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Flying Solo

It could've been worse...

By Stephanie FanuzPublished 6 years ago 8 min read
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Just last weekend I decided to get in one last surf trip before winter hit, as I had done many times before. This time around I was heading to Los Angeles alone. It was a tough decision being that I had never traveled alone; I don’t even like going to the grocery store alone, so just imagine my dilemma. I remember booking the flight with some hesitation, but if we’re being honest, it was the best decision I’ve made thus far.

My flight landed in the early afternoon, picked up my rental car, and headed straight to the hostel in Venice Beach. Yes. Hostel. I don’t even recognize myself at this point. So I get myself checked in, they go over the rules, they tell me I need to ‘shut the fuck up’ at 10 PM because that’s quiet time, and they show me over to my bunk. The fact that she told me to ‘shut the fuck up’ was so refreshing—I don’t think anyone at any hotel had ever told me that, and I liked it. People at hotels are fake nice, but I don’t blame them, it’s their job! But this girl who also works in the hospitality field told me to ‘shut the fuck up’ and it was so raw and honest and very hospitable (not being sarcastic, I promise). I drop all my stuff off and I go for a run on the boardwalk, where I run seven miles, which is totally irrelevant to my trip, but I felt like I should brag since I don’t even run a mile when I’m back home. I head to the Whole Foods, munch on a kale salad, and then leave mad because I do that everyday back home; maybe I should’ve tried something different. So, do you see what’s going on? Since I’m traveling alone and I haven’t met anyone yet, I’ve got to deal with myself ALL day. I run back to the hostel and find myself waiting in a line to shower, which I don’t mind at all because I finally get to talk to people. So this is where the adventure begins.

While waiting for the showers to open up I met Elena and Margi, two German girls who decided to drop their responsibilities and backpack the U.S. West Coast. I like them already. They tell me about their fascination with the U.S. and its culture (this is when I start to wonder what culture they’re referring to) and how they wish they could move here. I start to think that they’ve gone mad. They want to leave Germany and come to the U.S.? They want to leave Europe for North America? WHAT? That’s when I notice just how different we all perceive the world and how much our appreciation for where we live diminishes as the years go by. See, I would love to drop all my responsibilities and move to Germany, but what’s the point if perhaps in a few years I’ll want to move to Italy? We love the idea of change, of being in a new environment; it’s exciting. Our conversation puts a lot into perspective. One, Fireball tops vodka any day; two, this damn shower line is annoying; and three, that we should always try to be tourists in our own cities/countries. So, I shower and head straight to bed because I’ve been awake for more than 30 hours. As I’m falling asleep, the girl who checked me in climbs up to my bunk and offers me tacos. Normally, my grumpiness would’ve taken over, but I’m fascinated at how great and inclusive hostels are that I drag my sleepy self to the kitchen to eat with a bunch of strangers, and life never seemed better.

I spent my Saturday morning driving all over LA looking for the best Argentine bakery I can find. I even read Yelp reviews to make sure I find the best one—Yelp reviews, for god's sake. I went for my morning surf and now all I want is a cup of coffee and some fresh out of the oven ‘facturas.’ I find New Buenos Aires in Burbank, and yes, the Yelp reviews were spot on with this one. I order about five facturas of which I only eat three; if I would’ve been physically able to eat the other two, believe me I would’ve. Living in Salt Lake City means that I’m highly deprived of these delicacies. I head over to Los Feliz and Griffith Park to do my usual touristy hike. Disclaimer: I’ve done this hike over 10 times. I know this hike so well that I’ve thought about quitting my job and moving to LA and becoming a full-time tour guide. I get lost. Don’t laugh. My four-mile hike turns into six miles, but whatever, my legs look nice and pumped. First hike alone: done. I head back to the hostel, which turns out to be about and hour and a half drive because of LA’s infamous traffic. Luckily, I grew up in Miami where driving is like playing Russian roulette; Maria will let you merge into her lane one day, but the next Yandel will run your car over if you even turn your blinker on. So, driving in LA was a breeze. Back at the hostel I meet Rodrigo and Maximiliano, two Argentine guys who only came to LA for the girls. Fair enough. I came for the beaches and they came for the... (I’ll shut up now). We agree to hit an Argentine food joint in downtown LA, because that’s how self-absorbed us Argentines are: we go to foreign countries to only eat our cuisine. We head out for yet another two hour drive to 1810 Argentine Restaurant. I order a milanesa napolitana with mashed potatoes, and they order lomitos. I highly recommend the place if you ever find yourself starving in DTLA, and I’m not just saying that because I’m from Argentina. Later on that night, I meet up with a group of friends who are adamant about teaching me night photography. So, a little background on my photography skills: I bought a Nikon d3100 close to a year ago in the hopes that I would actually put it to good use. Update: I didn’t. I took it on a single trip and took many spectacular pictures, and I take no credit for this; it had all to do with the camera and nothing with me. OK, back to my photography lesson. So, we find a few “secret” locations around LA where we climb roofs and stand on abandoned highways to get the perfect picture. Turns out, I knew absolutely nothing about how to work a Nikon. Crazy how in just one night I learned everything there is to the art of photography, and with that lesson I took some awesome pictures, and I’ll take 80% of the credit on that one. We explored the city at night, drank some craft beer, ate Kogi BBQ (a first for me), and I had the opportunity to see how Angelinos live firsthand.

Sunday morning, ready to take on the day and make the best of the few hours I have left in this great city. I head over to Manhattan Beach to get some breakfast and run the boardwalk (I only seem to run on vacation; oh, the irony). I get breakfast at this great place a block from the beach, and when I say great, I truly mean it. The service was spectacular and the coffee was perfect. But… I don’t remember the name of the place. I feel bad, because I should. Anyways, it was great, that’s all I can say! After my run I go for a swim; this is the first time I jump into the Pacific without a wet suit, and if I was a man I would say that I froze my balls off. I figured I would give it a try since I have been swimming in a couple lakes in Utah and those are freezing, but this was just out-of-the-roof freezing. Still swam it, though. Around noon I met up with Heather and the crew to go for one last surf, and it was the best one yet. The sun was out, the waves were nice, and Heather, a Hawaiian native, taught me a few tricks, and believe me, if there was anyone who I would trust with my life out in the ocean it would be her. She grew up in Hawaii and she knows firsthand how crazy the waves out there are, and she’s dominated them for over 25 years, so yeah, I trust her. After two hours, and a couple pearl diving incidents, it’s time to head to the airport. I drop off my rental (full of sand, I’m sorry), and head to LAX.

I’m sunburnt, tired, sleepy, but overall very very satisfied with my first solo trip. There are certain things that you only experience when you’re out by yourself. Just as there are certain aspects about yourself that you learn when you’re alone as well. I learned that I can be independent, that I can sit alone in a restaurant and eat my meal without feeling awkward, that I can approach people and make conversation out of the blue. This trip pushed me far out of my comfort zone, and it led me to meet some pretty extraordinary people from all walks of life. We’re connected via social media and there are plans of backpacking the East Coast soon. If we’re being honest, I probably wouldn’t have bonded with these individuals if I would’ve came with someone else. So yeah, I’m glad I came alone. And, I encourage others to do so as well. It may seem daunting at first, but it’s an experience like no other.

solo travel
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