Evan Iliadis blog

My years in America. America! America!

My years in America. America! America!

My years in America. America! America!

Long time no post here. Not only I neglect this blog but also a place lived a big part of my life, that is nearly 16 years in the USA. Yes, it was January of the year 1985 when I landed in LAX. I had a suitcase, some money, and many skills. Oh! Did I tell you I also was young and handsome?…  

After the usual “welcome to America” in the airport, immigration and customs all I remember from that day is the suspicion of that Filipino immigration officer who pushed hard to questioning my Visa type B, like business she wanted to know in details on what kind of business I’m in and the purpose of entering the US. So if you see a Filipina officer in the airport, change lanes and go to the other one with blue eyes and blond hair.

Anyway, I am in a taxi heading to Venice Beach 20 minutes ride from LAX with no suitcase, being told: “will arrive on the next plane from Paris”. Arrived at my apartment at midnight with not even a change of a pair of socks. Indeed, my suitcase was delivered at 10 PM the next day at my place.

Venice Beach, California, My years in America. America! America!

My 419 Ocean Front Walk apartment was right where its name is, @20 meters from the sand. A small, cute two-story, two-unit condo facing the beach with a small garden on the front and a big window facing the boardwalk.

I hadn’t even had the time to explore the beach when a loud screaming and voices woke me up at 7 in the morning. Jumped out to see what was going on and saw 4 cops on top of a man on the floor, trying to handcuff him. I said to myself, he must have done something grave to have all these cops trying to arrest him; I asked a bystander if he knew why he was arrested and got a shocking reply.

He was drinking a beer on the street
I said, then? Was he drunk?
I don’t know, he said, but you can’t drink in public places here.
Do they really need all this manpower to subdue a guy just for drinking a beer?
Apparently, the bystander didn’t like the question, so he left.

Venice is a crazy place to live. You’re caught in the middle of middle-class bourgeoisie homeowners, homeless, leftist activists, nostalgic of the hippie era, artists, and singers in search of a breakthrough that will change their lives, but more often will never come.

Cops are everywhere on the streets; their 4X4 patrols the beach all night long looking for campers. I have rarely seen such a concentration of law enforcement in a tourist place. Talk about California, the most liberal State of the Union…

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