By Garrison Frost

Ever since I began working in downtown Los Angeles, I have felt like I've been walking on air. Sure, the job's great and all, but the reason I feel that way has much more to do with the fact that I'm rarely, if ever, actually touching terra firma.

When you work in a downtown high-rise, you expect to spend a good deal of time above the ground. That's why the elevator has all those buttons, after all.

But the elevators will deceive you. Just because the little "1" is lit doesn't mean you're actually at sea level. Usually there's still more than a few levels of underground parking beneath you. If you're in the Arco Plaza, you're actually standing on the roof of a two-story mall.

The deception gets much more elaborate outside. It's out there that you really become one of the unwittingly airborne.

In downtown L.A., what looks like a sidewalk might just as well be an elevated walkway. A street is just as likely to be a bridge. And that patch of grass might have more in common with a houseplant than it lets on.

There's a walk I like to take from my building on South Beaudry over the Museum of Contemporary Art on Grand Avenue, and almost none of it is on the ground.

After a nerve-wracking stroll across the Fourth Street bridge over the Harbor Freeway – from which I try not to look down at the eight lanes of cars and trucks whizzing by – I hop over to the Union Bank Plaza, a deceptive compilation of fountains, concrete and grass that has about as much connection to the ground as the basket of a hot air balloon.

From the plaza I have two options. I can take a pedestrian bridge across Fifth to the Manufacturer's Bank, or I can cross another pedestrian bridge that takes me over Figueroa to the pool deck of the Bonaventure Hotel. Taking this latter route, I cruise through the outdoor dining area of the Bonaventure Brewing Company and pass through the double glass doors into the Habitrail interior of the hotel.

After looping up and down the elevated circular balconies inside the Bonaventure, I emerge from the south side of the hotel onto another elevated causeway linking to a balcony of the YMCA across Flower Street. By this time, I'm well used to looking over railings at the tiny people on the ground – the real ground, I think.

From the Y, I get to Hope Street, which I cross to the Mellon Bank plaza – also elevated – which takes me to Grand.

When I complete my walk at the museum, I'm standing on what looks like a normal sidewalk on a normal street. But anyone who's ever really looked at Grand Avenue knows that it's much more of a bridge than a street. The same goes for Hope Street, by the way, where one can only "hope" to be on solid ground.

Being on the ground is great in downtown L.A., as long as you're not afraid of heights.

(August 24, 2004)

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