STAYCATION VISIT: HOTEL ERWIN

When I saw our room at the Hotel Erwin with the mustard yellow velvet couch, rattan chair, ocean view balcony, pops of orange and green and retro charm in every corner I second guessed our plans to go out and explore. But, even though I wanted to spend every minute I could in that cool room, I’m glad we pushed ourselves outside and into the afternoon sun.

In all the time I spent in Venice Beach, I never hung out on Abbot Kinney. Back then I was more of a “40 oz. beer in a brown paper bag” than fancy cocktail lady but the latter was exactly what we were looking for, so we walked to Abbot Kinney and stumbled upon Roosterfish and its great cocktails and a mural-filled patio. Then we wandered up and down the street window shopping and people watching. The old me would have scoffed at the new me, making my husband take photos of me in front of all the colorful murals we passed on the way back to the Hotel Erwin.

Our afternoon buzz wore off just in time for a sunset cocktail (I highly recommend the Spanish Caravan… passionfruit, mezcal and green chartreuse) and some fries with blistered shishito peppers (seriously some of the best fries I’ve ever had) at the High Rooftop Lounge back at the hotel. We sat on the roof of the Hotel Erwin, cocktails in hand watching the sunset on the beach. It was one of those perfect moments that makes you grateful and fills you up. In fact, it was so good that instead of trying to top it, we opted to stay in for the rest of the night. By 8pm we were in our PJ’s, sprawled out on that extra long vintage-inspired couch, eating take out from Mao’s Kitchen (that $1 salad was just as good as I remembered) and streaming Schitt’s Creek on the big TV in our suite’s living room.

The next morning I finally got to try an Eggslut breakfast sandwich which was 100% worth all the hype. Then we crammed a week’s worth of adventures into a single day. We walked down to the beach and I spent a good hour standing in the ocean letting all of those negative ions wash over me then I sat on the beach and read. We rented bikes, rode along the beach and then down to Baja Cantina in Marina Del Rey for tacos and a margarita flight on their sand floor patio for a very Margaritaville moment. 

We walked along the boardwalk and I told my husband stories about places I used to go and the ways things used to be. We rode bikes back to Abbott Kinney and I had scoops of lavender honey and pear & blue cheese ice cream at Salt & Straw. We walked through the Venice Canals and picked out our dream houses. We went vintage shopping at Gotta Have it Vintage. The woman behind the counter and I got to talking and she looked surprised when I told her that I used to work in a vintage shop and that I spent a summer selling my art on the boardwalk. Somehow, my husband and I managed to squeeze in one of those perfect late afternoon naps that only seem possible on the pressed white sheets of a comfortable hotel bed. We kept the bedroom window open and the smells of the sea and sounds of the city floated in. 

We woke up with just enough time to change and go back up to the roof to meet my friend Paige (yes, THAT Paige circa my Venice beach boardwalk days!) and her partner for drinks at High on the roof at Hotel Erwin before dinner. We caught the sunset once again as Paige and I drank negronis and talked about the old days on the boardwalk. Splitting a burrito. Hoping to sell a painting so we’d have the gas money to get back to Hollywood. How nothing beat a $1 bag of warm mini donuts from the vendor who was set up across from us. All the lessons we learned about community over competition from the artists who welcomed us into their crew. How those days in Venice Beach led us both to our current careers, her running Tierra del Sol Gallery (in LA’s Chinatown) which shows art created by people with developmental disabilities and me creating events, education and community for creatives and small business owners through Dear Handmade Life. I can’t help but think about how vital and transformative that summer was for both of us, over 20 years ago, in Venice Beach. Neither of us realized it at the time. We were just hoping to sell enough art to pay our share of the rent in that one-bedroom apartment.

We finished our drinks and headed to The Rose, which was much fancier than I remembered. We had one of those meals that reminds you that cooking truly is an art form and that a single plate of pasta can be as gorgeous and memorable as any painting in a museum.
And, that’s where our waitress told us the story of how she got her tattoo. I didn’t tell her about my own Venice history. Instead I just listened and watched her face light up with pride as she talked about the place where she lived. I hadn’t thought about it like that before but from the day I arrived there, Venice took care of me, too.