Day Forty-Three. Dodger Stadium.

On Day Forty-Three, Patrick and I headed to Los Angeles to visit his sister, Shelley, and her husband, Kenley. They had moved to LA from Columbia, SC earlier this year, so we were excited about seeing them again and having a mini vacation on the sunny left coast. Though I did many new new things on this day, the “official new thing” for Day Forty-Three was to visit Dodger Stadium.

Airplane views

Before we headed out to the ballpark, Shelley picked us up from the airport and we visited In-N-Out burger for some yummy, psuedo-healthy fast food. We went “animal style“, but the food didn’t seem to be as amazing as I remembered from our last California visit several years ago. Perhaps the glow fades a little with each subsequent meal. Maybe I had just eaten too many burgers so far this year.

Our trip was timed to see the hometown Dodgers take on the Atlanta Braves.  On our way to Dodger Stadium, Shelley made like a long time resident and avoided the highway.  We arrived in with plenty of time to spare and were able to take in the atmosphere of Major League Baseball’s third oldest park.  The stadium felt very dated (it opened in 1962) or, as Patrick said, “futuristic, but Jetson’s style.”  We wondered if the blue seats were the original shade of blue or if they had been muted by 50 years of sun.

It should be noted that every single usher, security guard, and vendor was super nice to us, making sure the out-of-towners in Braves hats felt safe and welcomed. At the Dodger’s home opener earlier in the year a few rowdy home team fans beat a visiting San Francisco Giants fan into a coma. Since then, security has really stepped up at the stadium. It was almost laughable how welcoming the stadium personnel were.

We ate our Dodger Dogs (more than a bit overrated) and watched the Braves get pummeled 6-1 by the home team. So far, Patrick and I had seen the Braves play on the road three times, for three losses. Maybe we should just watch them from Turner Field from now on.

As we walked back to the car, we lost our way a little, or a lot. We were in the correct parking area, or so we assumed, but the beige Toyota Solara was doing well hiding between the rows of vehicles. We wandered amongst cars and other lost pedestrians for about twenty minutes before finding the beloved ride.

Once buckled up, we headed out to grab a drink at a Tudor looking German bar. We drank German beer and questioned the validity of our waitress’s accent. Was it fake? It certainly sounded put-on. Kenley heard her tell another table that she was Irish, but that too was questionable. She definitely sounded American as she stood up to karaoke some Carpenters’ tune with the craggy old German keyboardist.

We ate some German pretzels and potato pancakes with applesauce and sour cream (surprisingly tasty combination) and drank a German lager. By this time, it was about two am on the East Coast, so getting back to the Young’s apartment and falling asleep was welcome. It was a very productive and new first day in Los Angeles, but we knew there would be much more in store over the course of the next several days.