Anyway, I got up slowly, grabbed breakfast downstairs, and rushed back to my room for final preparations. By then it was 8:30 a.m. - my estimated pickup time - so I needed to hustle. I guess I'd readjusted my clock to California time because typically (as in San Francisco) it would be me waiting 20 minutes ahead of schedule, but this time my tour guide Rick and tour mates were waiting for me, exactly at 8:30.
Once again - as with Yosemite - I got a shotgun seat in the van. Once all 11 passengers (including a middle-aged mom and teen daughter from Orlando that I paled around with in Hollywood) were picked up at their hotels, we entered the freeway for our first stop: Venice Beach. Thanks to the atypically light Memorial Day traffic, we were there slightly ahead of schedule. The freeway was clear, keeping us on time, and Rick's laidback attitude (no yelling at passengers to hurry up) had a relaxing effect throughout the tour.
Venice was exactly as my research suggested: a bit seedy, a little dirty, mildly scary and entirely bohemian. We arrived at 10 a.m. when many of its vendors were setting up and opening their boardwalk shops, so I saw it come to life. There were several joggers, bicyclists, rollerbladers, and even a few surfers, giving me Beverly Hills, 90210 flashbacks. I intentionally wore flip-flops so I could push my bare feet into the California sand. At one point, I made the mistake of stepping into a dank, filthy bathroom stall and walked through a puddle of water. Then and there, I decided to hold my bladder for a safer pit stop and carefully dried and attempted to disinfect my feet with hand sanitizer (not wanting to include a foot fungus as one of my California souvenirs).
I enjoyed the next stop - Santa Monica Beach - much more. I skipped the pier's rides and junk food (figuring correctly that Disney would do it better) but bravely ventured into the cold Pacific Ocean and asked a nice-looking elderly couple if they'd take my photo to commemorate my visit. Unfortunately they were stumped by my smartphone, creating a terribly awkward moment in which I instantly regretted bothering them. The picture of me standing in the Pacific Ocean was (eventually, after much hullabaloo) successfully taken, but I'm scowling (as per usual) rather than smiling. (Dang!)
We moved on to Beverly Hills' Rodeo Drive shops, which I stepped in and out of curiously but tentatively, in the same way that I suspect a Victorian woman would browse the internet. I alternately cringed and giggled as I checked the exorbitant price tags (you can take the girl out of the country...); it was thrilling to see how the so-called other half shops, but I was content to window shop (as was my wallet).
Next up was LA's Grove and Farmer's Market, which I circled multiple times as I tried to choose (with the help of Google) a quick, affordable lunch spot. I finally settled on the busy Marmalade Cafe and a turkey wrap and Caesar salad (after first being served someone else's meal).
The Hollywood Boulevard and its Walk of Fame were totally overwhelming. Rick warned us before we stopped to watch out for hustlers, including those with Michael Jackson lookalikes and costumed superheroes, who take your photo or hand you a CD and then demand money. I was excited to see Judy Garland's and Marilyn Monroe's signatures and hand prints at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, but snapping photos among the crush of other photo-snapping tourists was frustratingly difficult (if not impossible). I actually couldn't wait to get my socially-anxious claustrophobic self out of there (though I had an otherwise wonderful tour that was over before I knew it).
I desperately needed a nap after all that stimulation, so I was happy to be back in my comparatively quiet (if you could tune out the thumping party next door at Bubba Gump) hotel room in magical Disneyville at 4:30 p.m. after my one-day-only Hollywood voyage. I knew I'd need to rest before embarking on my final day (also my birthday) in California.
