An hour drive, a million miles.
Angelenos get stuck in enclaves. Westsiders on the Westside, Eastsiders on the Eastside – commutes aside – because traffic in LA is turbo gridlocked. I dread driving outside of a 6-mile radius. In order to go east of La Brea or down the 405 to Torrance, I must meditate with Headspace first because I know the English-accented man’s voice will stay with me in the car and help me relax rather than rage. Malibu is Headspace-inducing. It’s an hour drive. But every time I’m there, I think “Why am I not here more often?” Malibu makes me feel like I’m a million miles away, as though I’ve flown across the ocean to rendezvous in Monte Carlo. And the best way to take it in is by dining on the patio at Geoffrey’s, a Malibu institution.
Go there. Treasure Geoffrey’s tables which evoke nearby Getty modern art. Order the Baked Brie in Puff Pastry. Pair it with Roederer champagne. Take in the view and breathe the air. I’ll do you good. If you ever forget you love LA, or want to know why to love it, meditate and drive out to Malibu.
