It’s an early morning in LA. A very early morning in LA, and I don’t think I should be awake yet. In fact, I know I shouldn’t be.
The flight landed at LAX late last night, so it was past 2am before we arrived at the hotel. Make that 2am GMT: a clock on the wall in the lobby silently informed us that it was just after 8pm when we crossed the threshold, though the girl who checked us in took enough pity on seeing our tired faces that her commiseration is the only clear memory I have from that first night.
I suppose we had some food. I suppose we went for – as tradition dictates – room service. I suppose I had learned my lesson from New York so – unwilling to add another day’s worth of jetlag with each glass of wine – refused alcohol (in what is likely to have been a very charming fashion, right?). After mentioning a few times that Thompson Hotels‘ beds really are the best, I’m pretty sure that I decided that it would be a good idea to stay up as late as we possibly could – till 11pm even – before succumbing to sleep at 10.30 sharp.
The above-mentioned strategies might have demonstrated my undemocratic knack for drawing up ridiculous strategies when I’m tired, but none of them stopped me from waking up far too early. It was just past 5am when I woke up the first time, and still dark outside. After spending an hour pretending to be asleep (itself a strategy that I have inherited from my mother), I spot some rays of sunshine falling through the window on the other side of the room that tempt me to get out of bed, and I’m rewarded with one of the prettiest views I have ever seen. We are on the 13th floor, and a dewy fog is rising from the low houses below us, covering the city in a pale pastel haze punctuated by Downtown’s silvery skyline on the horizon.
It’s too early; I really shouldn’t be awake; and I will spend the rest of the day desperate for a nap, but I’m glad I didn’t miss this sight.
P.S. I can’t ever think of LA without hearing this song play in my head…