CRISTINE

Today I talked to Cristine.

I am looking for a gift for a friend who just moved to a new house out of town. I enter Atmosphere, a store in Los Feliz. It has clothes for men and women, shoes, hats, jewelry and all kind of design objects. There is only one client in the back of the store, so I take my time to hang around and scrutinize every object: the glasses flash-drive, painted sake cups, funky bags, and Stetson straw hats.

Cristine is organizing clothes on the shelves. I ask her the price of a necklace, and she hears my accent. "Last time I went to France I was fifteen. We were going to south of France every summer. I've applied to transfer to France to study international relations - politics," she says. Cristine is 23 years old. She works at the shop every weekend in order "to make a break in her studies," she says. "Studying all the time is hard. After a while your brain is like on auto-pilot, and you don't process anything anymore." Cristine's professional goal is to work in diplomacy or foreign relations. She is looking forward studying in France. "I've got two cousins in Paris. One is a singer. I could maybe stay with them for a while," she adds.

I ask her why she has decided to study abroad. "I feel that, for the last ten years, people are more disconnected. Maybe it's only L.A., but I like the European lifestyle better. It's slower. I love America and I've always lived here, but there're many things I don't like." Cristine is the first person I have met here who does not drive a car. When I ask her why - I am probably the hundred and fortieth today - Cristine seems slightly annoyed. "I don't drive because I love to walk, ride my bike, and take the bus. Not driving comes with a hard price cause when I've got to run an errand, I have to walk to the bus stop and change the bus four times. It takes me the whole day," she says. A beam of orange sunlight enters the shop and lights up Cristine's face. Her freckles sparkle.

While we talk, the store is getting crowded. "Look, you brought all that business!" she says. We suspend our conversation when a stylish tall woman, wearing a jeans skirt and black suede platform boots, drops a large amount of clothes on the counter. Cristine starts folding, checking and packing the clothes. In the shoe section, a woman with bleached hair and dark roots, tries on every pair of shoes she can possibly find around her. A couple of Asian tourists advise each other on the clothes they see and seem to have a hard time figuring out their sizes. 

I come across a funny bronze monkey-shaped bottle opener and a pair of black and golden earrings for my friend. I walk back to the counter. The stylish woman pays for her shopping and grabs her last bag. "Thanks for the hustle, dear!" she says to Cristine, and bursts out.

Cristine and I continue to talk. "I don't want to contribute to the car culture. And I think it's healthier for people and for society to be interacting, walking, moving," she says. We talk about my blog and my approach that is similar to hers in many ways. Cristine says she is happy with the way she lives "because it is simpler. It's hard sometimes to live in a society that values other things that you value though. But I'm content with my life."

I ask Cristine to make gift wraps for the things I chose. We joke about the incredible creativity of certain objects that have to be inspected before you actually figure out what they are made for. "You remind me of my old roommate. Carefree and lighthearted in the way you speak," she says. She asks me where I live. Instantaneously, she draws a mental map of Los Angeles public transportation. "To get here you could take the subway line at Highland &  Hollywood, or you could also take the bus 2". I promise Cristine that one of my future blog-adventures will take place on a bus, a train, or maybe a bike. We split on a cheerful note and I get out of Atmosphere. The sun gently warms me up while I walk slowly to my car, enjoying every step I make. 

SWARN

Today I talked to Swarn.

It is already the end of the afternoon but the temperature seems as high as at midday. I'm strolling around Los Feliz with a friend. On north Vermont Ave, we pass by an immaculate white temple. It is a square building with onion shaped cupolas. We can't figure out what kind of temple it is, so we decide to get closer. 

At the entrance door, a skinny Indian man is sitting on a metal chair. He tells us this is a Sikh temple. "From the Sikh religion," he says. He agrees to let us in and comes with us to a locker room. There is a high shelf with tiny compartments in it. "You leave your shoes here," says Swarn. "And you put this on your head," he adds. He points at a big basket full of yellow, orange and royal blue headscarves. Then, Swarn shows the piece of fabric tied on his own head to make sure that we understand what he just said. Swarn doesn't seem to have an age: his eyes are lively but some of his teeth are missing. He has been living in the U.S. for thirty years, and has worked at the temple for only four months. Before that, he was working at a motel. When his boss stopped paying him, he had to leave. He says it was tough for a while. He lost his apartment and couldn't find another one without a job. So he came to the temple. Now his job is to take care of the building. He also have a place to sleep, on the second floor. Every morning he opens the temple at 8am and closes at 9 in the evening.

My friend and I walk through the hall and enter an empty silent room. The floor is covered with  rugs. In the center, there is a large square that looks like an altar full of holy objects. Behind it on the wall, a wide picture of the Golden Temple of Amritsar, in the North of India. This place is the spiritual center of the Sikh religion. I remember spending one night there when I was backpacking through India a few years ago. Everyone was welcome to take a shower and sleep for free in the temple compound. The generosity of this community has stayed with me until that day.
 

We stop at the altar and look around. Two bearded men wearing turbans, and sitting in the far end of the room, are watching us. We greet them in silence and sit down. The men start to play music and sing. It is a simple and beautiful music. Then, Swarn puts a napkin in my hand. "Both hands," he says. So I take the napkin in both of my hands. He puts two large spoons of a brownish thick mixture on it. It is sweet and greasy. My friend and I look at each other, intimidated by the setting, the music, and Swarn's kindness. "Come on Sunday, at 9am. There's two hundred, three hundred people here. Black, White, everyone comes." We ask Swarn what is that food. "Flour, sugar, and butter. Special butter," he says. "It's the message from God."

A man wearing a large orange turban enters the room. He bows, throws a bundle of dollars on the altar, walks around it, salutes the priests and exits. Another man approaches the altar, bows with his hands on his forehead, moves them to his heart, and finally kneels down on the floor. He remains with this head on the floor for a while. We decide to get out of the temple, so I can take a picture of Swarn. But when we get there, the sun is disappearing behind the roofs. I decide to come back the following day.

 

The next day, nothing has changed. Swarn is sitting at the same spot at the entrance of the temple. The priests, Ajit Singh and Sohan Singh, are standing outside with him. They recognize me right away. One of them goes inside and brings back a warm cup of Indian Chai. The flavor of the spices and sweet milk is delicious. Swarn poses seriously even though he looks intimidated by the priests' presence. Then, when it is time for the picture, the priests strike a solemn pose, raise their heads, looking in the far distance. They become monumental figures of authority. I trigger my camera. 

 

POP ART

Today I talked to Stacy and Matt.

I am walking down on Vermont Avenue, an animated street in Los Feliz. The cold moist ocean air - that Angelenos call June Gloom - has finally cleared. The sun is out. On the sidewalk, between the bookstore Skylight and the French restaurant Figaro, I notice a small stand. Under a colorful umbrella, two people are chilling on beach chairs with an icebox next to them. Stacy and Matt are selling artisanal popsicles. I check their menu on the chalkboard and pick one with a Blueberry Nectarine Lemongrass flavor. The ice cream is light and refreshing. While I eat it, I watch people passing by. A muscular man with a Chihuahua on a pink leash walks quietly.

Stacy and Matt have been friends for ten years and recently decided to create this business together. They called it Pop Art. Today is their second day of business. We introduce each other and Matt hands me his business card. Under his name, it reads: Chief Popsicle Officer. Last week he was still working as an attorney but he left his job to do that. As for Stacy, she took a year off from her PHD in Chinese History to dive into this adventure.

It all began when Stacy met a guy in Atlanta who was selling popsicles on the street. She thought this would be a great job for her. Then she talked to Matt. He was up for it. "We put everything together in two weeks. The license, the equipment, the company, everything," says Matt. I am impressed by their professionalism and seriousness. "We are the most serious popsicles sellers in the universe," Matt says. "At least on Vermont," he adds. Stacy laughs. To make it happen they ordered molds from Brazil. "It's the only country you can find molds to make large amount of popsicles - up to three hundreds," says Stacy. This morning they threw away two sets because the texture was not perfect. "The taste came out good though. But we don't sell people popsicles we wouldn't eat. We're finicky," they say. On the terrace next to us, two sophisticated women clink with red wine and call the waiter.

Stacy and Matt's popsicles are made of organic products and flavors. And the names too are delicious: Strawberry Rosewater, Key Lime Pie, Watermelon Mint, Strawberry Cheesecake, Raspberry Lemonade, Mango Cilantro, Mimosa (like the Champagne cocktail), Pineapple Jalapeno (a little spicy), and Mexican Hot Chocolate (very spicy with dark chocolate chunks). "We want flavors that sound a little crazy and that are good too," says Stacy. They tried a Bloody Mary flavor lately but Matt didn't like it. I ask them how they find these originals ideas and combinations. "We just mess around with stuff," says Stacy. "We play with it. It's a little like alchemy," adds Matt.

For Stacy this job is the perfect one. "It's great. You got to seat outside, talk to people, and make food for them." Matt enjoys it also but for different reasons. "I'm my only boss. I'm the only one yelling at me right now." The only downside to it is the sun. "Sun is a killer. We've got too much Irish blood," says Stacy. True. She is a redhead and her face and arms are covered with tiny freckles. It is 4pm. Stacy and Matt have sold about thirty popsicles so far. It is a good start. The next time I feel like eating a tasty popsicle and having a laugh, I will stop by this Pop stand for sure.