TROUBLE IN PARADISE : Angelenos on Holiday Find Getting Away From It All Is Easier Said Than Done

Sensitive and socially responsible, David and Sheila exchanged vows in the late ‘80s and, 18 months later, announced plans to divorce Los Angeles. The birth of their first child forced them to re-evaluate long-held concerns about the environment, the economy and ethnic tensions. L.A. had become too much like David’s native New York City. When Sheila scored a job in Eugene, Ore., the deal was done. We wished them luck and, secretly, speculated about our own escape.

We kept in touch. But David had become so abrasively cheery that I could barely stomach our occasional phone chats. He and Sheila shared household and parenting duties while David completed his degree, something he couldn’t afford to do when “back in ol’ L.A.” When I retorted, “Seen one tree, seen ‘em all,” Davide challenged me and dared us to visit.

On that virgin trip, David’s praise proved gospel. Eugene was the deep ecology heartland where the organically grown and the bioengineered thrive. David and Sheila rubbed it in a little, extolling the squeaky-clean air, the laid-back traffic, the real farmers’ market. Their four-bedroom hillside home had a pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, fireplace, two skylights and his-and-hers carport. The monthly note was half the rent on their two-bedroom Santa Monica apartment. No screens or curtains obscured tree-enshrined windows. And no one locked their doors, house or car, day or night. No burglars, no gangs, no street violence.

The region teemed with easy-livin’ ex-Californians, mainly retirees. But we couldn’t distinguish them from the natives. After 10 blissed-out days, we drove back to L.A., struggling to hold on to the spirit of Eugene. It dissipated by the time we hit Ventura and descended into the hell zone at rush hour.

This year, four summers later, craving to repeat our Eden-like experience, I phoned David. He was delighted to have us. We arrived the week of July 4th--husband, son and a cooler full of sandwiches. What we didn’t know was that Ol’ Man Trouble was ahoof in tie-dye heaven.

Having gotten his degree, David had found good-paying jobs in Eugene non-existent and was considering moving back to L.A. Sheila’s love affair with her job had soured with the denial of a much-needed raise. The pair still kept doors and windows unlocked despite three visits from prowlers with expensive tastes. While the air remained squeaky-clean, local law enforcement had developed an uncanny appetite for issuing traffic citations. Others also complained. A black journalist told me “the Ku Klux Klan rules south of the Columbia River” and that racial incidents were hushed up. One Berkeley escapee, an American of Norwegian descent, bristled when describing xenophobic regional politics and carped about “the disparity in cultural diversity” and schools “straight out of Mayberry, U.S.A.”

Ex-Angelenos were everywhere. After complimenting a chef, we learned he’d relocated from West L.A. An arts fair potter had just closed his Beverly Hills studio. And so it went. The Bach festival was sold out and we’d seen all the current film releases before leaving L.A., so there wasn’t much doing except relaxing poolside, reading and talking. The hottest topic was the O.J. Simpson murder case. Eerily, Eugene seemed more an annex of L.A. than a getaway from it.

Under a cloud-flecked sky, we joined hundreds of fun-seekers at the 25th annual Oregon Country Fair, “the Northwest’s largest event,” according to David. Entering an idyllic grove, we were transported to a ‘60s Dionysian love-in. Bare-breasted dryads, behorned satyrs, harlequins and hedonistic revelers paraded through the booths and performance stages.

Nevertheless, we couldn’t recapture the stress-free Eugene of our past. The tensions we had fled reverberated around us. The festiveness seem forced, a throwback to a peace-love era untarnished by the specter of HIV. The resonant crises in Bosnia, Haiti and Rwanda rendered the food flavorless. That afternoon we cut our trip short, bid David and Sheila adieu and returned to the urban nightmare we hadn’t left nearly far enough behind.