I was in L.A. for two weeks in early March. I always
enjoy my trips to my old stomping grounds; I lived there for almost thirty
years. I enjoy visiting, but it’s not like the enthusiastic enjoyment that a
child feels at Disneyland. It’s more like the semi-nostalgic Gemuetlichkeit* of
walking again in the steps of prior life experiences. I walked again where I
had walked many times; I drove again on roads that I had first driven on before
my thirtieth birthday; my phone number from thirty years ago still got me the
discounts at my old supermarket; I saw houses and stores that by now have taken
on new lives. I took the pulse of the city that I called home for three
decades. The city seemed okay, and it was certainly still very attractive, but
it wasn’t all lollypops and roses.
It was two years ago that I had last visited L.A., and
then only in passing. I like to plan rest stops into long trips. Traveling from
South East Asia to Southern California is enough of a slog. It’s between
twenty-five and thirty hours already. I refuse to collect my bags and go
straight to another terminal to check in for a flight to another American city.
Two years ago, I went to this hotel from the airport, and then back to LAX the
next day for a flight to Tucson. And not too early, either. Returning to
Bangkok from Tucson, I planned a similar buffer.
Two years ago, I thought the hotel was fine. After all,
all I did was collapse on the bed and sleep. This time? Maybe it’ll get its own
post next week.
This trip was about twenty-six hours in the same clothes by
the time I arrived at my LAX-close hotel. I took a cab, not wishing to drive a
car for the first time in three years after all of that dizzying travel hassle.
It was only about two p.m. when I checked in to my room. I was resolved to stay
awake until at least eight p.m., nine would be better, so I fiddled around in
the room, unpacking, making notes about the trip, reading a bit, and getting to
know the cable TV. I recalled from my first stay that it was a considerable
walk from the hotel to anything to eat, but I thought that the walk would do me
good. I set off about six p.m., intending to visit a convenience store and a
McDonald’s. That was kind of the choices; it would have been another quarter of
a mile to a Taco Bell.
I walked north to Century Boulevard. There’s a long block
of sidewalk outside a big self-storage facility. Two years ago, there was
nothing there but the sidewalk, a strip of grass, and some trees on the almost
bare sub-lawn (between the sidewalk and the street). This time the whole length
of the grass area was taken up with a semi-permanent homeless encampment. That’s
the preferred terminology in L.A. now, “homeless encampment,” and they seem to
be all over. It was a big news item on all media. This one ran for at least two
hundred feet from the fence to the sidewalk, a diameter of about ten feet
across. It consisted of makeshift tents made from plastic sheeting or tarps. I
could make out chairs and beds and shopping carts full of people’s belongings.
The biggest tarp structure had a gasoline generator, and the inside featured
electric lights and a TV. And some heaters, no doubt. Don’t let anyone fool
you, L.A. is pretty cold at night, even in March.
After that block and across a small, dead end street was
a gas station with driveways on La Cienega and Century. There’s a big convenience
store there. There were two homeless people flanking the door. Both had obviously
been outdoors for a long time. On one side was a tall man of uncertain age
whose face was hidden by a large hood. He did not move or speak, at all. On the
other side was a woman who appeared to be about sixty years old. Some of her
teeth were missing, which you could notice because she got eye contact and
smiled as you walked by. She offered me a greeting and asked for any spare
change. Both were bundled up in clothing on that chilly evening. I wondered if
the silent man was her bodyguard. He was younger and built for the task.
These are very bad signs, but you’d need a scorecard to
follow all of the bad signs in America right now.
*Gemeutlichkeit: a word unique to German which conveys a
meaning that combines the feeling of walking in well broken-in shoes with the
pleasant experience of one’s favorite things.
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