We’ll Always Have Venice

California is known for its eccentrics. Maybe it’s because actor-wannabes work in almost every restaurant, café, bookstore, and crack-house. Maybe it’s because the climate encourages people to venture outdoors, even those who’d be more comfortable hiding in the woodwork. Maybe it’s because the gold rush of 1848 drew all the oddballs and get-rich-quick schemers, and they simply never left.

Southern California in particular has more than its share of characters. They lurk on street corners, where they hand out bad poetry, scientology pamphlets, or invitations to a potluck. They ask for change and then try to inflict some. They have no boundaries and believe the world owes them, if not a living, then at least a dollar.

On one unexpected trip, I encountered their basecamp. It’s called the World’s Greatest Free Freak Show, but I didn’t know that when I traveled to Venice Beach, an ocean-side community south of Santa Monica. I’d only heard of the famous boardwalk along its beach, where athletic joggers share space with bikini-clad rollerbladers, where dog-walkers and skateboarders somehow co-exist.

I found the community easily enough and spent the first hour sightseeing for a parking space. The alleyways are very picturesque. Once I made it to the actual beach, I was immediately impressed with the high quality of its denizens. It contained the weirdest of California’s population condensed into a couple square miles.

The first sight was Muscle Beach, an outdoor gym that sits right on the beach. Apparently, the bodybuilders working out there think women want to want them flex and squat and sweat. Heck, maybe women do. But I didn’t and quickly moved on.

All along the boardwalk, littering the sand like gnats, were “buskers” and “artists” and “merchants.” I use all three terms very, very loosely. Most looked as though they lived where they sat. Some looked as though they’d been there since the 1960s. Yoko Ono would feel at home here, whether she was singing, doing performance art, or exhibiting participatory sculpture.

It’s a carnival atmosphere, where anything goes. I’m not saying I was solicited for sex or drugs, but I won’t deny it, either.

Of course, Venice Beach has lots to offer besides the people who inhabit its beach. Coffeehouses and boutiques line the boardwalk. The shops sell almost everything, from hemp clothing to new furniture. They have names like Surfing Cowboys, Johnny B. Wood, and The Modern Dog. I’m talking eclectic with a capital E. Because rents are so high, you might find that one-in-a-million whatever, but you’ll pay through the nose for it.

All in all, I had a long, sunburned day, but it wasn’t the kind of day I’d expected. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes, you just chalk it up to experience. Sometimes, you realize you would have had more fun if you weren’t as sober.