This area has had a gray few months, and it's worse up the hill, where our house is. Often, we have awakened to find ourselves inside the clouds. So when the weekend forecast called for rain, I suggested to Adam that I pick up him at LAX and we spend a night in L.A.
Adam arrived in the early afternoon, and not surprisingly, he was exhausted after the long flight. I managed to get him out for a short walk, and then we chilled in the room for a bit. Shutters on the Beach is a treat, even if the lobby smells like someone hoses it down with perfume. I chose the hotel—in Santa Monica, not far from the airport—because I didn't want to spend the whole time in traffic; same goes for the restaurant I reserved at, Tallula's. Technically, it's in Santa Monica, but over by Pacific Palisades. Adam agreed to the 45-minute walk—we were able to take the beach path the whole way, which was lovely. I don't think we had ever walked far that direction, and relatively few people were around.
In the morning, it was mutually agreed that I should go for a stroll while Adam worked up energy to leave the room. I had always been iffy on Santa Monica, but in the calm of the early morning, I could see its charm. I'm drawn to places that are equal parts rough and upscale—too much either direction spoils the soup.
That said, the homeless situation in Santa Monica and Venice is dire. People were living midway up the bluffs above Pacific Coast Highway; they had pitched tents on the sidewalks. After 25 years in New York City, I didn't think I could get any further depressed by homelessness. And the possibility of a tense encounter loomed over every outing. I love a camera obscura, but I wasn't about to go inside at 7 a.m. on a Saturday (if it was open) because I feared someone would be ensconced inside.
The other thing that had changed since my last visit was the rise of scooter-sharing—the kind where users can drop them wherever they want. They're littered everywhere, often blocking sidewalks. How lazy do you have to be not to move it out of the way?
But then there were grass flip-flops, the best use yet for fake sod.
I met Adam at the hotel, where he was grudgingly ready to venture out. We headed toward Venice, on streets I hadn't walked before. The "stockboy" parking space is at a company that distributes (distributed?) cigarettes, cigars, and candy, according to the signage. And the binoculars are at ad agency Chiat/Day's headquarters. Cars drive through them to enter the garage.
Our destination was Gjusta, the bakery/café spun off of Gjelina restaurant. Adam and I liked Gjelina fine, but Roger at Arcade Bakery insisted that Gjusta is remarkable. And it was! I think maybe Roger is also impressed by how much Gjusta does beyond bake: The menu is extensive. I ordered a bacon-and-egg flatbread, while Adam had a croissant, and then I went back for a pain au chocolat, a pistachio croissant, a loaf of pumpernickel bread, six everything bagels, and a jar of strawberry jam. (Most of it was for later.) Also, Lauren Hutton was hanging out at the counter, looking amazing.
We walked back on a residential street, increasingly one of my favorite things to do while traveling (and not just because of the real-estate website I'm working on, may it see the light of day...).
We drove to Santa Barbara through Malibu, but we didn't see Cher. Once we got home, we sat down to lunch outside, marveling at the beautiful weather. Fifteen minutes later, huge raindrops started to fall.
P.S. Gosford Park is on Netflix, and I highly recommend it, even for a rewatch, and not just because Kristin Scott Thomas is in it. Although a high point is certainly when she barks, "You always complain that people look down on you, but then you act like a peasant!"
The time that Adam “grudgingly” agreed to leave hotel? 7:30am on a Saturday. Judge for yourself!
Posted by: Adam | 12 May 2019 at 09:48 AM