13.3 miles
Monday, September 10, 2007
This past weekend our friend Stephanie suggested that we head to Venice for dinner on Friday night. For those of you who don’t live in or aren’t familiar with Los Angeles, I have provided a map (courtesy of fabulous Google maps) from the general vicinity of where I live (Hollywood/Hancock Park area) to the beachy neighborhood of Venice.
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As you can see, it’s a whopping 13.3 miles. That’s only 1/10th of a mile shorter than the entire length of the island of Manhattan. So you will understand that, despite the fact that I’ve heard that Venice has some fabulous restaurants and is even home to the west coast outlet of my old West Village stomping grounds, The Other Room, I was less than enthusiastic about this sojourn.
"Venice?!?!? All the freaking way to VENICE? Is she NUTS?” I immediately emailed back asking if we could do something a bit closer to home. Of course, fearing that no one would understand my inherent distaste for driving, I blamed it on the fact that my husband was working in Manhattan Beach for the day, and I didn’t think that he would want to drive home only to turn around and drive back. A perfect excuse, I thought to myself…and was certain that my husband would agree.
You would think, from my reaction, that Venice is hours away. And perhaps in the midst of rush hour traffic, it might be. But at 8 PM on a Friday night, it would probably take us about 35 minutes to drive there and even less time to get back. Certainly not next door, but also, not something to balk at for good food, good wine and most importantly, good company.
My parents live 45 minutes outside of Boston but they don’t think twice about driving in for dinner on a Saturday night. And often, my mom will even head there the next day to hit Newbury Street. (But then, my mom would hop on a plane to Italy for a day if it meant a great sale at Saks.) I know people who live in Venice and schlep to Los Feliz for dinner (although, usually dinner is followed up by an entire evening of dessert). If I had ever been single in LA, geographically desirable would have been a top requirement for potential dates, and in my book, that means less than a 15 minute drive. (But then, I did date my husband from NY to LA. How was that geographically desirable???)
Meanwhile, my husband, who, like me, generally has a similar distaste for driving, said to me, “Let’s go! Fun to do something different.” And suddenly, with my excuse un-excused, I was unenthusiastically looking at an evening in Venice. I had no choice but to jump on the bandwagon and quite literally, go for the ride.
So what’s wrong with me, you ask.
New York is wrong with me. New York City spoiled me. Rotten.
When I first moved to the city, I lived in Brooklyn. My therapist was located on the Upper West Side and people looked at me like I had 10 heads. “You go that far for therapy? Uh-uh. No. NO WAY.” But she was a fabulous therapist. The subway was only a 30 minute ride, I read the whole time and I’m more well-adjusted because of her. (No snarky comments please – you should have heard me before therapy.) My point being that it was well worth the trip for a great thing.
My stint in Brooklyn made me far more willing to travel than your average New Yorker. Rarely would someone take the twenty minute ride out of the city to come visit me in Park Slope, so I spent many nights hopping on the F train at 10 PM for an evening out with the girls. But as I moved into the city, I got worse and worse about “traveling”. I was completely spoiled living in the West Village. Most of my close friends lived within a one and a half mile radius. I could walk anywhere. Hell, if I wanted to, I could even walk to my furthest friend who was on 102nd street – a mere 5.8 miles away. So perhaps you are starting to understand why the thought of 13.3 miles made me sweat.
Which brings me back to my point about dreading the trek to Venice. Except that on Friday night, my point ws slightly disproved. It took us about 25 minutes to get there (less than the estimated 35) and our meal at Wabi-Sabi was fabulous. (The Other Room was not, but we’ll save both of those for a whole other post unto themselves.) That said, this New Yorker broke down just a little. We had a great time on Friday night. And while Abbot Kinney is, for all intents and purposes, the OPPOSITE side of the country, there were moments when I sort of felt at home. We ate dinner at 9 PM which is late by Angeleno standards, but totally normal (some might even say early) for NYC. The street was lined with adorable boutiques and there was quite a bit of scaffolding plastered with plenty of posters. And there were people. Everywhere. WALKING.
So while I can't say that I see myself making this trek all that often, I might not be so quick to turn up my nose the next time someone suggests Venice or Santa Monica. Because as I knew during my early days in NYC, sometimes you travel for a good thing.
Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle
at
5:01 PM
Labels:
driving,
neighborhoods
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your friend stephanie sounds cool.
ohmymeesh-- i love your blog!!!
keep 'em coming,
your faithful reader (snl....d!)