17 April 2016
It’s best not to be a slave to plans. We had expected the usual rigmarole on arrive in a U.S. airport, and so assumed that our 17:45 arrival time would translate into leaving the airport after 7pm, which would mean picking up our rental car and finally getting on the road at about 8pm. Just in time to stop for the night. So we had booked a room in the LA Airport Holiday Inn.
Imagine our surprise when LA International Airport turned out to be brisk, sensible and efficient and we were spat out the other end before 6pm instead (our flight landed a tad early too). I don’t know if they were just having a good day, or whether this is basically a sterling recommendation for LA International Airport!
Anyway, we changed plan – wrote-off the Holiday Inn, picked up our rental car a day early, and headed out on the road. The Los Angeles freeways are monstrous, crowded with cars at 7 in the evening, but strangely compelling as they wind past scrub-covered rocky hills and the chiselled outlines of art deco apartment blocks in the glancing sunset light. Eventually we left LA behind and rolled our way north into the San Joaquin valley, where weariness took us to a motel near the highway and a burrito supper before bed.
While I’m here, though, what is it with American road signs? Or lack thereof. They do street name signs perfectly well, but do I really care that I’m turning onto Oak Avenue if I have no idea where Oak Avenue will lead me? We wandered aimlessly around LA suburbs, crossing the freeway we wanted to join at least twice, and never once finding a sign to say “Freeway 5? You want to go this way, buddy.” Eventually we stumbled on an entrance to the freeway at our third time of crossing it.
UPDATE: No, turns out they were just having a good day. Much more typical LA airport experience at the end of our holiday!
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