Temporal Rift

This is going to look off when I revisit these notes, but my backlog has grown too big, and I've grown tired of reheating memories. I want to write about something that just took place, before the adrenaline fades and things get packed into a cut and dried, impartial infodump.

I'm in Los Angeles right now, it's 2 a.m. We're leaving tomorrow. It's the penultimate day of this roadtrip, but as far as I'm concerned it could very well be the last one. We're staying at a cozy North Hollywood apartment belonging to a married couple I "know" through Pajiba. And it's been quite a day.

We got up pretty early and went with Rob (the husband) for a drive up Mulholland Drive to see the city from the hilltops. Mulholland is very long and very windy. The views are all pretty, but have this "I think I've seen it all before" quality that many famous American sights suffer from due to... well... global imperialism. The green seems (expectedly) faded, and the skyline (expectedly) smog-hazy.

The plan is to do the Mulholland thing, and then drive down into the valley to an abortion clinic where Mary (the wife) volunteers as an escort person on Saturdays. She and a couple of other people are basically there to escort women who want to get - perfectly legal - abortions past the pro-life protesters that gather outside the clinic. Yeah.

We're supposed to go down there, experience that particular bit of Americana, then go to brunch with the volunteers, and then drive down to Venice Beach to catch some sun and do some people-watching on the famed boardwalk. The whole thing still sounds surreal to me, by the way. Anyway, it's not meant to be - the traffic is pretty bad, and the protesters apparently decide to call it a day earlier than usual, so we head straight for the brunch place. And then it turns out that one last protester appeared at the last minute, so some of the brunch crowd had to go back to keep on escorting. We end up driving back and forth, and when we finally meet up with Mary, she seems pretty upset that the carefully prepared get-together has unraveled. We order the food, have some mimosas, chat about nothing in particular, and slowly get ready to hit the beach. Which is when a very handsome young man walks in. It turns out he's one of the volunteers, and that the others are not far away. We chat for a while, cracking jokes. He seems sweet, smart, very funny, and groomed well beyond heterosexuality (though it's possible that my readings were off and it's just an LA thing).

Finally, the rest of the volunteers arrive, and it's obvious that we don't have enough room at the table to seat everyone. We hang out for a short time, waiting to see if maybe another table becomes available. They all seem like a load of fun and at that point I basically want to do nothing more than hang out with them. Yes, mostly on account of the first arrival, but not exclusively so.

It's also when I finally come to the conclusion that for me, traveling is 95% about the people. I'd be perfectly happy leaving a city without having seen anything of note, if it meant that I got to spend time with a cool newly met person. Really, no contest.

Unfortunately, the most logical solution to the conundrum is for me and Gosia to just leave and go to the beach, thus vacating some space. Which we do.I get a very familiar feeling of wanting more, but also a certain satisfaction. I've had several of these hopeless end-of-the-road encounters now, and this one's a perfectly manageable, microcosm version - I'm gone tomorrow anyway, the whole thing's completely insignificant, but it does provide the barest minimum of substance to feed my personal narrative. I indulge in it, to the degree that I'm able to.

The drive to the beach is pretty long, and we spend over an hour looking for parking. Actually, Gosia does - I spend most of that hour texting our host (which is part of my indulgence). We finally do get out of the car though, and dip our feet in the ocean. It's icy cold.

The beach is enormous, and sparsely populated - it's still too early in the year. We lie down. The sun is shining, the ocean is doing its thing... Things are nice. We take a long walk up the coast, and then return down the Venice Boardwalk (which is not the official name, but I'm too lazy to look it up). It's crazy crowded, but we're sort of mellowed out, and don't mind it at all. Full reception mode.

We get into the car at about 6 p.m. and start driving back home, which - according to the GPS - is almost 50km away. Just to to give you an idea of the LA sprawl. We make a pit stop at Stone Cold Creamery - a place Gosia wanted to go to since we landed that had eluded us thus far. Having learned a lesson in Venice, we take the first parking spot we see in the general area, even though it's several blocks away from the Creamery. We walk those few blocks as the sun is setting. As we get closer, the crowds start getting thicker and... younger. Like... kiddie younger. And ecstatic kiddie at that. Then we see that the cops have taken over traffic control on a big intersection just up ahead. Apparently, this being Los Angeles, the Kids' Choice Awards are being right down the street, and everyone wants to catch a glimpse of Selena Gomez, or whoever... There's even a bunch of paparazzi. In a way it makes me feel like I'm really getting my money's worth.

As we walk back with our ice cream, one of the cops winks at us. "Stone Cold, huh? I know where I'm heading after work." Yes, we even get the Disney version of LAPD. America really wants to get into our pants.

We get home, change into evening clothes, and go out for food and drinks with our hosts. I'm kind of hoping we'll get to see the abortion clinic people again, since I sort of tried to make it happen (fuck off, why not?) but that doesn't quite work out. Still, we end up having a lovely evening waiting for a food truck and then having drinks at a logwood cabin style bar called the Yeti Lodge (or something along those lines). It's loud, sort of rustic, and very nicely lit with these weird, gigantic bare light bulbs that look like something out of a folksy indie band video shoot. As we're about to head out and go home, this song comes on:

Fleetwood Mac, and specifically Stevie Nicks has been something of a recurring theme over the whole trip. They just kept popping up, sometimes in very unlikely places. So that is going to be my final snapshot. A crowded bar, bare light bulbs giving off a warm glow, and Gypsy. Tomorrow's (well, today's) drive up the scenic Highway 1, is doomed to be an afterthought. But I'm fine with that.