When people think of Westwood, they think of the Apple Pan, Diddy Riese, and UCLA. Tucked into the neighborhood is a much quieter pair of residents: two tortoises. They live on the same street, on the same side of it, about five blocks apart. One just north of Wilshire the other just south.
I’ve lived in the neighborhood for six years, and it took me a few of them to discover either tortoise. But once you know they’re there, you always find yourself heading out on a tortoise safari.
During Covid, I spent a lot of time walking the neighborhood with my son in a backpack where he took some of his best naps. I’d weave through the streets of Beverly Glen and Westwood between Wilshire and Santa Monica. It was perfect. No people, no traffic lights, just great walking streets. I logged countless miles and spent hours out there, watching the neighborhood change as decorations came and went and people slowly refreshed their yards and gardens.
I’ve probably walked by every house in my neighborhood a million times. So one afternoon, I was completely caught off guard when I saw a humongous tortoise outside a fence, munching on the tall grass between the sidewalk and the curb. I definitely jumped and let out a few shocked curse words. After years of walking these streets, it was the first time I’d ever seen a massive tortoise just hanging out in the afternoon sun, completely unbothered. I’ve come to know him as the South Tortoise.
I tried to snap a few sly photos and rushed home to tell my wife what I had seen. From then on, every time I walked by that house, I’d peek over, hoping to catch another glimpse. He’s not out often. Every once in a while, when the sun hits that side of the street just right and the back gate is open, you’ll see him out there munching away. It’s rare, if I had to put a number on it, maybe a one percent chance. But that still means there’s a chance!
One day, my wife texted me to say she had found another tortoise. This one would become the North Tortoise. She thought she saw someone yelling at a child, so she slowed down and pulled over. Then she realized the person wasn’t yelling at the kid, they were pointing out the gigantic tortoise that lives in the front yard. She sent me photos and told me where it was.
On my next walk, I headed straight there. No tortoise. But the pictures still blew my mind. This wasn’t part of my usual neighborhood loop, but it was a street I walked often when taking my son to the park. I must have passed that house a thousand times without ever knowing the tortoise was there.
The second time, he was out. And he was even bigger than the South Tortoise. Now I can’t walk by without peeking in. This one seems to be out much more often. I’d put the odds of seeing him at around sixty percent, so this is the one I’d recommend trying to catch.
Beyond the mystery of how someone even ends up with a tortoise, or the fact that they’ll probably outlive us all, I can’t get over that they both live in Westwood. On the same street. On the same side of the street. Just a few blocks apart. How many people have tortoises just casually hanging around their Los Angeles neighborhood?
I also think about it as a thing for lonely people. Sometimes you can feel completely alone in the world, even when someone else just like you is nearby. Not far away. On the same street, even. You just don’t know they’re there, or you don’t know how to find them.
Walking my neighborhood taught me something simple. If you don’t explore, if you don’t slow down and really look, you miss things. Westwood didn’t change. The tortoises were always there. I just didn’t know to look for them.
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