beachcomber and head back to LA. We wanted to stay all night, but then we’d be sleeping in the car in Huntington Beach. On the way back to Hollywood, we ended up in a traffic jam on the 101. At 9:30 on a Sunday. What the hell, LA? (Our theory: everyone in LA is issued at least 2 cars, and is obligated to drive them as many hours as possible. There’s no other explanation for why the traffic is so insane there 24 hours a day.)

We finally reached our destination, the Dresden Room. Matt really wanted to go there, as he’s seen Swingers something like four million times.

The Dresden Room was awesome. They had the typical round tables and oldtimey bar, and a bartender who looked like he’d been working there since the 50s. He made a great Manhattan. There were only a few other people there, but I did manage to eavesdrop on a very dramatic conversation between some Hollywood-types. The lady was going on and on about how hard it was that day with all the extras on the set.

After the Dresden Room, it was again time to go drop our car off by the hotel for the evening. We parked and headed in the direction of Cole’s, which has an awesome speakeasy-style cocktail bar called Varnish in the back. It was midnight as we arrived, so we were appalled to find the managers there closing the place up. (We’d yet again completely forgotten it was Easter.) We asked if any other place was open, and they pointed us next door to a bar called The Association.

The Association was an awesome little lounge with a good variety of classic cocktails. But what mattered more was that we befriended the DJ and his other friend at the bar, and ended up talking to them the whole time, which then resulted in shots of Fernet seeming like a really great idea. When Fernet seems wise, you know things have reached a certain point.

Our friends insisted on buying us a cab back to the hotel, even though it was only 8 blocks or so. We’re pretty sure they didn’t believe us when we said we were walking, since nobody in LA actually walks. They’re all too busy driving their multiple cars.

When we woke up Monday morning, our heads hurt a lot. Thanks, Fernet! We packed up, checked out of the hotel, and headed to Santa Monica to try to find some brunch before leaving LA.

When we arrived there wasn’t really enough time for a sit-down meal, so we decided we’d try to find something else. We went to the co-op where I’d found California Suncakes before (seriously, it’s a sick obsession), and I really wanted more of them. The store had just been remodeled and was right in the middle of restocking, so of course they weren’t in the same place as before. I found an employee and asked about them; after 20 minutes and consultations with a few other employees, still no Suncakes. They were apparently still hidden in the back somewhere. SIGH.

We grabbed some lunch food (I got a surprisingly good vegan ‘chicken’ salad sandwich, and Matt had sushi) and sat outside the store eating. It was kind of the appropriate lunch for our hangovers: shoving food in our mouths in a busy parking lot.

It was then time to head to the airport. We dropped off the car, and said goodbye in the terminal because we were flying different airlines. At least our flights were only 15 minutes apart this time! I had no line at the Delta gates, but of course had to go through the body scanner. (I survived.) Matt had to wait in a huge line. My flight was direct and landed in Minneapolis early; his was delayed leaving Denver.

I got to the airport, hopped on the train, and went to retrieve my car from the parking lot. That was a pretty good system, though if I didn’t have an excuse to take the time, I think it’s probably worth it to just take a cab home. I went home, unpacked, and went onto Flightaware to keep an eye on Matt’s flight. It kept getting later and later, and I was getting sleepier and sleepier. I finally resorted to walking in circles around the house just to stay up til he got in.

I headed to the airport around 11:30, and finally had my fiance back!!

Saturday morning around 9:45, our friend Bill picked us up and drove us to the airport. I felt a little bad about making someone get up so early on the weekend, but he had a new baby at home. He said he was used to it.

We got to our gate just in time for the agent to announce the flight was delayed due to “a mishmash of mechanical issues”. (If there’s any way to instill confidence in travelers, it’s not that.) A bit later, they told us that the plane had a broken windshield, so they were going to replace it at some point. With nine flights scheduled over the next week and a half, we’d expected to spend some time in airport bars, but we hadn’t been counting on that quite so soon.

Delta managed to do something right, because the new plane was delivered fairly quickly, only about an hour delayed. We boarded, and the captain said we could blame him for not wanting to fly with a broken windshield. We were totally fine with that decision; I’m more alarmed that Delta was willing to leave it at the pilots’ discretion.

We touched down at LAX around 2:30, picked up our rental car, and headed into Beverly Hills via Santa Monica Boulevard. Our plans kept adapting to the time we spent in the car: we were hungry and hoping to find an In-n-Out Burger or Del Taco, but eventually we became so tired of driving and being hungry that we were just looking for anything decent. We ended up finding Good Microbrew and Grill on Sunset Boulevard, and it turned out to be an excellent choice.

We sat out on the patio having awesome beer and really good (i.e. California) food. (I can never get over the huge difference in the quality of produce between here and there. It’s very noticeable.) There were Minnesota beers on the menu, too!

After dinner, we headed a few blocks down Sunset toward our primary destination: Tiki-Ti. I won’t bother trying to explain it, since the website says it all. It was even more spectacular than we’d hoped.

The bar sat 12 people, and there were tables for maybe 20 more at most. An old guy propping up the end of the bar scooted over and greeted us with, “Hello king, hello queen.” He’d obviously spent some time in Jamaica.

We had some tiki drinks, then I got up to use the bathroom. When I got back, Matt had made friends with the guy on the other side of him. He introduced himself as Ken, and told us that his dad was Filipino and his mom Scandinavian (hence the Minnesota connection). We spent the rest of our time there talking to him about his experience living in LA and his visit to the Philippines.

We didn’t really want to leave, but knew we’d never get out of there alive otherwise. We said bye to Ken and the bartender, and went to go check into the hotel.

We picked Stay because of its proximity to the places we wanted to visit on our short trip to LA. It’s very conveniently located right in the middle of downtown, on Main Street. The building is very strange but awesome: the rooms are updated with modern art, and everything is very clean. Half the rooms have shared bathrooms in the hallway, but we got one with a private bath. The only downside, though, was the lack of air conditioning. While it wasn’t too terribly hot, the importance of that fact wouldn’t become apparent til later.

After we became situated, I started looking up our other stops on the map on my phone, only I couldn’t make sense of anything on there. I couldn’t even figure out where we were. I finally laid down when I realized I was having a huge blood sugar crash, obviously due to the tiki drinks. It was very strange because I’d felt totally fine til right then; usually you can feel any blood sugar disturbance within half a minute. At any rate, I passed out for 20 or 30 minutes, and experienced the very unpleasant delirium of the rush of insulin. Within the hour, I felt fine again, just really exhausted.

We walked to a nearby pizza place for a slice, then moved on. We’d initially been planning to go to Caña, but it was about 2 miles roundtrip and I wasn’t sure I could make it. We added that to the ‘next time in LA’ list, and went here instead:

(We’re both graduates of the University of Minnesota, and huge Gophers hockey fans. The bouncer asked for our drivers licenses and made the connection right away, so we loved him.) The Golden Gopher is a super-classic bar, though it didn’t look too much like it on the inside. We got there around 9 and it was fairly empty, so we grabbed seats at the bar and ordered manhattans.

Around 11pm, the bar started to fill up. It wasn’t hatefully douchey or anything like we were expecting in LA, but it was still pretty different from our usual crowd; the most common drink ordered was Grey Goose and Red Bull. Seriously, you’d pay $11 for a drink involving Red Bull? At least don’t bother with the Goose. Once it became crowded to the point that people were leaning on us, we headed out.

We got back to the hotel around 12:30 and had to switch our usual places in the bed so that Matt could be nearer the open window (he’s the one who’s always way too warm). It was then that we realized the true downside to no A/C: not the heat, but the noise. It was a combination of people yelling, cars honking, music, and possibly even a brass band from 1am til sometime after 4. Needless to say, it was not the greatest sleep of our lives.

Our hotel starting blasting dance music from the lobby at 8am. It would’ve been way more painful had it not been for the time change that made it feel like 10am, and the vacation adrenaline. I get up way earlier on vacation than I ever voluntarily do at home!

I went to get coffee and a giant croissant in the lobby while Matt finished showering, and then we headed out to see more of LA. Stop one satisfied the geology nerd in both of us: the La Brea Tar Pits.

(It’s always bizarre and confusing that that exists right on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. Before the first time I visited, I assumed it was in the middle of nowhere.)

From there, we drove up to Hollywood Boulevard for the obligatory super-touristy stop.

It was gorgeous outside, but apparently not gorgeous enough for all the impersonators to be out hassling people for photos. We were pretty glad about that.

Matt and Bally picked their favorite stars on the Walk of Fame. Shortly thereafter, we named our rental car ‘Ponch’.

We stopped at Jack in the Box for a quick lunch (we’d still been unable to find In-n-Out or Del Taco, even though California ads led us to believe they were on every street corner). Matt visited the restroom on the way out, and said he’d seen a guy enter the stall with his hamburger and heard him continue eating on the toilet. CLASSY.

We hopped on I-10 and drove to Santa Monica, where we sat in the same insane traffic as the two other times I’ve visited Santa Monica. What the hell? We finally found a parking spot and walked down to the Promenade so Matt could check out the dinosaur topiaries and awesome street performers, the best of whom was Biggie Smalls painted completely silver.

From there, we walked down to the pier. Though these pictures make it look really overcast, I don’t recall it being that dark at all! It was just the typical Pacific coast fog.

I’d told Matt that the first time I visited the Santa Monica pier was on my three-week solo roadtrip, and it was one of the only places I was sad to be alone, because it was kind of romantic. I wanted to fix that, so we did.

The pier was as crazy as I’d remembered. There were buskers (including Mongolia’s only pro contortionist), the amusement park, and vendors selling things like unflattering caricatures and your name on a grain of rice. It’s basically exactly what you want from that kind of spectacle. We walked down to the end of the pier, saw the fishermen and the end of Route 66, then headed down to see the beach, which had a different kind of spectacle:

(The crosses represented the number of soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. Horrible.)

We went down and dipped our feet in the ocean. It was freezing, so we were pretty excited to be heading to Hawaii very shortly…

…or so we thought.

As we climbed the steps back up to the pier, I got a phone call from Delta. I missed it and called right back, knowing what it would inevitably mean. The agent said our 6pm flight was delayed 2 hours, but that we would still have to be at the airport at the correct time, ‘just in case’. AARGH.

We still had some time to kill before heading there, so we did some shopping at an awesome British grocery (the snacks we got there made it through the entire trip with us, on various flights), then stopped at the TNB BBQ truck for Korean tofu tacos. We may not have made it to In-n-Out, but we did get to experience one of LA’s finer taco trucks!

We took highway 1 down the coast toward the airport, passing through Venice (which was awesome) and Marina del Ray. By the time we arrived at the car rental place, Delta had called again to notify me (via friendly robot) that the flight was now delayed 3.5 hours. That would put it into Honolulu dangerously close to midnight, and I knew we were starting to run the risk that it wouldn’t leave at all that night. While I’d have loved an extra night in LA, I’d prefer it to not come at the expense of our trip to Hawaii (and also missing the next day’s flight to Kauai).

We checked in, and the Delta machines spit out a couple of $6 meal vouchers as apology. (Nice work, guys.) We decided to turn them into drinks, and headed to Malibu Al’s Beach Bar, to attempt to pretend we were somewhere tropical already. Also, it was right by our gate. We ordered long islands, played cribbage and canasta, and later ordered pizzas from CPK (located across the way… they just carried them over).

We eventually got sick of Malibu Al’s and crossed over to the Cantina just for a change of scenery. There, we ordered margaritas and watched the Giants game. We were so tired and punchy that everything I saw was the funniest thing ever. Finally, after 5+ hours at LAX, they announced the boarding of our flight.

We were glad to be in row 19 near the front, and to have already been supplied with blankets and pillows. I was also really glad to have the window seat this time. I napped on and off for 4 1/2 hours or so, then spent some time staring out the window at the stars and ignoring the reruns of stupid comedies on the overhead screens. We landed in Honolulu around 12:15, and the passengers on our flight were the only people left in the airport.

We grabbed our bags and headed to the shuttle bus, which of course had to wait around for a long time for other passengers. We finally headed off into Waikiki. Matt and I were dying of exhaustion, and kept ourselves awake by counting the number of ABC stores we saw on the way to our hotel (11 of them!). We arrived at the Castle Ocean Resort, close to 2am. They’d roped off the lobby and were cleaning the floors, but there was still someone waiting at the desk to check us in.

When we got up to the room and found that our keys didn’t work in the door, I thought Matt was going to die. I left him with the bags and ran back to the lobby, and thankfully everything worked the second time. We barely took time to plug in our phones and brush our teeth before collapsing in bed. This time, with air conditioning!

We had to get up at 5:45 Wednesday morning to get to the airport, and that hurt a little bit. I was glad we had a car this time, though, because the shuttles are always scheduled way too early.

We got to the car dropoff site only to realize the gas station next door wasn’t open yet. That was unexpected, so we hopped back on the highway and headed toward the next exit. Unfortunately, it was for Hickam Air Force Base. I figured maybe it was one of many things at that exit, but no: the highway led right to the gates of the base, and there were several lanes of traffic backed up waiting to get in. At that point, I was pretty sure we were missing our flight.

We finally got up to the gate, and I sheepishly apologized to the guard there. He was very polite and efficient, though: he took my license, yelled “U-TURN!” until all five lanes of traffic were stopped (seriously), and waved us around. He then handed my my license back and gave us directions back to the airport. I loved him for that.

We had no choice but to drop the car off with the tank unfilled so that we could make our flight, but it ended up not costing very much anyway. We hopped on the shuttle, and our driver told us about the one time he’d been to Minneapolis (and the Mall of America), by way of Grand Forks. (I assume it was something to do with the air force base there.) He told us he’d seen his first squirrel in Minnesota!

At check-in, our bags weighed 49 and 50 pounds. We were so glad we’d shipped souvenirs home!

Our flights that day made up for the debacle on the way to Hawaii. We had rows to ourselves on both legs, which means Bally got his own seat:

LA from above

The couple in front of us waiting to board the plane to Minneapolis said that they’d also just gotten engaged on vacation, so there were congratulations all around. So awesome.

We were slightly delayed on arrival in Minneapolis mostly because of strong headwinds. It was a late flight already, so while I waited for luggage and Matt grabbed a cab to get his car (parked nearby at work), I got to witness something one barely ever sees: a totally empty airport. It was creepy!

We got home, dumped all our bags on the floor, and I checked the house quickly to make sure nothing had gone awry in our absence. I’m glad I checked the porch, because I found this special gift from our awesome friends. It made being up at 2am on a work night totally worthwhile.

I’ve had some bad luck with Northwest Airlines. After some time spent on the de-icing pad at MSP International (it was 70 and sunny), a drunk-sounding head flight attendant, and a pilot who regaled us with fascinating details about turbulence, we made it to LAX pretty much on time. We hopped the shuttle to the rent-a-car place, where we found them out of the basic mid-size cars. We were excited about maybe getting a hot car in California. We were so wrong.

We ended up with a Chrysler 300, the pimpmobile for the geriatric set. My dad loves this car. Us, not so much. Before even leaving the lot, Stephanie declared her undying hatred for it. I hoped it had ‘I AM A RENTAL’ stickered all over the back so people wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking we owned it. We promptly named it ‘Dick’.

It was sunny but too windy and cold to head right to the beach per the original plan, so we decided to drive up the beach to Santa Barbara, one of my favorite sights on my west-coast roadtrip. We got lost on Sepulveda Boulevard (I preferred ‘Sepultura Boulevard’ instead, which meant that I had to mention the band every single time we saw that street after that, no less than 50 times). We finally found our way to Santa Monica, and from there, the PCH. I wanted to take that up the coast, since that was the only stretch I missed when I drove down from San Francisco.

We stopped for burritos at a little place on the side of the road in Malibu, and sat out on the patio in the sun with the too-stereotypical surfer kids. I was thrilled to be having my first perfect California moment of the trip. In Zuma Beach, we were slowed by a movie or TV show; cops were escorting a trailer up and down the highway past film crews in a parking lot. We stopped at Starbucks for iced coffee, and I knew I was in California because the soymilk was out on the counter. It doesn’t happen anywhere else. Also, I love all the crazy beach vehicles in SoCal. It sucks that dune buggies are so impractical in Minnesota.

After the beach towns and naval bases, highway 1 heads inland towards produce farms and industrial-looking towns. We stopped at a roadside stand for fresh strawberries, then drove like crazy to Santa Barbara. I was hoping to get to the beach there, but it was so windy it hurt, and the sun managed to go away the second we arrived. I still love Santa Barbara for the cute little downtown and tall, skinny palm trees lining the beach. Stephanie was unimpressed; we decided to head back to Santa Monica.

After our first run-in with the huge mess that is LA traffic, we made it to the 3rd Street Promenade. I had been there before and was kind of unimpressed with the shopping (although the crazy street-performers and people-watching and dinosaur topiaries make it worth the trip). However, I knew they now had a Kid Robot there, so I had to visit. Also, I really wanted a pretzel, and Wetzel was happy to sell me one.

We wandered for a while, but were tired from all the flying and driving, so we went to check into the hotel. Priceline had secured me a very swank room for a very very low price, right on Century Boulevard near the airport. After unpacking, we decided we needed pizza, but didn’t want to pay $11 to get the car out of the lot. Stephanie had seen a CPK sign nearby, so we set out wandering down Century to find it. We finally stopped into a hotel to ask, and were told it was actually their training center, not a restaurant. We went back to our hotel and ordered room service instead, delivered by a little guy named Pinkey. Then we crashed.

Saturday morning, I had trouble with the time change thing and woke at 4:30am. I forced myself to go back to sleep til 7, lest I encounter a beating from my sister. We were on the road around 8, in search of coffee and then tourism, in order of importance. We drove up to Griffith Park, having heard the observatory offered the best view of the city.

We found the path up the hill and figured it’d be a short hike to the overlook. I had put heavy-duty sunscreen on my new tattoo but had neglected the rest, figuring we wouldn’t be spending much time outdoors until we got to the beach.

Well, the hike was a lot longer than we thought. And steeper. And incredible. Halfway up the mountain, you have excellent views of the whole city to the southwest, as well as the Hollywood sign. Closer to the top, you can see the mountains to the north, and at the summit you have a 360-degree view.

Stephanie kept swearing she wasn’t going to make it, and I was doing my best with the irritating persistence: there’s a path up a mountain. Getting to the top is like winning. It’s inconceivable not to make it. So we did.

There were a lot of people getting their daily workout on that hill. I was marveling at the joggers, some of whom were moving at a pace not much faster than our walk. I couldn’t believe people would run up that path, so I had to try it. It was exhausting, but somehow not as bad as I thought. I spent the rest of the hike wanting to run a lot, but knowing I might get a) yelled at or b) dehydrated.

We sat on a table at the top for a long time, enjoying the sun and the view and the amazing luck of a fairly un-smoggy day in Los Angeles. There were people on horses up there, people being in love, sweaty half-naked guys showing off doing pushups on tables, old Chinese men singing as they hiked, kids scrambling around, and a couple garbagemen who totally cheated by driving their truck up to the top. We finally decided to walk back down; the whole hike took about 2 hours altogether. The view is not to be missed.

We got Dick (the maturity level is high with us, yes indeed) and found ourselves a Trader Joe’s near the park. We bought fresh fruit and such for a picnic, then headed back to the beach at Santa Monica. The place was crazy, with the people on the promenade and the pier. It was sunny and would’ve been pretty warm if it weren’t for the wind. We crossed to the pier, went down to the beach, and had lunch, and then I laid on the blanket for a while. When it got too cold, we headed up to the pier, walking down to the end where we were nearly blown off into the ocean.

The pier was the same as the last time I was there: tacky gifts, people fishing, and stray street performers from the promenade. Also, I found about 10,000 potential boyfriends for Stephanie, and I don’t even think she appreciated it one bit. We decided to head back into LA to cover the obligatory touristy stuff, hoping we’d get more time at the ocean when the wind wasn’t quite so intense.

One of Stephanie’s favorite things about LA is KROQ. Even if they’re not playing great stuff constantly, it’s at least listenable 99% of the time. I was happy to hear them playing Hysteria by Muse, even if it kind of sucks when a song you like a lot becomes a radio single. But there there were two songs that began to plague us within 24 hours: that one about Beverly Hills by Weezer (which was funny for all of 10 minutes because of the novelty of being there), and this song by Pepper that goes, ‘why won’t you have some dirty hot sex with me?’ Which was funny for probably 2 seconds, and then became the worst song ever to be played over and over and over on the radio.

We stopped for coffee before heading to the La Brea tarpits. Stephanie was amused at the Chinese businessmen in Starbucks who kept reading my hoodie; I was just hoping it didn’t say something offensive.

The tarpits surprised me. See, you walk through the gates next door to LACMA, and you smell tar. I didn’t know they were active! I thought it was all prehistoric and such. But no, even to this day, you could stumble right into a tarpit and in hundreds of thousands of years, the robots of the future can excavate you and put you in a museum, too! That’s some exciting shit, if you ask me.

After the tarpits, we went over to see Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. We parked a few blocks away, one car in front of a guy who looked exactly like Johnny Knoxville (but looked lost enough to not be Johnny Knoxville), and two cars in front of a burnt-out car, which was pretty awesome. The insides of the windows were all black. I don’t think there were bodies inside, but we couldn’t have known for sure.

There was some big event going on at the Kodak Theatre, the whole red carpet/limo bit, and the impersonator-folks were out in force. We saw Darth Vader and a Stormtrooper, Superman, Catwoman with her ass exposed, Beetlejuice, a fat Spiderman, and various others. Grauman’s was mobbed as always. We took a look at the footprints and the stars on the street, and were generally unimpressed. Hollywood celebs don’t do a whole lot for me.

We wandered down Hollywood Boulevard, trailing Beetlejuice. There was a couple sitting on the street holding a sign saying they were pregnant and stranded from Pennsylvania. We walked past a booth full of geeky-looking folks and I heard the familiar beep of AIM; it cracked me up that a dude was sitting on the street IMing. I just now looked up what they were all about: liningup.net. Hahaha.

We took Sunset Boulevard into Beverly Hills, and spend some time driving through the neighborhoods gawking at stars’ homes. Again, not so impressive. We drove way up in the hills, and then down again, and could smell Dick’s brakes. We decided to let him rest for a while, so we drove down to Rodeo Drive to check out the shopping. I didn’t expect I’d find anything to interest me there, but then I found the Taschen store. I love their books. I didn’t see anything different than what Amazon could sell me for cheaper, but it was cool to see all their stuff in one place. We went up to Via Rodeo and saw the really high-end stuff. I admit it’s an irritating habit of mine to get pissed off about it, but I do. God knows I can shop, but there’s a level at which spending that amount of cash on something becomes really obscene. Anyway. My sister pointed out a Maserati on the street, which I guess was a big deal. We’d been seeing Bentleys all day, so I wasn’t sure how it was different.

We needed food and still wanted pizza, and were beyond trying to drive around and find something with all the vegetarian healthiness I needed and the general goodness of pizza (I have found this place; it’s in Minneapolis, and it’s called Pizza Luce). So we went for what we knew: CPK. We found one at Beverly Center, quite possibly the most irritating mall ever invented. We were amused at the other patrons waiting for tables: there was a very friendly boy-band, and a woman named Sammi with her passel of kids, who was so Beverly Hills it wasn’t even funny. Throughout dinner, we could hear her smoker’s-voice reverberating in the restaurant as she referred to herself in the third person. LA is awesome like that.

Sunday morning, I started flopping around again at 4:30, but stayed in bed til 7. I got up and headed off down Century Boulevard in search of coffee. It was awesome outside, and finally not windy. I walked past a bus stop with a homeless guy on the bench, and was pretty sure he was jerking off. I walked faster.

I found Starbucks at the Marriott about half a mile down the road. The lobby was packed full of teenage girls in town for a dance competition. I got the hell out of there quick, too.

We were on the road to San Diego around 8:30. Our first stop was San Juan Capistrano, my favorite of the missions I saw the first time around. The gardens there are incredible.

I’m not sure why I have such a thing for missions. I’m not a religious person, and am fairly disgusted by the history of missions in general; I think it’s the combination of the creepy and beautiful that’s fascinating. Also, I’m drawn to the bizarre trinkets in the gift shops.

Right as I walked into the mission, my camera informed me that the memory card was full. I spent too much time going through and deleting duplicate photos so I’d have some space for the many pictures I was compelled to take there. On the way out of town, I told Stephanie we’d have to find us an electronics store so I could get another memory card.

In La Jolla, we found a store called Good Guys, which wasn’t so much good as merely sufficient. I got myself 256MB of photo-storage happiness, and we were on our way to Old Town for lunch.

Last time I was in San Diego, I thought the Gaslamp District and Old Town were the same thing, and I disliked the Gaslamp District a lot, mostly because I couldn’t find a vegetarian restaurant, and the stores sucked. Old Town was at least something more to look at. The parking was a horror, but Stephanie exercised remarkable skill in navigation. She had already successfully backed out of a miniature parking lot that wouldn’t allow the world’s largest car to turn around, and then she was about to back into the tiniest, most cramped spot in the city when Dick died. Just shut off. I may have mentioned how much he sucked.

We had lunch outdoors at a Mexican place recommended by the parents (the second they knew we were on our way to San Diego, they were inundating us with travel-advice-filled phonecalls), which was pretty touristy, not terribly authentic, but good for what it was nonetheless.

Because Old Town is so touristy, it features excellent people-watching. We spent lunch trying to figure out what the deal was with all the people around us. I told Stephanie that she had to be sure to look at this girl behind us on the way out, because ‘she has a certain completely non-charming innocence.’ She laughed really hard at me and declared that ‘a patented Jenni Ripley diss’. I was proud.

We wandered around Old Town in a post-burrito coma, examining all the crappy souvenirs we could’ve been buying in Tijuana for a quarter of the price, but ten times the hassle. It didn’t seem much like a state park, because it’s so damn commercial. It’s strange to have shops in all those historic buildings. They had some cool gardens, though, and I kept threatening to toss my sister’s ass in a cactus. Then I made her take my picture in front of the largest aloe plant I’d ever seen in my life, after which I examined the photo about 50 times, saying, ‘THAT’S THE HUGEST CACTUS EVER!’

I am so easily amused.

Leaving Old Town, we got some sugar-free ice cream. It was awesome and made me really sleepy and goofy. We were in such hysterics on the way to Cabrillo that she was begging me to stop laughing so we didn’t get in an accident; I wasn’t even driving.

Per the parents’ recommendations, we drove out to Cabrillo National Monument, which had an awesome view of the city, the harbor, and the ocean on the other side of the peninsula. We walked up to the lighthouse, then drove to see the tidepools.

After that, we drove through downtown San Diego, got caught in cruise-ship-loading-and-unloading traffic at the Embarcadero, then found our way to the Coronado Bridge. You see, my sister has a fetish involving the Hotel Del Coronado, the legendary Hotel California, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it involved Don Henley in some way. I don’t ask.

We parked along the beach and walked around the hotel. It has a mall for rich people in the basement! I admit I got a little crabby again, just like I did on Rodeo Drive. It’s just so much. So much money, just to get away from poor people. I got a kick out of wandering around there looking like a total slob. It’s what I’m good at.

We went in and enjoyed the very swank marble bathrooms. We saw the atrium and the multiple pools and tennis courts and patios and restaurants. I had a really bizarre moment when I rounded a corner, caught of a glimpse of someone, thought, ‘hey, that girl looks interesting,’ and realized I was looking at myself in the mirror. I swear to god, I’m losing it.

On the way back to the beach, we passed a 7-person tandem bicycle contraption. I really really want to see one of those in use, but we were not so lucky. We spent a long time laying on the beach in the sunset. I wandered along the water, which was so cold it numbed my feet. While she stood on the shore watching the ocean, I tried to warm my feet by burying them in the sand. Then I had an excellent idea and set to work making myself a new foot. I took a bunch of pictures and sat there giggling, hoping someone would come along to see it.

It was getting late, so we decided to head back to LA and hopefully find dinner along the way. Stephanie drives like I do (although with less phone-talking and text-messaging), so it only took a little over an hour. We decided to pull off for dinner in Huntington Beach. As she dodged cars on the exit ramp, she yelled, ‘DICK, DON’T FAIL ME NOW!!’ Which of course began the driving-off-the-road-laughing routine again.

We froze at dinner; the sunburn seemed not to help. We ate half our food and headed back to our hotel for the night.

Monday morning, we went to the farmer’s market on Fairfax. It’s confusing because the outside looks like a cross between an outlet mall and a regular mall. I figured there had to be some kind of farmer’s market action in there somewhere, just based on the name, and we did find that at the center. They had a bunch of booths; some of them were actual produce stands, but mostly it was all manner of different foods and souvenir shops. It would’ve been awesome for lunch, but it was a little early in the day.

By now, the sunburn had reached the painful stage, and no amount of sunblock seemed to be preventing further scorching. I could feel my arm burning as I drove. We spent a lot of time in the car, just getting around the rest of LA; we decided to go see Chinatown, so I headed off in the direction of downtown, not realizing how monstrous that place is.

We drove through a business district on Melrose I thought was downtown, until we happened upon the real downtown. We found the original pueblo, so we stopped and walked around there for a while. They had another large array of Mexican-trinket shops there as well, so of course I had to look at them all. We thought the pueblo would be a bigger deal (or perhaps one specific building), but it was interesting anyway. We decided we wouldn’t have time for Chinatown, and I wanted to dine at my favorite LA restaurant from last time around, so we headed over to Real Food Daily on La Cienega.

I love this restaurant not only because it’s next to Trashy Lingerie, but because I can eat every single thing on the menu. That never, ever happens. I had a bigass bbq tofu chop salad, and she had a bean and tempeh burrito. She didn’t seem thrilled by the weird food, but I was loving it. After that, we drove down 3rd, drooling over all the shops I really needed to go to, even though I knew I shouldn’t. We passed them all except for one irresistable one: the Paul Frank store. I’m not a huge fan of Julius the monkey, but dude! I got skull flipflops, a Wienermobile hoodie, and another sweatshirt with amps on it. Stephanie got a pink skull purse. It’s impossible to not love that store.

Sadly, it was then time to head to the airport. In true Dick form, our rental car almost got himself backed into in the parking lot right as we returned him. He made the most horrible noise as I slammed on the brakes. I’m pretty sure it caused me a mild heart attack.

At the airport, we waited in security for the hour that felt like three days. We finally got to our gate, and found a rather small plane awaiting us for our totally-booked flight. We both had middle seats on opposite sides of the aisle; Stephanie got to spend some quality time with the extremely angry dude who talked to himself a lot. I talked to a nice lady about her son, the doctor in Wisconsin, and then every single person on the plane stopped by to examine the flames sweater I was knitting. Or it felt like it, at least. I was a little weirded out when the flight attendant held up beverage service for a long time just to talk knitting with me; later when I went back to use the bathroom (I always use the bathroom on planes, because I enjoy the novelty of peeing at 35,000 feet), she grabbed me again and made me grope her yarn and the scarf she was knitting. Dirty.

Apparently Northwest Airlines has some Dick-service of their own, because we landed on time and then had to sit on the plane waiting for a gate, because some other plane forgot to leave or something. After they finally loosed us upon the terminal, we all sat waiting for our luggage to be vomited out onto the carousel for another hour. They have really excellent service.

My parents were nice enough to drive my car to the airport, so all I had to do was rush on home, whereas Stephanie got to ride back with them, and listen to my dad complaining about the flight delay. Lucky girl.

[Note: I didn’t want to be all duplicative here, so you may find ten different favorite photos from this trip (in larger format) on my journal.]

Saturday morning, I got up at 6:30. Leaving the blinds open was a natural alarm clock that I was getting to like. I had been having a dream that I was making out with Dave Matthews, and that he had some kind of weird kink I couldn’t remember afterwards. I got ready as fast as possible and went for my last caffe extreme at Royal Gourmet Coffee. Sigh. I got on the 101. It was sunny and cold in SF, and got more and more foggy the closer I got to the coast. I drove along, my stomach hurting from drinking so much coffee, thinking, “I know there’s an ocean here somewhere.”

I got to Santa Cruz a little before 10am. The rides at the boardwalk didn’t open until 11, which was fine. I walked around, took pictures, and got a cappuccino. I watched the karate classes taking place on the beach, which was already crowded despite being cold and foggy.

I took a detour from the 1, heading inland to San Juan Bautista. I saw truckloads of migrant workers laboring on produce farms in 90-degree weather. The mission was incredible. It reminded me of the ones we had seen a few years ago in San Antonio. I’m fascinated by missions; being nonreligious, I find their history pretty horrifying, but the architecture is amazing. It’s a good blend of scary and cool. I especially like the cemeteries, with their circles of stones and simple wooden crosses.

Not only is San Juan Bautista on El Camino Real, it’s right on the San Andreas Fault. I contemplated this as I walked into the little town to see the outdoor craft market. The crafts were the same kind of thing you could get anywhere. It was hot and I wasn’t feeling well. I stopped at a coffeeshop which just happened to have sugar-free ice cream, and was happy. I sat and drank a bottle of water, watched people wandering around the street, and wrote postcards. I walked some more, then stopped at a food stand where they cheerfully agreed to make their sampler plate into something portable just for me, shoving falafel, hummus, and vegetables into a pita. I walked back to the car, dripping tahini on the sidewalk.

Heading back to the coast, there was a huge traffic jam on the 101. I looked up and saw a sign that read Los Angeles: 350 mi. I wanted to cry. I hadn’t looked at my map in days, and had no idea it was that far. It was after noon, and I had hardly made any progress. I’d have to hurry.

It took about half an hour to get to Monterey. It was beautiful and sunny, so the town was crowded. I parked and jumped out of the car long enough to see the waterfront, use the bathroom, and walk down cannery row (why do all west coast cities seem to have a cannery that’s been converted into cheesy shops and restaurants?) then got back on the road. I found the entrance to the 17-Mile Drive in Pacific Grove. At $8.25, it was worth every penny of the $.50 per mile. The coastline was unbelievable. I saw the Lone Cypress. I saw the Ghost Tree. I saw how people live when they’re completely cut off from reality, and decide to charge people for the privilege of driving through their neighborhood. I saw seals! Fat and grey and lazy, they made me homesick for my cats.

I stopped at Pebble Beach to get postcards to prove I was there. Unfortunately, you can’t buy postcards at Pebble Beach. You can buy golf shirts and antiques and probably your very own custom-built servants, but no postcards. I peed angrily in working-class protest (in the restroom, of course) and exited at Carmel(-by-the-Sea! Best city name ever!). It was such a cute, artsy little town, I wanted to spend time wandering around it, but I had miles and miles left to drive that day.

I got back on the 1 and drove as fast as the narrow, winding highway and slow traffic would allow. Big Sur was desolate and beautiful. I was pretty sure it was even better than the northern coast. Every 10 miles or so, there would be a gas station that would have everything: cabins/motel, restaurant, convenience store, etc. I wasn’t picky and wanted to stop, but every time I neared one, the slow vehicle ahead of me would turn and I would think, “Hey! Now I can go fast!” and I’d speed off. I alternated between ‘performance-car commercial’ and ‘unsafe tailgating out-of-towner’.

I saw the Hearst Castle from afar, not wanting to take the shuttle bus up to it. I decided to get off the highway for dinner in San Luis Obispo, since I wanted to see the mission anyway. The city was really cute and seemed to have lots of good restaurants. I put it near the top of my list of places to re-visit when I have more time to spend. I saw the mission quickly, then went to find food. I didn’t want to take the time to stop and eat – I had only managed 200 miles in 9 hours – so I found a natural grocery and ran in. I got a bunch of fruit, and some protein bars and snacks, and got back on the 101, shoving a banana into my mouth. On the way out, I passed the Madonna Inn, which Jay had told me about months before and I’d completely forgotten about.

I was starting to worry because I still had so far to go. That was the problem with not planning. I called my sister and talked for almost an hour, calling her back whenever I’d drive into a valley and lose my signal. I passed Pismo Beach and Solvang, barely noticing. I got to Santa Barbara just as the sun was setting. I might have considered just staying on the highway, but there was a huge traffic jam anyway, so I exited. I was glad that I did, because the city is beautiful, and sunset was the perfect time of day to see it.

Santa Barbara is touristy, but in a classy way. The main drag is lined with huge palm trees all along the massive beach. I wanted to stay, but it was getting dark.

I got back into the traffic jam and almostly immediately felt sick. Something I had eaten had too much sugar in it. I slumped against the door and tried to concentrate on traffic. All I could think about was passing out in my hotel bed in LA. I switched the CD to the Foo Fighters and cranked it, hoping it would keep me awake. Luckily, it passed after about 15 minutes, and I felt my head clear. At that moment, I was passing through Ventura. The moon was full and bright, and they were shooting fireworks from the beach. It was a perfect moment.

I was thrilled driving in LA after spending so much time on 2-lane, winding highways. I loved those massive, 12-lane structures where everyone drives like they’ve got to get someone to the emergency room but quick. I was laughing out loud as I drove because my primary frame of reference for LA was The Big Lebowski. Everytime I saw an In-N-Out Burger, I thought, “Shut the fuck up, Donny!” Then I laughed even harder when I saw that there were FIVE exits for LAX. I got off at Century Boulevard and quickly found my hotel. It was 10pm – I had spent 14 hours in the car that day. I gasped with relief as I spiraled down the parking ramp. I dug clothes out of my bag (I was unsure of the weather, but figured I wouldn’t be needing my hoodie anymore), organized the car, grabbed my travel guides, and took the elevator to the lobby.

I made my way to the check-in line, trying not to stagger. I was exhausted and my blood sugar had crashed again, so I was disoriented and dizzy. I did my best just to hold it together enough to not seem crazy; I accomplished this by fixating on my phone, messaging Heather. Finally, it was my turn, and it was all I could do not to put my head on the counter while I was checking in. I got to my room and dumped half my stuff on the floor and the rest on the bed. I wanted to write and look at maps, but I couldn’t. I switched on the TV for two minutes to try and find the weather for the next day, but even that was too much effort, and I switched it off right away. I jumped in the shower, then fell into bed. By 11pm, I was comatose.

I was awake by 5:45, but laid there until 6:30 when the phone rang for my high-tech automated wakeup call. A computer voice read me the breakfast menu, and I hung up on it. I scribbled a list of notes about the previous day so I wouldn’t forget anything, then looked at my travel guide. Daniel had given me a list of the must-see items in LA, and I decided to focus on those, since he had my main interests covered: Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, shopping, overlooks, good food, Santa Monica. I tore a map out of the book in the hotel and was on the road by 8am. I had the whole monster freeway to myself. I drove up to Mulholland Drive and headed west. It was another winding mountain road, but it had good views of the city. I found the overlook and finally got my first view of the Hollywood sign. Unfortunately, the picture didn’t turn out because of the smog, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. Facing the other direction, I looked down on the Hollywood Bowl, Hollywood, and downtown LA in the distance.

I drove down the hill and parked near Hollywood Boulevard. At 9am, there was already a huge line outside El Capitan waiting to see The Pirates of the Caribbean, and pirates crawling all over the place, swashbuckling and such. There was a film crew on the street filming something that looked especially unimportant. I gave a guy the pen I took from the hotel that morning so he could get autographs from a bunch of people I wondered if I should recognize.

I bought postcards and went across the street to Starbucks to write them. I had the feeling I should wait a bit before walking around, because everything just seemed to be waking up at that hour.

I called Heather and watched a guy pressure-washing the walk of fame. She swore that people bought their own stars, that they weren’t awarded. Then I walked down to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre to see the handprints. It was hard taking pictures with tourists standing all over them, but I managed. Not being a huge fan of mainstream movies and TV, I was mostly unimpressed, so I took pictures of the ones I thought were funniest.

The strange thing was, I’m not that into Hollywood at all, and yet, I was loving it there. The whole scene was so surreal, I had the impression that LA was not a real place, but made up for my amusement.

While I was on Hollywood Boulevard, I talked to the Incredible Hulk. I watched a second film crew setting up down the block from the first, and I suspected maybe they were in competition as far as trying to look professional without having a clue about what they were doing (which looked to be filming tourists outside tacky souvenir shops). Especially for Heather, I had my picture taken with Fat Elvis. I gave him a dollar, he asked me where I was from and method-acted like he cared. I made sure to use his name in every sentence: “Can I get a picture, Elvis?” “I’m from Minneapolis, Elvis!” “Thanks, Elvis!” I walked back to my car, giggling.

I drove down the Sunset Strip, having a million Big Lebowski moments. I laughed every single time I saw an In-N-Out Burger or Ralph’s. I drove into Beverly Hills, and pulled off on a side street so I could write postcards and mail them right away. I imagined that I was parked in from of some second-rate actor’s house (I think Kirk Cameron was the star of choice), and that he was going to come running out in his underwear to yell at me. I considered buying a star map, not because I cared about stars’ houses, but because I liked the idea of supporting an industry that makes them uncomfortable in their exclusive homes.

After some creatively-executed u-turns, I found my way to Rodeo Drive. It was 11am, and the shops were just opening. I parked and wandered. As far as the shopping, I was unimpressed – it was either stuff we had at home (Pottery Barn, Williams-Sonoma), or stuff I’d seen on Madison Avenue, or Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Yet it was somehow even snootier, even though 95% of the people shopping there were tourists who just walked around gawking. It was in the mid-80s, but so humid it felt much hotter. I was getting hungry, so I headed back to the car. As I got there, I noticed activity around the corner and went to investigate: it was the Beverly Hills Farmers’ Market! I drooled over the fresh produce, then stopped and bought a sweet corn tamale with tomatillo sauce. You know I hate to exaggerate, but it was the best thing I’d eaten in my entire life. I sat on the curb in the shade and ate, while listening to a reggae band and watching the rich old ladies stuffing zucchini into their purses. Behind me, there was a kids’ fair going on. I wanted to go pet the ponies, look at the goats, and talk to the firemen, but I decided against it, since I didn’t have a kid with me as an excuse, and I hear that borrowing one without permission is a felony in California.

The car, having sat in the sun for less than an hour, was already a million degrees inside. I sat with the doors open and the A/C cranked, and stared at the map while I waited for the car to cool down. As I looked up, I saw Lisa Kudrow walking down the other side of the street, carrying a parasol and market bag. She looked put out.

I drove down Wilshire Boulevard towards La Brea Avenue. It’s called the Miracle Mile, so I was on the lookout for anything miraculous. I saw two McDonald’s, an IHOP, and a Sizzler. Then I saw the miracle: it was double-coupon days at Ralphs! Of course!

I drove past art museums (almost as good as going in), and the La Brea Tar Pits, which have metal statues of prehistoric mammals. I thought, “This is something Heather would appreciate.” I myself was in search of shopping. I swung past the Warner Brothers Studio and parked near Melrose. I had noticed a few spots along the way where there were parking lots full of what looked like piles of clothing and furniture, with people swarming all over them. I wanted to check them out, but was scared of getting trampled in the mad rush for a discount. I walked down Melrose and got my shopping on. Exercising remarkable self-control and frugality, I only bought myself one tshirt. Everyone I encountered had such an attitude, and I saw at least 10 Britneys. I looked at a lot of menus, and saw nothing good. I stopped at Starbucks (because caffeine is a temporary substitute for food), and asked Starbucks boy if he knew of any vegetarian restaurants in the area. He didn’t, but offered up the Starbucks veggie sandwich. I politely declined.

On the way back to the car, I encountered a hipster couple with their three decidedly non-hipster kids. The hipsters were probably in their mid-twenties, definitely younger than me. As I passed, hipster-boy was whining, “But can’t we just find a sitter? Me and you need to go out tonight!” I said a silent prayer of thanks for the fact that I don’t have kids. It’s a prayer I say probably ten times a day, but it bears repeating.

I drove over to ‘restaurant row’, which I decided should more accurately be named ‘steakhouse row’. I was disappointed. But then I noticed a sign for a place right near the Trashy Lingerie store: Real Food Daily. I didn’t know what it was, but the name was promising enough to get me inside and seated at a table without even looking at the menu. When I did get the menu, I opened it to discover it was vegan, and I was the luckiest girl in the world. I ordered a soymilk latte and a club sandwich (breaded seitan, tempeh bacon), with a caesar salad. I was in heaven, as long as I ignored all the film-industry people around me. I sat for a long time and caught up on my travel journal. I used their bathroom twice. They loved me there, I knew it. They had to. While I was eating, I did the California thing and talked on my cellphone. Heather pricelined me a hotel room in San Diego. She rules.

I drove back up Wilshire Boulevard, and experienced the miracle of double coupons once again. This time, I headed into downtown LA. It was nothing special. I was excited driving through Chinatown, more excited in Little Tokyo, and beside myself with amusement in Koreatown. I don’t know, I just really liked the signs on all the shops. I realized I was managing to have a really relaxing time in LA, despite running around all day. So I did the next logical thing: I went to IKEA. Yeah.

There’s something comforting about IKEA. I went to the store in Carson, and was there for a total for 20 minutes. I bought a pillow for Heather ($6.95, on sale!) and two sets of potholders ($2.99 each). Having satisfied my IKEA jones, I got back on the 405 and exited just north of my hotel, in order to take a picture of a 3-story donut. I drove west to Highway 1, which at that point was officially the PCH. I went north to Venice Beach. Traffic at the beach was insane, so I propped the road atlas against the steering wheel as we crept along, and tried to plan the rest of my trip. When the road angled away from the beach, I turned left so I could stick to the oceanfront. It was ten degrees cooler there, so I turned off the air conditioning and opened all the windows, feeling like a Don Henley song. I got to Santa Monica and parked strategically between the pier and the 3rd Street Promenade, a big pedestrian mall with shops and restaurants. The stores were OK – I stopped into a few – but mostly they were just Gap and Urban Outfitters. The cool thing was the promenade itself. All down the middle of the street, they had these large fountains with dinosaur topiaries. There were also a hundred street performers (the favorite being Mini-Elvis), and a thousand people begging for cash.

Once again, I was in search of decent non-meat dining, and meeting with yet another challenge. A server at a Greek restaurant offered me a salad, but I was really looking for protein. I was tired of protein bars, and even more tired of worrying about my protein intake. I walked in circles for a while, then finally found a restaurant/deli with the magic word on the menu: gardenburger.

After dinner, I walked down to the Santa Monica pier. Everyone said it was best to see it at night. It was 8:15 and still light, so I went and sat on the beach and called home as I watched the sun set over the mountains. Once the sun went down, I put my shoes back on and climbed up to the boardwalk.

The pier wasn’t terribly busy, which was nice. It had typical beach stuff: fried food, tacky souvenirs, your name on a grain of rice. I walked down to the end of the pier to take pictures of the shore. There were several musicans and other performers, and a large restaurant. Also, a bunch of old ladies fishing. Strange. I started to feel a little lonely, what with all the couples down there being in love.

I walked back to the car, still feeling a little melancholy. Heather didn’t help the matter by sending dirty messages while I shopped for postcards. I stopped at Wild Oats Market for car food, then went back to my hotel, packed up my stuff, and went to bed.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

i’ve been called ‘sweetie’ or ‘sweetheart’ three times already this morning, and it’s only 9am.

i hate the girls at the table next to me.

1: i think i’ll have a salad and a side of brown rice.
2: brown rice??
1: yeah. the thing is, i usually eat cheese for lunch.
2: they have cheese here! get cheese!
1: no, it’s VEGAN. it’s FAKE cheese.

hate.

today @ the b.h. farmer’s market, i saw the most perfectly-formed pair of man-breasts ever. they were firm and perky. i was jealous.

there are entertainment-industry women at the table on the other side of me. rage.

i think i was born to drive in la. at least on the weekends.

my hotel is right by the herbalife building. that rules, and i’m not sure why. also, la (especially hollywood) = scientology.

i really hate this humid dampness. i feel smelly.

i was buying heather a trilobite just as she was messaging me that she was watching jurassic park. the store was called ‘jurassic’. weird.

i wonder how many of other people’s photos and home movies i’m ending up in?

i have a 4″ leg tan – from the bottom of my capris to the tops of my running shoes. goofy, to match the rest.

injury list:
– left hand, bruise.
– palm of left hand, bruise.
– right hand, big scrapes on knuckles and wrist. ugly and painful.
– both knees, bruised from pressing against the dashboard.
– right shoulder, big bruise. don’t know why.
– left shoulder, bruise from carrying this bag. dammit.

ok. time to walk and notice my aloneness and english-speakingness.

natural foods stores are cute flirty boy magnets wherever you go, except possibly arcata, california.

there’s some super-formal event in the hotel lobby tonight. i love looking like a slob.

i’m feeling like home would really be nice right now. i’m dying to tell stories and look at pictures.

p.s. i think i could live in california. not down south, though. the heat hurts.

– – – – –

I left LA at 7:45, hoping to avoid traffic. The 405 was clear for a while, then became a parking lot for about 20 minutes. I finally found KROQ on the radio, and Stephanie was right – it’s a good station. When they’re playing music, at least.

I got to San Juan Capistrano shortly before 10am. I stopped at Starbucks, and they directed me to the mission. It was the most impressive one I had seen so far, even compared to the missions in San Antonio. It was a huge complex with incredible gardens: cactus, flowering plants and trees, palm trees, and water gardens.

I went to the Tamale Museum, which was indeed about tamales. They had a great Dia de los Muertos exhibit, which is probably one of my favorite things in the world. I visited the bathroom, the cemetery, the gift shop, and the chapel, in that order – I had my priorities.

At the gift shop, I bought some awesome Jesus souvenirs under the watchful and somewhat suspicious gaze of the old ladies at the counter. They could smell the atheism on me, and didn’t seem to like that I was buying holy water bottles and a bible-on-a-keychain. I went to see the church, and stepped into a chapel off to the side, one of those where you pay $1 and light a votive candle and you get your wish, or something. There were hundreds of candles burning, and the chapel was well over 100 degrees. I’m pretty sure Jesus winked at me, or maybe I just imagined it.

San Juan Capistrano was so great. I loved being able to appreciate the fascinating combination of beautiful and creepy without the annoying filter of religion getting in the way.

I left the mission and crossed the street to the non-mission-sanctioned gift shop. I stopped to take a picture of the sign about the swallows. Proof that I’m still completely juvenile: I turned into Beavis. I thought, “Swallow. Heh heh.” Since all the jokes have probably already been made, I’ll spare you. But, still. Swallow. Heh heh. I think I saw that story on the internet somewhere.

I got back on I-5. It was only in the 70s, but it was so humid it made me squirm. It was hazy and I could hardly see the ocean even though I was driving right alongside it. I was doing 85-90 with almost no traffic. Then I raced the Coaster, and the Coaster won.

I arrived at the San Diego visitors’ center by 10:45. I like visitors’ centers because they tend to offer maps (it’s a fetish) and clean bathrooms. In this case, I was wrong. The women’s room smelled worse than the pit toilets at Yosemite. The women at the counter were less giving directions than they were selling hotel and restaurant discounts. I got directions into downtown on a big sheet of paper that was 5% map, 95% advertising, and a trolley schedule.

I drove into downtown San Diego and found the waterfront. I saw huge naval ships and the cruise ship station. I saw the famous Santa Fe Depot. I drove past the Embarcadero twice, and thought maybe I was missing something. It looked like a big parking lot to me. What the hell is an embarcadero, anyway?

I followed my giant ad sheet to the Gaslamp Quarter, the old part of town with shops and restaurants. I parked in the mall ramp (the vegetable half – I was on the onion level, even though I’d have preferred avocado). On the way out, I walked through the mall, which was outdoor, in the sense that it was just like any mall I knew (and, being from Minnesota, I know malls), except it was topless. Um, roofless.

I started my usual wandering and looking for lunch routine. It was 11:30, and there were a ton of restaurants in the area. However, hardly any of them were open. I was confused. It was Monday, but the restaurants didn’t open until noon. Back in the friendly midwest, we often go to lunch at 11:30. Hmm. Anyway, there also seemed to be some sort of city ordinance that any menu had to consist of at least 95% meat. I was irritated. I stopped into Starbucks and asked for restaurant advice while waiting for my americano. The cute british boy behind the counter yelled at me for being vegetarian. He had no idea.

I wandered some more. I called Heather and talked about two Nates and Utah. Finally, I settled on a Mexican place with a few vegetarian dishes, figuring that since I was in San Diego, I should get some local-ish food. It was a mistake, as it was essentially the Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville of Mexican dining. All the servers were blonde and cute and seemed to really care about sports. They were also playing the worst music ever.

I rushed through lunch and walked back to the most confusing outdoor mall in America. I had to buy something to get parking validated. Something, anything, so I decided on postcards. But then I looked up, and way up at the top, there was a Hello Kitty store. Getting there proved to be a challenge, however. The mall was a series of ramps, half-staircases, escalators, and full staircases, that all seemed to spiral upwards but not in any logical way. I’d go up a level and find myself on the wrong side. I’d walk around and go up another half-level and be on the right side, but only able to go back down. I’d see the store, head that direction, and lose sight of it again. Finally, I realized the problem: the mall was designed by M.C. Escher (if you think he’s a DJ, you are incorrect). Having figured that out, I found the store easily, and I had no problem spending money to get my parking validation stamp.

I got my car and drove up to the transit station north of town. It took a while to figure out how things worked, because the station served all the buses, as well as the trolleys, the regular commuter trains, the Amtrak, and the Coaster. I found a kiosk and bought a round-trip ticket to the last stop on the line: San Ysidro. And then I boarded the Tijuana Trolley.

It was about a half-hour ride on the trolley. I figured I’d get a good tour of San Diego by riding the whole route, and I was correct. I was pretty unimpressed, having just seen SF and LA. San Diego is a fairly small town, and didn’t seem to have much going on. Near the last few stops, the trolley barely creeps along. I saw a huge military complex. Once we got near Tijuana, we could see the city on a large hill in the distance. The pollution was unbelievable. A giant Mexican flag flies over the city, way bigger than any flag Perkins has to offer. I was excited, but nervous about crossing the border by myself. I wasn’t that concerned about my safety, but still figured I had to be careful.

When you exit the trolley at San Ysidro, you’re immediately funneled onto a ramp that brings you to an overpass where you can look down on the border crossing. I wanted to take pictures, but there are a million signs warning you not to do so, and that you were being videotaped and monitored. I was really glad I wasn’t trying to cross the border in my car, as it looked nightmarish. Also, who wants to park a Saab in Tijuana? Not me, muchachos. So I walked.

So, when you first cross the border, you walk through this really nice brick plaza with modern sculpture and murals, and a tourist information booth. It’s clean and friendly. Then you go through a rotating iron gate which makes this loud clacking metal noise that I will never, ever forget. It was menacing. Through the turnstile, and you’re in Mexico. Only it’s not really Mexico, it’s this little plaza that’s built specially for tourists who want to dip their toes into Tijuana without getting in too deep. It’s called Viva Tijuana Plaza, and it features ‘pharmacies’ selling roofies, viagra, valium, hormones, and painkillers over-the-counter (in Tijuana, your American driver’s license is as good as a prescription), and crafts: sarapes, sombreros, beadwork, piñatas, aluminum artwork, and anything you can put a Corona logo on. Every shop sold the same thing, and each one had two or three guys standing outside, utilizing various methods of enticement: beckoning, calling, yelling, haranguing. I was vastly amused at first, because this was what I expected. I stopped at a booth with a particularly endearing shopkeeper, who assured me that I was his very good American friend, I was beautiful, and that he would give me a better deal than anyone else in the plaza. I picked out a Mexican wrestling mask, and the guy talked himself down from $25 to $10, while I just stood there laughing. I asked him for $8, but paid $10 anyway, because it was worth it for the entertainment. I rushed past the rest of the booths, and every single vendor said ‘hi’ or ‘hola’ or beckoned me in to see their fine wares. I was very happy to be wearing sunglasses, which made it much easier to not make eye contact.

On the other side of Viva Tijuana Plaza, there’s another pedestrian overpass lined with booths and people begging for change. This brings you across Rio Tijuana, which is a river in the loosest sense of the word. From there, you descend into the real city of Tijuana. I quickly became aware that it was at least 20 degrees hotter there than in San Diego, and had to be pushing 100. The sun was glaring, and the smog was visible even at ground level. I walked a few blocks past street vendors, and was called ‘girl’, ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘baby’, ‘lady’, ‘sister’, and ‘señorita’. The noise and chaos was charming for about 20 minutes, then I was irritated. I stopped smiling and saying ‘no thanks’, and just kept walking.

At Revolución Avenue, there’s a giant arch welcoming you to Tijuana. The wind made a cool noise as it whistled through the wires. I walked around, disappointed with the ugly crafts and tired of being yelled at. I realized the lone American woman was just asking for it, so I tried to be nice and hurry past. I found my way to what was apparently the largest tourist thoroughfare, based on the number of pharmacies and margarita bars blasting the crappiest dance hits of the mid-90s. I walked into a big shop, and realized that all my tacky-souvenir needs had just been met in one place. I bought a bunch of loterias, a mirror edged with tile and hammered aluminum, some metal ornaments, and lots of dia de los muertos stuff. They wrapped everything up for me carefully, and joked about the giant loteria showdown I was obviously going to organize at home. I was happy.

My Mexican souvenir needs completely satiated, I stopped quickly for an iced latte at a cigar shop, then headed back to the border crossing. It was so painfully hot, and the sun was beating down on me, the man with the donkey painted to look like a zebra, some mariachis, and hundreds of drunk fratboys in semi-offensive tshirts. My bag stuffed full of everything I ever wanted from Mexico (not a single roofie amongst them), all I wanted was to get the hell out of Tijuana. I was sweaty, dirty, and cranky.

I followed the signs showing a determined-looking man walking back to the USA. I went back through fake-Tijuana, and kids kept running up to me, trying to get in one last sale before I left the country. They offered candy, bracelets, or wanted to show me a trick, like juggling. All of them shouted, “A dollar! A dollar!” I walked faster. A little girl, probably 4 or 5 years old, ran up and caught me off-guard:

her: (holding up a beaded bracelet) a dollar!
me: (rushing past) no thanks!
her: (running to keep up) a dollar!
me: no thanks!!
her: si!
me: no!
her: si!
me: no!
her: si!
me: no!!!
her: loca!! (runs away)

My entire life, summed up in one word by a little girl in Tijuana. Sigh.

At that point, I decided I needed a new tattoo. You know those Latino gang tattoos in the elaborate gothic letters? I’m getting one on the back of my neck: gringa. I kind of like the idea.

I walked back across a different pedestrian overpass. The border crossing leaving Mexico was way less elaborate than leaving the US, and there were people with begging children everywhere. Right at the border, there are several last-chance pharmacies. Don’t the border guards watch those? Anyway. I went through a metal detector, then stood in line for 10 minutes, waiting for customs. The guard looked at my ID, asked if I was a citizen, and what I was bringing back with me. Then I went through a second metal detector, and was back in the US. And, yes, I felt a huge sense of relief.

Worth noting, by the way: what’s the first and last thing you see at the US border? McDonald’s. It’s wrong.

I got back on the trolley to San Diego. The ride took much longer this time, and I was tired and hungry. They made us exit at Santa Fe station and wait for another trolley, so it was almost an hour and a half later, around 6pm, that I finally got back to my car.

I took I-5 south to the Coronado Bridge and crossed to the island. Apparently, it’s where the rich people hang out. There were lots of nice restaurants there, so I parked and set off to find dinner. I had really come to see the Hotel Del Coronado, the original Hotel California (Don Henley! Again!), which I expected to be a little motel or something, not this giant castle. I walked around the cute downtown, realizing that the island was also subject to the 95%-meat rule. I picked another Mexican place and had an OK salad, having been warned against their veggie burger. The restaurant was playing Heart on the overhead. I sat near the patio, and it had finally cooled off enough to be comfortable. The sun was setting, and I could see the beach from my table.

Leaving Coronado Island, the view of San Diego was impressive. I should have seen that when I first got there, and maybe I would have liked it more. At several points along the bridge, there were signs with the number for the Suicide Hotline. I called Heather about my plans for Vegas the next day, and talked to her the whole way up to my hotel, which I overshot by 10 miles or so. I called them for directions, turned around, and headed back. I cheered silently when I saw the Starbucks just a block away from the hotel, which meant I’d be fully prepared for my drive the next day. The super-nice girl at the counter got me checked in, then wrote me directions to the nearest Ralph’s (double-coupon days!), so I could get food for the car – since I was driving through the desert, I wasn’t expecting to find much in the way of vegetarian dining along the way. I ran my stuff up to the room, threw it on the bed, and left again. I knew that if I spent too much time there, I’d pass out. I was exhausted and shaky, and I clutched the perfectly-handwritten directions in my hand against the steering wheel the whole way to the store. I thought about the strange things you find comforting when you’re in a weird place. Like coffee shops. IKEA. Text messaging on your cellphone. Good maps. Your travel journal. The pen you got at the Glacier Gateway Motel. Really friendly people you meet along the way.

At Ralph’s, I bought a protein bar, bananas, an apple, veggie chips, two giant bottles of Evian, and 4 Red Bulls. I thought, “If these Red Bulls don’t last longer than tomorrow, there’s something wrong with me.”

Cashier: Do you have a Ralph’s Club Card?
Me: Nope!
Cashier: Do you want one?
Me: [Tiniest pause as my head says ‘YES!’] Nope!

I have to get over the Big Lebowski thing. But I can’t, so as I drove away, I thought to myself, “I shopped at Ralph’s in La Jolla.” I said it over and over: Ralph’s in La Jolla. Go on, say it. It’s funny, right? La Jolla!

I knew I was tired, because I could barely remember how to get back to the hotel the way I came. I went up to my room, got my email, booked a hotel room for Vegas (my criteria being 1: cheap and 2: oldschool, none of that new-hotel crap). I took a shower and used almost the entire bar of soap while I daydreamed about what I was going to do when I got home. In this order:

1. Take the longest shower of my life, so I could wash the western half of the US from my body. No, wait! The western half of North America! Yeah!
2. Sex.
3. Sleep.
4. Repeat steps 2-3 as desired.
5. Dig through souvenirs.
6. Wash clothes.

Also, I realized the thing about doing stuff like going to Mexico alone: the very fine line between brave and stupid is simply a matter of whether you make it out unscathed. And it’s only in retrospect that you know for sure. With that, I made my pillow nest and went to bed.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

there is way, way too much long blonde hair here. are they playing motley crue?

did i mention i love the freeways in la? at one point, it was 16 lanes wide. slamming on the brakes. insane.

they’re playing ac/dc now. i hate this place.

why do i keep asking starbucks baristas about vegetarian food? there is obviously some incorrect association in my mind, because i’ve yet to receive a single helpful suggestion. there are less vegetarians in the universe than i suspect. however, my oldschool starbucks card makes me an instant celebrity. i guess that’s the tradeoff.

there are some restaurants who are cool with alone-diners and some that are not. at the good places, the servers always spend more time talking to you, and pay more attention to you than they do to other people there. at the bad places, they look at you funny when you say ‘one, please’, and then ignore you once they take your order.

2:15 and i’m waiting for the trolley to tijuana. that would be a good song title.

i’m never going to tijuana alone again. i mean, it had to be done. and 45 minutes was enough. but as heather pointed out, i’ve covered all the countries in north america on this trip. i rule.

inside the trolleys, there are signs reading, ‘this is a high-performance vehicle. please hold on.’ i need that in chico.

holy crap, i’m going to vegas tomorrow. i’m so unprepared. i should probably book a hotel.

– – – – –