Beverly Hills - Livin' da life!

June 01, 2014

So, after an epic planes, trains and automobiles experience to get to the correct hotel, I arrived at the Beverly Wilshire, site of the great classic, "Pretty Woman." Mind you after traveling all day I was looking a bit ragged, only further acsentuated by my fishing shirt and torn up comfy travel jeans. This hotel is swank with a capital S. So here is a brief list of things I learned within 12 hours of being on Rodeo drive at Wilshire:

Dress Code: If you are returning from the spa, it is perfectly natural to sip champagne in the elevator, in a bathrobe and casually tell the other elevator patrons that you are naked under your robe. 3 is a crowd in this case.

The Help: I would never refer to hotel staff this way, but it is clear they expect to be treated as such. A polite hello is immediately met by a downward glance. The reservation staff is even more interesting with a level of politeness and hospitality that it is almost awkward. They walk you to your room (which is critical given the complicated setup of the hotel, bring things to your if needed, etc. Super fancy, super different for the hyper independent country kid.

Personalized Care: So I walked to the grocery store after they gym for some dinner items, snacks, etc. I was happy to find a whole foods, explore Rodeo drive after dark (like a ghost town, crickets...chirp, chirp). When I got back to my room, I had a minor security freak out. I realized first that the lamp I left on was off, but that another one had been turned on. Once I determined it wasn't cereal killers, I realized the curtains had been drawn, a napkin (or some similar cloth) was placed by the bed (God forbid I had to step on common carpet when I got up in the morning and my desk had been distinctly organized, but then I had the most odd moment of all. My bathroom toiletries had been placed on a tiny silver napkin and again, organized, meticulously....I'm onboard, but how strange. It got even better today, they put my dirtly laundry in a laundry bag and straightened my shoes.

That's really all for the hotel culture shock. We have secret service on our floor, but that is just more of a social oddity as they seem to be wound tighter than an emergency manager watching the weather channel. I want so much to throw a firecracker in the hall, but I think we would all be shot.

My driver Roy is fairly fantastic. In short, I would describe him as a fast talking LAPD cop. His spanish is flawless and he took me to the El Pueblo historic part of town today for his favorite taquitos. They were great, the people watching was great. The little part of town we were in was called "Little Tijuana." You could buy about anything you might need from Mexico. Life is so strange and wonderful.