The taxi driver from the airport was absolutely lovely. He’s originally African and friends with an Australian writer so was quite at home with an Aussie and enjoyed telling me how really fucked up the U.S is. Economically the situation is still really dire. Teachers and policemen getting laid off. He told me how scary schools were already in L.A and now with lots shutting down, bigger class sizes and a much poorer – to the point of homelessness – middle class, it was very scary for him as a parent of a ten year old girl. The driver said he used to enjoy a holiday to Europe every year, now he can’t afford to take a day off. Although we have elements of this in Australia, you wonder how the US is going to come back from the reality of potentially losing it’s working and middle class in some areas and how this generation of kids will be affected. Considering how gang-affected LA is already, I wonder what ten years’ time will look like?
Then there’s the cheery, chatty Los Angeleans. The problem is, they’re often chatting to themselves. There’s some serious mental health issues rollerblading around the Venice Boulevard and walking the streets. There’s the homeless lying on the grass sleeping with all of their belongings in a bag next to them. I know this is not just confined to LA or the US but it always looks sadder in such a tourist hot spot. Families eating ice cream and tourists drinking beer to blaring music while people wander or sit, disconnected, dislocated, from any kind of normal life.
The fatties with way too little clothing on, choosing between burgers and hot dogs served in sizes worthy of three people. The guy playing air guitar in the middle of the footpath to no music. The guy yelling out his thoughts to the world as he wanders back and forth. The chick who tried to bum a smoke of a guy eating at the restaurant and asked if he was enjoying his grapes. He was a little bemused as he was clearly eating a burger.
There is always the seedy side, it seeps through the joy of experiencing a new place but I guess that’s OK, you can appreciate it for what it is rather than walking around blind and ignorant. Reminding you of the privilege of being able to work, travel, have a place to stay, converse with someone outside your own head.
Perspective, again.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
An Aerial view of LA
From the balcony of the Cadillac Hotel, I watched the bustling, vibrant crowd below. The sunset spot lit the palm trees and wide, white sand where people walked and the sounds of Caribbean drums played. Very pretty, very relaxing and a lot of fun down there.
So Los Angeleans are a little weird. And bright and loud and cheery and grooovin’ all over life. And ridiculously friendly, like by last night, accosted by a mad Brazilian, after an overnight flight and fuck all sleep in two days, almost offensively friendly.
In Venice Beach there’s a hodge podge of nationalities and ages and tourists. It is lively and colourful and pumping with music and loud chatter and no sign of any acknowledgement of the US woes. I suspect any economic concerns have been soothed by a drug buzz or silenced by beer bubbles. There are issues, a guy was desperately trying to find a rolly paper last night to smoke some weed and couldn’t afford to buy some, but I suspect his situation has had little to do with the GFC.
I turned up yesterday and felt strangely comfortable, a familiarity that was unexpected. My room looked right out onto the main boulevard so I could hear the voices and loud 90’s music (I knew every song over two days, I didn’t know anyone else listened to this stuff anymore but me!). The locals with stalls on the footpath wear baggy pants-jeans or cotton, most no shirts, the girls in hemp, faded colours.. Lots of Caribbean accents and muscles of all colours– some with beer guts under them, lots without... Behind their stalls they yell to each other and lift weights and play drums and smoke. The tourists walk by and eat and drink in the bars on the other side of the footpath. They all have ready smiles and conversation – not all of it legible – ready to chat and exclaim. There are taco bars and rollerbladers and Happy Hours and tarot readers everywhere.
The feeling of familiarity came from the locals. With their easy natures, their dredlocks and faded cotton, their relaxed attitudes (especially about working) and their stonededness, they reminded me of uni in the 90’s. Especially with the background music – Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Red Hot Chilli Peppers (not my favorite..).It’s like the 90’s revival of the 70’s hippie lifestyle and attitudes just kept on going here. And it’s not a super young crowd. Perhaps this crowd have been unalterably influenced by the hallucinogenics and speed their parents indulged in. Regardless, they’re happy and chatty – a little much for the reserved single Aussie female traveller.
My first stop: coffee, if I was to make it through the day – or night as it was about 4am Aust time. I found a gorgeous little vegan garden café (not a place to eat for this carnivore) and had a coffee the size of my head from the friendliest waiter in the world (or so I thought having only been in the US for a coupe of hours). He was very enthusiastic about the types of coffee they had, so I left the choice to him in the end which he was very chuffed with, walking off, head held high with responsibility telling me I wouldn’t be sorry. And I wasn’t, although drinking two litres of strong coffee on jetlag and plane food gave me an interesting experience in my head and stomach. Delicious though.
Then a driver picked me up for the “must do” L.A tour on my first day. I thought it might be a good way to stay awake with jetlag (not so, I slept every time the guide stopped talking and all through Rodeo Drive, head lolling all over the place like a string-cut puppet). Carlos the Columbian (!) asked me all about Australia, very excited and lots of questions, and jet lagged with my guard down I chatted back. Mistake: “Do you want some company tomorrow” he asked as he dropped me off for the tour. Ah. No (fucking way druglord), thanks, I’m right..
Then a harmless afternoon spent sleeping in the car tour wishing I was on the open air bus, looking at the shit gates and driveways of famous people (and dodging the camera of the guy next to me who was taking photos of driveways and closed gates..) and visiting the Hollywood Farmers Market, walk of fame etc. I’m not sure the Supersized coffee should have been followed by clam chowder and green tea ice cream but whenever travelling I’m determined to eat food that is a) local/ traditional food and b) something I wouldn’t normally have. The second’s not hard considering all I eat on the island is what I cook (stir fry, curries, meat n veg) or from Thay’s Asian food van (only OK for hangovers). But chowder and ice cream it was surrounded by people loving food and the sun and each other’s company, followed by some more napping on the tour and a stop off on Hollywood Boulevard. Happiness reigned here on the Hollywood stars, people scrambling to get a photo with people dressed up in costumes – fake characters from movies sent everyone into a mad frenzy of photography. They did not care that they weren’t REAL! I nearly got sucked into it, contemplating a snap with a fake Captain Jack Sparrow, not so much for the novelty as the fact that he was seriously good looking..
Due to exhaustion I ended up eating on the boulevard outside my hotel. I ordered tacos and a Margarita – YUM! And was quickly accosted by the local crazy Brazilian (I knew he was local ‘cause the waiter’s knew his name when they told him off for smoking outside the restaurant – again). He was very cute and looked fairly fit but was clearly stoned and had mad dog in his eyes. He carried on an almost interesting conversation – mostly with himself, occasionally asking me: what do you think? You’re telling the story bud, I responded, which he was pretty pleased with. Thank god he took off to another table when my food came and I after eating I tool off quickly to my hotel for much needed sleep rather than taking up his offer of partying with he and his friends. I suspected that way lay schizophrenia, especially as one of his mates was wearing 10 different types of clothes and riding a scooter with half a surf board attached.
What I discovered is that this overt friendliness is actually a local custom. Eavesdropping o the girl sitting next to me (not hard as she was American) I discovered she was sitting with two guys she had just met, a younger one who she had met on the beach and who trusted her enough to leave all of his stuff with her while he went in search of weed and an older guy who had been sitting alone so they sat with him. All American, all crazy trusting and friendly.
This morning I heard more of it, this crazy, apparently genuine niceness. People walking along the boulevard would stop and chat in depth to the artists, praising their work and asking lots of questions. Waiters holding in depth conversations with customers. It made me feel a little cynical and defensive..
Venice Beachiens; have perfected the use of the exclamation marks in conversation. High on drugs for sure but also high on life.
So Los Angeleans are a little weird. And bright and loud and cheery and grooovin’ all over life. And ridiculously friendly, like by last night, accosted by a mad Brazilian, after an overnight flight and fuck all sleep in two days, almost offensively friendly.
In Venice Beach there’s a hodge podge of nationalities and ages and tourists. It is lively and colourful and pumping with music and loud chatter and no sign of any acknowledgement of the US woes. I suspect any economic concerns have been soothed by a drug buzz or silenced by beer bubbles. There are issues, a guy was desperately trying to find a rolly paper last night to smoke some weed and couldn’t afford to buy some, but I suspect his situation has had little to do with the GFC.
I turned up yesterday and felt strangely comfortable, a familiarity that was unexpected. My room looked right out onto the main boulevard so I could hear the voices and loud 90’s music (I knew every song over two days, I didn’t know anyone else listened to this stuff anymore but me!). The locals with stalls on the footpath wear baggy pants-jeans or cotton, most no shirts, the girls in hemp, faded colours.. Lots of Caribbean accents and muscles of all colours– some with beer guts under them, lots without... Behind their stalls they yell to each other and lift weights and play drums and smoke. The tourists walk by and eat and drink in the bars on the other side of the footpath. They all have ready smiles and conversation – not all of it legible – ready to chat and exclaim. There are taco bars and rollerbladers and Happy Hours and tarot readers everywhere.
The feeling of familiarity came from the locals. With their easy natures, their dredlocks and faded cotton, their relaxed attitudes (especially about working) and their stonededness, they reminded me of uni in the 90’s. Especially with the background music – Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Red Hot Chilli Peppers (not my favorite..).It’s like the 90’s revival of the 70’s hippie lifestyle and attitudes just kept on going here. And it’s not a super young crowd. Perhaps this crowd have been unalterably influenced by the hallucinogenics and speed their parents indulged in. Regardless, they’re happy and chatty – a little much for the reserved single Aussie female traveller.
My first stop: coffee, if I was to make it through the day – or night as it was about 4am Aust time. I found a gorgeous little vegan garden café (not a place to eat for this carnivore) and had a coffee the size of my head from the friendliest waiter in the world (or so I thought having only been in the US for a coupe of hours). He was very enthusiastic about the types of coffee they had, so I left the choice to him in the end which he was very chuffed with, walking off, head held high with responsibility telling me I wouldn’t be sorry. And I wasn’t, although drinking two litres of strong coffee on jetlag and plane food gave me an interesting experience in my head and stomach. Delicious though.
Then a driver picked me up for the “must do” L.A tour on my first day. I thought it might be a good way to stay awake with jetlag (not so, I slept every time the guide stopped talking and all through Rodeo Drive, head lolling all over the place like a string-cut puppet). Carlos the Columbian (!) asked me all about Australia, very excited and lots of questions, and jet lagged with my guard down I chatted back. Mistake: “Do you want some company tomorrow” he asked as he dropped me off for the tour. Ah. No (fucking way druglord), thanks, I’m right..
Then a harmless afternoon spent sleeping in the car tour wishing I was on the open air bus, looking at the shit gates and driveways of famous people (and dodging the camera of the guy next to me who was taking photos of driveways and closed gates..) and visiting the Hollywood Farmers Market, walk of fame etc. I’m not sure the Supersized coffee should have been followed by clam chowder and green tea ice cream but whenever travelling I’m determined to eat food that is a) local/ traditional food and b) something I wouldn’t normally have. The second’s not hard considering all I eat on the island is what I cook (stir fry, curries, meat n veg) or from Thay’s Asian food van (only OK for hangovers). But chowder and ice cream it was surrounded by people loving food and the sun and each other’s company, followed by some more napping on the tour and a stop off on Hollywood Boulevard. Happiness reigned here on the Hollywood stars, people scrambling to get a photo with people dressed up in costumes – fake characters from movies sent everyone into a mad frenzy of photography. They did not care that they weren’t REAL! I nearly got sucked into it, contemplating a snap with a fake Captain Jack Sparrow, not so much for the novelty as the fact that he was seriously good looking..
Due to exhaustion I ended up eating on the boulevard outside my hotel. I ordered tacos and a Margarita – YUM! And was quickly accosted by the local crazy Brazilian (I knew he was local ‘cause the waiter’s knew his name when they told him off for smoking outside the restaurant – again). He was very cute and looked fairly fit but was clearly stoned and had mad dog in his eyes. He carried on an almost interesting conversation – mostly with himself, occasionally asking me: what do you think? You’re telling the story bud, I responded, which he was pretty pleased with. Thank god he took off to another table when my food came and I after eating I tool off quickly to my hotel for much needed sleep rather than taking up his offer of partying with he and his friends. I suspected that way lay schizophrenia, especially as one of his mates was wearing 10 different types of clothes and riding a scooter with half a surf board attached.
What I discovered is that this overt friendliness is actually a local custom. Eavesdropping o the girl sitting next to me (not hard as she was American) I discovered she was sitting with two guys she had just met, a younger one who she had met on the beach and who trusted her enough to leave all of his stuff with her while he went in search of weed and an older guy who had been sitting alone so they sat with him. All American, all crazy trusting and friendly.
This morning I heard more of it, this crazy, apparently genuine niceness. People walking along the boulevard would stop and chat in depth to the artists, praising their work and asking lots of questions. Waiters holding in depth conversations with customers. It made me feel a little cynical and defensive..
Venice Beachiens; have perfected the use of the exclamation marks in conversation. High on drugs for sure but also high on life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
