In April, Gene and I took a trip down California’s Highway 1. We started with 36 hours in San Francisco and packed as much as we could into that short span.
We climbed Telegraph Hill, traipsed up and down Columbus Avenue, shopped at City Lights Bookstore and hung out on Haight Street.
Read my account of that lightning trip to San Francisco.
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We decide to walk up the hill they call The walk downhill is much easier and I enjoy the palm trees and the simple red flowers I’ve seen all over I will remember those flowers, manicured lawns and the landscaped yards as the classic
A muffin made its way onto my plate—during the few seconds I blacked out—but it wasn’t the sweet, dessert kind. Vacations will do that to me—I wouldn’t touch a muffin with a ten-foot pole in real life. Cousin Bill invites us to visit Warner Brothers Studios today where he is working. Our names are at the special visitor’s gate and we are instructed to park in special Parking Lot V. Having a Parking Lot V implies there are Parking Lots A thru U and underscores the vastness of Warner Brothers. Bill and his colleagues are waiting for a revised version of the movie he is working on, so the version he received yesterday is useless. In his hurry-up-and-wait vocation, Bill has time to walk us around the lot. When we were in LA a few years ago, we took the official WB tour, but now we get a behind-the-scenes tour. We see the ER sets being torn down, since the final episode just aired. Bill shows us the parking spaces belonging to the bigwigs. To a WB employee, this hierarchy is important to know. Bill points out the former offices of the After Warner Brothers, we do some quick shopping at the Bill recommended a Japanese restaurant to us, but we are tired and decide to go to the rooftop one more time for dinner. We have a cocktail shaker of Calamari with a sweet red sauce, and tomato-and-mozzarella skewers. I have Penne Pomodoro and Gene has a slab of Ahi Tuna with a sauce of avocado bits, olives and tomatoes in a vinaigrette sauce. This meal is worth replicating at home, if we can.
The Beverly Hills Cab Co. taxi waits outside our hotel behind a long, gray limo intended for the couple we shared the elevator with. The blonde girl spoke of the scenes she has to shoot tomorrow and I wonder if she is a big actress. In As we ride out to Koreatown, we pass “malls” look like office buildings, reminiscent of many buildings we saw in South Korea. Each mall level has signs all around the perimeter of the building, but no display windows. We meet Bill and Aura at the Beverly Soon Tofu House, decorated in Korean-rustic. They are waiting for us with a spread of side dishes on the table. Aura offers us some of her jug of Barley Tea. I order two Sojus, but I forgot that Soju is the strong vodka-like drink and not the semi-sweet wine drink I thought it was. “(Bek se ju” is the Korean wine drink that I couldn’t think of.) Aura asks me if I like Babimbop, and I think it is the dumplings we got at the little Korean storefront in Changwon. Turns out, Babimbop is a big bowl of salad fixings with a fried egg on top. I copy Aura as she adds a sweet red sauce, rice and soy sauce to the salad and tosses it up with her chopsticks. We also get a bubbling soup in which the waitress cracks a raw egg, one-handed. We ordered it medium-spicy, but it is still too spicy for our taste. Gene and Bill spend the dinner riffing from topic to topic, making segues that only make sense to them, but they are having so much fun, it is great to watch.
The experience was finer than any facial I’ve had at Bliss or anywhere. On the bed with a cooling mask on my face and my parrafim-waxed hands inside terry oven mitts, I thought I must be getting the deluxe package. Whatever this cost, I would pay it. It was my birthday, after all. But the mind-blowing pampering was the $99 facial after all. Today I make an appointment for a basic facial (now $105) and a half-hour Japanese Shiatzu massage. Only my second massage, I’m not sure the difference between Shiatzu and the massage I got at Milk and Honey in I am led down the carpeted corridor and into the lush spa area. I am given a robe and slippers and I consider a dunk in the Jacuzzi, but a nude woman leans against the wall with her feet in the water. I can’t see what she is doing with her hands. I opt for a few minutes in the Quiet Room instead. The long, narrow Quiet Room holds a row of pods with plush seats the size of a first-class airline seat with rounded seclusion barriers. I sink into the end pod and start writing in my journal. The stillness reminds me how infrequently I experience true quiet and I am able to write quickly. But too soon, it is time to go into the main lounge and meet my facial technician. The main lounge is like a dark, cozy living room with plush couches and a fireplace. Melka, my technician, retrieves me after only a minute or two. She examines my skin and notices a little dryness, a few broken capillaries, a little sun damage on the sides, but overall I get a favorable review. She talks me into a peel ($20). Under the warm blanket and hearing her expert, soothing voice, she can talk me into anything at this moment. She advises a separate moisturizer with an overlay of sunscreen no less than SPF 30. She also suggests a Vitamin C serum. After the pampering (I am blocking the few extractions she did), I go to my massage. The masseuse, a small Japanese man gives me a choice of pressure. Like picking the heat of your salsa, medium always seems a safe choice. The Shiatsu feels good, a lot of pressing on a single point. After the service, I shower and step into one of the Jacuzzis since the busy nude woman and everyone else is gone. After another great spa experience, the |
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