Virginians + LA = the true Beverly Hillbillies - aka - sorry for the wingdings (thanks G)

Location: Burbank (the Valley)

Mileage: 8400

Number of tarot readings of Paul’s life in the past 24 hours: 4

We slept in nice and late at Sasha’s Monday morning before seeking out a very mysterious spot in the Santa Cruz area… aptly named “the Mystery Spot.” This is a remarkable place where visual perception must be called into question (this would have been a great place for a priori philosophers to tell a posteriori philosophers that they are full of it.) It’s a somewhat kitschy touristy spot where paying for parking is not an option and the tour guides are proud of their bad jokes (“thank you for laughing, ladies and gentlemen, they only get worse from here,”) and Mystery Spot bumper stickers are handed out at the end, but we had a good time. We hiked up a short hill that didn’t look steep but felt very difficult to climb, saw people’s heights change in relation to others even when standing on level grounds, saw things roll uphill (including my chapstick, which I now am sure has taken on some magical abilities,) swung pendulums that only swing one way, and hung crookedly. It was a neat experience but is quite difficult to explain. I highly recommend checking it out. Paul probably only moderately recommends it, though, as I think he commented on how touristy it was while I simply reveled in that.

After grabbing a quick brunch, we returned to Sasha’s to get some good advice on spots to see during the rest of our California trip. My cousin has the most remarkable memory of where he has been as well as a huge base of knowledge of places in CA and he gave us lots of tips. I’m pushing for him to write a tour book of the state. We loaded up, yet again, and decided to move on our way. First, though, we drove Sasha to campus so he could head to class and we could get a brief view of UC Santa Cruz. The campus is huge, mostly due to Reagan’s efforts to have a college layout without one focal point that could become a spot for students to convene and protest. In other words, a riot-proof university. There’s a big arboretum and many different colleges and just lots of beautiful space there. My favorite part of the university is that, of the ten colleges, only seven of them have names (have had huge enough contributions from one person/family to name the college after them) and so the other three are referred to simply as College 8, College 9, and College 10 until they, too, get some big shot to contribute. Fantastic. Anyhow, we said goodbye to Sasha, who looks scarily similar to my dad as a young man, and hit the road south.

We didn’t drive too far that day, wanting to see Big Sur and set up camp before it got too dark, so we camped right in Big Sur campgrounds. It’s lovely there, the rocky beaches astounding and impressing us with every turn of our drive along the twisty road. We had a typical camp evening: good fire, good meal, good wine, and great conversation, before retiring to an early bed.

The next morning, as we were tearing down the campsite, Paul and I came to an amusing discovery. When you are with someone 24 hours a day for many months, you start to read the subtle signs. And when someone is in a grumpy mood, you just give them some space and time to pull out of it. Well, after reading each other pretty well for 2 ½ months, Paul and I finally overanalyzed. We were both quiet when we first got up. One of us interpreted that as the other needing space and time and gave it. The other interpreted that space and time as the first needing space and time and so gave it. And thus a very silent morning pursued until I finally asked, “hey, are you in a bad mood this morning?” A surprised Paul responded, “no, I thought that you were!” We both laughed and returned to our normal talkative selves. We thoroughly enjoyed the drive on 1 again that day, stopping in San Luis Obispo for lunch at an all-you-can-eat pizza place. Because our next host wouldn't be home until about 6:30 and we were getting close to LA by mid-afternoon, we decided to stop in Santa Barbara to do a bit of reading on the beach. We hit the road again shortly and finished up the drive to Thousand Oaks, just outside LA, where my aunt and uncle live. My dad’s sister, Michele, and her husband, Bruce, live in a beautiful Spanish-style house just on the other side of a state preserve (meaning, no worries of construction happening behind their house!) and we were very happy to arrive at a place where we had, no joke, separate beds in separate bedrooms for the first time since Bozeman, Montana. We had a great dinner (I hope we remember to thank our hosts enough for accommodating our no-meat diets) and enjoyed the opportunity to catch up with my family.

Both Bruce and Michele were busy working in the daytimes, so they gave us a few words of recommendation, a set of keys, and sent us off to enjoy the surrounding areas. Paul and I decided that we wanted to have some serious R&R our first day in the LA area, so we did what one must do in sunny Southern California – we hit the beaches again.

Pacific Paul

We drove to Malibu beach (along the beautiful, yet dangerously twisted, 23) and enjoyed getting some Vitamin D, some good reading, some frigid swimming, and some surfer viewing. It was also a highly amusing afternoon, with bold gulls that tried to demand some of my lunch and a bleeding Paul debating whether swimming would just make him shark bait. I notice that, in addition to be significantly colder than the Atlantic, the Pacific Ocean also has extremely powerful waves. They were too wild to get any good body surfing in; I only succeeded in getting spat around and spanked a few times. It was good fun, though, and it was so nice to swim. We returned to Thousand Oaks for a delicious curry prepared by Michele and a dip in the hot tub. Clearly Paul and I, after a day at Malibu Beach, were in desperate need of a hot tub in order to relax. It’s a hard life, I tell you.

Thursday morning I was pleased to get some time to sit down and get some time at a piano before Paul and I packed a lunch and hit the hiking trails behind Michele and Bruce’s house. Somewhat stupidly, we left when the sun was high up in the sky but we brought plenty of water and did a moderately easy 5 mile hike, so it was okay. The trail took us up on the ridge of a mountain and down through switchbacks into Wildwood Park (where we finally were able to get some shade in which we could sit and enjoy lunch.) That part of the hike was lovely and fun; the walk from the park back to Michele’s house was less enjoyable, as we walked up never-ending steep hills on the roads.

the hike

Back at the house, we were able to enjoy some more down time (reading and more piano) before going out to dinner with Michele and Bruce. My aunt and uncle had wanted to give us an LA-specific dining experience and, after going through many options, settled on Bellisima, a cute little Italian restaurant. This may not sound any different from a restaurant back East, but what you have to remember is that probably 99% of the waiters and waitresses in LA are all, you guessed it, aspiring actors and actresses. And this restaurant uses that to their advantage by having the servers sing to the diners during their meals – it was definitely unique. The servers all had great voices and the food was delicious as well. Unfortunately, during dinner, Bruce’s baseball team lost their game, so we decided we needed an upper after the meal; we went to a karaoke bar down the street and enjoyed (again perhaps due to the prolific number of aspiring actors) some high-caliber singers, including my uncle. Paul and I were either too shy or too sober to participate. Either way, it was probably better for everyone there, as anyone who’s ridden in Speed Blazer during any of our singalong mixes can attest to.

Friday morning, Paul and I decided to actually see part of the city and headed to the Getty Museum. I was somewhat terrified, as this was my day of driving and we were going to have to use the infamous 405 to get there. I was on full alert, prepared for crazy CA drivers to try to push me off the road but I think that stereotype is perhaps somewhat hyped up. The drivers were mostly courteous and no one sideswiped us (although I don’t know if Paul and I would have been too upset if a nice car had hit us. Speedy could use some repairs that we would be more than happy to have a wealthy Angelino pay for.) Anyhow, we got to the Getty undamaged and were wildly impressed with the size and beauty of the building. It provided some great views of the city — and the thick layer of smog above it – and had gorgeous gardens that we enjoyed walking around. The exhibits themselves were decent, but it seemed a strange juxtaposition to have such exquisite housing for moderately good collections. We were sad to be just a few days too early for an exhibit of “Where We Live,” a photographic collection of pictures across the United States – it seemed like it would have been so fitting for our trip— but there was some great Impressionist art and an interesting photo exhibit, “Public Faces, Private Spaces.” But, as I said, the surrounding buildings and gardens were the real show-stealers.

Getty cactus garden, LA skyscrape, and smog

Central Gardens

this picture would be much more lovely if the trashcan weren't there

taking time to smell the roses

ohh, that LA traffic

We returned home to prepare dinner for my aunt and uncle that evening to thank them for being such amazing hosts and had a lot of fun treating them for one evening after they had done it for us so many nights. Paul and I again utilized the hot tub and this time figured the jets out properly, which was glorious. We had some really deep conversations while out there, too, including intellectual questions such as, “what is the basis of the expression ‘hot and heavy?’ What does it even mean?” (to which, suddenly realizing that I was sitting in a hot tub, the answer became evident: “Oh. I guess me.”) After toweling off, we had a really great time sitting around in the living room talking to Michele. My aunt is an amazing woman who, conveniently being a professor herself, had so much advice for Paul and me in regards to our interests in potentially being professors “when we grow up.”

me and my fam

We said goodbye to my aunt and uncle Saturday, after a quick lunch, and headed into the valley to catch up and stay with Leah, my good friend from high school who moved out here a year ago. She took us to the Grove that afternoon, an enclosed shopping enclave that was designed by the same people who did Disney. It certainly felt so, with adorable shop fronts and trolleys running right through the middle of the place. LA is so shopping-centric that we were happy to do window shopping and feel like we fit in. Which we didn’t. The Farmer’s Market was attached to the Grove and we enjoyed checking that out, as well, and got a delectable dinner there of savory crepes. After several hours of wandering around that area, we felt like we had done as much walking and people-watching that we could and we headed back to Leah’s apartment in Burbank. We opened a bottle of wine and sat around and had just a blast talking into the very late hours of the night.

We slept in just late enough the next morning to have it to be too hot for a run but not quite late enough to forgo breakfast at the Yum-yum Donuts just down a block from Leah’s place. Apparently there are hundreds of mom and pop shops that all have incredibly delicious and fresh donuts every day. There are no Dunkin Donuts or Krispy Kremes out here because the independently owned shops all are so good. After that incredibly healthy morning, the three of us met up with Leah’s good friend, Cole, and headed into Beverly Hills. Man, Beverly Hills seems like a completely different planet. All of the shops were so ridiculously ritzy and everyone there was dressed incredibly well and walking their tiny dogs. It was almost pretty, but in a completely fake sort of way, as any tree or store front looked like it had been planned, submitted to some board, and then given a stamp of approval after a few tweaks to best suit the swanky sorts of shoppers. And the stereotype of all the BMWs? Completely true. Paul and I discussed trading Speedy (who, by the way, no longer opens in the back, which makes getting stuff out of the trunk a whole lot of fun) in for a BMW, but we couldn’t agree on what color to get, so it all fell through.

Beverly Hills

At different points in the afternoon in Beverly Hills, both Paul and I received phone calls from friends who, after asking “what are you doing?” and hearing “oh, you know, walking through Beverly Hills,” were confused and/or amused, not surprising seeing as how Paul and I are probably the least Beverly Hills-type people as you can find. It was definitely fun to check out the area for the day, but I certainly don’t feel the need to do it again anytime soon. We managed to find lunch for about $10 each in Beverly Hills, though, which was quite a feat! A good lunch, too, at a French café. It was very hot, though, and the combination of all the walking and the sun wore us out and we all looked forward to collapsing on Leah’s couch for a bit of relaxing upon returning. And that brings us up to date. We have great plans for the rest of our time here, but rather than tell you about any of that, I prefer to leave you hanging. What’s next in store for Alina and Paul?! Stay tuned to find out…

Love,

Alina

the future