A Walk on the Wild Side
Venice Beach
Words and Images by Carren Jao
H
idden by a ring of onlookers, comedian and strongman Tony Vera flexed his muscles with a rubber mask over his head. After all the high jinks and chest muscle mambo-ing, he finally got to the good stuff—the Chair Act. A fortunate girl from the audience would get to see Venice from another perspective. Tony would ask a girl from the audience to sit on a chair, then rotate her—chair and all—using only his chin for balance. It is a trick he’s been doing since he began on Venice in 1988. These two men are joined by a circus-like host of characters on the 2.5-kilometer Venice boardwalk. Fortune-tellers break out their cards and smile eagerly for tourists. Artists lay down their wares on mats and makeshift shelves, often with a small sign that says, “No Photography. No Video.” Even in bohemian Venice Beach (or perhaps especially), creative rights need to be respected. Further away, a young man with a necklace of plants wryly goads a young man, “I bet you’re licensed. Am I right?” alluding to California’s state-sanctioned medical marijuana license. “A brighter whiter smile while you wait!” Another young man announces to the throng of teenagers, tourists, and locals.
Venice Beach is not for the faint of heart. If you are looking for a little serenity and solitude, head on over to neighboring Santa Monica beach. Those who walk Venice Beach are on the hunt for a bit of adventure. The sounds of an electric guitar rang in my ears as a tall man with a turban and a long tunic skated towards me. “You’d look great in my t-shirt,” said the man, his sunglasses barring me from seeing his eyes (and down deep into his soul). “Aw. Come on.” He said as he whipped out a tiny black tee. His name, I would soon learn, was Harry Perry, a fixture on the Venice Boardwalk since 1973. He was not the only star sighting I would see that day. 142
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On any given day, Venice beach is a cacophony of sound and people—and it’s just the way many like it. On the sands and streets of Venice, one feels alive precisely because the pulse of life beats sure and certain. Even the walls—painted in glaring colors and marked with graffiti tags—can’t help but resuscitate a heart searching for its rhythm.
vintage speaker set sits ready to rock, and the mini-bar stocks not-so-mini bottles of booze.
“The culture in Venice is that they want to be free. They believe in freedom, they believe in being yourself,” says Jairo Torres of boutique hotel, Hotel Erwin, the only full-service hotel in the vicinity. He has seen Venice blossom from a neighborhood of shady reputations to a more laid-back bohemian destination.
For the last three years, Gjelina has been beckoning to a constant swirl of diners patiently waiting to enter the rustic Edison-bulbaccented restaurant that boasts no obnoxious signage. They come for the impeccable thin-crust pizzas, made fresh from a woodburning oven with vegetables straight from the nearby farmer’s market. Over 1,000 people will pass through the restaurant’s 100 seats every day. Be prepared to wait around an hour to get a taste of these pizzas.
An unlikely history
The hotel that Jairo helps run is perhaps a harbinger of things to come, bad-boy appeal swaying close to trendy. Looming just behind the boardwalk, Hotel Erwin gives off a beach vibe inside and out. Along its halls, framed photographs of rock stars and graffiti are proudly displayed. Its rooms are painted an audacious color. In its VIP suite, a wall of skate shoes becomes a clock, a 144
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A spate of art galleries and gourmet eateries has also popped up on nearby Abbot Kinney Boulevard. Among them, Gjelina cannot be missed.
While you wait, saunter over the small shops and stop by the G2 Gallery, which showcases National Geographic-quality photographs and donates their proceeds to environmental charities. Swim in the sea of “extreme resolution gigapixel photography” made by xRez Studio, a collaboration between
visual effects designer Eric Hanson (The Day After Tomorrow, Cast Away, and Fantasia 2000) and photographer Greg Downing (Spider Man 3 and The Chronicles of Narnia).
to conform. In this little piece of sun-soaked earth, they found an almost-paradise where no one was looking and they could do whatever they wanted.
The Venice Beach of today is a hybrid of the elitist Renaissance beauty tobacco mogul Abbot Kinney envisioned and the “summer of love” haven brought about by hippies and skaters. “You’ll find the richest guy and you’ll find the poorest guy around here,” says Jairo, “And we all interact with each other like we’re the same, because we are in the end.”
Express not repress
Venice was born in 1905 when Kinney recreated an idyllic resort town in the image of Venice, Italy, complete with canals. Discarded and virtually forgotten, Venice was pejoratively called the “Slum by the Sea” in the 1950s. And who could argue with the label? The Great Depression left the town a virtual eyesore, except of course for those looking for cheap rents and simply a place to live (i.e., artists, poets, and writers without a dime to call their own). When the world stopped looking, Venice gave birth to a generation of creatives already on the edge of society and without any impetus
Within these few miles, the Z-Boys, hardcore surfers, revolutionized the sport of skateboarding in the 1970s by borrowing the physicality of surfing and translating that into asphalt. The Z-Boys would show the world that things don’t have to be boring when skating. They rode low on the board and touched the pavement, like a surfer would the wave. Until today, the skating culture lives on in Venice. In 2009, a 16,000-square-foot Venice Beach Skate Park opened to the public just between the ocean and the boardwalk. Rails, ramps, steps and a swimming pool-like bowl all congealed into the $2.4-million facility. Along with the rise of Venice’s skating culture came the popularization of graffiti as a badge for the cool and unfettered. asianTraveler 145
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On the sands and streets of Venice, one feels alive precisely because the pulse of life beats sure and certain. Even the walls—painted in glaring colors and marked with graffiti tags—can’t help but resuscitate a heart searching for its rhythm.
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For over 30 years, the graffiti wall on the sands of Venice Beach has been a silent witness to the angst and political leanings of the neighborhood. Until today, the graffiti wall is chockfull of spray paint, as if a repository for all things brewing underneath the calm Pacific waters. Bookstore owner Mary Goodfader has seen Venice then and now. She moved into the neighborhood in 1976, when oil wells marred the Pacific Ocean view. It took the oil wells ten years to close down and move out, says Mary, but other than that “Venice has changed remarkably little. Venice likes to stay bohemian and funky.” Goodfader’s Small World Books is the closest thing Venice’s anti-establishment culture has to an institution. Goodfader and husband Robert took over the building when it was still boarded up and filled with graffiti in the 70s. Situated beside the alwayspacked Sidewalk Café & Bar, the bookstore is a piece of quiet you will never hear on the boardwalk. Sandwiched between some pages in its impressive collection of books are handwritten recommendations by the store’s impeccably informed staff. The store’s staff are no slouches; in fact, it’s this personal touch that keeps the literati coming back. “In Venice, there are a lot of artists, writers, and eccentric people. They’re all good readers. They have good minds. They come in and patronize the store,” says Goodfader. The bookstore wouldn’t be where it is without the Sidewalk Café & Bar beside it. The café’s cashflow subsidizes the operational costs of running the bookstore. ““As long as people want to buy hamburgers, I’ll keep [the bookstore] going.” Goodfader tells the L.A. Times. The café abuts the Venice boardwalk. On its expansive “sidewalk,” guests can take in the constant hum of Venice while munching down a host of literature-inspired burgers. Care for a Mario Puzo, the “godfather of Italian subs”? Or how about a Pablo Neruda, a burger with Jack cheese and green Ortega chilies? Satiated at least for now. I find an unoccupied bench (usually already spray-painted with graffiti) and let the sea of humanity wash over me. On Venice, there is no shortage of entertainment whether steamy or wholesome. Here, like in life, the good comes with the not-so-good and bad; it’s that melding of surreal and undoubtedly real that makes this beach a standout in the world.
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