I finally get to meet Kirsten and Jorgen, who Hui Chin talks about so much. Kirsten and Jorgen were Hui Chin’s host parents when the international student program found her in Denmark. Kirsten and Jorgen are 80 something years old, each still going strong, each still requiring the other’s company.

We start the day with a delightful brunch at the Inn of the Seventh Ray. Dining at the Inn is a really expensive occassion, but I think it’s well worth the money if you bring the right person or people. This is a little promo blurb about the Inn. Most of what is served at the Inn of the Seventh Ray is grown on their very own farm, without the use of chemical insecticides or fertilizers. Their motto should be, “We pee on our vegetables.” And if you found a worm in on your leaf of lettuce, they’ll probably tell you it is protein fortified.

After lingering around the Inn’s ecclectic bookstore for a few minutes, we continued our way across the Santa Monica mountains to the Pacific Highway and then to Venice Beach.

When we arrived at the beach, we stepped out into August weather that was as perfect as I’d ever seen it in November. The ocean hosted over a dozen white sails in its glistening waters, wild geese flew in formation, sometimes no more than a foot above the surface of the sea. The sound of breaking waves. The constant tease of ocean breeze. The call of seagulls, fading as they flew away. Throw in a foldable cloth chair and this was the kind of day that would inspire poetry. But you had to be alone.

Hui Chin, Kirsten, Jorgen and I walked most of the Venice stretch, stopping at a sidewalk cafe for hot chocolate and beer, and also to rest our feet. We decided to head back to the car after our half hour tea break.

Because we had already seen what the sidewalk had to offer, we decided to leave our foot prints on the sand. Along the way, we bumped into the tribal beach orchestra. Consisting mainly of a motley crowd of incense burners, aspiring musicians, tree huggers, restless youth, pot heads, almost homeless, new age teenagers, and fans of sage, this ever evolving and devolving group gather here in a circle weekend after weekend and put on a most energetic performance with their hand drums, wind chimes, claves, castanets, tambourines, cymbals, triangles, wood blocks, cow bells, pots, pans and coconut shells. Within the ring of musicians, you will always find people losing themselves to the music of the beach, and they will dance till the sun goes down. And next week, they will dance again.