It’s taken me four months to gather my thoughts on LA because quite frankly, I haven’t been the same (nor have I had the time) since. My last true vacation was years ago because I chose to prioritize exciting opportunities over time off. In fact, it’d been so long since my last break that I was riddled with anxiety the moment I boarded the plane. What about work? Unanswered emails? To-do lists?
What would I even do with all this free time?
And yet—the moment I landed, all feelings of overwhelm dissipated. It’s difficult to describe how or why except to attribute the change to something beyond face value. How Californian, you must think. How millennial. Remember that before New Age-y Poosh-dom made its way into mainstream culture, there existed ancient practices that honored intuition and qi. The East Coaster part of me—part practical, part pessimistic—would have dismissed the feeling as a normal reaction to change of scenery; my roots chose to acknowledge the shift in energy.
This felt right, and not just because I was to spend the whole week out of the office.
It certainly helped that navigating through LAX was simpler than any other airport of trips past. There was a designated, orderly zone for ride app pick-ups—and only in LA would my Lyft driver be a multi-hyphenate freelancer in pursuit of a career as a singer-guitarist-producer. Even before he opened his mouth I knew that this John Lennon look-alike, though much skinnier and covered in tattoos, was one of those LA types people talk about. (I was no better; I arrived in a Lululemon set.) It was too bad I wasn’t staying long enough to catch one of his Sunday matinees, he mused (while trying to keep his fedora from falling off), but he was thankful that my journey took him to [Venice] beach.
The Airbnb was a little more rustic in person but I didn’t mind. It was charming, as was the host Isabel (an architect and environmentalist, evident by her wall of factoids and newspaper clippings featuring endangered areas and species). She, like the Lyft driver, was another LA archetype. In less than an hour, I successfully met both the rocker musician and the quintessential Venice Beach woman: blonde head of curls, no shoes inside her loft, green, clean, an artist-entrepreneur with a sing-song yet lackadaisical voice. She had a wrinkled print-out of her favorite haunts, offered me her bike (no thank you; haven’t ridden one of those in over a decade), then continued to work downstairs while I settled in the loft.
The bedroom was furnished well but clearly well-worn: Pottery Barn throw, but pilled; primary-colored throw pillows, not in their prime; Ikea coffee table, the one I almost bought for my condo; a 25-pound Assouline, nearly falling apart at the spine. Upon further inspection, things were not as spotless as I would have liked, but its prime location offset any complaints. Just around the corner was access to all the most relevant restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques. I knew my friend Miriam would want to explore when she arrived, so I took my time unpacking and organizing.
It was wonderful.
Wonderful to unwind and decompress after hours in uncomfortable proximity to strangers on a cramped plane. Wonderful to shed the layers and be in the sun, the very light that creatives dream of and write songs about. The space was bright, cheery, cozy, and it was impossible not to be grateful. To think: I was dreading the trip just hours ago…! It’s incredible how debilitating complacency can be for both the mind and soul—and just as powerful a realization: how disruption—via a change of environment—can wake up a sleepy, stagnant soul.
How wonderful, truly, to give me permission to do
absolutely
nothing.
It was only when I felt sufficiently relaxed that I allowed myself to start my vacation, officially. A quick lap around the neighborhood solidified that I indeed chose the perfect location, but before I could lose myself in exploration, I needed to stock the fridge with essentials. (A travel tip no matter where you go: locate the nearest grocery store or farmer’s market for fresh fruit and water. This will save you money and ensure you stay hydrated; it’s easy to go without water when on away from home.) I looped back around and up to Rose Avenue for a Whole Foods run. It was mostly residential and so, so beautiful—obviously monied, but wild and undone at the same time. Greenery crawled up walls and bright, fuchsia florals sprawled across fences. Palm trees were not your Caribbean or Floridian standards: these were enormous, statuesque fixtures that towered over the homes around them. I couldn’t help but take pictures; sans the soldiering trees, was I in Paros again? I was catcalled once, then half a block later, eyed so hard that the cyclist (not the cat-caller from before) crashed into a garbage bin a few feet later. This was surprising only because the neighborhood was clearly well-to-do, or maybe it wasn’t, because nothing happened. (These are the things that plague a woman.)
The fourth block of my walk transitioned from residential back to commercial. My eyes perked at the familiar names: Café Gratitude, Moon Juice, Stretch Lab. I made mental notes to come back with Miriam, then trotted on; beelined directly for the cheapest, largest water bottles at Whole Foods, sidetracking only for a quart of pre-cut fruit before calling a Lyft back to the Airbnb. (There was no way I would risk carrying 20 pounds of water in paper bags, lest a handle or my finger break from the weight.)
Once I dropped off my haul and changed into something warmer (it was deceptively chilly; the wind was unrelenting, which I later learned was unusual for California until this year. Don’t try to tell me global warming isn’t real, because it is.) I decided to do a proper sweep around Abbot Kinney. Just around the bend was everything I could possibly want or need, like:
Bazar
1108C Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice, CA 90291
An eclectic boutique of (expensive) “lifestyle” odds and ends. I appreciated the non-gendered approach to the shop’s curation; it offered everything from stationery and woven baskets to Coqui Coqui parfums. I was overwhelmed by the options until I stumbled upon these heavy Mad en Len candles, in particular, Petits Papiers.
Enze Apparel
1507 Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice, CA 90291
An upscale boutique of luxury designers, most of which are indie. John Galliano was probably the most household name in the shop, and those Galliano pieces were stunning (how I’ve missed his work!), particularly a cream, floor-length crochet dress. Other standout pieces: a sheer trapeze blouse (which reminded me of Maison Cléo‘s signature silhouette) and a pinstripe shirt dress by Ein Crintels (I can’t seem to find the brand anywhere?!).
Saje
1421 Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice, CA 90291
A wellness boutique whose philosophy focuses on essentials oils. Usually, I’d give a polite smile to the shop girls and decline any sales tactics or “help,” but I was feeling sunny, positive, and open—I was across the country, after all. I agreed to the SA’s offer to try one of their blends while I browsed (genius), and rather than just dab essential oils on my pulse points, she had me turn around for a strategic application of equal parts Peppermint Halo and Stress Release while massaging acupuncture points. Twice during her massage, I felt head-to-toe tingles (and was sure she could see the bumps on the back of my neck rise). I maybe browsed for all of two minutes before the SA circled back and sold me on a pocket farmacy kit. Forgive me, Father, for I was weak.
The Butcher’s Daughter
1205 Abbot Kinney Blvd, Venice, CA 90291
I’ve never been to its New York location, but now that The Butcher’s Daughter was across the street (and one of few places still open after 8 pm), I peeked in, unsure of what to expect beyond (expensive) juices or smoothies to go. The hostess—a tall, thin, beachy brunette—seemed eager to usher me out, but how could I make a decision when before me was a rainbow of bright, boxed juices? Was I clocked for a tourist, or was I projecting my own insecurities? I ended up with a marigold-colored carton (number seven or 10, I can’t remember). It was delicious. Just over $12, but delicious. This was LA, after all.
. . .
xx
Your turn. Thoughts?