Carolina Hinojosa-Cisneros : california

Showing posts with label california. Show all posts

Thursday, March 12, 2015

San Jacinto, Aya Kaich


© Carolina Hinojosa, 2015

Overlooking Palm Springs and the Coachella Valley, California

San Jacinto Mountains

Roadtrip from east LA, Spring 2015

Friday, March 6, 2015

We left San Diego on a dreary Sunday morning. The sun had hidden its face and made way for its ruminations. We headed for the mountains, pho, glassy blue skies and friends in Los Angeles, California. We didn’t drive for very long, but long enough to take in the casual mountainsides, green farmland and I was able to dig more deeply into a book I had been reading on the initial flight from San Antonio, Texas to San Diego, CA about the Pacific Crest Trail. Nothing is more exciting than reading a book based around the area to which I am traveling.

When my fiancé informed me that we would be venturing out to Los Angeles my immediate reply was to visit the Griffith Observatory. I had only heard of it and was enamored by the thought of visiting. After our hunger was eradicated by pancakes and eggs benny at Coco’s, we drove on to the Griffith. Winding and twisting roads led up the high mountain, the sun tempted us to remove our sweaters and jackets while in the car; however, upon exit the wind bit a playful chill upon any skin that was exposed. Armed with our layers and camera we headed up the mountain toward the observatory. Once we arrived, there was no need to ever enter the structure (we later did). The views were magical and breathtaking. The sky was made of blue glass and the sun danced with wide strides and ribbons of glory. Was this a different sun? Was that the same sky?

We later drove down the Hollywood Hills (which are such a sham) and onto the Hollywood walk of fame. It was nothing like I’d ever expected that Hollywood would be. It was neither glitz nor glamour. It was any other downtown, but while we were there an event on the red carpet was taking place. I would have never noticed had my fiancé not pointed out to me that we were two feet away from the red carpet. “That?!”, I replied. He laughed and said, “Yes, that.” One street away were apartment buildings surrounded by barbed wire. A few blocks over were buildings that were demolished or abandoned. Not movie backdrops, simply life dying around what we see on TV as a grand illusion of what the red carpet and Hollywood is. I’m not meaning this blogpost to sound depressing; it’s an eye-opener to see what television dictates to us about the rich and famous.

Later we had dinner with a friend at a pho spot that didn’t need a name. The address was all we needed as the actual restaurant didn’t have a name on it. The locals knew the name and it could be found on a map. It was overflowing with people and we all waited for our turn at a table. The prices were great for LA dining and afterward we walked over to a coffee shop on the corner. Once you found a parking space in LA, it was in your best interest not to move from the spot or else it would take hours to find another. It was a cold night, but not a long walk. The coffee was good and the conversation even better as we shut the place down. We seem to do this often when we meet up with friends. We chat until the place can’t take much more of us. Sober.

We headed back to the house for more conversation, wine and book tales. We talked until we all had no more talk in us. My eyes forced me into sleep dreaming of books and tales and roused in the midst of morning to realize that I had just woken up in Los Angeles. The rooster alerted the neighborhood that sleeping in was futile. It was time to get on the road to head toward Palm Springs and Indio. We were headed to the desert.

Saturday, February 28, 2015

Southern Sunny California

Southern California is unlike any place I've been. It is both laid back and upscale all in one neatly packaged box sealed with an organza ribbon. It is neither silk nor cotton, but all the materials in between. It's like knitting with alpaca or American bison. You don't dare knit any old thing. You take great care to create something beautiful and everlasting. San Diego is a painting. Everything in it, including its vagabonds, is painted so perfectly that nothing is ever out of its place. Skateboarders are not banned from sidewalks; they are welcomed. A skateboard is another form of transportation here. It appears that not even the rust on parking poles is out of place.

The artwork has become a permanent fixture as are the imported palm trees. None are native to California. You wouldn't know that unless you talked to a local. Each and every palm tree is from somewhere else reminiscent of the immigrants that were brought here to adorn the cities filling them with tall prosperity.

Casual strolls along the beach allow you to partake in the artwork and also to displace you from reality. It's like knowing that catastrophe is on the horizon, but you're allowed to sit in a glass case while it all happens around you and not to you. It opens dialogue within you. "Our Silences" created by Rivelino, born in Jalisco, Mexico, tears open a door and a conversation that questions our idea of self-censorship and freedom of speech. It is located within a 5 minute walk of an aircraft carrier. Appropriately (or not) military choppers constantly fly over the area.

I'm convinced that a different sun shines on the people of California. A cool breeze sifts through flirting with every head of hair it encounters. The seagulls fly overhead and never seem to leave droppings during their casual appearances. Bright red trollies scatter people throughout the city where they retreat into their apartments above noodle shops and theaters. Here life is not fast or it doesn't appear that way. Vinyl stores are filled with over priced records and bookstores are gems you find neglected in classy outdoor malls.

We are an hour outside of Mexico and you would never know it after three days of wandering through streets, over bridges and through the Gaslamp Quarter. It is the goody two shoes stepbrother of Austin, Texas and a very clean version of Manhattan, New York.

Don't get me wrong. San Diego is a beautiful place to visit, but a very interesting place to ponder. There is life here, but it feels as though each person is living in their own world and you might accidentally walk passed someone named Mike that is from Detroit who had to leave home a few short months ago because living in his neighborhood was far more dangerous than anyone of us could imagine. Those are the stories that you accidentally miss when you walk around San Diego. It's like living in a painting. Beautiful to others, but crying out with stories waiting to be told, muffled in a glass menagerie. Who will open the door and pull out a figurine unafraid to break it? Who is going to tell those stories?