A Walk in the City in the Sun
A pedestrian among mansions
Yesterday, I needed to take a walk and wanted to see some mansions. Luckily, there are some stretches of Los Angeles where both these things are possible. I decided to head to Los Feliz Boulevard, a stretch of road that runs from Hollywood to Glendale along the Southern edge of Griffith Park. It’s also (famously) where once upon a time I was in a Lyft that hit a pedestrian, but that’s a story for another day (don’t worry—everyone lived!).
Because this is LA, I drove to take a walk. Don’t worry, I feel guilty about it, too! I parked my Corolla right at the base of the Los Feliz Hills, which are very similar to other hills in this town in that they are full of beautiful houses behind walls. These particular hills are special in that they are populated by quirky rich people, like directors of weird movies and electronic musicians.
Because I’m nothing if not lazy, I decided my walk would be leisurely. This meant venturing further into the hills was out. I set off for the flat stretch of sidewalk along Los Feliz Boulevard. Because the weather has been beautiful lately, I was actually wearing a sweater. Yes, I had to shed it almost immediately, but I was moderately chilly at the start and that’s saying a lot. Things seemed promising.
I meandered down the road, taking in some absolutely horrendous architecture along the way. A lot of the really beautiful houses in this town are hidden behind hedges or walls, so the ones that are visible to the naked eye usually need some work or are so astonishingly ugly you wish you’d never seen them. Kind of like the one time I went to a nude beach. Not that we need a reminder, but it turns out good taste is not a requirement for owning a home!
Eventually, I reached the big, touristy entrance to Griffith Park. I decided to rest my weary bones as half an hour of walking had absolutely spent me. I sought refreshment, and luckily there was a fruit stand right on the corner. If you’ve never been to a fruit stand in LA, even I have to admit it is miraculous. You gaze upon a variety of fresh fruits on ice, select your favorites, the proprietor expertly chops and peels, and at the end of the process, you are handed the closest thing you can find to ambrosia this side of Mount Olympus.
I shelled out for a mix of watermelon, pineapple, mango, papaya, and orange, then hiked across the street to consume it under a tree like a layabout or a poet. The fruit cup overflowethed, so I took a picture for the purpose of sharing it here even though it made me feel like a complete tool.
About one second after taking this God punished me for being lame and the whole thing tumbled onto the gorgeous Los Angeles grass. Devastatingly, I had eaten a few bites and knew exactly what I had lost. The mangoes were ripe, the oranges were juicy, the pineapple tangy, the watermelon watery, the papayas papaya-y. I collected the fallen fruit, soothing myself with the lie that I could take it all home and rinse it all off and eat it with my oatmeal. When I realized this was dumb, I wiped one of the remaining mango pieces with a napkin and ate it, despite the fact that just a few weeks ago (loyal readers will remember) I went to the ER for eating something weird. It’s nice to know that no matter what happens I’ll never learn!
Luckily, I survived that small piece of dirt-encrusted mango. With no oral fixation to distract me, I resorted to taking in my surroundings. Babies and their minders. Cross-fitters and their trainers. Owners and their dogs. We frolicked on this stretch of green, enjoying this golden season when the weather is actually what people think the weather is like in Los Angeles. I don’t know if any of the mansion owners were there. Probably not, because why go to a public park when you have one in your yard?
The time came to mosey back to my car, retreading the sidewalk from whence I came, dodging the occasional jogger. After stopping to marvel at an extraordinary piece of stained glass on a hacienda-style house in the middle of a renovation (a gaucho on a rearing steed), I noticed a car slow down next to me. It was, predictably, the private neighborhood security patrol. The security officer made eye contact with me and because I’m a coward I immediately tried to convert all body language to the non-threatening variety, even though IT WAS A PUBLIC SIDEWALK, BUDDY!
But my legs were tired and it was time to go home. I had peeped at mansions and spilled my fruit. What was left for me in the Los Feliz Hills?
Tragedy comes in all forms.
Why not go back for more fruit??