TAKING OFF FROM LAX

60^th AUS Trip Blog 1

LA

Although for family readers my efforts will be sparse compared to Julia Juster’s dispatches from Copenhagen, they will, I pray, give a glimpse into my grand Australian adventure. If the pen is mightier than the sword, Julia wields a battle ax to my paring knife. So be it.

On Wednesday September 9^th I departed Cleveland, to which I shall return, Lord willing, on Monday, October 15^th.  26 days later. Let the stats intrigued note that this includes no September 20^th, and two October 11ths, due to the mystery of the International Date Line.

Things to LA went very smoothly, in that the plane left on time, arrived early, and my bags decided not to abandon me just yet. They are biding their time.

I soon remembered why I hate LA airport (LAX). It is HUGE, seven terminals, poorly marked, and always under construction.  Today, the plane came into terminal 3, but the bags were delivered to terminal 4. I did note a dozen or so empty carousels in terminal three, apparently for display purposes only.  I searched in vain for an interior route to terminal 4. There is none, you must physically leave each terminal and climb over arriving, departing cab and shuttle seeking travelers on a sidewalk that is no wider than an escalator.  I would repeat this dance later on in the day while attempting to find QANTAS, but I shall spare you the details.  Despite many signs that QANTAS departs from Terminal 4, it really departs out of a temporary terminal which is only referred to as “Aisle B”. How anyone made the plane remains a mystery.

Anyway, LAX behind me for the moment, I pursued my intention to spend my 11 hour layover doing something other than sitting in a departure lounge. I had booked a hotel room nearby, and determined that I would drop my stuff in the room and head to the nearest beach. More or less that was what happened, although I could have walked to the hotel in the hour it took me waiting in the AVIS line. I hate the way car rental companies handle reservations almost as much as I hate LAX.

The weather was perfect, 80 degrees and cloudless. A bit of smog made the purple hills hazy, but it all looked beautiful. The neighborhoods around LAX are transitional. Some well-kept bungalows on tree lined streets, some drab, beat up shopping areas. Some luxury hotels next to vacant lots and burned out buildings. Streets congested with cars, cyclists and a surprising number of pedestrians.  I thought everyone drives in LA.

 

 

The nearest beach is Dockweiler state park, which crouches at the western end of the LAX runways. I feared that it would be dirty and scary, but it was wide, clean and serene. Serene? Well, after an hour or so you don’t even notice the jumbo jets  directly overhead at altitude 100 feet, straining to climb high enough to miss the tankers moored off shore. The seagulls are actually noisier in terms of constant background. Perhaps the cleanliness and serenity are due to the fact that most LA folks would probably NOT choose the end of the runway as their favorite beach destination. Just a guess.

What I was after was not sunbathing, but to rent a bike and ride the 20 miles of bike paths that I was assured ran through the park.  I was not disappointed, finding a friendly bike store operator at the end of the parking lot I happened to enter. For the grand sum of $14, (plus $8 parking) I was able to cruise up and down the beach and enjoy a glorious California afternoon.

Californians do the beach lifestyle well. As I got away from the runways there were plenty of scantily clad Californians to peep at. I will say that you don’t see many who have no business in a bathing suit. On the bike path, mind you this was 2:30 in the afternoon, were hundreds of cyclists, runners, skateboarders, roller bladers, and walkers. Most of whom looked as if they were of the age where they should be at work or at school. But they were all diligently WORKING OUT. No cheery waves or welcoming smiles, which I try to elicit from everyone I pass. No, these folks were WORKING OUT, and it is a very serious business. Most do not even make eye contact.

 

My route took me through the sea-side towns of El Segundo, Playa Del Ray and Marina Del Ray, in order of affluence as one gets further from the runways. They actually were all cute and attractive right at the beach level. I can only imagine what the beach front bungalows cost. There must be zoning restrictions against high rises right on the beach, for those did not start four until three or four blocks, on top of the hills. Marina Del Ray, which I have visited before, must have three boats for every resident.  Imagine the largest parking lot you have ever seen packed with boats. And there are dozens of these marinas in every inlet and cove. I can only imagine the chaos if a hurricane ever came ashore here.

 

 

I did note three different film shoots as I traversed the area. One had Victorian looking costumes all hung on racks, with a special trailer next to it for the talents’ dressing rooms. Not a soul was about. I next came across a fashion shoot where four elegantly clad young ladies were repeatedly running across the sand arm in arm. The last set must have been for an action movie. Tons of ATVs in camo colors and other quasi-military vehicles. Again, no talent. Only security guards.

 

Well I am now in hour ten into the 13 hour LA to Sydney flight. It has been very comfortable. I am trying Business Class for the first time. It is the way to go. Your seat reclines fully into a bed. They give you a pillow a blanket, and your own set of pajamas with a kangaroo on them!  And a cuppa tea when you awake. I love Qantas.

My itinerary for the next three weeks is full:

·       Weekend in the Blue Mountains with friends

·       A week in New South Wales visiting Christian camps in operation

·       A week plus sailing a yacht on the Great Barrier Reef, in the Whitsunday Islands

·       A half week back in Sydney visiting friends and teaching some history classes at Shore School

Be back online soon, but now for another cuppa.