The City of Angels at Night｜Collecting Moonlight at the End of the Walk of Fame

"When organizing my camera's memory card, I found an unexpected streak of light next to the star trail photos taken last year at Griffith Observatory—turns out the night of Los Angeles had quietly settled into the lens."

When a friend in New York sent me neon lights from Times Square, I was driving along Mulholland Drive. The October evening breeze carried the fresh scent of eucalyptus, and the entire city spread out like a spilled jewelry box, with endless lights between the mountains and the sea.

🌃 Night Tour Highlights
It’s recommended to start an hour before sunset and cross the city from east to west along Highway 10. Using a shared car is easier than driving yourself, and the front passenger seat is a natural viewing platform.

▪️ Griffith Observatory Stardust
Arrive at the mountaintop by 5:30 PM to watch the sunset gild the Hollywood sign. As the sky darkens, you can see Saturn’s rings through the telescope, while the city below unfolds a dazzling star map. Inside the white dome building, the Zeiss telescope installed in 1935 is still operational.

▪️ Santa Monica Pier Nocturne
The Pacific Park Ferris wheel lights up with a rainbow halo, and the roller coaster traces silver arcs in the night. At the end of the pier, chew on sea salt caramel apples while listening to street performers play "California Dreamin'." The wooden boardwalk extends into the darkness, and a fisherman’s bucket holds glowing krill.

▪️ Hollywood Hills Secret Viewpoint
Follow a local photographer up a wild trail beside Ventura Boulevard, where the entire Los Angeles basin spreads beneath your feet. The distant downtown buildings look like harp strings, and the traffic flows like light gliding over the strings. Someone turns on a Bluetooth speaker here, blending Chopin’s Nocturnes with the city’s hum in a magical fusion.

▪️ Arts District Midnight Hideaway
Wait under the Sixth Street Viaduct for the subway to pass; the vibration shakes dust from the mural walls. The titanium curves of the Walt Disney Concert Hall reflect the moonlight, and a corner van sells Mexican corn rolls smeared with spicy mango sauce.

"Los Angeles at night taught me: darkness is not the absence of light, but a canvas where countless possibilities come to life."

On the way back, I order a lavender martini at the 7070 rooftop bar, the clinking ice echoing distant sirens. Whenever the city’s night sky is shrouded in haze, I pull out the time-lapse footage from that night—instantly transported back to the moment where mountains meet the sea, hearing the desert wind rustle palm leaves, and seeing how countless dreams crystallize into undying starlight on this land. The most captivating part of this nightscape is never the dazzling lights, but the souls behind each light that refuse to be ordinary.