I was determined to prove him wrong, but almost as soon as I landed I ran into a snag: Because Westwood is a part of the city not served by one of the train lines, I had to take the FlyAway bus: a service provided by Los Angeles International Airport that runs from the airport to various parts of the city. After an hour on the freeway, it pulled into a parking lot behind a nondescript office building. The other passengers exited.

“I need to get to the Metro Rapid bus,” I told the driver.

“Try Westwood Boulevard,” she said.

In the warm sunshine, I didn’t mind rolling my suitcase a couple of blocks. But when I got to Westwood, I was dumbfounded. Buses of every size and color whizzed by: big blue City of Santa Monica buses, green Culver City buses, blue and white U.C.L.A. “Bruin Bus” shuttles. A barista at a nearby Starbucks pointed me to the one I wanted: the Metro Rapid 734 bus. Sadly, it didn’t live up to its name. Even at 3 p.m. the bus was packed, there was no luggage rack and we stopped at seemingly every corner. Finally I spotted my hotel, nestled by the 405 freeway (had I driven, I thought, I would have already been there).

The next morning, after I checked out of the hotel, a colleague offered to drive me to the Hammer Museum at the University of California, Los Angeles, where I was reporting a story. I accepted — and immediately felt guilty. Already, I had caved to the tyranny of the automobile.

That afternoon, when I was done at the Hammer, I planned to take the 534 Commuter Express bus to Mark’s office downtown on South Figueroa Street. This, I was told, was a larger and more comfortable vehicle than the standard city buses: more conducive to the business traveler. I checked the sign at the stop: Sure enough, it listed the 534. So I waited. Buses of various colors and shapes came and went. After about 45 minutes, I asked a young woman who was also waiting if she was familiar with the bus. She looked at the sign and giggled. “The 534?” she said. “I’ve never seen that here.”

Dejectedly, I sat on a low stone wall at Wilshire and Westwood and called Mark. “I’ll be there in a little while,” he said. “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy.”

Image A Metrolink train at Union Station. Credit... John Francis Peters for The New York Times

Minutes before he arrived, the 534 pulled in. I just glared at it.

Things changed on the third day of my trip. After I spent the night at Mark’s house in the Valley, he walked me — like a parent putting his child on the school bus — to the nearby Metro station. It was on the Orange Line, one of the city’s two rapid transit bus lines. These are buses that act like trains: They run on a dedicated right of way and make less-frequent stops.