Back in January, after our trip to half moon bay, we spent a weekend in LA. It was a good weekend and there are a couple things I’d like to tell you about it, but I can’t seem to string them all together into one coherent story. So instead I’ll give it to you straight, in true Virgoan style, as a list.
1. I visited LA twice before this particular trip. Both previous trips were totally disastrous for a number of different reasons that I won’t delve into just now. But on this occasion, the third time really was a charm.
2. If you, like me, spent much of your youth obsessing over Francesca Lia Block and thus have totally unreasonable expectations of Los Angeles (and alos, um, the rest of the world) then you must stay at the Petit Ermitage. It’s the only experience I’ve ever had that even dares to come close.
3. I had the worst, and I mean the worst restaurant meal of my life on this trip. It happened in a very trendy, faux asian restaurant run by a very well known pastry chef and it was truly awful. The food was breathtakingly beautiful but really just tasted bad. There’s just no other way to describe it. Discordant flavors, unpleasant textures, etc. We did however make up for it with some killer fish tacos at a tiny mexican joint in silver lake.
4. In the past when visiting LA I found the obvious attention that people pay to appearances (both their’s and other’s) to be totally, completely insecurity provoking. After walking by one-hundred different females who could all be supermodels styled for a fashion shoot it was hard for me not to be hyper conscious of just how short, dark and curvy I really am. But this time, for some reason, I felt totally at ease. I’m pretty sure that I didn’t get any taller, thinner or blonder so it must be the fact that I’m getting more confident and secure in my own skin. Hooray for maturity!
5. Whatever your plans are in LA, please, please make sure you take an afternoon/early evening and drive down Highway 1 at sunset. That was the part of my trip where LA turned into a dream. A classic, quintessentially Californian dream.