L.A. Without a Car: Day One

The photos that accompany this journal were taken with a low resolution camera. Click on each photo to enlarge. Use the back arrow to return to the text.

It was a 17 minute walk from the house to the shuttle bus stop. At 7:00 am, on a cool, bright morning, I was embarking on a trip to Los Angeles, a journey I hoped to make entirely by public transportation. That was a secondary purpose, however. My primary reason was to be a tourist, to visit museums, see interesting architecture, and revisit places we had known when we lived in the Los Angeles basin from 1961 to 1968. I expected to see many changes.

The shuttle was several minutes late and conveyed me to the Caltrain station in a round-about way. But hey, it was free. It was only $2.00 (senior fare) for an express ride on Caltrain to San Jose where I would board the Megabus to Los Angeles. Megabus advertises "Los Angeles from $1(plus .50 reservation fee)". My round-trip ticket was not quite that cheap; it had cost $18.00 (plus .50 reservation fee.) But that was still only a quarter of what it would cost for gas to drive, not to mention parking.

I was traveling light: a nylon day pack with one change of clothes, one extra t-shirt, mini toiletries, scarf, sun glasses, hat, rain jacket and small pillow. In a tote bag I carried a small notebook, map, and my XO computer that includes a camera. On my body: money, credit card, driver's license, ATM card, cell phone, pedometer and wrist watch.

The Megabus was a big, new, blue bus with a luggage compartment under the seats, small overhead bins for carry-ons and a toilet. With about 20 passengers occupying more than 50 seats, we each had two to spread out upon. Terrance, the driver, was in an angry mood. He announced the rules --- no alcohol and no smoking --- then went on to relate his experience with the previous run when some of the passengers were drinking mini bottles of liquor, then got sick all over the back seat, then clogged the toilet by trying to secretly dispose of the empty bottles. It was up to Terrance to clean up after them, and understandably, he did not want to repeat the experience.

I phoned my husband to report that I'd made it OK to the Megabus, and we were about to depart, shortly after 9:00 am. But I also wanted to let him know that he should eat the lunch I had packed and forgotten. Instead, I'd had time to pick up some snacks at the train station in San Jose. As he said, launch successful, lunch not.

Our trip was peaceful. Many people slept. I watched the scenery. The rounded hills of central coastal California are loosing their fresh spring green. Now instead of looking like they're covered with smooth green velvet, there are rubbed spots of brown. But there are still plenty of spring flowers: orange poppies, blue lupine and large areas dusted with yellow mustard.

We traveled south on route 101, then east across the coastal range on 152, over the Pacheo Pass and down into the flat San Joachin valley on I-5. The coastal range was still visible to the west. Far across the valley to the east, the Sierras merged like phantoms with scattered clouds. The valley was dry and desert-like until one of the major irrigation canals appeared parallel to the highway. Then we passed farm fields in many shades of green and many orchards.

The Sierras disappeared. We stopped for a half hour break at 11:00 am. I had a Big Mac and a drink. We resumed. I dozed.

When I awoke, the landscape had changed. We were entering the mountains to the north of the Los Angeles basin. These are more angular than the rounded hills of central California. And the vegetation was less familiar. There were carpets of bright orange flowers I did not recognize, and swaths of something low-growing and dark sky blue. The hills looked like they'd been touched with a watercolor brush. Nearer the road grew something that looked like a relative of yellow mustard, but the flowers were much smaller

I could not have brought a visual image to mind, but once seen, the terrain and vegetation seemed familiar. It was what I had known 45 years ago when we lived in this area. I've had a similar experience when revisiting other places where I've lived but have been absent from for a long time.

I'd thought we might continue on I-5 into central L.A. But the bus took what seemed like a more round-about way. Maybe there was less traffic. At one point we were near Pasadena and I kept looking for the smoke from the Sierra Madre fires that had started a couple days ago. I finally spotted the smoke plume, but it wasn't where I'd expected it to be. My mental map will need some adjustment.

Shortly after 3:00 pm, we disembarked at Union Station, that grand, Art Deco/Mission style complex and I took a few minutes to walk around and pick up a Metro map of all the area bus and train lines. Then a short-cut through the historic district of Pueblo de Los Angeles to the Metro Plaza Motel where I had reserved a room for the week.


I was tired, hot and hungry and the rest of the day was not a happy experience. It took a couple of hours to connect to the free internet access advertised by the hotel. The "non-smoking" room smelled like cigarettes and it was not until after I'd slept for awhile that I finally figured out how to work the air conditioner to cool and freshen the room. At midnight, the phone rang --- some kind of glitch in their system. But after all that, I slept well.

Oregon pedometer reading for the day: 9833 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Two

Up early, bath, breakfast. Then I was relieved to be able to sign on to the hotel wireless without trouble. But I was mildly dismayed to discover that in the process of fooling around last night, all my previously saved files had been deleted. It's not a big loss, except for the photos I took yesterday. I have a flash drive with me, but I've forgotten how to use it with the XO computer. Until I figure that out, I may not be able to post these daily accounts on my blog.

I walked toward town, downhill then up to the new Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. It's on a hill overlooking the downtown, aggressive points and angles, faced with stone the color of dirty orange creamcicles. The interior is more successful. The altar is at the east, as is traditional, but this is also the downhill side of the site. The architect has taken advantage of this by creating dark, upward-sloping entry halls on either side of the sanctuary. The worshipper is then released at the top into a big, softly lighted open space, sloping down-ward to the altar. The tone is cool and muted, with light coming through alabaster panels. The baptismal font at the back is a cross-shaped immersion pool with continuously overflowing water.

Twenty-five tapestries decorate the side walls of the sanctuary. They depict saints from throughout the ages intermingled with images of contemporary children and young people of all races. The faces are portraits where the likeness of a particular person is known, or modeled after real people for those figures from the more distant past The tapestries must have been made on a computer-controlled loom; they are much too large and complex to have been woven by hand.

Walking back down to the center of town, I passed by the Music Center. The Mark Taper Forum and the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion seem more closely surrounded by other buildings than I remembered. The Disney Music Hall is a typical stainless steel confection by Frank Gehry.

A senior day pass ($1.80) took me out 3rd Street to the Farmers' Market at Fairfax where I ate lunch. The place is still comfortable with its 1950s ambiance. It's a good place to engage in people-watching. There are tourists and locals, and it's easy to imagine that some of the people eating there are from the entertainment industry. I'm particularly fascinated by the elderly glamour girls. One was wearing a sleeveless, leopard-printed t-shirt, brown skirt and a pert, brown straw hat --- definitely not a sun hat. Another in the Lady's Room, was giving her face a complete cosmetic make-over: foundation, bright red lipstick and black eye-liner and mascara to go with black dyed hair. One bleached blond was wearing lots of gold: large pieces of jewelry, belt, bag and shoes. They all wear fancy, high-heeled shoes and walk as if their feet hurt. I can fantacize that they're former mover stars, but it's more likely that at most they once had a few bit parts and years later are still hanging around, hoping for a break, and maintaining the look that was popular 50 years ago. Today's glamorous young women are buff and burnished.

The Grove, an up-scale shopping area in the style of a town street, is right behind the Farmers' Market, in what was probably a parking lot. Out of curiosity, I browsed the two-story American Girl store. Each American Girls doll has a specific character; some are historic. There are many combinations of hair style, hair color, skin color and eye color. Each character has a book about her, a wardrobe, and many enchanting (and expensive) accessories. The real-live girl who owns a doll can even buy clothing that matches her American Girl's outfit, usually nightgowns that look like costumes. Then there are mini American Girls, toddler dolls (think twins) and baby dolls. It's all a market-driven enterprise with a doll hair styling salon with miniature beauty parlor chairs, a photo studio for having your portrait taken with your American Girl, a lunch room and more. And once you own an American Girl, she'll need a best friend.

A short bus ride took me to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, a complex of buildings presently in a transitional stage. This part of Wilshire Boulevard was known as the Miracle Mile, but it's now in need of a miracle. Some buildings are boarded up and many display For Rent and For Sale signs. Fortunately the LACMA has purchased the old Macy's department store building, which has architectural significance, and will be renovating it. The collections are spotty --- second rate pieces by first-rate artists, and first-rate pieces by second level artists. Most of the work is 20th century American and many of the collections have been acquired by private collectors then donated to the museum. It's worth a visit.

The buildings in the complex are in a variety of architectural styles, not always in harmony with each other. To unify the site visually many of the exterior details --- stairways, walkways, elevator to the underground parking lot --- have been painted bright red, an enlivening touch. I was particularly delighted with an outdoor installation of old street lamp posts, tall and stately, all painted gray and clustered together in ranks and rows --- maybe 300 of them. At night they all light up.

With my bus pass, I rode out Wilshire Boulevard. I'd hoped to disembark at the Santa Monica Pier, but the particular bus I was riding went only as far as Westwood Village. That was OK. I ate supper there, and then rode back into central L.A. The last, short bus ride to the motel was something of a thrill. The vehicle was apparently having mechanical problems --- maybe transmission troubles. Sometimes after a stop, it wouldn't go again. So the driver tried to avoid stopping, racing through stale yellow lights, honking his horn, and clicking his fingers to will the next light to turn green. At least we made it as far as I needed to go.

After yesterday's record breaking heat, it was fresh and pleasant today. In fact by evening, I could have used a sweater, and I'll wear one tomorrow.

Oregon Pedometer - 9602 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Three

To Pasadena today. The Gold Line, part of the electric rail network, originates at Union Station and runs through Pasadena to the adjacent town of Sierra Madre. We lived in Sierra Madre for seven years in the 1960s. I've been back only three or four times since then, and on some of those trips we passed through quickly. My challenge today is to reorient myself. I got off at the Memorial Park station and immediately found myself in unfamiliar territory. I knew the street names and I knew which direction I was going, but I could not remember seeing any of the buildings.

I walked by an indirect route to the Norton Simon Museum which I have previously visited, though it had not yet been built when we lived here. This museum, which houses works collected (incredibly) by one man, has a good selection of European masters from the 14th through the 20th century, with a particularly impressive collection of Impressionist painters and 20th century sculptors. Some of the sculptures reside in the enclosed garden, a serene lake surrounded by a magnificent variety of plants and trees. This is where I ate lunch.

Several school groups were touring the museum, each with a tour guide. One guide was explaining a self-portrait of Rembrandt. She asked the student how they could tell if a person was intelligent. By his eyes, of course. And the intense gaze of the artist showed how intelligent he was. Poppycock! Obviously she'd never stared into a mirror while painting a picture of herself.

Colorado Avenue is the main east-west street in Pasadena, the route of the Rose Bowl parade. The western end is now filled with high-end stores, one after another. Alleyways between old brick buildings have been made into charming pedestrian walks with small shops and colorful plantings. When we lived here, I didn't frequent this part of town. I have a vague memory that it was a neighborhood of auto dealers and run-down stores. I recognized City Hall and a near-by church, but they seemed to have been reoriented by 90 degrees.

As I continued east, I scrutinized each building carefully. Many have obviously been built in the past 40 years, but even the old ones kindled no memories. Growing tired of walking, I caught a bus. We passed a Target store, and I suddenly recalled that 40 years ago the building had been a nice department store. Robinsons? I shopped most often at the Broadway; I think that building is gone.

Transferring to a Lake Avenue bus, I started to feel a few glimmers. There was the place that had been a conditori where my cousin and I stopped for pastry. I left my infant daughter with him to take my toddler son to the bathroom. While I was gone, a passer-by admired the baby and asked my cousin, who seemed to be the father, how old the baby was. He replied, "I have no idea." The building that is now Macy's was an elegant department store whose name I have forgotten.We lived in the adjacent town of Sierra Madre for seven years in the 1960s. I've been back only three or four times since then, and on some of those trips we passed through quickly. My challenge today is to reorient myself.

Wild Oats was then Jorgensen's, a gourmet grocery store. When I turned onto California Street, there was Pie and Burger, a favorite haunt of Caltech students. The Caltech campus, where my husband had been a grad student and then an assistant professor, was finally familiar ground. His old building is still there and so is the faculty club where he rented a bed in the open-air loggia the first year he was a grad student. Since he had an office, he only needed a place to sleep, and he couldn't resist the price of $12 per month.

Having succeeded at last in synchronizing my memories of 45 years ago with the reality of today, I took the Gold Line back to Union Station and the motel.

I have not figured out how to upload photos from my XO computer to this blog. And I don't quite understand why several pictures I took with the XO disappeared. I may add pictures after I get home, so check back next week.

Oregon pedometer -11,086 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Four

A day of long bus rides! I had a 10:00 am ticket for the Getty Villa in Malibu, which turned out to be more than 20 miles from my motel. It involved only two buses, but the first one was 25 minutes late, so I missed the ideal connection with the second bus. The relatively new and efficient light rail system doesn't extend in that direction, so the bus competes with all the rest of the traffic on the congested streets and freeways.

The Getty Villa, a reproduction of a first century Roman villa, houses the Getty collection of Greek, Roman and Etruscan art. There is also a research institute and a conservation institute on the site. Admission is free, but you need a ticket, and cars pay $8.00 for parking. I'd assumed that the ticketing process regulated the flow of people into the villa, but my being a half hour late didn't seem to make a difference. I'm not sure they really looked at our tickets.

Those of us who arrived on foot where shuttled from the entrance up the hill to the villa. It's on a magnificent site, perched on a hill high above the ocean. The villa itself is extensive, with an entry atrium and an inner peristyle (garden and pool) surrounded on all four sides by two story galleries. The outer peristyle features a very long pool, statuary and landscaping. In addition to the villa, there's an entry pavilion, a cafe, a store, an outdoor theater and an indoor auditorium. The whole site is beautifully planted with varieties native to the ancient Mediterranean world.

I felt like I'd entered a high-brow version of Disneyland. Don't get me wrong, it's a fantastic place and well worth the visit. It's very well staffed, efficiently and pleasantly run and spotlessly clean. And it's free. Even the food in the cafe was fairly priced. There's a separate section for school buses and picnic tables for students to eat the lunches they've brought with them. I enjoyed an elegant lunch in the cafe: brusccheta mista and a glass of white wine. However, the wine was not good for my concentration while viewing the rest of the exhibit.

The ancient art collection is beautifully displayed with plenty of descriptive labeling and there are orientation films and tours. The gardens are perfect. Maybe that perfection is the reason it all seems a bit sterile. As one critic wrote, you expect to see Roman architecture in ruins, not all new and pristine.

One temporary exhibit touched on this issue. We admire Roman and Greek sculpture for its purity. The bare stone allows us to see the subtleties of surface modeling, and admire the skill of the sculptor in realizing living flesh from cold marble. In ancient times, many or most of these sculptures were painted in realistic colors. Reproductions in the temporary exhibit demonstrated the sometimes garish effect. We have not been acculturated to this aesthetic. I think the same disjoint was influencing my feelings about the villa as a whole. Some weathering, visible repairs, a few crumbling bits and maybe even some noise and smells would make the place more alive, more "picturesque".

Anyway, don't avoid the place on this account. A visit is emphatically worth the effort.

My second visit of the day to the house of designer Charles Eames and his wife, Ray, was a completely opposite experience. First of all, I approached the house by a steep climb up a heavily trafficked road with no sidewalks, nothing like the smooth shuttle up the hill to the villa. I was the only visitor for a self-guided, exterior only tour. One staff member of the Eames Foundation was in the office. She greeted me in a friendly and informal way, and opened doors so that I could see into (but not walk into) the house.

The house, built in 1949, consists of two cubes, mostly glass, nestled into a hillside. The larger cube housed the living quarters, the smaller cube was the office. The interior is furnished with Eames' simple contemporary furniture and cluttered with interesting objects arranged here and there: a collection of glass candlesticks, a stack of tea cups and saucers, curious objects artfully arranged on a low table, lots of books, worn furniture, and many, many potted plants, still watered and maintained. In fact, the house was a little dirty and looked like the residents were not expecting company and had just stepped out for a moment.

The only "landscaping" outside the house was a huge collection of potted plants arranged in the two patios and along the path on the up-hill side of the house. Very 1950s. Otherwise, the yard was left wild, primarily meadow grass under old eucalyptus trees, and a big patch of orange nasturtiums.

A Santa Monica Big Blue Bus took me to Wilshire Boulevard and it was a LONG ride starting from from within sight of the ocean into central L.A. Fortunately I had a seat all the way. Passing Pershing Square, I heard police helicopters overhead and saw security people in bright purple t-shirts, walking bicycles. A few blocks further, and we encountered a rank of riot police with bullet-proof helmets and vests and big weapons. I think they were still on duty following the May Day labor and immigration demonstration, though most of the people had dispersed.

It was the kind of day where I felt hot in the sun, but needed a sweater in the shade.

Oregon pedometer - 9911 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Five

I figured out the Dash bus system, which is separate from the county-wide Metro system. Dash buses operate in city centers (of which there are many in the Los Angeles basin) and run routes through the most congested parts of town. They're for quick trips and the fare for seniors is only ten cents.

Dash B stops near the hotel and took me to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) across from the Disney Music Hall. The present show at MOCA is called "Collecting Collections" which puzzled me a bit until I watched the explanatory video. As seems to be true of all the Los Angeles art museums, the collections are acquired when private collectors donate their collections to the institution. I think this is true to a certain extent for all the major art museums in the country, but other, older museums also have had an active acquisition program; they watch the art markets and go out and buy pieces that fit into their particular collection.

MOCA's collection features work from the mid-20th century to the present, with a special emphasis on Los Angeles artists, but including pieces from all over the world. What I saw represented a wider variety of both artists and media than what I saw at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and the work seem somehow more serious or significant. I particularly noticed many more photographs and large works on paper, particularly with graphite (pencil). I realized that in none of the collections I've seen in L.A. are there many prints or drawings; maybe those media are out of fashion. Much contemporary work seems to me to be made for shock value or simply to be "different'. It's interesting or amusing or shocking at first glance, but doesn't pull the viewer back for a second look.

I had lunch at MOCA in spite of having a vague memory of a bad lunch there in the past. My memory was correct. The museum is located on Bunker Hill where there are many newer office buildings that include beautiful outdoor plazas, walkways and mini parks. It is very pleasant to stroll these pedestrian throughways, separated from traffic. I happened on to the California Plaza, a very large, multi-level landscaped area with a water feature. This is at the top of Angel's Flight, the old inclined plane railway that lifted people up and down Bunker Hill. It has been restored but is presently closed for repairs. I took a modern elevator down, instead.



After MOCA, I visited MONA, The Museum of Neon Art. It's in a temporary location and was a small collection of both neon advertising signs and art work that includes neon lighting. They are looking for a permanent home, but rapid development in Los Angeles has driven property prices up. It remains to be seen if the present credit crunch will have an effect. Since I was the only visitor, I had a pleasant conversation with the lady on duty. She told me that most of the central city warehouse spaces, which are the kinds of places they'd need for their exhibits, have been converted to residential "lofts". But these are not the kind of lofts you think of when you think of starving artists. Instead, they're selling for millions of dollars and offer all kinds of luxury and prestige. A very large new development has just begun construction next to the Disney Music Hall and MOCA, and I read about a proposed 30 story tower in Hollywood. L.A. has the reputation for being pro-development. Maybe some of the tycoons will collect art with the millions they make, and enrich the city's museums.

I took a short stroll though part of downtown L.A., stopped at Starbucks for break, then headed back to the hotel. Had supper down the street at a place called Phillipe's which has been there for 100 years. They feature "French dip" sandwiches; there's a choice of several kinds of meat: chicken, pork, turkey, ham, beef. I had beef along with a glass of draft ale, both of which hit the spot. The place was busy, clean and efficiently run since most of the items on the menu (which is extensive) are ready to serve. I saw several people in Amtrak uniforms --- they must have just gotten off work at Union Station down the street. I large Amtrak employee ahead of me in line ordered two bowls of stew, two dishes of strawberry ice cream, and two glasses of lemonade. I assumed he was also ordering for a companion, but he ate it all himself!

Weather was ideal today, and I wore a sunhat.

Oregon pedometer - 8009 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Six

Today, the other Getty. But first I took advantage of the DD or Downtown Discovery. This is a route taken by the Dash buses on weekends. For the full price of ten cents (senior fare), I hopped on right outside my hotel for a tour of downtown L.A.: Little Tokyo, Civic Center, Pershing Square, the library, Macy's, and south to the newly developed Staples Center. Then back again past Bunker Hill and the Music Center. Of course I'd already visited several of these places, but the ride gave me a good overview. Passengers could get off at any point, but I stayed on until I was nearly back to the hotel (thus missing Chinatown), and boarded a bus on Sunset Boulevard.

Sunset is another of Los Angeles' LONG streets, running from downtown, more than 20 miles to the ocean. At first we passed through an Hispanic neighborhood, Silver Lake, then Hollywood, which is still somewhat seedy. The houses grew bigger and the gardens more lush as we passed though Beverly Hills and past the pink Beverly Hills Hotel. "Sunset Strip" is an area of very posh shops in Bel Aire where the houses are protected by high walls and high tech security systems. The few people who got on and off the bus at this point were mostly Hispanic, and I assumed they were hired help in the Bel Aire mansions.

After having ridden buses all week, I must comment on how civil most of the drivers and most of the passengers are. Many disembarking passengers thank the driver, and many drivers go out of their way to help passengers make connections. It occurred to me that the infusion of Hispanic and Asian cultures has possibly mellowed the sometimes arrogant Anglo manner and the occasionally belligerent Afro-American attitude.

A transfer at UCLA and a short bus ride up the hill took me to the Getty Center. This is the second Getty complex, built to house the "rest" of J. Paul Getty's fantastic personal art collection, the "rest" being everything but the ancient Mediterranean art. Like the Getty Villa, the Getty Center is an experience as well as museum. Visitors are lifted up the hillside on an air-cushioned tram to the multi-level cluster of pavilions. The gardens and the water features are as much a part of the architecture as the white marble and glass buildings.

There were offers of tours and orientation videos which I bypassed, and instead, headed for lunch on the Garden Terrace. Then I wandered at will through the galleries of European paintings from the 14th to the 19th centuries. There were galleries of sculpture and decorative arts --- furniture, tapestries, and ornaments, mostly too ornate for my taste, but much admired by many visitors. The only disappointment was the absence of a gallery for illuminated manuscripts. I know there are a large number in the Getty collection, and I think a subset is on display at times. But I guess they're not as spectacular as damask-covered royal beds and gold-trimmed china figures.

Since this Getty is also free, many people take advantage of the opportunity. The crowds are well managed, and the many security guards have their work cut out reminding inexperienced museum-goers to follow the rules: no eating or drinking in the galleries, no flash photography, no tripods, and no touching the art work. I was dismayed to see adults climbing around the outdoor sculpture and through the water features to have their pictures taken. I overheard a conversation between an irate guard and a person I took to be his supervisor over what to do about someone who had been indecently clothed (or unclothed).

I didn't stay long enough to observe the sunset which is reputedly spectacular from this vantage point. I reversed my bus route, getting off this time at Sunset and Vine. A walk along the star-studded sidewalk brought me to Hollywood and Vine where there had apparently been a bad fire --- several fire trucks and a Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms investigative van surrounded the building on one corner. I think the fire was completely out, but firemen were hanging around to prevent people from entering the site.

Tinsel Town lost it's sparkle some time ago but there are signs that it's coming back. There are still vestiges of the old glamour; at a small theater for gay and lesbian films, there was a minor celebrity happening. A big black limo pulled up in front of the building, the passengers were photographed as they got out of the car and one curvacious blond was wearing a long, skin-tight gold lame dress.

After a hamburger and shake at "Original Tommy's", I took the Red Line of the light rail system (this branch is a subway) back to Union Station and the hotel, and fell into bed.

Shirt-sleeve weather. Wore a sunhat.

Oregon pedometer - 10,793 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Seven

I almost rented a car today, but happenstance kept me to my goal of using only public transportation on this trip. There was a convenient transit schedule for reaching our old church in Pasadena in time for worship: Gold Line from Union Station to the end of the line, then a bus that delivered me across the street from Faith Lutheran ten minutes before the service began.

We attended this church when we first came to California after our marriage, and our two children were baptized here. I've kept in touch with Sylvia, who was a long-time member but now attends a different Lutheran church. I'd emailed that I was coming to the Los Angeles area and would like to stop in and see her. She graciously invited me to lunch and found out the time of the service at Faith, alerting several other older women who remembered us and were still members there. I had to adjust my thinking about the ages of these old-timers. Since I'd always thought of them as considerably older than me, and it's been 40 years since we moved away from southern California, I wondered that they were still around. Now I realize they're about a half generation older than I am --- in their 80s or early 90s. So I sat with Betty, Bess, Lillian and Dorothy, our old pastor's widow.

The church has fallen on hard times, due in part to demographic changes in the neighborhood, in part on a controversy (which I was unable to understand) that split the congregation, and on the general demise of the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. There were 17 people in attendance, including the pastor, the organist and me. The pastor is a retired man who for the past five years has come just on Sunday to preach. I don't know if they have anyone in the office during the week. A pre-school may rent the facility and provide enough income to maintain the property.

I didn't stay long for coffee hour since I was due at Sylvia's for lunch and she had to leave home in the early afternoon to attend a concert. It was a short walk up the hill to her house, she was waiting, and we enjoyed a good lunch and conversation. I know from her periodic emails that she spends a lot of her time working on her house, and it looks wonderful: spotlessly clean and fresh, unlike the homes of many older people which become tired and cluttered. Sylvia looks good, too. She also takes care of herself.

Leaving Sylvia's house, I trekked up the hill on Michillinda to Fairview, our old street. (I seldom walked up when we lived here --- it's a steep climb!) I knew that our old house was gone, and saw that more than half the houses on the block have been rebuilt. The only thing I recognized on our former property was the sycamore tree that was outside our kitchen window; it's now a grand old specimen.

It was an easier walk down Sunnyside to Sierra Madre Boulevard. I knew where the little town library would be, though I'm not sure it's the same building. Arnold's hardware store is still there. It was a wonderful store. I could always get repair advice from Mr. Arnold himself. When we arrived in Sierra Madre in 1961, the Welcome Wagon delivered gift certificates from various merchants in town. Arnold's gift was a big stainless steel mixing bowl which is still my favorite mixing bowl. The little Sierra Madre hospital, where John's finger was stitched after I accidentally clipped it with the hedge shears, is now boarded up. I recognized the diagonal street configuration in the center of town at the intersection of Sierra Madre Boulevard and Baldwin, but none of the shops were familiar.

On the train ride to Pasadena and Sierra Madre, I'd had the idea of renting a car for the afternoon and driving around the area, covering more territory than I could do on foot or by bus. But when I phoned Enterprise from Sylvia's house, they were closed for the weekend. After my walk to the center of town, I realized I'd seen enough. So much has changed in the 40 years since we'd left that it would be like driving though any town. So my resolution to use only public transportation has been kept.

After a rest at the hotel, I walked across to Olvera Street, the center of El Pueblo de Los Angeles historic park. It's the weekend of Cinco de Mayo, and there's a carnival set up at one end of the park. The place has been quite crowded the whole weekend. I waited until after 7:00 pm, when the crowds had thinned a bit, and stopped in for a few minutes at the Church of the Blessed Sacrament. Then I ate supper in one of the restaurants: taquitos and a marguerita.

The first part of the day was overcast, but by noon, I wished I'd brought my sunhat.

Oregon pedometer - 13,200 steps

L.A. Without a Car: Day Eight

After breakfast, I packed up, checked out and left my backpack at the hotel desk. Amazingly, the carnival in the park near Olvera Street was totally gone!

I took a Dash bus into central L.A. and walked around. The Macy center is a big indoor shopping mall, anchored by a Hyatt Hotel and Macy's Department store. The library was my next destination. As I'd hoped there were many 1920s interior murals and painted ceilings; the new additionis also architecturally dramatic. An exhibit of the kinds of items in Special Collections, included menus and fruit crate labels, as well as the more usual rare books, maps and old photos. Of course there was a big collection of Hollywood material: posters, stills, ads.

Having passed Wolfgang Puck's L.A. Bistro, I returned for lunch. It was not especially expensive and very tasty.

One more ride on Dash with a brief stop in Little Tokyo and another in Chinatown, just to say I'd been there. Then back to the hotel to pick up my bag, and on to Union Station for relaxing wait.The Megabus for San Jose and San Francisco left promptly at 4:00 pm. Again, it was only about one third full, mostly male college students. I was probably the oldest passenger and one of the few females. The ride was uneventful, and even with a half-hour break mid-way, we arrived in San Jose at 10:00 pm, about a half-hour early. I'd been able to phone Don and he picked me up. So I ended my journey by car, not by public transportation.

L.A. Without a Car: Reflections

Would I do it again this way? Yes! The ride on Mega Bus was entirely satisfactory. The Metro and Dash bus and rail systems in Los Angles work well. It probably takes more time to travel this way than to drive, but not a lot more, and it's certainly less expensive and more restful. The Metro Plaza hotel near Union Station was OK, but not luxurious. The price of $90 per night was higher than a comparable motel would have been, but much less than a luxury hotel, and the location was very convenient.

I carried my XO little green computer with me all the time, thinking that if I was tired of walking, I'd sit down and blog. That never happened, but I used the camera that's part of the computer. That is the only thing I'd change --- I missed my good camera and will certainly take it with me on the next trip. The OX computer was convenient and adequate for internet access when I wanted to check a bus schedule or the opening times of a museum; for that I could have left it in the hotel room and lightened my backpack.

I felt safe in all the neighborhoods I visited and on the buses. I walked a lot. I visited five of the six major art museums in the Los Angeles area, missing only the Huntington in San Marino. I made a final and satisfying pilgrimage to the place where we had lived 45 years ago. And most of all, I have now renewed my acquaintance with a great American city.