Venice AF

An alcohol-free road trip to Venice Beach?! It wasn’t so bad after all.

For the last 30 years of my life, the draw of traveling wasn’t the museums or the parks or the “historical points of interest.” It was restaurants and bars. It was pairing full-bodied wines with an amazing dinner at a fancy restaurant, sipping on Sauvignon Blanc at the local winery, trying a new craft cocktail, throwing back a shot of tequila while catching a band, finding the best bloody Mary to go with the best brunch, testing out the local brewery and possibly the distillery.

Consuming alcohol was the highlight of every trip I took, and drinking started at the airport bar and ended on my flight home. It didn’t matter where I was going—Mexico, Los Angeles, Mammoth Lakes, Santa Cruz, Oregon, Colorado, camping, backpacking, hosteling, or fancy hotelling.

And then on Christmas of 2022 I up and quit drinking. I was just getting tired of it, literally. Also, my boyfriend Mike had quit, so I was cutting back anyway. But that’s a whole other story, for another time.

So, the road trip:
I had a road trip planned for the next month after I quit, so January. It took Mike and me from Truckee to Mammoth to Los Angeles to Venice Beach and back home. We were heading to my old stomping grounds (I grew up in the L.A. area) to catch his childhood friend’s album release party.

I worried about being bored, triggered to drink, missing drinking, and god, what’s there to do if I’m not drinking? It wasn’t like that at all.

The trip turned out to be one of the better times I’ve ever had travelling. I wasn’t chasing the dragon of the first cocktail all day, I wasn’t tired by 5pm, trying to keep my energy up with more drinks, I wasn’t sloppy or annoying or regretful.

I talked, I looked, I thought, I saw, I experienced, I smiled, and I felt; every stop on the way.

Our first stop was June Mountain Ski Area. Drinking is built in to skiing and riding. Chalets and lodges are scattered throughout all mountain resorts, encouraging alcohol consumption while performing, what can be, a very dangerous sport (people die every year at ski resorts). Instead of booze, I ordered a hot toddy, sans bourbon; what my friend Randall called a “not toddy,” much to my delight. The drink was great, and I didn’t miss the boozy slide back down to the parking lot.

The next day we loaded up the car and made for Los Angeles. Dinner was an incredible Italian meal at UOVO in mid-Whilshire. We bellied up to the bar in the dark, cavernous space. Small two-tops were scattered throughout, but we’ve always been “bar” people, even if not drinking. The low-lighting, gourmet menu, attentive service, and man, those huge wine glasses, made for a challenging moment. I ordered the Perrier. It was refreshing and delicious, and by the end of dinner, I no longer missed the wine.

We walked to Molly Malone’s, a dive-y Irish pub on Fairfax, to catch our friend’s late-night show. There’s nothing I love more than catching new music at a small venue. Usually, this is where I drink the most. Instead, I enjoyed a floral sativa, which made the night pleasurable, interesting, and kept me going until midnight. I drank soda water with bitters and lime. I never missed the alcohol, which I found curious. I enjoyed walking back to our hotel, clear minded, the Los Angeles air cool on my skin.

The next morning: brunch with old friends at The Rose Venice. Here is where I would normally order a bloody Mary to tame my hangover. Instead, I got the virgin version. I didn’t miss the alcohol at all. When brunch ended, I was ready to hop on our rented bikes to cruise the Venice and Santa Monica Strand.

We watched skateboarders carve the Venice bowl, roller skaters groove to the sounds of an old beat box, a random dance party where even grandma got caught up in the techno vibes. We stopped for an epic sunset on the beach and then hit up a restaurant by our hotel, where we enjoyed the best fucking Thai Food I’ve ever had (Siamese Garden - if you’re ever in Venice, go there). Back to our room, with the lovely deck that overlooked the Venice lights. No wine, no night cap. Just a clear-headed sense of pride and presence. As I stood on our balcony, I looked out at the night sky and the swaying palm trees, and listened to the sounds of conversation and music pulsing out of the bars below.

I thought about all the things that usually happen on a trip like this, but didn’t:

I never woke up with a hangover.
I didn’t get in a fight with Mike.
I didn’t stumble on the sidewalk on our walk home from whatever bar we would have gone to.
I didn’t sleep with my makeup on or wake up with it smeared all over my face and pillow.
I never got grumpy or short or annoyed.
I never got too tired and had to keep drinking.

It was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken. And while I know that traveling will always bring up triggers, I also know where drinking leads. And I’m happy to never go there again.