Los Angeles journal: part 2

We were stopping in Los Angeles on our way to Hawaii, so wanted to rest up and take the time change slowly. So this was a lazy day, with a massage, and a pedicure and manicure given by a sweet, petite Hispanic woman named Gloria. She had been an R.N. until she injured her back holding onto a 200 pound, 5’10” woman t o keep her from falling. Now she cleans the salon and does manicures and pedicures. She thinks that’s how God wanted it and is accepting of her reduced station in life.

I refused to get in the car for another choking drive on the ever-full L.A. highways. This obstinacy was met with no resistance, since Terry was also still reacting to our drives of the previous day. We had dinner in our ornate, historic hotel, The Biltmore, at a restaurant named Sai Sai, a “fusion Asian” restaurant. Dinner was adequate to good. We chose a fondu dish for dessert featuring fruit dipped in marshmallow sauce which Terry thought tasted like chalk. I thought it was too bland for the fruit.

There was an informed conversation about the Gewurtztraminer with the German owner of the Asian restaurant with the Hispanic waiters in Los Angeles. Come to think of it, the glistening tiles at the entrance of the restaurant didn't feel Asian, more German. Perhaps the clean, clever décor also reflected his exposure to sexy hip European architecture. At the salon the owner was Iranian, the masseuse French, the hairdresser Ukranian, and the manicurist/cleaner Hispanic. The mix of folk in L.A. is different from New York. There seem to be bigger chunks of each ethnicity in L.A. But what do I know.

L.A. was chilly. The newspaper says Honolulu is in the 80’s. I was so filled up with L.A. that my mind had not yet attached to Hawaii.

As we entered the airplane the next morning, I remembered one reason why I had never yearned to go to Hawaii – I find the music trying, boring, anodyne. Pictures of Hawaii look canned. Soon I will be able to touch it, smell it. The trip will then come alive.