Getting Unique View of L.A.

The view from the top of Sandpiper Street is like no other in town. Face east, and there is the downtown skyline, in all its alabaster might. Face west, and you have the roiling Pacific and the rugged habitat of the endangered blue butterfly.

Then look up, and suddenly, so close you can feel its cold breath, you’ll encounter the sort of outrageous, preposterous thrill that, even more than the scenery, makes this spot quintessentially L.A.: the behemoth belly of a shrieking jet, auguring in for touchdown at Los Angeles International Airport.

There are many places in this great metropolis to find inspiration and serenity. But unless you’re a local, you may not know about the weird transcendence that can be found on a dead-end blacktop flanked by chain-link fence under the flight path at Playa del Rey.

Phil Washington knows. A 32-year-old telemarketer from West Los Angeles, Washington has been a regular for almost 20 years at this barren spot on the western fringe of LAX.

“Oh, I grew up in L.A. and I’ve probably been coming here since those midnight rendezvous of my teens,” Washington laughed, sitting in his Toyota during the lunch hour on a recent rainy day with his friend Deborah Neal.

“It’s an odd peace,” he said, as the masked nose of a 747 roared from the milky clouds and skimmed the chaparral at eye level on its approach to the airport.

“The waves drown out the planes, and at night, you can see the lights of Palos Verdes,” he said.

“When the big brush fire happened not long ago in Malibu, we came up here, and it was a trip. As big as it was, from here, it looked small, just a little fireball in one little area, far away.”

Airport police say that Sandpiper Street has been the lover’s lane of LAX for generations now, and probably will be for generations to come. (Proposals for expanding the airport stop short of the weedy hillock on which it sits.)

“Late at night is when it’s most crowded,” said an airport police sergeant who has patrolled the street for years. “I’ve caught countless people making out in cars.”

People pack lunches and takeout pizzas and come to wonder at the planes blasting out toward the ocean and, on certain days, descending from the horizon like balloons after the Macy’s parade. They think. They kiss. They smooth out the kinks in their minds. They listen as the whoosh of the waves crescendos in the whine of a jet.

Police point out, as a cautionary note, that Sandpiper has also been the scene of occasional urban mayhem. There have, over the years, been shootings, robberies, murders, rapes, suicides and carjackings on the 1 1/2-block-long street, and authorities recommend against loitering there late at night.

Still, authorities say, the area has been generally quiet, considering its isolation and popularity after dark.

“I used to come here about twice a week,” said Jack Johnson, 40, a pharmaceutical deliveryman who grew up in West L.A. “Before they put up the fence, there was a little cul-de-sac where people would park, like a little make-out spot.”

That spot is no longer accessible, he said, but Sandpiper is, and although he no longer lives in the neighborhood, he still visits it about once a month.

“I like watching the airplanes, especially when they fly in over the ocean,” he said, sitting on the hood of his car as the December drizzle misted the air.

“When it’s windy, they fly in at an angle, cocked into the wind. There’s something serene about it. The ocean. The open fields. Makes me wish I could fly.”

He smiled.

“Plus, [if you’re waiting for someone’s plane to arrive], it sure beats hanging out at the airport.”