The Venture to Venice… Alone

PEOPLE-WATCHING one of my favorite things to do.

But before I completely creep you out, and you leave your computer thinking I’m a stalker, let me just say that I’m more of a “passive observer” than anything. And that’s what we communication studies majors do best right? We watch and observe people; a glorified “people watcher” if you will.

Another favorite pastime of mine is to ride the bus. And if you’re from LA, you’re probably doing either of two things right now: thinking I’m crazy or thinking I’m lying. (Both of which call into question my past attempt at making “people-watching” sound normal). The first time I ever rode the bus in Los Angeles, I was completely, utterly, and intentionally lost. I waited at the stop on the corner of 83rd and Lincoln for 20 minutes with black clouds of exhaust fanning my face before realizing that the benches at the stops aren’t really meant for sitting at all. Aside from the nasty graffiti scratched into the real estate agent ad on the back, unknown and highly questionable liquids made three matching puddles on each seat.

Finally when the bus arrived, and the doors flew open, I rushed to a much (but relatively) cleaner seat than the bus waiting station offered.
That’s when the scowling bus driver turned his head and scrunched his eyebrows. “Excuse me, excuse me miss!”
“Yes?” No need to shout.
“Are you gonna pay or what?” By this time the wrinkles on his forehead multiplied, making them too many to count on one hand.
“Oh yes, here you go.” I did bring a dollar bill for the ride. I’m not stupid.
“We don’t take dollar bills. Change only.” Seriously? A dollar bill is still valid U.S. currency Mr. Blue Bus Driver Man. And I don’t have change right now… This is ridiculously embarrassing, isn’t it? This is just like that El Pollo Loco in Redondo that only takes bills smaller than a 20. Sorry pal, my bank only gave me a 50 this time. Don’t give me that face, it’s not like I have 50 dollar bills just floating around, so don’t think I’m a spoiled rich kid so fast. In fact, this is the only money I have to my name. Can I just get my burrito please? Thanks. All I’m trying to do is ride this dumb bus.
“Well, I only have a dollar bill. Here, I’ll ask someone for change for my dollar bill.” I’m trying to be accommodating here.
“Step behind the yellow line! The bus is moving!” Snapping his head forward and grasping the steering wheel, Mr. Bus Driver Man finished the conversation.
As he steps on the gas, I trip backwards and stumble into the aisles. Fine, if he wants to be that way, I’ll take the free ride. Two can play this game.

So, I scan the bus for an open seat, trying desperately to pick the least disgusting one. And luckily I found a clean one (again, relatively speaking here). As a take a deep breath and look around, that’s when I realize that I was today’s entertainment for the bus ride audience. Everyone was staring. After my little paying problem, I might as well have put a sticky note on my forehead saying “I’VE NEVER RIDDEN THE BUS BEFORE AND I’M A COMPLETE IDIOT”. I couldn’t have sent a clearer message really.

But I’m not completely inexperienced on roaming Los Angeles; it’s just that I normally have a car. I go on these little “escapades” a lot actually. I tend to get in my car and not know where I’m going and just look for a road that I haven’t driven down before. But since I no longer have a car at my disposal, I’m forced to find other ways to get off the bluff. So today I decided to get on the bus and listen to 5 songs on my iPod and then get off. And if you think that sounds a little impulsive, you’re right; it’s something I literally decided when I woke up this morning. It’s a Saturday, so I walked two blocks to the nearest bus station on 83rd, hopped on and then after public embarrassment and 5 tunes later, I’m standing on the corner of Rose and Lincoln in the heart of Venice Beach.

Great.

Don’t get me wrong; Venice is fine – when you have a large group of people with you. For one, walking along the boardwalk alone only makes you more susceptible to persistent vendors and shopkeepers. They see that you’re alone and like vultures they surround you, feeding off your vulnerability.

And I like to take pictures of my adventures, but snapping pictures when you’re on your own only makes you look like… well, a creeper. But after a couple of minutes of unsuccessfully trying to indiscreetly get some pictures, the Venetians were on to me. Some vendors approached me and told me to pay five dollars for taking a picture of their stand. And that one man who had a petition to save the endangered leatherback sea turtles of Costa Rica wanted to know why I took his picture, demanding me to delete it in front of his eyes. I also tried to get a picture of the beach with the infamous “roller-skater” man with his white turban in the background. He spotted me from across the sidewalk and skated over to tell me he charges $10 for a picture (but he was willing to cut me a deal if I got 2 of his Bob Marley t-shirts for eight dollars).

Photographer Anne Fishbein said everybody gets nervous when you pull out a camera, and here in Venice they get greedy too. I’m actually impressed more than anything really, what a great idea to charge for pictures. If I were that man, I’d probably do the same thing. All those characters in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater expect payment for pictures, so why shouldn’t the characters of Venice do the same?
But at the same time, there was this one picture where all I wanted was the beach. That’s it. And then some guy walks by and tries to charge me for taking his picture. He didn’t know that I purposely zoomed in to make sure he was out of the frame. Even after showing him the pictures he wouldn’t leave me alone. This is a moment where I wished I hadn’t gone alone.

But as kooky as Venice is, this is the LA I love. LA’s like that sibling you love to bag on, you love them to death and they might hate you for it, but they’re just so easy to make fun of. It’s so easy (and fun) to complain about how awful the air is here, and how unreliable the bus system tends to be, or how weird people are down on the Venice boardwalk. But truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

-- Nicole Ryan



(photo credit: Nicole Ryan)

Abbot Kinney

The New York Times recently put up a travel posting on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in Venice, Ca. You can see the slideshow here

Abbot Kinney, a wealthy tobacco businessman, was the founder of the city of Venice, and had a vision for the coastal stretch of land as a "Venice of America." He envisioned gondolas and performers, and all sorts of other cultural attractions to allure people to the area that he loved so much. Today it has become a cultural icon for different reasons- as a trendy and hip example of the Los Angeles beach lifestyle. An eclectic group inhabits the beachy city, where a breeze always seems to be blowing, and boutiques and small cafes with barely visible names printed on the windows in minimalist fashion, line the streets. Abbot Kinney Boulevard has materialized into a street with an identity uniquely its own, and is attractive for a variety of reasons. Restaurants like the newly opened Lemonade (with its delicious variety of unusually flavored lemonade), Abbot's Pizza (a small store front with a big variety of delicious and creative pizzas), Joe's Cafe, and many others offer great food in a relaxing environment, not to mention the various "taco trucks," serving a variety of food much more than just tacos, which frequent the street. The palm trees that border the sidewalks make the orange and pink sunset in combination with the variety of shops even more picturesque on a warm summer evening. In a strange way, the magic of the street- maybe becuase of the name, or the people, or even just the vibe, make you almost want to say "my street is cooler than yours"- almost.

-- Posted from NYT story by Kimberly Dennis
photo credits: ricardodiaz11, vmiramontes, flickr creative commons)

Hidden Venice Beach

MY FRIEND THOM moved from Venice Beach to New York a few months ago, and this weekend he was in town to visit my roommate and me. On Friday morning, we were craving a tasty sit-down breakfast but wanted to find a somewhere walking distance to avoid warm weather parking frustration. We thought of all the places on Abbot Kinney Boulevard since it’s the closest street from our apartment, but Thom knew better—he had a secret up his sleeve that would surely meet our breakfast needs.

Without telling us the specifics of where our destination was located, we followed Thom up and down different streets, to an area that seemed more like a residential neighborhood than a restaurant location. But sure enough we turned one last corner and there it was—The Brick House, literally a red brick building with a small patio facing the street. “This place has great breakfast” said Thom as he looked inside and signaled a waitress.

He was right, the food was great and the patio was as sunny and comfortable as could be. There was only one other group seated outside with us; they wore urban-hipster-style duds of plaid prints and skinny jeans - a common style in Venice. They also had a small dog with them, resting underneath the table as they ate. Wearing sunglasses throughout their meal, they talked with one another over coffee and eggs, and had a cigarette before paying the bill and leaving.

As I looked out at the streets surrounding the restaurant, it reminded me of “Hidden Los Angeles” and all the places that exist here that remain unseen or underappreciated. I have lived in Venice for a while now, and I had never even heard of The Brick House, much less had the urge to give it a try.

I ordered the Venice Eggs Benedict, and was completely satisfied with my choice as it contained one of my favorite foods—artichokes. The more I thought about it, the more this restaurant seemed to epitomize what I love about living in Venice Beach. It’s owned by Venice locals, the best way to get there is on foot, and it’s one of those places that must be found, explored and appreciated, unlike the more popular (crowded) trendy restaurants along Abbot Kinney.

Now I find myself wanting to go there more often and take people there who do not know about it already. It’s close, comfortable, and the food really is wonderful—from a wide assortment of omelets and waffles for breakfast, to burgers as pasta dishes for dinner—The Brick House is truly a hidden treasure in Venice Beach.

-- Lauren McHale
(photo credit: lauren mchale)

Vanished L.A.: Venice Beach in Cisco Pike

I HAD HOPED to screen this little time capsule of L.A. but we may run out of time before it's all done. But here's a little taste. Take a look at what Venice looked like circa early '70s -- the canals, the walk streets . . .

-- L.G.

Urban Legends of Venice Beach

AFTER MOVING into my new apartment in Venice Beach, I took a walk with my roommate who had already been living in the apartment for a semester, so he knew the ins and outs of the neighborhood. What was interesting was the first story he told me about a man living in a house across the street from us.
“The guy who lives in that house is crazy” he said. “What do you mean, crazy?” I asked. Apparently the man has been living in Venice Beach for over 50 years, and rumor has it that he once went to the Venice Beach boardwalk where he invited a homeless man and a drug addict to live in his home with him. As my roommate explained this story, I stared across the street at this man’s home. Surrounded by a metal gate, the front yard is covered with old, broken chairs, tables, and shrubs that look like they haven’t been attended to in years. It was like a game of I Spy; I found four American flags hanging in various areas, a large mirror on top of the house, a clock displayed next to a window, and an old bike covered in dirt. His car sits in front of the house, an old blue VW wagon with all of the windows rolled down as if he has no concern for the car being robbed or stolen. As we walked back to our apartment, the man was leaving his home with his three dogs, all of which are of some mix of Pitbull—all without a leash. One is wearing a cone around its neck, and one has lost the functioning of its back right leg. The third dog, with a fatty tumor on its back the size of a baseball, has crossed paths with a smaller dog and is barking furiously in its direction as the man walks ahead, seemingly uninterested in the conflict.
Soon enough I believed the rumor to be true—this man must be crazy, yet there also must be a story there. How true are the stories we hear about “crazy” neighbors? With so many American flags, could he be a veteran? Has he created a halfway house for the homeless and the addicted? Venice Beach has always steered clear of being considered a stereotypical Los Angeles community, and he is the epitome of this ideal. Taking the advice of Professor George, I have resisted the urge to walk up alone, knock on his door and talk to him, but not a day goes by that I don’t look at his cluttered yard and wondered what his LA story is.

-- Lauren McHale

(photo credit: Lauren McHale)

Hidden L.A.: Late Night Speakeasies

ONE OF the best things about L.A. is finding the hidden pockets that you only discover by talking to people, the kind of places that people don't necessarily want to let you know about because they want to make sure that only the right people are there. You know when you meet a guy who is trying to pick up girls in a Venice bar by simply using the line "I'm a musician" that A: this guy is shady! and B: he's weird enough to know some really rad hangouts.
This is how I stumbled onto the speakeasy at the Stronghold, which is a clothing store by day, free-for-all by night. I couldn't give you any specific details other than the fact that magic goes down there on most weekend nights, as there doesn't seem to be an established time, cover, or genre. First, you stand downstairs and drop a general name of someone who you clearly don't know (but there's always a Bill, right?) to try to get into the place for free, which we did by yelling at someone who poked his head out from an upstairs window. You make your way upstairs to a sea of locals, real musicians, "musicians", druggies, forty-something soccer moms, and other twenty-two year olds with empty pockets like myself, trying to live on the edge of adventure.

There's a thirty-year-old woman in a vintage wedding dress and glasses heating up the dance floor. The band is good, and they've got the kind of sound you'd probably pay thirty dollars to see on Sunset with a jazzy-country blend that's got people going wild, and the old, blind, bass player with sunglasses on is just jamming out. For good conversation, there are the smokers on the back porch, who seem to either be members of the band or drunk singles trying to figure out where they fit into the scheme of things. I was there until after three A.M., but it seems that at the Stronghold, the party never stops. I highly recommend checking out this hidden nook of Los Angeles, especially with friends that seem to be in the anti-L.A. funk. This place has a twenties feel that brings L.A. back to another decade with less headaches and more fun. Those from small towns will feel right at home, the trendy chic won't feel out of place, and the music lovers will be hit in all the right places.

The Stronghold- 1625 Abbott Kinney Blvd, Venice

-Thea Green