ARRIVING IN LA: CITY OF ANGELS

I never understood why LA became known as the city of angels. The crazy maze navigating passengers from the domestic terminal to international departures required a bit of skill and patience (as for the latter, I'm work on building every day) and as usual I didn’t get the full story from the people in the know and from passersby about the exact location of the connecting shuttles. To get to the Air New Zealand departure section, I had to go out the baggage claim area and run over to the left to get the shuttle. Not such an angelic area to maneuver around. The shuttle turned out to not be far from where I was, but the distance was enough to be reminded of the stifling humidity of LA, a familiar sensation from previous visits. I could already feel perspiration pressing through the pores on the back of my neck, at the base of my hair follicles, and my upper lip. The worst thing about all this grimy humidity is the greasy hair that I know I’ll end up with by tomorrow morning.

Despite the trickiness and the heat, I managed to pass through airport security with little fanfare. My only complaint was being made to go through the process of taking out my belt, belongings, shoes . . . well, any of you who have traveled know how cumbersome the security measures can be.

On a side note - I saw Tim Daly standing by the carousel in the baggage one area. He’s much shorter in person than I had perceived, as he appears to tower over Addison, his former love in "Private Practice", on the tv screen. The black, horn-rimmed glasses sitting on his very prominent nose made him look professorial and extremely handsome – more so in person - especially with his hair sticking up from sleeping (I presume) during his flight and looking so very casual.

I finally got my much-desired red wine at the tiny pizzeria eatery not far from Gate 25. The late night travelers look sleepy; the tv is loud above the clink, clink, clink of glasses and beer bottles being cleared by the bar help; a baby is cooing in the corner. The barbecue chicken salad I ate was the perfect antidote to my rumbling stomach. In about two and a half hours, I’ll be up in the air again and probably eating . . . again. 

The wine is doing its job. I’m starting to feel sleepy and relaxed, if not a little loopy. I hope I don’t doze through my flight. I should probably wait by the gate now.