Live Like an Angeleno: 10 Non-Touristy Things to Do in Los Angeles

My obsession with record shops started in Bangkok's hidden vinyl markets, but Highland Park's cluster of independent record stores rivals any I've discovered globally. Forget the overpriced tourist traps on Melrose – Highland Park is where LA's true music devotees congregate.

My ritual starts at Permanent Records, where the crate-digging experience feels almost spiritual. The staff curates collections that tell LA's musical history through everything from rare punk 7-inches to obscure jazz recordings. I once spent three hours here conversing with a clerk about Ethiopian jazz fusion, only to discover he'd toured with Mulatu Astatke in the 90s.

Just down the street, Mount Analog specializes in experimental electronic music that you'd never find on Spotify's algorithms. Their listening stations are equipped with quality headphones similar to my travel pair – essential for appreciating the analog warmth these shops celebrate.

What makes these spots special isn't just the vinyl – it's the community. Visit on a weekend afternoon and you'll find yourself in impromptu conversations with local musicians, DJs, and passionate collectors who share recommendations based on what you're browsing. It's the antithesis of algorithmic music discovery – it's human, imperfect, and infinitely more rewarding.

Los Angeles might seem car-dependent, but it harbors secret pedestrian networks that predate automobile culture. The hidden staircases of Silver Lake offer both a killer workout and a glimpse into LA's architectural history that most visitors miss entirely.

I discovered these stairs while training for the LA Marathon three years ago. Seeking elevation gain without hitting crowded trails, a local running group introduced me to this network of nearly 60 public staircases zigzagging through one of LA's most eclectic neighborhoods.

My favorite route is the 'Music Box Loop' – named for the famous steps where Laurel and Hardy attempted to push a piano uphill in their 1932 film. The route connects multiple staircases through residential streets lined with modernist architecture and drought-resistant gardens that showcase Angelenos' adaptive creativity.

For runners, these stairs offer interval training that rivals any gym workout. For walkers, they provide meditative pathways between micro-neighborhoods that feel worlds apart. I always bring my running hydration vest which carries enough water for a few hours of exploration without weighing me down.

What makes this experience special is how it reveals LA's pedestrian soul. Between staircases, you'll pass community gardens, street art that changes monthly, and local coffee shops where screenwriters tap away on laptops. It's a side of Los Angeles that car-bound tourists never experience – one where the city slows down to human speed.

My search for monastery-like spaces in major cities has led me to some unexpected sanctuaries, but few compare to the Korean Bell of Friendship in San Pedro. Located at the southern tip of Los Angeles County, this site combines spiritual tranquility with panoramic ocean views that few tourists ever discover.

The massive bronze bell, housed in an ornate pavilion, was a gift from South Korea in 1976. What makes this place special isn't just the bell itself – it's the expansive grassy park surrounding it. On my last visit, I arrived at sunset with my travel yoga mat and found a quiet corner overlooking the Pacific. As container ships slowly moved across the horizon and the marine layer rolled in, it felt like being at the edge of the continent – because you literally are.

The bell is only rung five times annually during special ceremonies, but the space itself offers a meditative quality year-round. Local Korean families often bring picnics, elderly tai chi practitioners move in slow harmony at dawn, and you'll spot monks from a nearby Korean temple occasionally visiting in silent contemplation.

What strikes me most is how this space transforms throughout the day. Morning brings fog and introspection; midday offers clarity and sweeping views to Catalina Island; sunset bathes the pavilion in golden light that photographers dream about. Unlike crowded tourist sites, you can actually hear yourself think here – something increasingly rare in our hyper-connected world.

While tourists flock to Grand Central Market (which, don't get me wrong, is fantastic), locals know that Sunday is reserved for Smorgasburg LA – the weekly open-air food market that showcases LA's culinary innovation without the tourist markup.

Located in the Arts District downtown, this sprawling market hosts over 90 food vendors, most of whom are testing concepts before opening brick-and-mortar restaurants. I've watched vendors here graduate to Michelin recognition, and there's something special about discovering these culinary artists before they become impossible to book.

What separates Smorgasburg from tourist-focused food halls is its authenticity and accessibility. Dishes typically range from $6-15, making it possible to sample widely without breaking your budget. The diversity reflects LA's true cultural makeup – on my last visit, I enjoyed Belizean seafood, Palestinian manakeesh, and Filipino-inspired ice cream within steps of each other.

The market's location in the Arts District means you can combine your food adventure with gallery hopping and mural tours. I always bring my insulated water bottle filled with ice water to stay hydrated while exploring both the market and surrounding neighborhood in the LA heat.

What I appreciate most about Smorgasburg is how it builds community. Communal tables force you to sit with strangers who quickly become conversation partners. I've received some of my best LA tips from these impromptu Sunday connections – from underground jazz shows to hidden hiking trails that never make the guidebooks.

My global exploration of monasteries has taken me from Thai forest temples to Benedictine abbeys in Eastern Europe, but one of the most peaceful spiritual centers I've discovered sits quietly in Pacific Palisades, just minutes from the tourist crowds of Santa Monica.

The Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine is a 10-acre sanctuary featuring meditation gardens, a spring-fed lake, and architectural elements honoring five major world religions. Founded by Paramahansa Yogananda in 1950, this space operates as both a public garden and an active spiritual retreat center.

What makes this place special is its accessibility. Unlike many monasteries that require formal arrangements, the Lake Shrine welcomes visitors daily (except Mondays) for self-guided exploration. The winding paths around the lake create natural spaces for contemplation, with benches positioned for both shade and reflection.

My ritual here involves arriving when they open, finding a quiet spot overlooking the lake, and spending 30 minutes in meditation before exploring the grounds. I bring my meditation cushion which packs down small in my daypack but provides comfort for longer sits.

The shrine containing a portion of Mahatma Gandhi's ashes offers a particularly moving experience. Regardless of your spiritual background, there's something profound about sitting in silence beside the memorial of someone who changed the world through peaceful resistance.

What separates this from tourist attractions is its authentic spiritual purpose. While visitors are welcome, this remains a functioning center for meditation and yoga practice. You'll see monks going about their daily routines and locals who come regularly for meditation – a reminder that spiritual practice isn't a tourist activity but a lived experience.

My fascination with how commercial spaces reflect cultural identity has led me to unique shopping destinations worldwide, but Big Daddy's Antiques in Culver City stands out for its perfect blend of LA's design heritage and cinematic history.

This massive warehouse isn't your typical antique mall. It specializes in architectural salvage, repurposed industrial pieces, and vintage finds that have furnished countless LA homes and film sets. Walking through the constantly-changing inventory feels like exploring a museum where everything has a story – and everything's for sale.

What makes Big Daddy's special is how it preserves Los Angeles history through objects. Salvaged windows from 1920s downtown buildings, lighting fixtures from decommissioned theaters, and repurposed industrial equipment from the city's manufacturing past all find new life here. The staff can tell you the provenance of virtually every major piece.

Even if you're not shopping for a 12-foot factory table or vintage cinema seats, the space offers design inspiration and a glimpse into LA's aesthetic evolution. I often visit between marathon training sessions just to see what's new and chat with the knowledgeable staff about the stories behind their latest acquisitions.

For visitors, this offers a shopping experience that's uniquely LA without the tourist markup of more famous markets. You'll find film industry professionals sourcing for productions alongside interior designers and locals looking for statement pieces. Even small items like vintage books, industrial hardware, or reclaimed wood coasters make meaningful souvenirs with authentic LA provenance.

When I'm training for marathons in a new city, I always seek out the routes where locals exercise – there's no better way to understand a community's rhythm. In Los Angeles, the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook in Culver City represents local fitness culture at its most authentic and democratic.

Forget the touristy Runyon Canyon with its influencer photoshoots. Baldwin Hills attracts a diverse cross-section of Angelenos who come for the brutal 282-step concrete staircase that rises straight up the hillside. The stairs themselves are nothing fancy – just raw concrete switchbacking up the ridge – but the community they've created is extraordinary.

On weekend mornings, you'll find everyone from elite athletes doing repeats to grandmothers taking one step at a time, families making it a weekend tradition, and fitness groups encouraging each other through the burn. The diversity here – in age, ethnicity, and fitness level – represents the real Los Angeles in ways tourist attractions never could.

The reward at the top isn't just the endorphins – it's a 360-degree view spanning from downtown to the ocean, with the Hollywood sign visible on clear days. I time my visits for sunset, when the fading light transforms the urban landscape below. My compact binoculars help me pick out landmarks across the vast cityscape.

What makes this experience special is the communal suffering and triumph. Complete strangers encourage each other on difficult sections, celebrate first-timers reaching the top, and share water when someone comes unprepared. It's a physical challenge that breaks down social barriers in a city often criticized for its isolation and car culture.

While the Instagram crowd flocks to the same few walls in Melrose for selfies, LA's true street art scene thrives in the Arts District downtown. This industrial-area-turned-creative-hub houses some of the most impressive large-scale murals in the country – many by internationally renowned artists who choose this neighborhood for its authentic appreciation of public art.

What makes the Arts District special is how the artwork integrates with daily life. Unlike curated street art parks in other cities, these pieces exist on active businesses, residences, and warehouses. They change regularly and without announcement, making each visit a treasure hunt for new pieces.

I've developed a ritual of doing a monthly mural walk here, documenting how the neighborhood evolves through its art. Some buildings feature the same artists for years, while others rotate quarterly. The subject matter ranges from abstract color studies to pointed political commentary – a visual representation of LA's diverse voices.

Beyond the art itself, this walk takes you through a neighborhood in creative flux. You'll pass specialty coffee roasters operating from converted industrial spaces, independent designer workshops with artisans working in front windows, and community gardens tucked between buildings. It's a side of LA's creative economy that exists beyond the entertainment industry stereotypes.

The best approach is wandering without agenda, but certain blocks consistently showcase exceptional work. The stretch of Traction Avenue between 3rd and 4th rarely disappoints, while the alleys off Hewitt Street often feature experimental pieces that never make it to social media.

Los Angeles's African American cultural heart beats strongest in Leimert Park Village – a neighborhood that tourists rarely discover but that offers some of the city's most authentic shopping, art, and community experiences.

Unlike the commercialized aspects of Black culture marketed to tourists in other cities, Leimert Park remains genuinely community-focused. The small business district centers around community bookstores, art galleries, performance spaces, and shops selling everything from traditional instruments to contemporary fashion.

My ritual here starts at Eso Won Books, one of America's most important Black-owned bookstores. Their carefully curated selection spans African American literature, history, politics, and children's books, with staff recommendations that have introduced me to authors I now consider favorites. The store regularly hosts readings and discussions that attract both neighborhood residents and visitors seeking authentic engagement.

Nearby, Art + Practice combines gallery space with community support programs, showcasing both established and emerging artists. The exhibitions change regularly but consistently center Black perspectives and experiences in ways that major museums often overlook.

What makes shopping here special is the direct connection to creators. Many shops are owner-operated, with artisans creating custom pieces on-site. I've found one-of-a-kind gifts here that carry both artistic and cultural significance – far more meaningful souvenirs than anything from Hollywood Boulevard shops.

The neighborhood truly comes alive on weekends when drum circles form in the central plaza. The spontaneous gathering of musicians, dancers, and community members creates an atmosphere of celebration and cultural continuity that visitors are welcomed into with genuine warmth.

While technically in Pasadena rather than LA proper, The Huntington represents the perfect synthesis of my passion for both spiritual garden spaces and cultural exploration. Yes, it appears in tourist guides, but few visitors discover its true meditative potential by arriving at the right time and with the right mindset.

Unlike busy botanical gardens in other cities, The Huntington's 120 acres allow visitors to find genuine solitude even on busy days. The Japanese Garden often gets the most attention, but I've found the Chinese Garden (Liu Fang Yuan) offers the most profound sense of tranquility, especially in its scholar's studios and pavilions overlooking the lake.

My approach differs from most visitors: I arrive right at opening (10am most days) and head immediately to the furthest gardens while other visitors are still exploring the entrance areas. With my pocket sketchbook and minimal art supplies, I find a quiet bench and spend the first hour simply observing and sketching – a practice I learned from monastery visits that transforms a tourist stop into a meditative experience.

Beyond the gardens, The Huntington houses world-class art and literary collections that reward slow exploration. The library contains a Gutenberg Bible, original Shakespeare folios, and Audubon's Birds of America – treasures that connect visitors to pivotal moments in human thought and creativity.

What makes this experience special is how it rewards contemplation over consumption. Unlike attractions designed for quick photos and gift shop visits, The Huntington reveals itself to those willing to slow down and engage deeply with both natural and human-created beauty.