Travel Biography - Week 67

Comparing AYH Santa Monica with AYH San Diego.

With six days in San Diego already behind me, I arrive at Santa Monica, the coastal district of Los Angeles, with mixed feelings. The AYH San Diego was housed in the YMCA building whose entrance was always open 24/7. That means anyone could have walked into the building itself. But for the hostel accommodation, every hosteller was given a key at the ground floor reception to let himself in on the third floor. In essence, it was a cut-price hotel with no curfews, no duties, and no restricted times for entry, as all these were the traditional customs of YHA England & Wales.

AYH Santa Monica, the Quadrangle.

AYH Santa Monica was similar to San Diego except that the whole building was the hostel, and instead of a key handed out at check-in, one had to show the payment receipt to the receptionist before being allowed in. Here, the reception desk was at a window outside the main entrance and facing it. That means that checking in was done before entering the building, unlike most other hostels and hotels. There was also a curfew with the use of the kitchen at certain times during the 24 hours. However, unlike most hostels, including San Diego, here in Santa Monica, the building featured an open quadrangle with a working fountain in the middle and surrounded by palm trees. During the warm evenings, I was able to spend some time relaxing on one of several seats facing the fountain.

Arriving at Santa Monica.

I didn't travel from San Diego to Los Angeles alone but with a young Jewess who sought me for company whilst we made the journey on the Greyhound Americruiser. After arriving at the L.A. bus station, we caught the #4 bus to take us across the conurbation to the coastal district. It was during the latter part of the journey - the seventeen miles from East 7th Street to Santa Monica - that my presence gave her a sense of protective security.

Thus a casual friendship developed between the two of us. When we finally arrived at the rather swish hostel, we paid our fees and each went to our separate dormitories. Like in other destinations, I found out where the nearest superstore was located so I could restock.

3rd Street Promenade as seen from both ends.

On one of the days I was staying there, I had to keep showing the receptionist my receipt before he used the remote control to unlock the main entrance door every time I returned after going out. Perhaps for some, they would feel the benefit of the extra security. After all, how would anyone feel when they return to their dormitories, only to find their luggage ransacked? However, would the potential thief steal smelly, sweat-laden clothing? Would he rather go for traveller's cheques, loose cash, or a camera? Rather, any backpacker with an ounce of common sense will always take his valuables with him when he goes out. 

Yet, I can't help but find this security tactic to be an unnecessary nuisance, and his repeated request to show my receipt to the same receptionist more than once. Surely, I could be remembered from the last time I passed through. After all, I wanted to be treated like an adult who could be trusted, like I was in San Diego and all other venues. Yet, I could also see that times were changing. Not only hostel security was stepping up, but also a need for advance booking. Thus, I felt that true independent travel - perhaps perceived as near to hitch-hikers' style - was becoming compromised, eroding away the spirit of spontaneous travel freedom with its off-the-street hotel walk-ins I have always enjoyed. Therefore, from then on, I felt the need to carry a small, see-through plastic wallet to preserve the receipt to show to the receptionist when asked. 

However, the strength of door security also depends on who was manning the reception. Sometimes there was someone who acted by the letter of the law, asking for the receipt before allowing me to enter the hostel. But there were also one or two others who kept the door unlocked continually whilst concentrating on the guest bookings, their check-in times and checkouts. Happily, there were more days with the latter receptionist than the former.  

An Unsolved Mystery.

The following morning, while I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, I was keeping my eye out for the Jewess to show up, just as she did in the San Diego kitchen. But the longer I waited, the lower my heart dropped. She was nowhere to be seen, and I was beginning to wonder whether she was in the hostel. It was later when someone who saw that we were together, informed me that she had already set off to Vancouver.

That has really puzzled me! If she had set off that early, did she make her own way to the Greyhound Bus station alone? Or did she find someone else to accompany her? That is, whether she travelled onwards by bus in the first place. She might have boarded the train. Or even headed for the airport. I never knew back then and I guess I'll will never know now. I thought we were friends. She could have stayed around, maybe explored the environment together - the beach, the famous pier, Third Street Promenade, the clifftop esplanade lined with palm trees. Maybe even have coffee together. Would this friendship lead to a relationship? Who knows. Yet, I have heard about holiday romances, some leading to a happy marriage, but others to disaster. And so, off to Vancouver, she went while I stayed behind in Los Angeles.

The ocean waves lap the beach at Santa Monica.

Unlike in 1977 and 1978, Santa Monica was a new place for me to visit. In 1977 I stayed at the Hotel Madison and in 1978, at the Hotel Cecil, both within the heart of downtown Los Angeles and both close to the Greyhound Bus Station before it moved to East 7th Street, quite a distance from the city Centre. The coastline was a far better area to stay. Santa Monica didn't have the business air of the city. Rather, its atmosphere was more jovial, having a holiday feel which touched on the international scale. After all, according to HI-AYH regulations, every guest was supposed to have been a non-American.

Santa Monica rests on a clifftop, and I was struck by how similar the cliff face of Santa Monica was to the cliffs of Bournemouth, UK, even if the geological rock chemistry might be different. Along the clifftop, an esplanade lined with Palm trees on both sides, thus separating the path from 1st Street, a part of the highway that connects East Los Angeles with Malibu, the latter lying northwest and just outside the L.A. administration zone. The cliffs look over the open ocean, unlike the esplanade of San Diego which looks over a lagoon enclosed almost entirely by the Coronado.

The hostel itself was located on 2nd Street, near the famous pier. Hence, this ideal location gives easy access to three nearby attractions: The pier, the Esplanade, and the traffic-free 3rd Street Promenade with its dinosaur models, palm trees and beautiful shopping malls with their many coffee bars and restaurants. The 3rd Street Promenade was a Disney-like thoroughfare that was almost like a street party in the evenings. And when there was a large crowd pushing towards the door of one particular building, one could guess that a famous Hollywood celebrity had hit town.

Palm trees line the Walk.

Hollywood visits the Beach.

The Ocean Front Walk, at which the clifftop esplanade makes up part, runs along the beach itself, thus, at the town, the combined cycle and footpath runs at both levels, clifftop and beach. A ramp eventually lowers the clifftop level to the beach path which runs northwest for over three miles to Will Rogers State Beach. From the other side of the pier, the path continues southeast to Venice Beach, 1.6 miles further on until it comes to an abrupt end at the Marina del Rey.

The pier was famous for not only being the ideal scene for filming beach movies but its the original terminus of Route 66 from Chicago. Some evenings I stood at the raised pierhead, watching the sunset over the distant horizon to a pelican balancing itself on one of the rail posts while below, the Pacific Ocean waves lap the gently sloping sandy beach. On the south side of the pier, a Ferris wheel never seems to rotate, and I have wondered whether I arrived too late in the year for a ride, as it was already autumn.

On one occasion, I hired a bicycle to ride the whole length of the 4.7-mile walk/cycleway from Venice Beach to Will Rogers State Beach. During the ride, I unintentionally passed through a scene at Baywatch Headquarters where I believe some filming was taking place. If this was true, I just hope my sudden appearance and passing through didn't disturb or even anger the film crew and the cast! However, unless the camera crew and their associates were skilful in editing out passing cyclists and pedestrians, then I couldn't help thinking that a public right of way wasn't an ideal spot to shoot a film unless it was specifically called for.

And talking about filmmaking, One afternoon, I was strolling along the beach south of the pier when I arrived at a film shoot. Upon enquiry, I learned that the movie Charlie Grace was in the process of filming. The talking couple in the centre of the shoot was obvious. But it was more difficult to discern that the surfboarder entering the sea and a passing walker who just got out of the sea were both actors. Other people, posing as the public, were also acting. At least the one in charge of the crew, the director, wasn't put off by my inquisitiveness. He was happy to talk to me and let me in about the art of filmmaking. When I took a closer look at the camera, he didn't seem to mind.

(Due to a lack of foresight when preparing this week's blog, I hope to post a couple of pics of this scene next week.)

The famous Santa Monica Pier.

Life at the AYH Santa Monica was different from the San Diego hostel. There were more people, and they generally kept themselves more to themselves. With a sudden culture change from the chattering friendliness of the San Diego dining room to the larger, more formal take of Santa Monica's version with its more British-like sense of a self-reserved attitude, waves of loneliness came and went.

Nevertheless, I thought that Santa Monica had its own natural and man-made beauty. The 3rd Street Promenade, as I remember from 1995, had shopping malls which were rich in aesthetics. Potted palm trees thrived in the busy indoor precinct, and I really felt that I was in the subtropics. Coming to think of it, if those palm trees were able to thrive in an indoor environment where the temperature was kept at a constant, then why not grace our indoor malls here in the UK? Can we learn something from California?

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Next Week: Visiting Venues outside Santa Monica.