Los Angeles from up above looks neat and organized--buildings and houses look like Monopoly pieces, trees and shrubbery are strategically placed on sidewalks. Everything is placed within blocks, a far cry from Manila's cluttered streets. The city looks low, lower than London could ever be, except for downtown with its sky-high buildings all clustered in the middle.
From inside the plane, you can already feel the heat of California's post-noon sun. The sunshine is blinding even inside, and out the window, into the view of the wide and looping-in-the-middle freeways that cut right through the expanse of neat suburbia, the light hits the glossy finish of the cars making them glimmer and glisten, like jewels on the move, so fast, so fast.
As the plane took a turn, the view changed from cityscape and typical American suburban landscape to the stretch of the mountain range that hugged and nestled the city, giving it the warmth it has always known.
California is warm. Late summer heat singed my skin as I stepped out of the stuffy aircraft and onto American soil. A photo of President Obama, an American flag, and a picture message of the bald eagle from an American friend welcomed me. Freedom!, they all cried (or at least that's what I heard inside my head). But it didn't smell like freedom from this side of the world, no. It smelled like gummy bears, it smelled like the Duty Free from back home. Come on, show me what you've got America, I said to myself, or maybe, subconsciously, to America herself.
And she did--or at least, Los Angeles did show me what she's got, or snippets of what to expect. Less than two hours in the city and I've experienced how bad the traffic could be at the 405, how Flyaway buses have internet connection that allowed me to tweet while stuck in rush hour traffic (the kid in the third world was impressed, of course), and how fast and rude some LA drivers could be. It was an amusing welcome treat. Honest and blatant.
From the ground, Los Angeles looked scattered with its wide streets and alleys, far apart establishments, and cars, cars everywhere. It's obviously not a walkable city, which saddened me considering how much I love to walk around and get lost. But then, the sun started setting as we drove down Wilshire and any sad thought was wiped out as we passed through the posh neighborhoods and shopping spots of West LA. I had to forget everything and instead bask in the glow of my first Californian sundown.
As I watched this part of town zoom past my taxi window, tinged in golden light, I thought, this is it, this is my home for a while. And as the taxi stopped at my new tree-and-car lined neighborhood, as the seven p.m. sunset sneaked through the bush right outside the apartment and scattered light beams on the ground, it finally kicked in: the American adventure begins.
