Can't get there from here

47 A.D.

She’s a siren!

She’s a temptress!

She’s a whore!

Who do I mean?

Why, Los Angeles, of course!

But before I get onto the-city-that-you-never-leave, please observe a minute’s silence for the following:

In Memoriam – GREYHOUND

Finally the love affair ends and this great and terrible bus service is no more in our lives. From east coast New York to west coast LA, we’ve had all sorts of fun and games and never had the same level of service twice. Even the final journey, a three hour ride from San Diego was notable for us being rushed on board and not being able to get our fleeces out of our baggage, leaving us at the mercy of rctic air con. And what was in many ways the simplest journey we undertook was interrupted at San Clemente station for a full-on search of all personnel by the border patrol (not THAT full-on!) So, that’s the end of this chapter. And to that person who voted in the latest questionnaire that they were sick of me whining about Greyhound, well, their wish has come true! RIP.

Tim got us a cracking deal at the Stay At Main hostel in downtown LA. Even though the bathrooms are shared, there’s plenty of them, including one right next to our door. Plus there’s complimentary popcorn at 4 o`clock – woohoo! It’s a boutique hostel, whatever that means – I imagine it has something to do with this flowery light type thing on one side of the room...

...as well as the red and white spotted duvets. Nice. The hostel is adjoined to the Cecil hotel and we can get in through there with our key cards when the hostel entrance closes at 11 p.m. The Cecil is a grand old 1920s place, supposedly with very naff rooms (at least according to the reviews), but a very grand foyer. In fact, I take to entering the complex through the Cecil, rather than the hostel.

The guidebook said we’re staying in a “dicey” area and I concur, if only for the beggars. To be fair, 99% of the beggars I’ve encountered in the US have never pushed it when I’ve refused to give them any cash, some have even been more polite than the Greyhound staff (oops, I’m still whining about it!) To save having to give too much of an explanation, I’ve developed the habit of telling the beggars that I’m “brassic” in the hope that they don’t know what the word means, but imagine it must be some serious hardship. But the first guy who bugged me here knew exactly what I meant;  “Ya can’t even spare one cent???” he yelled at me down the street. “One cent???” he continued to yell. Anyone know any more colloquial words than “brassic”?

Let’s get back to our adventures in LA. Saturday night – nothing happened. We didn’t even have a beer. Pretty dull, huh? Instead we spent the evening researching where to go over the next three days and how to get there. LA has been described as “19 suburbs looking for a city” and there’s no doubting just how gigantic it is. Everyone I’ve met who’s come from here has recommended getting a car. But we think we can wing it on the public transport system, just need to decipher the online maps which make the periodic table look like a kindergarten join-the-dots.

After sleeping well, despite the constant police sirens through the night, we hot-footed it down to the nearby subway station and bought day passes for $5. Unfortunately the subway is just that – underground, so you don’t get to see much of the city as you travel.  We alighted at the one place that we both agreed we had to see – HOLLYWOOD!

Okay, so the big film studios moved out decades ago, but the area still has plenty of allure for the casual tourist. The subway emptied out onto Hollywood Boulevard, featuring sidewalks decorated with the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Everyone who is anyone in this town has a star there, many of whom I’d heard of, but a great many of the names didn’t register. And a lot of them are still blank, so no doubt the fab five lads of popular boy band One Direction will be listed there soon, or maybe it’ll just be Harry Styles after he goes solo and takes over the world. I know, I know, bad example, but it’s been a long day.

[After taking this shot I was asked, "Sir, what is the significance of your rabbit?"] 

The guide book mentioned an underwear shop called Frederick’s along the boulevard, containing the free-to-visit Celebrity Lingerie Hall of Fame. Well, it’s something different, isn’t it? But alas, it was closed. Sunday bloomin` Sunday! Probably the most popular spot on the whole road was The Chinese Theatre where they still show movie premieres and people in strange costumes hang around outside waving for pictures.

Far in the distance we had spotted the fabled Hollywood sign, but it really was a long way away. Ducking into a nearby visitor centre, we asked which roads to take for a better view. The lady behind the counter duly obliged, but suggested that one should not attempt to walk it because of the hills – get a taxi up and walk back. Shouldn’t walk it? Telling that to the Grayboys is like a red rag to a bull! Not only did we intend to walk it, we’d stride up those hills with our San Francisco-experienced thighs! But it was hot. And steep. And tiring too. At the end of the day, we couldn’t get that close, so had to settle for a few shots standing on the road with the huge white letters like a tiny alphabet in the background. But at least we saw it.

The woman was right – going down the hill was a lot easier, but we were very hungry and there weren’t any benches, let alone any shade. Therefore we ate our packed lunches on a small wall on Sunset Boulevard AKA Sunset Strip. This was the place where bands like The Doors set the sixties ablaze with tunes like Light my fire at the Whisky-a-go-go club, but the only blaze today was overhead.

The next nearby destination was the Hollywood Forever Cemetery where several showbusiness people were buried, most notably Johnny Ramone (or, at least, most notable to me). As we entered the place, Tim went one way, and I went another. Was it a subconscious What Carcass Moment? Who knows, but by the time I looked around, I couldn’t see him. I kept wandering a little while, but no joy. By now it was really hot overheard and I was down to my last millilitre of water. There are better places to lose your brother than in a massive Jewish cemetery in a massive city in a massive country. I tried to remember commando training, or whatever it was I learnt in school – if you get lost, stay in one place so people can find you. But what if he does the same thing? We’ll both be rooted to the spot `til dusk! In the end we both worked out that it made sense to head back to the gate where we entered, like two minds working in tandem. I’m not sure if we’ve evolved a group mind yet, but we do often have the same thought at the same time. Can men synchronise? Let’s not go there, instead we’ll end the paragraph on a positive note – Tim found Johnny Ramone’s grave on his wanderings and got the pic, so it was all worthwhile.

[Johnny Ramone's grave not pictured due to potential copyright infringement from Tim.]

It was by now the middle of the afternoon and I was flagging. On US TV they’ve been constantly advertising the 5 Hour Energy Drink (it may be big on Britvision as well) and I got given a free sample on our way to the subway that morning. So I drank it and waited for the five hour magical buzz to happen...ha! If anything I was yawning more than before! It made sense to get the bus to our next destination – Beverly Hills. Unfortunately we got off a few stops too soon and ended up only skirting around the edge of this high class suburb. But boy were the houses fine! And even the grass on the sidewalk was a lush shade of dark green, every blade trimmed to perfection. The plan had also been to amble round to the even grander mansions of nearby Bel Air, but time was against us. Why did this city have to be so huge???

Tim is keen on his photography, so we headed to the glamorously-titled Avenue of the Stars for an exhibition called Who Shot Rock `N` Roll. This was all about iconic photographs of musicians through the last few decades and I have to say I was very impressed. I even commented to Tim how the album cover from London calling by The Clash  was deliberately shot to parody Elvis Presley’s debut, supposedly demonstrating the death of rock `n` roll after 25 years. This titbit of information wasn’t on the accompanying plaque and the people around us were very pleased to hear it. Ironically the exhibition did not allow photographs, so instead I’ll just post the visuals behind my tittybit...   

The bus journey back from West Hollywood to Downtown took nearly an hour. Yawn! We ate out at the Mexican equivalent of Subway, name of Chipolate. Scratched another new food off the list. And that’s it for today. May you come back for the next installment in which I will be displaying my wares on the beach...