26th Jan – 09th Feb
Well, I arrived in Venice today – famous for muscle beach, the location of Baywatch and the proximity to the very famous Santa Monica – and I checked into one of the USA's top 5 hostels for $25 a night. So far, the people are super friendly but the place is cold, dark and damp. Exactly how you pictured California right? It obviously doesn't help that it's only 12 degrees outside and is absolutely chucking it down but seriously, this wasn't quite what it said in the brochure. And after the come down of 2 amazing weeks here with Anna leaving yesterday and then spending the night wide awake and wondering what on earth to do with myself, checking in to this and then getting hold of my mum was me about done. So, as mums do best, she perked me up, offered a little more financial support (thank you!) and we have settled on the very rational and practical decision for me to fly 12 hours in the complete wrong direction. This will be for another month at my sister's place in New Zealand and as absurd as that plan may sound, I'm now sitting here in my damp hostel counting the days!
But on a much brighter note, up to this point, California has been pretty much everything that every song ever promised us and Anna and I have just had the most insane and hilarious fortnight. We arrived here on Australia Day, her from New York and I from New Zealand (in fact, thanks to the time zone, my Australia day was 38 hours long) and proceeded to catch up on 9 months worth of girl talk, laughing and, of course, drinking. Now I won't lie here, the States are somewhat behind with the cider introductions so we've had to make do with a combination of Coors Light, duty free spirits and the occasional wine and I'll tell you straight up, we can handle that cider better! However, all's well that ends well and we never pretended this was going to a cultural, sightseeing kind of holiday and you'll all be glad to know that most of what happens on tour, stays on tour!
Starting at Surf City in Hermosa, we found our feet instantly with some incredible hostel owners, a stunning beach on our doorstep (literally) and a selection of good old American bars lining the main strip. We managed to check out a decent portion of the very laid back area during the days and even walked a mile or so along the sand to have lunch (mac & cheese – what else?) on the Pier of the next beach, witnessing the most amazing sunset on the way back. So come Friday, we decided we should pack up and move on after a day trip to Hollywood. Being around 20 miles from downtown LA, this seemed like a fairly simple task so off we went, with directions that neither of us listened to, to find a bus stop. 40 minutes later and we hop on to be told that we've been sitting at the wrong side of the road. We hop back off and decide between us that the driver was in fact lying and so we sit back down. 20 minutes on and another bus comes, different number, so we hop on and once again, unsurprisingly, are told that we should be on the other side and there'll be one along in just over half an hour. Reluctantly we cross the road and kill time browsing through the hippy shops for ten minutes when I see the bus outside, sprint out and knock on the door so we can both hop on. We get into trouble for being in a shop and not indeed at a bus stop and then we pay our dollar and sit down. An hour later and having done a tour of some of the nastiest suburbs imaginable, the bus terminates outside LAX airport – 4 miles from the hostel. Great. So we ditch the bus plan and head for the trains, which bizarrely just go down tracks on the freeway in-between 10 lanes of traffic and yup, this is where you get off too. 2 trains later, having left 3 hours ago and having now seen some places that made the previous suburbs look like Kensington, we arrive at North Hollywood Station – the start of the walk of fame and in the middle of the sell out, run down filth that is indeed Hollywood. Now on the train we've met a guy who has just come from hospital to have his hand put in a cast after a skating incident and as it happens, he used to be a tour guide! So he takes us under his wing and walks us down the mile, telling stories of all the stars we've never heard of and pointing out all the truly great ones (Marilyn Munroe, just outside McDonalds), he also regales us with tales of his Hollywood life as a martial arts expert, having lived with pigmies for 6 years, right after becoming a gourmet chef, perhaps in between living in Japan and learning 7 languages, after Kurt Cobain kicked him out of Nirvana and before thanksgiving dinner with Angelina (Brad had left at this point). Whew! Hollywood really does promise it all! So... most people would have clicked that the man with no money, who doesn't even breathe for talking, is, in fact, just another junkie but no, Anna and I buy him a beer and join him on the walk to see the non-tourist view of the sign. Enroute we meet his friend who is clearly homeless and off-chops and on the way back he trips over some poor man's chiwawa and covers it in rum and diet coke. Fortunately, we did indeed see a non tourist view of the sign and even watched the sun setting without 3000 Japanese. The route back to Hermosa was somewhat less eventful but the train did terminate too early so we bummed a lift (kid you not) with the Hilton Courtesy bus and then walked the rest in time for the end of Poop Deck happy hour. Just your regular day in Hollywood really...
The next day is our 'let's go to Santa Monica' day and we check out nice and early, only 3 hours late, go to a bar for lunch and then check back in 3 hours later. Sunday and we check out again, much to the amusement of pretty much everyone and ask directions to Santa Monica – it seems hugely complicated and there's a guy here driving to San Diego who says he'll take us if we chip in for fuel so off we go to San Diego! After sleeping most of the way (we are fun girls to roadtrip with) we check into Banana Bungalows and have lucked out once more with a great crowd running the place, a huge (albeit bizarrely cold) movie lounge and a deck right on the beach. Needless to say, an entire week just passes involving a few more awesome people, more beach walks, more amazing sunsets, a lot more sunshine and a perhaps one or two more beers.
We travel back to Hermosa on the Saturday by greyhound. One of our friends from the hostel, Ray, accompanies us into town and takes us for a drink beforehand and shows us around downtown San Diego – just so we can say we've seen it. Our original plan was to split our time between the beach and town but fortunately we didn't as downtown is mostly bail bond shops and lunatics! But we get to see the Gaslamp Quarter, which is the main drag and we get on our greyhound with time to spare! Thanks to the advertising over the windows, we don't get a view so Anna falls asleep. Of course, the day can't go this smoothly for both of us and a few stops later and a loud 59 year old gets on with his friend and sits beside us. I avoid eye contact, have my iPod blasting and pretend to sleep and he still talks to me! By shaking me awake first of course. He is on his way to Las Vegas as he had a windfall and is treating his best friend – this is code for we've just got out of prison and this is my cell mate as the US apparently gives them all greyhound tickets on their release! So he speaks (yells) at me the entire way: we cover what my parents do, what I do, where we're from, are we sisters, are we married, how did we meet, how pretty my feet are and blah blah blah and then comes the time for him to pull a chicken out of his bag (of course he has a chicken in his bag) and propose to me with it. Good times. Finally, we're at Long Beach and we get to switch buses for the public bus back to Hermosa just in time for Superbowl Sunday.
Well. We get there early to score a top spot at the bar and start the day with pitchers of cocktails (which we drink with straws and not out of glasses as we are ladies) and it's all downhill from there. I feel quite emotional as Carrie Underwood sings the National Anthem, as I do with all Anthems even if they have nothing to do with me, and we watch a bunch of grown men in sparkly gold lycra run into each other – from what I can figure there are around 200 players per side and the scoring is completely random. Anyway, we annoy all the men by having the best seats and not actually paying attention and then we totter off home half way through the last quarter after watching the wing eating contest and cheering for the wrong guy. The night ends with a little more emotion and a 5am incident where I embarrassed a couple of people in the tv room with my diet coke craving... less said the better.
So now I'm in Venice (on my way to Santa Monica), Anna and did our goodbyes last night and it's cold and I'm feeling on the wrong side of lonely so, as said, I'm saving the South America for when I have more time and company and retracing my steps for 1 of my last 2 months as a traveller before San Francisco, Vancouver and home. It has been epic, there are simply no other words to describe it.
