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Published: August 27th 2006
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Los Angeles was the antithesis of my round the world trip. It screamed glitz, frivolity and all things bold and brashy. Brighter bling, faster cars, little yappy dogs toted around in handbags. Two heroin-chick blondes sat under a palm tree holding a handmade sign 'we are two out of work actresses and our rent is due, please help us'. People in the street quite literally looked you up and down - the Hollywood sign looked down on you from hills that are home to the rich and famous. This was not a culture stop; it's fair to say LA was shamelessly and delightfully shallow.
Kathy dropped me off at Toronto Airport on a stinking, traffic congested Friday night - the beginning of a long weekend. I was dragging my feet - tired and emotional and generally reluctant to leave Canada behind to begin the journey home. In the queue, I stared longingly at the first and business class lines - some business people, a bunch of guys with sunnies and guitars - probably some band I should know the name of - but my grotty pack, t-shirt and jeans combo were a dead giveaway. I belonged in economy and couldn't
do anything about it. So after customs I got myself a G&T - 'do you want a double?' asked the barman in the dirty, blokey, airport bar - I really must have looked as bad as I felt!
On the plane (second row from the back) - I ended up in the window seat hemmed in by two of the guys with sunnies and guitars (apparently only the lead singer gets to sit in business class). I had my I-pod in, but not on and was secretly listening to their conversation.
'Did you see that blond girl looking at me?' (Curly)
'Yeah man, she was only like 14' (Shorty)
'F#@* that - she was with her mom, I'm one sick f#@*'(Curly)
'Just make sure you ask them for ID first man' (Shorty)
And so began my LA rock star experience.
The ageing, bottle-blond flight attendant (her ample hips jammed between rows C&D) was fluttering her eyelids at Curly as he negotiated some free beer. 'Don't I know you from somewhere?', she purred (zero points for originality). I leaned across to Shorty, nodded my head toward the flighty, and said 'I think she's having a go!'... Shorty cracked up,
they got me a bottle of red and several hours of riveting conversations followed. Turns out they were on a promotional tour - had just done TV appearances on 'Jay Leno' and 'Regis and Kelly' in New York, then a few radio interviews in Toronto - had been on a week long bender. 'Tell me about it', I empathised thinking of last night's drinks at Kathy's local on the Dainforth. It didn't take them long to realize I wasn't impressed with their rock star lifestyle. 'We had a number one hit in Australia a few years back - Superman - you might have heard it?', said Shorty. 'Sorry - no', I shrugged.
We talked about travel - I told them about my Russian-Mongolian border incident and my travel adventures through Europe. Bizarrely I had them hanging on to every word of my crazy adventures - 'did you get all this down man, this is good material' - enthused Curly. We talked about relationships and families. Curly told us about how he met his (beloved??!) wife on a train in Italy, Shorty showed me innumerable pics of his two little kids - Jake and Lola on his I-pod and reminisced
about his time in Oz when he produced for Alex Lloyd and Diesel. It turns out Shorty was Curt Schneider and Curly was Bruce Watson - Producer and guitarists in 'Five for Fighting'. We said our goodbyes and they wrote down their numbers in the front cover of my LP - 'just in case you take some bad coke or something in LA'. Yeah right!
I'm not sure what I expected from a hostel just off palm tree lined Hollywood Boulevard. Probably not so many Americans. The hostel puts a two week limit on American guests staying here - to discourage aspiring actors, singers, dancers etc from setting up home. Alicia the gorgeous, nearly always naked, African American in my room is forced to pack up and move out - she's here to make the big time as a dancer and her two weeks are up. I share my bunk with Belinda, a lovely girl from Adelaide and she asks what I'm doing the next day. Belinda and her mate are going on a free shuttle to Santa Monica and Venice beach the next day, but unfortunately it's booked out.
Next morning, after missing the free pancake breakfast
and colliding with a girl wearing only a sheet in the hallway, I track down Belinda. Her mate isn't catching the shuttle anymore. Unfortunately for him he got beat up in the Viper Room last night and was now sporting a bruised eye and ego. The Viper Room's the venue owned by Johnny Depp and made notorious when River Phoenix died there from an overdose back on Halloween 1993. Fortunately for me there is now a vacant spot on the shuttle.
The shuttle drops us off on a sunny Saturday morning in Santa Monica. Its beach has the widest strip of sand I've ever seen on a beach - lined with storybook houses and dotted with Baywatch lifesavers and their towers. We decided to hit the swanky shops first, the beach later and headed for the third street promenade - allegedly where all the stars shop. All the big US brands were represented - Abercrombie, American Outfitters, Gap, Victoria's Secret. Our budgets were limited, but I did pick up a dress for this year's Melbourne Cup and we ended up strolling the promenade, checking out the Farmer's market and grabbing some lunch from a cafe.
Next we hit
the beach! Santa Monica Beach is famed for its pier featuring a massive carousel, not dissimilar to Brighton Beach in the UK. However, the beach here is the real deal, the weather is genuinely hot and lifeguards in their red shorts, strut along the beach with their lifebuoys on the ready. We walk the Ocean Path, and are overtaken by too-tanned rollerbladers in skimpy bikinis, ageing iron men and cyclists, down to Venice Beach. What a wild and wacky place - certainly more bohemian, than high class Santa Monica - we stroll along soaking up the atmosphere. Venice Beach is exactly what I pictured. Guys shoot hoops on the famous basketball courts, ice-creams and hotdogs are sold on every corner, colourful murals provide a vibrant backdrop to the street performers and psychics.
Back in Hollywood - the dancer Alicia is still packing her suitcase and recommends a good place for dinner in Hollywood Boulevard. Belinda and I follow the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and treat ourselves to a massive dinner. The night ends in the hostel bar where me, a Canadian Hooters girl and group of Aussie and Irish blokes put away a few beers (yep
Guess Mansion
This mansion belongs to the owner of Guess Jeans. A different ferrari for each day of the week! Alison - seems I lost that bet) and strut out a fabulous karaoke/dancing performance for the amused barmen.
Sunday is my last day in LA - the last day of my trip. I'm embarrassed to admit that I succumbed to one of those horrific star-chasing tours of the Hollywood Hills. Driving in a mini van, with tinted windows we zipped up and down side streets eying off celeb mansions and hangouts. I knew I'd got completely carried away when we had a chance sighting of JT and Cameron Diaz driving into their driveway in a 4WD and I started screaming hysterically at the driver to move forward so I could get a better picture ... I know, I know I'm a complete loser! Perhaps not as bad as the row of paparazzi camped outside Katie and Tom's place to catch a first glimpse of their supposedly mutant baby!
So this was it, the end of my brilliant trip. Hard to believe that five months had flown past so quickly - I'd seen so much, met so many amazing people, there were so many highlights.... I considered not coming home; changing my flight, missing the flight altogether - but
Venice Beach, LA
White men can't jump reality kicked in and I decided it was time to go. A fifteen hour flight in cattle class was ahead of me. Paul Theroux was bang on when he wrote - 'travel is glamorous only in retrospect'.
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Andy H
non-member comment
Great Blog
Hi Ellen - love your descriptions, esp. the Brighton comparison - ahh, home sweet home ;-) . Defo agree with the Paul Theroux quote - there are times when you'd give anything for a cup of tea, the remote and being able to shut the door on it all, but retrospect makes it all worthwhile. Cheers.