A Fat Purple Fig

As far as flights go, it wasn’t a bad one. As I said to Kitty, ‘What’s not to love? I can stretch my legs out fully, and there isn’t a single task I can complete effectively, for over 13 hours.‘ It’s like being given permission to watch television for an entire day. For the record, I watched the following:

Succession, S1E1-3: my favourite television score, never gets old
Perfect Days: my shtick, for sure, but not as perfect as anticipated
26.2 – Life: cried, decided to run a marathon
Peak Season: cried again…a contemporary ‘Bridges of Madison County’
Office Space: death by a thousand Mondays

I spilled a glass of wine over myself, and was christened ‘Chardonnay’ by the attendant. It wasn’t ideal for collecting a rental car, or for launching straight from the plane into a day of sight-seeing, but we do what we must. Here is what Kitty and I got up to after arriving in Los Angeles at 6am-but-felt-like-11pm:

Stop 1: La La Land Kind Cafe, at The Grove. I feel like an extra in Nosedive, that pastel-toned, nightmarish episode of Black Mirror, where Bryce Dallas Howard simpers desperately for positive social ratings. We order French Toast and Purple Rain Lattes, which demonstrate the cafe’s (and therefore our?) commitment to sugar and single-use plastics. Vacuous and Twee. Did not vibe.

Stop 2: Barnes and Noble, at The Grove. A three-storey ode to quality book stocking, made appealing through the creation of display-table groupings (think ‘FALLing in Love’, for books about love in Autumn). Kitty is the highlight, rushing around with arms full of books, calculating dollars over kilograms. Full disclosure: I pointedly ignore both budgets.

Stop 3: Koji’s BBQ Taco Truck, Taqueria, the offspring to Roy Choi’s 2008 truck, where he began perfecting his Korean-Mexican fusion street food. I enjoyed learning about Koreatown on S2E1 of Anthony Bourdain’s ‘Parts Unknown’ and, in particular, the rebuilding of the area after the LA riots in 1992. Can attest that this short rib taco is similar only in name to the ‘double caramelized Korean barbeque short rib on fresh corn tortilla, with salsa roja, cilantro onion-lime relish, and napa cabbage Romain slaw, and a chili soy vinaigrette’ that Bourdain scoffed. Was fine, though. Would eat again, but only if the truck was parked nearby.

Stop 4: Griffith Observatory, via Rodeo Drive. I’m a dab hand at the right-hand side by the time we cut across a lane to turn down Rodeo Drive. We have limited time to make observations – everyone is wearing expensive sunglasses…fashun can look a bit shit… – before heading up to Griffith, for a requisite glimpse of the Hollywood sign. It is hot by now, and packed with tourists. We pay $10 to park for an hour and walk on the wrong side of the sidewalk, raising everyone’s ire. I tell Kitty about the lonely mountain lion living in Griffith Park.

Here it is. Proof we are here, in Hollywood, the land of dreams. We are fading fast.

Stop 5: Home, sweet home; this fabulous Airbnb, run by a vegan ceramicist and her husband, with their team of rescue dogs. I was sold by the quote, ‘please DO NOT choose this space if you are a clean freak, you will be disappointed and I do not want a bad review’, and wanted to spend time in the aura of someone who has supported themselves for 30 years by making ‘whimsical ceramics’. My instincts have not let me down. Classical music is playing, fans are breezing, and there is a note of welcome.

Kitty and I go walking late, after our naps, to get a feel for the neighbourhood. Windsor Hills, we later discover, has been labelled the ‘Black Beverly Hills’, with over 70% of those residing in its larger-than-average homes being Black or African American. We notice garden sprinklers and astro-turf (but not together), American flags planted in lawn cracks, and dual-car driveways. We hear the sounds of a busy thoroughfare on approach and are soon sniffing the air on Crenshaw Blvd, for the Jamaican food in Wah Gwaan (closed, unfortunately), but mostly for the thick strains of marijuana, drifting out of the smoke shops and barbers.

As we walk, a low-flying police helicopter roars overhead, reminding me momentarily of the Los Angeles of Luhrmann’s ‘Romeo+Juliet’, and a car drives by making sounds that indicate it won’t be on the road much longer. We recognise that our location can no longer be described as ‘suburban sanctuary’. Homeward bound from the 7-Eleven, armed with previously-untasted snacks, we see a police car pull a vehicle over and an officer approach it on either side. The driver is swiftly removed from his car, body searched and handcuffed, and marched over to the footpath by one officer, while the second begins searching his vehicle. I am struck by the unjustness of it all…and by the placement of the sign.

The two sides of the Los Angeles coin: La La Land Kindness Cafe on one side, casual violations of human rights on the other.

We have arrived.