Street art, skaters and biking in Venice Beach, Los Angeles

Work travel can be exhausting, with long days, flight delays, neglect and guilt on the homefront. The trick to enjoying it: make sure you take time for yourself. 

I love SoCal, with its abundance of sunshine, good food, and interesting things to see. It's Labor Day but I need to be in L.A. for work at 7:30am Tuesday, so I fly to LAX on Monday morning and take the afternoon for myself. Today's plan: Venice Beach. That's really the whole plan.
I park the rental car and just walk, headphones on; it's my favourite way to explore a city. The sun is blazing—a welcome break from the chill rain at home—and I'm happy to find some interesting street art off Abbot Kinney Blvd. Someone has scrawled "You are not your Instagram page" near one painting, which makes me laugh. I post it on Instagram :p

It's lunchtime, but I stumble upon Salt & Straw ice cream and use the sun as an excuse to stop. I get a seasonal flavour (apples & sidecar donuts... bone marrow & smoked cherries was going a bit too far), and a classic (salted with caramel ribbons). Both delicious.

Another Portland fave, Blue Star Donuts, is just down the street but I resist the temptation. I've been craving Eggslut ever since my last trip to Vegas, and just discovered they have one in Venice. I walk a mile or so, and wait in line outside with all the hip #instafoodies, awkwardly conscious of the uber-tanned homeless men lurking nearby, asking everyone, anyone to spare a dollar.

When I reach the head of line I ask for "one Slut, please" (a to-die-for jar of mashed potatoes topped with a coddled egg, served with brioche for dipping). Yes, I do feel a bit awkward ordering it. "Sorry, sold out." Noooooooooooooooooo. I take a Fairfax (brioche bun, scrambled eggs, cheese, caramelized onions, sriracha mayo) and it's good, but you know when you just want something specific and nothing else will do? Yeah, that's how I felt about the Fairfax.

Next stop: the skate park at Venice Beach, where I spend an hour being entertained by kids—big and little—grinding the rails, flying over the fences, posing at the edges. I'm happy to see a young woman right in there with the boys, not sitting on the sidelines. She's tiny—4 ft-something—dressed all in white, and good. It's fun to watch.

Venice is busy today, with people running, riding bikes, roller skating and blading up and down the path along the beach. I consider renting a bike, but notice a Metro bike share rack: $1.75 for half an hour, $5 for the day. Done.

I cruise north and enjoy the people watching. Venice is full of pot shops, tattoo parlours, and tacky t-shirt shops. Artists are lined up along the boardwalk, and the whole place reeks of, well, pot, but mostly just the 60s. It feels like a haven for bohemian artists and draft dodgers. And then you cross an invisible line and arrive in Santa Monica, which has a tennis-and-polo-shirt vibe.

After a couple of hours on the bike, I'm sunburned and ready for a beer. I stop at one of the bars on the boardwalk, cruise past the skate park again, and decide to call it a day. I have an early start. On my way to the hotel I pop into Mendocino Farms and satisfy another craving (the Mendo Pork Belly Banh Mi, which I have at least once every time I come to California).

Was it a particularly healthy day? No. Did I enjoy myself? Yes. Mission accomplished.