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Published: December 5th 2010
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Salvation Army Band
They were in Union Station, playing Christmas carols. The night (with the seats in day-mode again) went fairly well, except that the air was so dry that I had continual nosebleeds and chapped lips, and the dry air itself seemed to be contributing to my cough. I slept for about an hour at a stretch; then stopped and wrote up my blog for future posting, then catnapped again, and so on.
In the night we went from Mountain Time to Pacific Time. By good luck I woke just at the change point, in Needles, and was able to change the time on my
watch and computer just at the right moment.
Breakfast was served at 5 a.m. Pacific, which was just as well, as no one's stomach had adjusted to the new time zone yet. Surprisingly, it went well.
Debbie came to the dining car at the same time I did, and she and her husband gladly shared a table with me.
We got into L.A. an hour early, at 7:15 a.m.. Most of the passengers were delighted by our early arrival, but it posed a bit of a problem for me because check-in time at my motel was 1 p.m.. L.A. had no storage lockers
Needles
Time change point: Mountain to Pacific (most places have never put them back since 9/11), which scotched my nascent
plan to go see the La Brea Tar Pits at once, starting from the train station, as the pits were evidently much closer to the train station than to my motel.
I retrieved my checked bag -- though somehow I had managed to lose the checked-baggage tag. I still don't know what on earth I did with it. It was safe in my purse as recently as an hour before. They let me have the bag since my ID matched the address on its own tag.
Los Angeles' Union Station was smaller than Chicago's Union Station. It was built in Spanish Mission style, with mosaics inset into the walls. There was a Salvation Army Band, a brass quartet, playing Christmas carols in the station. I had heard of Salvation Army bands but had never seen a real one. I listened to them for several minutes.
Then, it was time to find the Flyaway Bus, a shuttle between Union Station and LAX. My bags and I were taken there by a very nice Red Cap named Eric. He
was thinking of moving to Alaska and
Rail Runner
Strikingly painted light-rail line, running from Santa Fe to Albuquerque was interested to learn that I had a cousin who had spent most of her adult life there.
The Flyaway Bus' driver gave us a very entertaining safety lecture. "No singing, unless you're really good, and the other passengers and I will decide that!
And if someone does start to sing, and their singing makes you want to jump out the window, here's how to do it...."
The lady behind me chatted with me as we rode. She ran a domestic-violence shelter, and was at LAX for a professional conference and awards breakfast. She invited me to the awards breakfast, but I felt I had too much luggage. She seemed interested in my anti-bullying website.
LAX was -- not what I had expected. I had looked at maps often enough, but the space I had assumed to be a large central concourse turned out, instead, to be a large open area, so that all the different terminals -- LAX has ten -- were free-standing buildings. A maze of traffic lanes filled the open space, with innumerable parking shuttles and motel shuttles and every other sort of shuttle, all rushing by at bewildering speed.
I
wasted $1.50 trying to contact my motel, the La Quinta, under another mistaken assumption -- this time, that I would have to request them to send
their shuttle. In fact, all the airport motels have clubbed together, and a shuttle runs continuously, round and round, stopping at all the terminals and then at the motels. (I say "a" shuttle, but actually there are several, each shared by two or three motels. La Quinta's was shared by the Westin and the Holiday Inn.
Once I finally understood that all I had to do was board a shuttle, I still had to find the right shuttle and the right shuttle stop, and there were so many, many shuttles! I lucked into a rolling-luggage cart that someone had left -- normally you pay $4 for them when you check them out, but I hadn't been able to figure out how to do that. (I did try.) This one had not yet been locked up again, so I put my belongings on it and rolled it away.
I wandered about for ages and eventually found the right stop and, after even longer, the right shuttle. It took me to La Quinta --
Classic western storefronts
I think I took this one in Colorado. but it was still 10:30 a.m.. I went to the desk, planning to ask if they would store my luggage till check-in
time. Instead, once they found out they couldn't sell me a $60 sightseeing tour of L.A. to pass the time till check-in, they very kindly let me check in early.
I hadn't expected that, but I went upstairs. How huge the room seemed after my roomette! Why, the bathroom alone was larger than it had been! The furniture was modernistic and a bit strange. The mirror was round, and inset into a large green dot. The armchair was a butterbean-shaped chair-and-a-
half, with ottoman. But that meant it was large enough for me and I found it very comfortable.
I thought about going to the La Brea Tar Pits at once, as the daylight would not last for me to do it if I did not start out quite soon. I thought how comfortable the king-size bed looked, and how nice it would be to sleep on it. I dithered for a bit, but the king-size bed won.
When I woke again, it was much too late to go to the Tar Pits. On impulse, I did catch a $5 sightseeing trolley, the Ocean Express, which took me to Manhattan Beach, half an hour's ride away. As it happened, there was a thick fog over the beach, so I could see very little; I even had to ask the trolley driver which way I should turn to get to the ocean.
I rushed down to the beach, and then down and down again across the widest beach I had ever seen. I learned next day that Manhattan Beach has so much
sand that they actually sell it to other beach communities for beach-renewal projects.
The Pacific at Manhattan Beach looked and felt very much like the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach. Pasa thalassa thalassa. (The sea is the same everywhere.)
I walked along it for a short distance, but it was so terribly foggy that I was afraid I might lose my way. I have occasionally gotten lost on Myrtle Beach in a fog, and I know it well; I didn't know this beach at all.
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