Week Seventeen: California, California!

To summon up an image of California in one’s mind is to bring forth a montage of sun-dappled bike paths criss-crossed with bikers, runners and power-walkers with Bonsai dogs in their purses. Twinned with the possibility of bumping into a celebrity and finding meaning and purpose of life. A relentless collage of health and unattainable happiness. The day in which we landed was far from such. LAX was dreary and the sun was fighting through the thick slab of cloud to no avail. I am rushing ahead though. There’s still Fiji.

Our flight from Auckland to LA when booked was a direct flight. Over the months it metamorphosed into a flight which stopped in Fiji then continued onto LA. We had no idea of such an undertaking until we boarded the flight. Good ole Air New Zealand could have been a smidgen more informative. At first we were excited as we’d been given the emergency exit seat which in my head equates to: more leg room, personal video screen which folds out from the seat. I was let down on both counts. The leg room could be considered “more” if you’d recently suffered an amputation, and there was no video screen for us. We were meant to lean at an unhealthy angle to catch the screen. We busied ourselves as I let my anger out in other ways (dreaming up imaginative expletive-ridden letters to the CEO of Air New Zealand.) Three hours in, we were told to collect all of our belongings as we had to de-board the plane at Fiji. If we were due back on the plane then we’d simply queue up with the other passengers bound for LA and board the flight with them an hour later. Sigh. Fine. We had to take all of our bags, duty free goods, etc. This entire “deboarding in Fiji” was new to us and we’d no idea until we arrived at the airport. If I’d have known that I wasn’t allowed to take any liquids with me, maybe I’d have asked a flight attendant to hold my newly bought at duty-free Jack Daniels.

After being ushered off the plane we had to go through Fiji customs, and wait in a waiting area about five metres away from the plane. The entire exercise was utterly pointless. Seeing as we had to take everything from the plane, and that everything included my two litre bottle of Jack Daniels, this caused somewhat of a problem. We threw our bags onto the conveyer so they could be x-rayed and one of the brusque officials asked what was in my bag, and after showing him my bottle, he told me in very broken English he would have to take it. Instead of reali.s.ing that it’d probably be best to hand it over, I chose the more traditional path of most resistance and decided to get seething. Not shouting directly at the officials, who by now had gathered in a group and decided to have a good old laugh at me, I directed my venom and poor Emma who had to listen to me yawp on about how much I loathed Air New Zealand for not telling us about this stopover, and how much I equally despised the Fijian officials for laughing at me, the brash Brit.

A few minutes later, I’d piped down and we went through to the departure lounge. I was still pretty pissed off. It seemed ludicrous that we were at no point told “Look, if you buy any alcohol on this flight, it’s pointless as you have to deboard and it’ll get confiscated.” Not a sausage. I am currently investigating avenues down which I can bugger Air New Zealand. We sat in the hottest, stinkiest smoking lounge (which I’d been followed to by officials) and I tried my hardest to encourage a little maturity and compassion from this raw pit of annoyance in my stomach. It may have been the quantity of nicotine in the air but soon enough I felt calm enough to stop screaming “I’m gonna kill someone” and therefore lowering the aura of suspicion I had garnered. Well. It was Jack Daniels for God’s sake.

The flight went off without a hitch. Maybe because we drank practically an entire bottle of Jim Beam between us as a “bollocks” to Air New Zealand. I suppose karma comes into play here. We were deprived of our delicious JD so we would merely sup the plane dry of whisky. Genius.


We landed at LAX on 21st April at 3pm after crossing the international dateline. Made me ponder that classic maxim from Cher’s song “If I could turn back time” (also made me ponder why on earth THAT song, but oh well, the mind wants what the mind wants) as I had already lived the 21st of April. Far be it from me though to exploit a little stutter in time for my own devious time-bending purposes. I’m unsure what I would have done had I been given the chance to relive the previous 24 hours. Not buy the Jack Daniels maybe.

I was quite happy to have landed and to eventually see my brother for the first time in four months. A couple of hours later and a couple of cheap delicious coffees later, as we stood watching passengers come through from the London flight I caught sight of Nick and ran in and threw my arms around him. Before I knew it Ross was there, Gary was there, and then my brother Chris came round the corner. I think I may have already been crying at this point. I couldn’t restrain them even if I’d wanted to. Being away from my brother, who I moved in prior to traveling, has been at times excruciating. He’s my brother and my best friend. After lots of hugging and discussing flight delay details we all hailed a bus to the rental car depot then loaded up our huge eight-seater beast and drove her out to Manhattan Beach for our first night in LA. The journey to the hotel consisted of everyone saying “L.A. BABY!” every couple of minutes and noting down fast food eateries which are absent in England. Taco Bell being the only one which interests me.

Our hotel had a view across rooftops that looked as though they were built for siestas. Red brick tiles in sloping arcs over roofs formed a labyrinth all around us. After dumping our bags and checking out the room’s provisions we went for a walk along the beachfront. It was here we were first confronted with the image of California I’d always had: healthy tan people running and walking with their dogs. It seemed as though every Californian had a dog that day. We turned back up a block and found an Italian place where we went to have our first meal. I was reminded immediately of how much customer service plays an integral part of dining out here. Our waiter ended up treating us all to a round of drinks after we’d chatted to him for a while. I’ve never known that happen in England. We were all impressed. Over dinner we swapped tales of our recent events (the Ghetto Barbie debacle) and what had been happening at home. Before we headed back to the hotel we nipped to the liquor store over the road and grabbed a bottle of Jim Beam (only $16 which is 8 pounds) then hung out at the room for the rest of the night.

I awoke at 5.30am to the sound of Chris and Gary giggling in the living room. It seems no-one could sleep much due to jet lag so I made a pot of coffee and we all buggered about for a while. We packed up our stuff, loaded the car and drove down the street to Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. I’d forgotten the sheer hulk of the portions in the US so once our food arrived everyone sat agog for a few seconds. I’d ordered an omelette. The omelette was huge and came with a side of hash browns and a separate plate with three buttermilk pancakes. I didn’t know I’d ordered the heart attack surprise yet it seemed I had. No one finished their food and we all staggered like bloated fish to the car and headed to our next destination: Las Vegas!

An hour later we were still in LA. If you’ve never been to L.A before I shall let you in on a few tidbits I picked up in travel brochures. It is a city yes, a city comprised of around 80 towns altogether. It’s possible to drive for a couple of hours and still be in L.A. That’s the difference between being in London and being in the Midlands. But hey, California is about the size of the U.K so it’s hardly surprising.

We drove through Compton which is in South Central L.A. We thought this an apt time to roll down the windows and blast out our tunes. Show these guys how it’s done. At this point we happened to be listening to New Kids on the Block, so our show of bravado was rather measly. A few miles later as we were approaching the freeway our GPS told us to avoid the freeway and keep on going. We pulled over and looked at the settings. It appears that someone had set the GPS to avoid freeways and stick to side roads. How amusing. We re-jigged the settings and headed onto the highway.

The map indicated a small ghost town just off the highway so we decided to check it out. We pulled into Calico to see it lived up to its name. There was no bugger at the ticket booth and so on we went. It was getting hot. It wasn’t a ghost town. After Chris discovered a plaque we learned the original town of Calico had burned down years before and was rebuilt. And now before us stood a hokey tourist trap. I had never have guessed, seeing as back in the 1800s you couldn’t pop into the general store to get your digital photos printed off. I like to think of our time at Calico as a glorified toilet stop.

We stopped outside Vegas and grabbed some food then continued on into Sin City. Chris and I were excited because it looked like the opening shots of CSI. The approach is unlike anything I’ve seen. It’s as though a Christmas town has been ripped from its roots and thrown into the desert. All you see are bright lights smack bang in the middle of complete darkness. We drove through with big cheesy grins and cameras swaddled around our necks. Our hotel was the Luxor which you may recognise from the TV as a huge black pyramid. We checked in, had some drinks, then headed down to the lobby and hit the slots. I won about $5 and then Chris started to win on his machine. After this began to tire we went for a walk down The Strip. What baffled me is that all of the casinos are connected, you can walk from one right into another one. It seemed like an unusual arrangement to me. We headed over to New York, New York and while Emma, Gary and Nick went on the rollercoaster, Chris, Ross and myself did some more slots and got some free drinks. After we all reconvened we went for a further trot into the MGM Grand and had a drink. It appeared to be a more expensive casino and shared an uncanny similarity to a maze. We were stuck in there for more than an hour in a futile attempt to find the exit. Everybody was tired and a little irritable so after we found the exit, we grabbed some food and went back to the Luxor. The boys’ suite had a hot tub so we jumped in there for a while before bed and supped on Jim Beam.

The next morning we rose and headed to the Starbucks in the casino and grabbed a breakfast snack before venturing over to Mandalay Bay next door. Most of the casinos have attractions such as an IMAX (which ours did), one had a cage of prowling white tigers, and Mandalay had an aquarium. We spent an hour in there basking at the sharks and what appeared to be the largest collection of ugly looking fish I’ve seen. One had its tongue (or the fish equivalent, possibly a random nub of flesh) permanently pushed against its bottom lip. He was heavily photographed.

Being in a group of six you often find people have different objectives and want to explore other places in a city. Ross, Nick and Gary nerded up and headed over to the Hilton to visit the Star Trek Experience. Chris, Emma and myself thought this an opportune time to head over to downtown Old Vegas. This is where all of the stalwart iconography I’d associate with Vegas is situated. The neon cowboy wags his arm up and down and the gaggles of tourists in hideous attire wander in and out of casinos after reaching their $300 ceiling. After catching the bus down the main drag which stopped every minute we hopped off early and decided to walk to Fremont St; the heart of downtown. We appeared to be in the middle of an urban wasteland. Abandoned stores, large drags of concrete and a litter of drive-thru wedding chapels line the strip. A good half an hour later we arrived at Fremont St and walked right up the street before heading right back to where we’d started to grab dinner. The night sky began to darken as we finished our meal, and we took a leisurely stroll down Fremont St. Right in the main body of the street lies the Fremont Street Experience. Wikipedia describes it as a pedestrian mall which “occupies the western most five blocks of Fremont Street. The main attraction is called a barrel vault canopy 90 feet high at the peak, that covers four blocks or approximately 1,500 feet.” On the hour, every hour all the casinos situated under the canopy switch off their lights; a huge feat in itself, and the canopy screen is filled with a sight and sound spectacular. We caught our first show; which lasts roughly the length of a song, after we bought our mammoth cocktails. Street vendors working on behalf of the casinos sell drinks right out on the street so the three of us each had a rugby/American football size cup filled with an incredibly strong fruity vodka punch.

Several large gulps later, we met up with the rest of the boys and passed off our drinks to them. I don’t think anyone bought another drink for the rest of the night. It was around this time that the three of us began to feel a little bit, well, pissed. Ross opted to get a dosage from an oxygen bar; wherein you are hooked up to pure oxygen for about twenty minutes. Another show started on the screen above so I thought it wise to have a lie down and observe from the ground. The rest of the night is a bit of a haze as we were all rather hammered.

Three of the lads visited a strip joint while the rest of us waited outside. Unfortunately for Emma, the vodka death punch had had an undesirable effect which causes the sufferer to vomit loudly into litter bins. It was time we took her home before she painted the town with carrots. Well, it’s inevitable.

The next morning we woke up a little worse for wear but eager to stock up on camping supplies as we were heading to the Coachella festival that night. We collected two tents and a gazebo before bolting through the desert. I forget the details of the journey except stopping at a tiny café/petrol station at Desert Center which resembled a scene from a Quentin Tarantino film right before the quippy dialogue and gun fights start. The car ride was bordered by the beautiful Joshua Tree national park.

Darkness fell slowly as we drove into Indio where the festival was held. Alas we couldn’t find any signs for the site. Chris kept asking us to look for spotlights in the sky, they’d had them the previous year apparently. Success! They were spotted so we drove towards them and entered the festival site. We parked up and grabbed as much of our gear as possible then got into the queue for those camping for the weekend. The festival is a polar opposite to the usual standards held at British festivals (this is all second hand information as Coachella was the first festival I’d attended.) Firstly you’re not allowed to take your own alcohol in with you. There are fenced-off areas which require I.D for you to enter wherein you can purchase overpriced drinks from their bars. There are two large fields for camping only. You can’t erect a tent wherever you fancy as they have designated areas marked out in grids. Sort of like car park spaces. But for tents.

We were tagged with our camping wrist passes and told where to set up our little campsite. In the dark. We managed and then headed up to the top of the field to grab some food. At some point we passed out.

The following morning our tents were unbearable at 7.30am due to the fierce heat of the sun. I headed out for a shower and went in straightaway. This proved to be a misleading joy as the rest of the festival was a nightmare for showers. It being Friday morning, there were a lot of festival goers yet to arrive. Everyone ready n’ fresh we sat out on the pavilion in the drinking area waiting for the main gates to open at 1pm so we could start scoping out bands. It was here that Nick introduced me to bloody marys and it’s safe to say I am now addicted. The pavilion was crowded because it provided so much shelter from the sun. The heat was dry and searing. Everyone was slathered in sunscreen all day.

The first day line up didn’t have many bands I wanted to see. Looking at the listing I have in front of me I only saw four bands that Friday: Battles, The Breeders, Tegan and Sara and Pendulum. The tent for Battles was rammed but Ross found a good spot outside so we could watch and I could see the drummer. They were amazing. Instrumental, tight, and maybe a bit proggy? I’m not the best at describing music which isn’t of my preferred milieu. They were very entertaining to watch and a little mesmeri.s.ing. At 5pm we headed over to the main stage to watch The Breeders who were having fun and not taking themselves seriously while putting on a wicked show. I only knew a couple of songs (“Cannonball” obviously was a highlight - after they played that half the crowd left) but they kept my interest. I then fell asleep until I heard the largest roar from the crowd as two Canadian twins hit the stage. Tegan and Sara were one of the highlights of the festival for me. Mainly because I’d never heard them before and they blew me away. Catchy songs, in between song banter, a tight performance and stage presence. If you can, listen to their latest album “The Con.” It has not left my head since I bought it in San Diego. I like to think of it as Bright Eyes or Dashboard Confessional but written by women. Emotional and clever lyrical twists without that sentimental flimflam some female musicians feel the need to dredg out. I can’t rate them highly enough.

That night, Chris, Emma and myself boogied away to the thumping sound of Prodigy-wannabes, Pendulum. Awesome.

Saturday proved to be just as hot as Friday. Caught Dredg at 2pm as the sun was at it’s most scorching. Headed to the shelter of a tent to catch Kate Nash who wasn’t as good as I’d hoped but still enjoyable. That night saw the double headlining whammy of Portishead and Prince. I’ve no massive aversion to either. Everyone raved about Portishead but the idea of having an act with an identical lull and tempo in every song and an almost apocalyptic bleakness to them, just seemed strange for the end of the day. Prince was as extravagant as I imagined but the endless segue way into a jam became a little relentless for me, Chris and Ross so we headed back to the tent.

The final day, Sunday was amazing for one reason only: Sia. At 7.45pm in the Mojave Tent we saw her brilliant 50-minute set. Cannot say enough good things about her. Soulful voice, soaring melodies, catchy songs with depth, unique stage presence. I’d not heard any of her new album so it was all a surprise to me. Now I know it off by heart. As she launched into the final song, “Breathe Me” which was used over the final scene in “Six Feet Under” (so holds a lot of poignancy for me, as I’m a big sap) we all cheered and whooped over the intro’s piano repetition so she couldn’t start! It was a fantastic show. If you can, go to you tube and have a look for Sia “Buttons” the live version to witness their brilliant outfits they took to the stage with.

Until next time, dear readers.

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