LA by the sea

One of LA’s great advantages is that it is situated along an almost unbroken expanse of beach, and we couldn’t miss out on the quintessential southern Californian beach experience. Santa Monica is LAs main beach location, almost a city in itself, loved especially by ex-pat Brits, including (oddly) Morrissey and John Lydon. But we thought we’d go to its slightly quieter neighbour, Venice Beach, so named because its creator installed a series of canals a few blocks back from the beachfront. The beach is wide and never-ending, but most people come to Venice for its Boardwalk, a sort of Camden Market by the sea, with wizened old hippies squatting on the pavement selling white sage and ear-rings, tattoo and piercing parlours every hundred yards, bars holding “Jim Morrison Appreciation weekends”, and of course a drum circle. I scoff, but it made for an interesting afternoon. We had lunch in the Sidewalk Café, and watched a street entertainer whose whole schtick was following people and imitating their walk, and pretending to be their partner by holding their hand … it was a lot funnier than it sounds. There were other street entertainers too, including a dreadlocked rasta on roller-skates playing Hendrix songs on his electric guitar, which all added to the local colour.

A few hundred yards further south we came to the renowned “Muscle Beach”. This was a bit of a disappointment. I had imagined a vast area filled with Arnie-wannabees working assiduously on their pecs and abs, but what was actually there was a smallish outdoor gym with three or four narcissists deigning to share the sight of their rippling bodies with us mere mortals. Perhaps it was the time of day, mid-afternoon in mid-summer not being the best time to exert oneself in the open air.















Hippie bus in Venice Beach

The canals of this Venice were not too extensive, but ambling among them with an ice cream in the late afternoon was delightful – imagining ourselves living in one of the small canal-side houses, the beach just around the corner. The long walk back to the car was made bearable by stopping off in shops selling ethnic furniture and gifts, and one man chanting to the sun as it set. We decided to drive back, with the top down, along Santa Monica Boulevard and through Beverly Hills, rather than on the freeway. This was interesting in parts but took much longer, and by the time we were in Beverly Hills it had gone dark and we were getting cold – we had to stop and convert the convertible.