I kept hearing from my friends living in LA that the city is not what it used to be. Many of them were moving away or wanted to. The LA Times published a story about how the entertainment industry has shrunk due to the movie-going public’s lack of appetite for well-written, deep-story movies, now replaced with superhero blockbusters. So, industry people were fleeing, leaving apartment buildings vacant and restaurants and stores shuttered across town.
I have been considering a move back to LA, where my son is convinced life would be better for us, well, at least for him, based on his teen peers who live there telling him how they enjoy a care-free life of short school days followed by hanging out at the beach, surfing and scoping girls. So, I spent my annual week-long trip to LA this summer examining what life is like now in the city and what the prospects would be if I returned. It’s been nearly eight years since I left, and a lot has changed.
First Impressions: A Different LA
It was 5 pm when my son and I arrived at LAX. We stowed our bags where we were staying at a friend’s house in WeHo, and we headed out for a few necessities and dinner. Our first stop was CVS on Santa Monica Blvd, where we had to walk a block around the store and up a urine-stained staircase because the garage entrance was closed, which I learned from the clerk was to prevent theft. Inside, most of the products we wanted were behind locked glass cases, which the clerk explained was due to rampant shoplifting. Already I was seeing a less hospitable LA than even a year ago, when I had been hopeful about the city’s rebound from the pandemic.
Onto dinner, we went to WeHo Bistro, one of my favorite restaurants in the neighborhood. It’s always been an affordable mid-scale restaurant with a French-inspired menu and a pleasant server staff. My son wanted a steak, and since it was vacation, which qualifies as a “special occasion,” I obliged him, but I was shocked to see how the prices had escalated since our last visit. Our dinner for two was well over $100, and that was without any adult drinks. Upon returning to my friend’s house, she told me she had been officially “86’d” from the restaurant along with her husband, after a traumatizing incident when a sassy fellow patron yelled out that she was being a “bitchy Karen” when she informed the waiter that he had given her someone else’s check. I hate the fact that people use “Karen” to stereotype people who stereotype people, and now I have lost my good feelings about this restaurant. Shame.
Parking Wars and Cold Stares: Welcome to Runyon Canyon
On our first morning in LA, I woke up early to hike Runyon Canyon, my go-to exercise-and-people-watching hike. I noticed all the streets where I used to park were now permit-only, so I circled 10 minutes searching for a spot. I finally found a just-big-enough spot on a residential street, where a muscley giant, about 6’5, in a black tank top and skimpy shorts was walking a French bulldog. I turned my wheels to the curb, knowing otherwise I would get a ticket, and I checked to make sure my fender was within the red markings of the curb, knowing otherwise, I would get a ticket. I scanned the signpost, with no fewer than five placards regarding the days and hours I could park there. Stopping was not permitted certain hours on weekdays, but otherwise for two hours I could park there, between 8 am and 8 pm, unless I had a permit, in which case I would be exempted those times, except during rush hour and on Tuesdays between 11 and 2 PM, when there was street sweeping, and beyond the sign there was no parking at all. Got it!
As I exited the car the guy in the tank top made eye contact with me. I gave him a friendly nod, a smile, and a cheery “Good morning,” to which he responded with a glare. I thought to myself, perhaps he’s angry that hikers are parking in his neighborhood, or maybe he’s just having a bad day, or maybe he’s just leery of strangers greeting him. I wouldn’t let one unfriendly stare take the spring from my step. I was in sunny LA, on a beautiful morning. Onward and upward.
I proceeded up the steep Vista Boulevard to the trailhead. A man in a front of an apartment building was spraying the entryway with a hose. I heard him holler a spirited, “Hello!” I turned, smiled and responded with, “Good morning!” He looked at me oddly and then began speaking Spanish into the speaker phone in the palm of his hand, which I had not noticed. A bit embarrassed, I continued walking. As I came face-to-face with a few other hikers descending the street, I took the hint from my previous interactions with strangers, and I kept my pleasantries to myself.
As I ascended the paved fire road up Runyon Canyon, a vertical incline that attracts an array of fitness enthusiasts dressed in the latest barely-there designer athletic wear and their dogs, I activated the Voice Memo feature of my iPhone and began to dictate the narrative for this blog. At first, I worried that talking aloud to myself might appear weird, but I realized that everyone was wearing earphones, and no one could hear me, or cared what I was saying, anyway.
Friendly Faces—From Out of Town
To test my theory of Angeleno’s aloofness, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman who appeared to be in his late 60s, large belly, shirtless, with his sparse white hair whipped up high on top of his head. His dusty running shoes slid on the gravelly surface as he held tightly to the safety rail along the cliff. Behind him, I also struggled to get my footing on the infamous downhill steps. It was a treacherous but favored part of the hike, because of the site of an expanse of chain-link fence famously decorated with hundreds of rusting padlocks left by hikers to mark the apex of their journey, like flags planted atop Everest.
Spaced about 3- to 4-feet apart and comprised of huge wood beams held down by rebar, the steps that once gave hikers terra firma on the backside of the trail were now deeply grooved from decades of hiking boots wearing them down, and the depth of the steps had lengthened to nearly hip-height.
“Almost halfway,” I said cheering on my fellow trepidatious hiker.
“My daughter would kill me if she knew I was doing this. I broke my leg five months ago,” he said huffing from the exertion.
I congratulated him on his bravery for being on such a technical trail so soon after recovering from his injury. After a few minutes of chatting, he told me he was visiting from Massachusetts.
“My daughter worked in LA for years as a television producer, but she couldn’t stand the people anymore and she left. Moved to Oregon,” he said. “But she got me hooked. I love it here, so I come back on my own to visit.”
Figures, the one friendly and talkative person I ran into was from out of town.
A Sobering View from on High
As I marched on, I reached one of the scenic overlooks of the hike. I caught my breath and scanned the panorama of the city. In front of me was a vast brown blanket in the sky, enshrouding the skyscrapers of downtown LA. I couldn’t see my old work building on Wilshire Blvd in Miricle Mile, which I usually was able to make out from this perch. After decades of progress in cleaning up its air, the nasty particulate matter known as smog had made a comeback. In fact, in 2024, despite Californian drastic clean-air rules, Greater Los Angeles earned the dubious distinction of the smoggiest region the nation and got an F grade for air quality from the American Lung Association.
Los Angeles was not the city I used to know. I missed the old LA. Was it still here, just covered in a layer of haze? Were the people so battered from the pandemic and the economic downturn that friendliness and hospitality were a thing of the past?
Where was the vibrant city, brimming with opportunity and excitement that defined my life there from the late 90s to 2016? Has LA’s time passed?
Dr. Dyer and the Question of Expectation
One of my favorite spiritual teachers, the late Dr. Wayne W. Dyer, told a story in his book The Power of Intention about a woman he met walking on the beach. Upon learning that Dr. Dyer previously lived in a city where she planned to move, she asked him what the people were like. He asked her, “What are the people like where you used to live?” She bemoaned that they were snobby and standoffish. To her chagrin, he replied, “You’ll find the same thing there.” He then explained his philosophy that people find the experiences they expect in life. While I have the upmost respect for Dr. Dyer, on this point, I believe he was wrong.
When I moved to Virginia, a few of my first encounters took me aback. Like at Bank of America where I went to get some documents notarized. I was greeted with smiles by multiple people before I got to the counter. I wondered what was up. A woman in what I can only describe as an overall dress — a denim bib with buckles at the shoulders and cinched at the waist with a long, wide Unbreakable-Kimmy-Schmidt style skirt, chatted with me in line.
She had kinked hair that looked like a perm I had in the 80s. My first thought was, “What are you wearing? What have you done to your hair?”
She told me about her sister who was planning a vacation with her kids in West Virginia, where they hiked in the mountains and refreshed themselves in swimming holes. She was, as Southerners might say, as sweet as pie. I realized she was quite lovely.
This initial experience, sans the bunker garb and 80s coif, was repeated throughout my first months of living in Virginia, until these interactions gradually ceased to surprise me. Dr. Dyer was wrong. I expected unacquainted people to ignore me or be indifferent toward me, like strangers did in LA, but they were friendly, outgoing, and neighborly.
Now back in LA, was I expecting too much from people? Were people worse than they used to be in LA? Was LA a city that was drying up and becoming a desert where dreams died, or was it something different that I needed to open my eyes wider to see? I dedicated the remainder of my summer vacation in LA to answering this question for myself.
Cinespia: An LA Tradition That Stands the Test of Time
There are very few institutions that last in LA. The Stinking Rose, a restaurant specializing in garlic dishes, was a landmark on La Cienega Boulevard forever, but now it’s boarded up. The same goes for all the .99-Cent stores. Gone, out of business. So many landmark restaurants, shops and attractions were no more after the pandemic.
But one unique LA attraction I am thrilled to say has made it to 21 years is Cinespia, the premiere outdoor movie night of movie nights. A tradition for me and my family each year has been a July 4th screening, and this year’s event did not disappoint. My son had never seen Rocky, a quintessential Americana movie of self-determination and personal triumph, and a timeless love story.
The event was packed, and despite our late arrival we were welcomed by fellow movie-goers on the lawn to squeeze in a spot front and center with our blanket, low-back chairs of approved height, and picnic basket. It was an enthusiastic crowd, some decked out in red-white-and blue for the holiday, singing along as the DJ spun 70’s tunes, dined al fresco illuminated by flickering e-votives, and mellowing out as the smell of weed wafted through the air. To my delight, my son was enrapt by Rocky. He smiled and laughed as Rocky awkwardly courted the shy Adriene, turning to me to state, “Cringe,” and he grimaced when Rocky took hard punches, and he cheered with the crowd as Rocky ascended the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was a quintessential LA evening – great cinema, shared with a truly appreciative film auteur audience, outdoors on a mild summer night, shown in an only-in-LA venue of a Hollywood Forever Cemetery, projected on Rudolf Valentino’s mausoleum. Cinespia remains one of the best LA experiences, which emerged from the pandemic unscathed.
The Good, the Better, and the Best: Rediscovering LA’s Charm
On a high from Cinespia, I began to reminisce about what I loved about LA during my 18 years as an Angeleno, and I opened my mind and eyes to what’s still good and what’s new that’s good in LA. Here’s my list.
One improvement was lighter traffic than in the pre-COVID era and the plethora of electric cars on the road. With gas prices verging on $6 per gallon, I was happy to be behind the wheel of the new Lincoln Corsair Grand Touring Plug-in Hybrid SUV as my ride for the week. Despite a busy schedule of zipping across the city, I didn’t go to the gas station once. And I was pleased to find that EV infrastructure across LA is ubiquitous. The condo complex where I stayed featured Loop chargers mounted on pylons between every four parking spots.
While some restaurants faded away, others shined. One of my beloved hot spots in Beverly Hills, Il Fornaio, was recently fabulously remodeled, though thankfully they still served my favorite pasta entree, spaghetti di farro, a ricotta cheese and noodle dish with lemon zest. Mwah!
In WeHo, the world’s most famous gay bar, The Abbey is still going strong, with curiously strong drinks, like the $20 froze (frozen Rosé wine with a kick) cocktail that may or may not have intoxicated my drinking buddy to the point he left the establishment and ended up asleep in the back of a parked BMW with no recollection of how he got there.
Junior Cookies is a new addition to Santa Monica Blvd., where patrons can lounge on oversized sofas in front of the bakery to people-watch while they nosh on extravagant and exotic cookies, like the Thia Tea Cookie, Banana Pudding Cookie, or the decadent Triple Chocolate Brownie Cookie Cup.
One of the most Hollywood-centric things to do in LA is tour the Academy Museum, where cinema is celebrated in grand style, featuring exhibits of great films, like The Godfather, including set recreations, costume displays, and interviews with the filmmakers; replays of history-making Oscar acceptance speeches; screenings in the state-of-the-art David Geffen Theatre; and the Oscar Experience, in which visitors take the stage to an adoring virtual audience of fans to accept an actual statuette, all captured on video as a souvenir.
The Beach: LA’s Timeless Treasure
One of the things I miss most about living in LA is the beach. The beach is the beach, it’s the best free attraction on the coast, and save a few closures due to drifting medical waste or storm surge, at least, the sand and surf are essentially never-changing. Santa Monica Pier and the beach remain free to wander and note the quality of the people.
The iconic carousel at the pier has been around since 1916, and the elegantly carved, mesmerizing, if not creepy, horses, a rabbit and a goat, continue to entertain visitors of all ages who can ride for the mere price of $3. Another fixture just off the pier since 1946, Hot Dog on a Stick, got a facelift in 2022, but the expensive ($6.79) batter-dipped hot dogs remain the same classic beach-side treat, but beware the looming seagulls eager to snatch your lunch, even if it’s in your hand.
Toward Venice, Muscle Beach, sporting beefing bodybuilders pumping up for tourists, is always an attraction, and the climbing ropes and swinging rings are free for all. For bargain shoppers, there are cheap sunglasses, resort wear, caricatures, and sage for a deal from vendors camped along the bike path that goes from Malibu to Manhattan Beach. At Perry’s, you can rent bikes for $10 per hour, $35 per day, or $40 hourly for an e-bike.
After more than 25 years of beach-going in Santa Monica, my base camp is Lifeguard Station 26, where daily ($14-$20) or hourly ($1 per hour) parking is easy to find, decent restrooms are conveniently located off the bike path, and a lifeguard is on duty sunrise to sunset. Note: Our beach party found out how important the lifeguard is when three of the four teenagers in our group, all strong swimmers, were caught in a riptide and had to be rescued!
Ready for a Comeback?
After a week of reliving LA life in 2024, I came to the conclusion that perhaps Dr. Dyer was right after all. We see what we want to see in situations, people, and cities.
Did I live in LA during its heyday, from the late 90s to just before the pandemic? Are the abandoned office buildings and shuttered restaurants a temporary state? Will the industry have a successful reboot, like The Bourne Ultimatum and The Godfather Part II, which were unquestionably better than the original? Will Hollywood avoid being canceled, with the right PR pitch and timing?
There are enough good things about LA still to make it desirable, but will it return to the way it was, or might it come back bigger and better? The only way to see what will happen is to keep coming back, and so I will.
