Venice Beach

I know, I know, I promised an update yesterday, but somehow, it wouldn't come out, probably because I was too preoccupied with my Human Genetics midterm. Thankfully, it's over now, I think I did ok, and I can write the update now.

First of all, a little riddle: what does "Ped Xing mean?". I finally asked someone on Saturday, and it turned out to be so easy... Hint: it's frequently written on little yelow boards hanging from traffic lights. The answer's at the end of the post. Oh, and it's not Chinese.

I guess I'll just go back to chronological mode...

We did go out on Friday night, and this time to a "Real American Party", i.e. a house party at which people drink either beer or very cheap, disgusting liquor out of big red disposable cups. The great thing about American parties is that you can just go there even if you only know a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of the roommate of the person who's throwing the party. The not so great thing about the parties is that people really drink to get drunk.

Unbeknownst to us, the theme was bling bling, meaning some people walked around with afro's, fake fur coats or big golden alarm clocks around their neck. It was fun, with peope trying to convince us to come to Mexico in spring break and others teaching us turkish words. It's amazing how widespread international people are: at the party, we saw Willem, Ben (australian guy) and Matteo (Italian guy), presumably each knowing a different friend of a friend etc.

We (i.e. a very drunk Terry & I) went home rather early, around one, because the 4.5 hours of sleep were telling me they wanted company, and the next day, after some studying (not a whole lot, to be honest) and the purchase of a really cute pair of sandals for 15 dollars, we were off to Venice. The fellowship was composed of two Dutchies (me & Sylvia), one Aussie (Brigid) and two Kiwi's, one of which is actually Indonesian (Jordan & Benson). I try to integrate, I really do, but somehow there seem to be more foreigners than Americans here.

It's true what they say about LA: it's not really a city, but a couple of towns cobbled together. As a consequence, it rarely feels as if you're in a giant city. It just feels like every time you step out of the bus, you're in an entirely different place. Westwood could not be more different from Hollywood, and Venice is not like any of the two.


Venice Mural

The place that it most reminded me of was Benidorm, except instead of fat, tattooed Dutch people there are New Agey people with dreadlocks. And well, lots of crazy people too. Not as much people working out and showing off their pecs as we'd expected, and muscle beach was definitely a disappointment. It seems the boardwalk is the place to get to know your future (psychics every ten meters, including, in Santa Monica, a psychic cat), but there is also a lot of music, and many, many shops selling T-shirts and pipes.

We met Tristan, of course. It seems you can't go anywhere in L.A. without running into Tristan, recognisable by his orange hat. Actually, it was not such a coincidence, as he lives there, and we got to see his house: bohemian as can be, with a no shoes policy (I finally understand why Tristan takes off his shoes at every opportunity), and a didgeridoo. I got drawn into a long discussion with Tristan's housemate J.C. about fear and how we are programmed into the matrix (don't ask). The house also had two doors leading into the bathroom, neither of which had a lock (once again, it's better not to ask).

We ended up going to a vegan restaurant called "Real Food Daily", and I had a delicious and filling (!) salad with beans and corn and avocado and spicy tortilla strips and all that. It was expensive for American standards, but that still means I ended up paying only about 13 dollars. With the prices they have here for vegetables, making the salad at home would probably not be much cheaper.

I ended the evening going to Benson's with Jordan. Once again, I just love how you can drop in on people you've just met. There were about eight people, I think, I had a good time (and a tequila sunrise) but left in time: Sunday was to be studying day.

I did study, so Sunday was pretty boring. Sylvia came over for easy dinner, and we watched the premiere of a very, very, extremely, words-cannot-decribe-how-bad show, called "Young Blades". Think of the worst adaptation of the Three Musketeers you've ever seen, amplify the Americanism and bad one-liners, add some mysticism and bad special effects, throw in a zest of not funny anachronisms (including a dialogue, and a long one, on "miracle cleanser") and there you have it.

Alright, I really have to go grocery shopping now...

Cheers,

H.


Ped Xing = Pedestrian Crossing