All roads lead to Westwood ““ but none offer
traveler’s parking.
Westwood is a maze of streets, corners, meters and parking
booths turning and twisting to infinitum. I moved here from Germany
4 1/2 years ago ““ compared to the United States, it is a
small country, but it squeezes more than 80 million people into
apartments or houses, side by side.
I arrived at UCLA thinking I was well acquainted with equivocal
districts ““ however, I have never experienced anything as
confusing and stressful as parking at this university. It is merely
impossible to stop anywhere.
On an hourly basis, several parking enforcement units circulate
UCLA to hunt down illegal parkers. Citations are issued to those
who try to overstep the boundary lines of denied parking. Even
getting a permit to park on campus is, as we all know, a high-stake
lottery game.
For six quarters in a row I have been denied a parking permit.
So, I called the Strathmore Center to find out why I was never
granted parking. A representative responded rather crossly,
“We consider hardships.” Apparently, you get a point,
or you lose a point for each “hardship.” Certainly,
commuting from Pasadena is not one of them.
So, what options are left? “We have an elaborate
transportation network,” Miss Grumpy tells me. “There
are eight vans commuting from and to Pasadena.”
I know; I have been traveling with them quite often.
“There is a wonderfully organized MTA transit system; the
trip only takes approximately three hours.”
I tried that too.
When I drive in every morning, circling around Sunset Boulevard,
I cross my fingers that Lot 3 or Lot 2 are not filled up yet so
that I will not be late for class. And I am not the only one. Many
other students jump out with their Starbucks coffee, flip their
backpacks and purses onto their shoulders, and slam the car door
shut, dashing off in an astonishing sprint to class.
Internationally, things look a little different. People walk,
ride their bicycles, or use the bus. In cities, such as in
Amsterdam, banana-colored bicycles lean against trees, sign posts,
house doors and staircases for anyone to use. “You grab them,
ride them, and dump them,” a student says.
However, if parking spaces are needed, Europeans make it look
easy. France and Italy, for example, cherish a different kind of
parking tradition. French people create their own parking spaces.
They pull up behind a car in a slightly diagonal angle. Nudging the
front vehicle a little forward and the shiny, new Cadillac behind
them a few inches back, they wiggle their automobile into
location.
Italians park in interesting angles on the sidewalks. Sometimes,
early in the morning, you step out of your house to leave for work
and your driveway is blocked. I have seen students park their
Volkswagen on the streets, parallel to a small gap, get out and
heave the vehicle into the empty space with rallying shouts.
So, what is the big deal? Instead of cussing, you shift the
troublesome car in neutral gear (usually cars are not locked) and
push the automobile yourself.
Returning from the voyage abroad, we settle back down in Los
Angeles’ jungle of cars, signs and rules. Practicing
international parking techniques would be fun. However, I doubt the
police officers would buy into any of the popular trends.
Yorke’s column runs every other Tuesday.