A few months ago when I divulged my plans to travel around the US a bit at the end of the summer, I mentioned that I’d be spending some time in Los Angeles for the first time in years. I myself wasn’t even really into the idea, it just so happened that flights to Central America were significantly cheaper from LAX than from San Francisco and since I’d be in California anyway, it just made sense to continue southward in the name of frugality.
On the bright side, as a University of California graduate, many of my nearest and dearest now reside in LA, so I took it as an opportunity to swing through and play catch up.
I originally figured a couple of days would suffice (if you can’t tell, I’m not the biggest fan of LA) but as my time in San Francisco stretched on, “a couple of days” dwindled into just one night.
A handful of friends had been generous enough to offer me a place to crash before my departure; my friend Whitney had recently moved to a new apartment in Manhattan Beach, an affluent coastal community in southwestern Los Angeles County, and upon learning that she was a mere 10 minutes from the airport to boot, the deal was sealed.
But let me give you a little backstory. Whitney and I met in 2005 as freshmen in college; we ended up joining the same sorority (yes I was in a sorority–judge all you want, I wouldn’t trade it for the world) and thus became “sisters.” Together we dominated the slopes at Tahoe on snowboard, dance floors all over California, and tequila shots wherever we could get our hands on them. We daydreamed about travel over endless bottles of wine and eventually got to watch our dreams come to life as we planned our graduation trip to Australia in the spring of 2009.
Though she had done a fair bit of traveling prior to our trip, I, on the other hand, had not. She didn’t even realize that day in June, as we boarded my first international flight together at LAX, that she’d just become my original travel buddy. I think she knows perfectly well now what effect that trip had on me though–19 countries later and I’m still head-over-heels for travel (she blames me for her wine addiction–ok, probably true–but girl, I blame you for this travel addiction of mine…and by “blame,” I mean “thank”).
So not only is this girl one of the most beautiful people I know in every sense of the word, she’s been a key supporter of this crazy, nonsensical lifestyle of mine–one of the few people who never doubts, never judges, never utters a negative word, only urges me to dream bigger, to go farther, to love more. She’s the friend who has stayed with me over time and across oceans, emerging on the other side as if nary a day has passed (when in reality we hadn’t seen each other for four years, much to both our dismay).
So now you know why I was actually pretty excited for this mini-trip to Manhattan Beach. A chance to catch up with the girl who started it all? Tequila was in order.
My Megabus left San Francisco promptly at 8:15am on a Tuesday morning and arrived at 3pm, a half hour ahead of schedule, to downtown LA’s Union Station. Despite how often I travel, and that all the signs were in my own language, I couldn’t for the life of me navigate this transit system. After a number of confusing conversations, an attempt to buy a ticket from the wrong machine, and boarding a train I wasn’t 100% sure was going the right direction, I was on my way.
With the help of what I can only describe as dumb luck, the commuter bus I eventually found myself on dropped me half a block from Whitney’s doorstep; my hour-and-a-half of travel from downtown had cost me a grand total of $4.50. I patted myself on the back and schlepped my things up to her adorable apartment WITH AN OCEAN VIEW and showered off the stress of the day.
Since my gracious hostess was still at work, I had a few hours to kill and a thoughtfully curated list (from the gracious hostess herself) of activities to undertake to acquaint myself with the area.
Within minutes I found myself on the iconic Manhattan Beach Strand, a promenade designed for all things active, flanked by jaw-dropping luxury homes on one side and an endless stretch of beach on the other. The setting sun warmed me to the core as I meandered south and resisted the urge to jump in on a game of beach volleyball.
I made it as far as the Manhattan Beach Pier where I stopped for a bit to wiggle my toes in the sand, then made my way back up to a main street to get a closer look at the selection of surf shops and seafood restaurants on my way back to Whitney’s place.
When my girl finally arrived, we were out the door again in a flash on our way to Taco Tuesday at a local pub called OB’s. Peanut shells crunched under our feet as we made our way through the crowd to a table at the back. Fresh from the office, Whitney was easily the best dressed in the place with the Taco Tuesday clientele tending more toward shirtless surfer types than high-powered CEOs (though in Manhattan Beach the two could easily be one in the same).
We ordered more than our fair share of cheap tacos and margaritas and caught each other up on important life happenings. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect reunion.
The next day was rather uneventful and consisted of not much more than organizing myself for my impending flight(s) to Nicaragua while Whitney was at work. I hoofed it to the nearest Walgreen’s for some last-minute travel essentials, did some laundry, wandered the beachfront one more time, and felt calmer than ever prior to an international flight. Perhaps being in the presence of my original travel companion had something to do with it.
After a quick dinner at a restaurant called Rock & Brews and a glass of wine for good measure, my whirlwind visit to Manhattan Beach came to an abrupt end. Before I knew it, Whitney and I were locked in a bear hug at the LAX departure terminal and pledging not to let another four years pass before our next margarita sesh.
As I checked in for my flight to Managua, I smiled to myself knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wouldn’t have to wait that long.
