I’ve never had such a fun layover in my life. When we began our trip, both Mariah and I were grumbling a bit about being forced to spend 12 hours in one city. We both would rather just get to Christchurch as soon as possible. I had a mental image of us trudging around the city for hours, forcing ourselves to do a bit of sightseeing while secretly just wishing we could take a nap.
As soon as we landed in LA, however, we had the sudden realization that we were near the ocean, and the weather was absolutely perfect. Why couldn’t we just go hang out at the beach?
We asked a few workers where we could store our luggage, but they all gave us the same answer: Ever since 9/11, it’s impossible to store luggage anywhere in the city. I was shocked, since every European airport and main train station I can think of has a storage center for luggage.
Momentarily stumped, we weren’t quite sure what to do. But there was really no choice--we would have to lug our 30+ pounds of stuff everywhere we went.
We headed for Santa Monica, armed with a step-by-step guide explaining how to use the buses to get there.
We were quite the spectacle, two young women, covered in backpacks, still wearing winter Minnesotan gear in the California heat. Mainly because of our obnoxiously giant backpacks, I think, people started approaching us randomly, asking where we were from or where we were going. This happened more times than I could count. Men, women, young, old, American, foreign… It was like we were wearing a huge sign that said, “WE ARE FRIENDLY. PLEASE START A CONVERSATION WITH US.” The friendliness of the people in LA certainly put our “Minnesota Nice” to shame.
