November 3, 2008
UHL: Project Pico
In the year 1832 of the Mexican calendar, Pio Pico, the last Mexican governor of California and a man of not insubstantial beard, made landfall on the shore of what is now Santa Monica. Together with a handful of his most loyal conquistadors, he walked inland for approximately 16 miles before planting the flag of the Empress of Mexico and founding La Ciudad de los Angeles, which in Spanish literally means “semi-arid coastal basin.” Their path from the sea was later paved and became known as Pico Boulevard, the street around which the entire grid of Los Angeles was later formed.
As our first expedition, the recently formed Urban Hiking League set out to replicate this historical journey (only backwards). Leaving downtown around 9 in the morning and reaching the beach in Santa Monica a little after dark, we trekked the full length of Pico Blvd., documenting one of the most impressive and diverse of L.A.’s sprawling car-trails.
The following are excerpted from the notes and observations taken during the epic march:
Trailhead~09:30
The Mighty Pico begins as little more than a trickle at Central Avenue in Downtown. This legendary wellspring is also the location of the Los Angeles Coke bottling plant, a bizarre Art Deco complex designed to look like a cruise ship. A block or two downstream, we come to the Peoples Sausage Co. and its horrible secret… Peoples Sausage is peoples!
Fashion District ~10:00
Pico suddenly picks up steam as it burbles its way through Downtown’s Fashion District. This might seem like an excessively glamorous name for such a gritty area (”No tirar basura,” pleads a cardboard sign), but the District is named not for the flashy celebrities that lock their car doors as they drive past but for the garment manufacturers who pack the surrounding blocks with their wholesale shops and showrooms. Prom dresses, baby bonnets and stores packed with eerie rows of headless naked mannequins, the Fashion District bustles mid-morning on a Saturday. Crowds window shop from storefront to storefront under the watchful eye of the heavy steel shutters poised to crash down at sunset. The tamale cart rumbles past me. “Tamales arroz con leche tamales!” A Middle-Eastern-looking man in a pinstripe jacket stands in the doorway of his shop smoking a cigarette. The Tamale Cart Man stops. “Tamales arroz con leche tamales?” he asks. The man with the cigarette says nothing.
L.A. Convention Center-Vermont Blvd. ~11:00
I’m not sure what this area is called, but I’d probably name it either Little San Salvador or the Pupusa District. We stop at Numero Uno Supermercado to buy supplies (mostly Jarritos). Outside, there is a decapitated Day of the Dead pinata lying on the sidewalk.
Byzantine-Latino Quarter ~12:30
The most intricate and involved of all the Latinos quarters in Los Angeles, certainly much more so that the Fairly-Straightforward-Latino Quarter, the Byzantine-Latino Quarter has two major landmarks: Papa Cristo’s Greek deli and a giant sign that says, “Byzantine-Latino Quarter.” The former served us a smashing gyro pizza. The latter is underscored by what is apparently the motto of the ever-inscrutable Quarter: “we are all angels with one wing.” If the folks in the BLQ wanted to compare themselves to deformed mythical creatures, I personally would prefer “we are all manticores with no tails” or “we are all genies with learning disabilities.” But whatever.
Koreatown ~13:30
Ah, back in my hood. Time for a boba tea.
Crenshaw ~15:00
How many barbershops does a neighborhood need per block. On Pico between about Crenshaw and La Brea, the answer is at least two. I want to take a picture of one of these L.A. institutions, but every time I stop and reach for my camera, everyone inside the barbershop stops talking and turns to scowl at me and I have to pretend to be tying my shoes. As uniform, most of these barbers can choose between a Lakers jersey and an Obama T-shirt. Some opt for one on top of the other. Between barbershops, there is the occasional soul food or Jamaican restaurant. Outside Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, I noticed a vending machine selling only Pit Bull energy drinks, a beverage I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of let alone considered buying from a machine.
Fairfax and Century City ~17:00
It’s the Sabbath, so suddenly my beard, wide-brimmed hat and the fact that I’m not driving a car don’t draw quite so many stares. Moving west towards Century City, the temples and Kosher eateries give way to high-rises, country clubs and Fox Studioses. The Pico is a thundering torrent by this point, three lanes in either direction. On one side, an enormous ivy-covered wall protects the golfers sequestered within from the roaring traffic. On the other, Jason Lee stares down from his gigantic My Name Is Earl billboard with his sad, soulless eyes.
Westside Pavilion ~18:30
The only interior leg of the journey, the Pavilion provides a chance to get off the concrete for a block or two. This might be a good place to replenish supplies if I needed either a corndog or a handbag.
Santa Monica ~20:00
Feet are getting a little sore as we make the final push from the 405 to the Pacific Ocean. Santa Monica High School, Santa Monica College and Santa Monica Cemetery are all on Pico, so when you graduate from one you can move on to the next. Finally, we make it out onto the sand and see the lights of the Santa Monica Pier reflected in the water. Pico conquered!
