LA: June 5 - The Getty Villa

Gorgeous breakfast brought to our cottage dining room table by the couple who run the B&B. They’re a study in contrasts. Ahuva is an exuberant Israeli – part international sophisticate, part California earth mother, all bubbe. Bob is a goofy, laid back California surfer dude in his 60s , always ready with a quip. Their partnership gives the B&B its idiosyncratic vibe.

After inching our way through the dusty, drought-stricken; palm tree-lined streets of LA, and along the car-clogged Pacific Coast Highway, Robert drops me off at the Getty Villa. http://www.getty.edu/visit/villa/ 

The modern California world falls away.

I walk along the winding path through the gardens to the hilltop museum. The architecture is based on a Herculaneum villa. I pass by four gardeners kneeling alongside the walkway, in obeisance to Demeter, clipping stray twigs off the espaliered foliage, while a fifth sweeps up the trimming.

Entering the museum, I immediately notice the absence of water. Due to the drought, all of the water features are empty. The empty basins, the lack of sparkle from light reflected off the water, the absence of the gurgle and plash of fountains, has a big impact – more than I would have expected. It’s like a well-preserved body without a pulse. Throughout the museum, pools and fountains link one courtyard to the next, and the villa to the gardens. The lack of water gives it all a deserted, abandoned air.For a museum dedicated to a vanished culture from another age, this isn’t altogether wrong. I walk through the rooms on the ground floor, paying my respects to the gods, goddesses and heroes who are up to their fabled hijinks.  http://www.online-literature.com/donne/865/

I climb the marble stairs to view the visiting Byzantine art exhibition. Martyrs with dour, accusing looks, squinty-eyed Virgins with dolorous faces, dim lighting. I compare this with the last exhibit I saw here, one that celebrated Aphrodite.  It showcased  objects associated with the goddess; sated sleeping hermaphrodites, drinking cups helpfully illustrated with amorous positions, courtesans’ poetry, and general flaunting of naughty bits. When it comes to content, the goddess of amore (Passion! Beauty! Desire!) wins hands down over Byzantium Christianity (tortured martyrs, long-suffering virgins, avenging angels).Flocks of children in school uniforms swirl in and out of the rooms, following adults wearing Educator badges, old people blink in the shade cast by table umbrellas, young couples eat their brown bagged lunches on the amphitheater steps, touching shoulder to thigh. The museum grounds feel occupied and reasonably full, but not crowded. The wisdom of requiring timed tickets to park and enter is immediately apparent. The Louvre should try this. No joke. I forgo lunch in favor of a high tea in the Founders Room – a smallish venue with wonderful views and more than I can eat, nicely presented on tiered cake stands. Well-trained staff leaps to fill my teacup every time it falls below a third of the cup.

Back in the center courtyard of the villa, I see a  woman in a hadjib and jeans taking selfies, and a similarly slender, tatted-up man with a sleeveless hoodie do the same. It’s a California cultural mash-up of dueling silhouettes that works for me.

Strolling along the outer peristyle (covered walkway) gardens, I try my hand at taking my own selfie. Gah. The key is to persevere until one appears tolerable. Many, many pixels later –

A peristyle, or covered walkway,. The key is to persevere in various locales until one is tolerable.

Afterwards, I walk beside the long empty outdoor pool with statues stranded on dry outcroppings in positions that suggest aquatic cavorting.

he Outer Peristyle Garden

The walls, marble floors, and ceiling of the peristyle alongside the empty pool are  painted with trompe l’oeil swags of foliage and historically appropriate decorative flourishes.

I walk through the lower gardens, until I find a long, grapevine-covered arbor. The dappled shade is wonderful to look at, lively but restful to the eye. I sit and read a while. This day marks my sixty-fourth birthday. I think how supremely lucky I am.

After his morning of visiting old friends, and afternoon lunch on the pier, Robert picks me up at 3pm, his (successful) strategy to avoid the worst of LA traffic, and back to the cottage we go.

LA: June 4

I scampered through the airport TSA pre-check. It was green lights all the way until I was selected for additional screening. That included a pat down, running the beeping wand over my sillouette, swiping my palms with something on a paper strip, and doing the hokey poky in the infamous X-ray booth. On the upside, there was no body cavity search,  and the security lady said, “Happy Birthday, darlin’. You have a blessed day,” when she was done.

Discovered we lost our treasured economy comfort bulkhead seats for the return flight when I requested the wheelchair. Fair enough, since that plane’s bulkhead is also an exit row, an automatic out for the infirm. Dang. Flight to LA not bad at all for me. I read and napped, Robert read a newspaper, went through his vast backlog of emails (7000+!  Some going back to 2004!) and took half of a prescribed muscle relaxer. He seemed to do fine. In fact he did better than at home, because he was not as bored and frustrated with his temporary disability.

 On arrival, Robert declined assistance – no, no I’m fine – until he walked the length of the jetway from the plane to the concourse, whereupon he cried uncle. I snagged a guy passing by with a wheelchair, and he pushed Robert through the LAX labyrinth of handicap accessible elevators, and wide, empty underground halls. The attendant was a Russian military brat until he was 10 when his parents emigrated to LA. He became a US citizen and just passed a battery of security checks in order to qualify to translate for hospitals and corporations. It was a long walk. I was very glad Robert succumbed and agreed to be helped. “Pain taught me what pride would not let me learn.”

We took the shuttle to Budget Rentacar which was a zoo. Go figure! A line so long it was out of the building and down the sidewalk. Robert secured a car and I ate my first meal in LA – spit temperature water, crumbs in the bottom of a bag of Fritos, and a piece of Vermont chocolate my daughter gave me for my birthday. I was desperate. Car sorted, Robert drove while I navigated via my iPhone Google maps, impersonating a SatNav.

The Little Cottage behind the Garden B&B is just as welcoming as we remembered.  Joan’s on 3rd made up for my nasty lunch with some sublime selections for takeaway, including a gorgeous salad made of grilled fresh corn, jicama, red onion, edamame, fresh apple soaked in something, and a touch of cilantro. So so delicious. Robert had egg salad on ciabatta and a cappuccino. I heroically eschewed the ham and brie on a croissant, and went for turkey meatloaf, grilled snow peas, and asparagus, butternut squash salad, grilled heirloom carrots, and that grilled corn salad. Divine. I snagged a tiramisu and a chocolate roulade for desert, which I will eat tonight along with seconds of everything I ate for lunch. I am not made of stone. Yet.

On the walk back I see my first piece of indigenous LA graffiti; ‘Figure With iPhone Posture.’

We are having a little lie down now. Will probably laze around the rest of the evening. Tomorrow Robert drives me to the Getty Villa for the day, and he’ll visit a friend in Malibu and sit on his deck. Good times.

 

LA, My Way

The original idea was Robert goes to a film equipment expo, and I tag along and visit the Getty museums. There were industry related events, and transplanted ATL friends to schedule in around the expo and art. We made the arrangements, booking the B&B and plane tickets before I went to Paris. It was to be a part biz/part art/mostly romantic getaway. Much holding of hands and general canoodling was anticipated.

All the plans flew into the air when Robert fell and pulled his hamstring a week ago. His agony precluded him thinking about it at all, but I realized immediately that the odds of him making the trip had plummeted.  I’d hoped the ticket could be reassigned to one of my daughters, but Delta nixed that – it’s a bonus companion ticket. You use it or lose it, unless we cancel both tickets. I did a little cost/benefit analysis, and decided to leave it up to Robert.

We were leaning toward canceling – and I was good with that – when he seemed to be making a truly awesome recovery. The trip was back on, with a few modifications to make it easier on Robert. Alas for him, Saturday he put in his usual effort and he paid the price. Last night and the night before were  painful as the first night. We decided he’ll stay here and be pampered by Emily, and I’ll go solo, in the spirit of ‘life is uncertain, view art first.’  I’ve only visited the Gettys once before and I know they will repay my time and attention. I loved the views from the Getty Center.
When I visited the Getty Villa, I saw an exhibit  on the ever popular Aphrodite. My favorite objects were the mirrors of retiring courtesans, dedicated to the goddess.
“You grant beauty, my Queen, but creeping time withers your gift. Now, since your gift has passed me by and flown away, receive, gracious Goddess, this mirror that bore witness to it.” How perfect is that sentiment for Tinsel Town?

I sat down and did my pre-pro for a solo trip. I made a day by day plan.  I downloaded four Apps – two for the Getty, one for LACMA and one for Italian Art in LA.  I’ll go to the Getty Villa only once and focus on LACMA and the Getty Center which are considerably closer to my West Hollywood B&B. I clocked the miles and predicted costs for UBER transport.  I’ll meet some old friends for coffee one morning before I head over the Getty, but no other industry stuff. I made my suitcase list for the balmy (60-low 80s, no rain in sight) weather – think Paris in short sleeves, with a hoodie for those frosty a/c interiors. And my Chucks, bien sur.

There is still a possibility, albeit a very, very slim one, that Robert will decide to come along at the last minute. He’s going to pack a bag so that if he has a couple of decent nights he can jump in the car Wednesday morning. if not, all he has to do is unpack.

I’ll turn 64 while there. I should really download that John Lennon song before I go.