Apparently, Will and I are now official roadies. I demand respect.
We wanted to arrive at sunset, making it the perfect ending.
I stressed myself out in the traffic, but we managed to get
parked right on the sea front with about an hour to spare.
We walked along the beach and I dipped my feet in the Pacific
Ocean for the first time!
We both expected to be overcome with relief, pride, happiness.
But it just kind of, didn't happen.
We'd built Santa Monica up to be the solution to all our problems.
Santa Monica meant freedom, money, escape, an easier life.
And the irony has only just hit me as I'm writing this, but I suppose
in some ways those mixed feelings make the trip more realistic than
we could have ever imagined. The migrants, too, had expectations
which evaporated at arrival.
I'm being over dramatic.
My issue was the knowledge that our problems weren't over.
Since Chicago, I've been thinking 'as soon as we get back to Cali,
I'm never driving this RV again'.
But of course I still have to drive it. We have to sell the thing.
Which is also becoming a terrible reality. Who in their right mind
would buy it?
We watched the sunset from Santa Monica pier and walked,
subdued, back to the van. We didn't know where to stay. I
wanted a hotel. With a bath. But no hotels had parking lots big
enough for a 26 footer.
In the end, we decided to drive back into Hollywood, where
we knew we could get parked up, relatively easily, for free.
So once again I battled the crowds on Hollywood Boulevard
and parked up round the corner from Leon's (who is still off
on his travels).
Santa Monica was a bit of an anticlimax. I wanted more
neon signs, ghost towns, shoe trees, Mormons, and dilapidated
Motels. I wanted more Route 66!
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