LA Woman (and man)

With Vegas in the bag as it were, we were just a short hop from Los Angeles and the opposite end of the country from where this all began. After nigh on a month in the interior, that frenetic week behind the wheel and a couple of days in temperatures akin to those at the earth's core we were so looking forward to getting to the coast and relaxing on a beach for a few days. With Las Vegas rather surprisingly being a railway free city we had only one option to head west; Greyhound. We arrived at the bus station at about 1130 for our 1201 departure and took our place in the rather random line that was already formed. I haven't quite fathomed what degree of importance the Americans place on queuing, it's a bit hit and miss to be honest. Where in Blighty if someone tries to barge in to an already formed line there will be quiet outrage and possibly even some audible tutting, here it seems to be tolerated to some degree. We in England are almost defined by our deep-seated understanding of the concept of standing in line.  That and our unswerving dedication to the sock and sandal ensemble. Our queue at Las Vegas Greyhound station was all over the oche: 3 Chinese women gabbling away a good few feet out of line, 2 youths loitering near the head of the queue, patently not in it but no doubt ready to pounce when the gates opened, some people were not even present - they were represented by their luggage and had gone off to find food or just sit down in the seating area away to our right. At 1145 the suitcase in front of us became reacquainted with its owner, a young lady who was talking on her mobile to her mum. 1200 came and went with no sign of our bus at which point Kerry jokingly said the bus would probably be an hour late as it was when we left Memphis. I didn't want to even contemplate that but our friend in front was ringing a succession of people to tell them all about it.  This "queue" was seriously doing my nut. I'll cut to the chase and tell you that the bus was a full hour late before it arrived, that the telephone calls to tell people that the bus was late lasted right until we boarded and that even though I thought I was possibly the least patient person on the planet I realise now after 6 weeks or so on the road that that honour actually goes to my travelling companion. Once on-board and away we crossed mile after mile of desert before descending into civilisation again and arriving at Union station, downtown Los Angeles at about 1845.  (I do mean the hour of day and not the year. Had we arrived in the year 1845 then the population of this now seething metropolis would have been only the inhabitants of the one hut which stood here) As is becoming a fixture on this trip a strange paranoia overcame us as we sought our lodgings, the hotel Cecil in downtown LA. The guy whose eye I caught on the subway was patently a crack addict desperate for cash to provide his next fix, a multitude of eyes were on us as we walked down the street with map in hand looking as conspicuous as possible, we were advertising "rob me". Except we weren't, they weren't and he wasn't. Emerging from Pershing Square metro station and regarding our map to get orientated a friendly looking chap approached and asked where we were heading. He offered to walk us to the hotel as he was heading that way too. He seemed pleasant enough but he soon divulged that he'd just been released from "the pen" and that his car had been impounded meaning he couldn't get to see his sick father. Sensing the inevitable request for money I told him we'd be ok from here though that then was his cue to ask for a few dollars.  Kerry offered a quick "I told you so" look and walked away while I told him that we were away for a long time and if we gave money to everyone then we would soon be back home.  It is amazing how many tramps / beggars / underprivileged / homeless people there are in the USA. We've seen them in every town and city and they're far more prevalent than they are in England. The USA certainly is a land of the 'haves' and the 'have nots'. And so to the Cecil, a once grand hotel with 700 rooms which retains its wonderful foyer from its golden age but whose rooms now leave a little to be desired. We found ourselves on the 14th floor with a great view out over the city though this did mean we were reliant on the two lifts for every venture in or out. This became a right pain on the last day here when one was out of order. We weren't sure how to best play things from here. We really wanted to rest on a beach but they were another 20 miles away at Santa Monica or Venice so we decided to see the sights of Los Angeles proper and then head to the coast. We've found the best way to get our bearings in big cities is to go on an open top bus hop on - hop off jobbie so we invested $170 in a 48 hour all routes pass.  This sounds a lot but for what amounted to about £50 each we had 2 full days of entertainment, saw an awful lot of areas of interest that we simply wouldn't have otherwise and, much to Kerry's delight, had a tour of Beverly Hills gawping at the houses of the rich and famous. Over these 2 days we saw: the Hollywood walk of fame, the Hollywood sign (which previously read "Hollywood  Land"), The Viper Room where River Phoenix ODed, the Whisky-a-go-go club where the doors used to perform, Rodeo Drive, the hotel where John Belushi ODed, the hotel where Whitney Houston ODed, Tom Cruise's 50 ft high hedge, the boot of Simon Cowell's Rolls Royce, the 'world famous' Beverly Hills sign and the church in which James Stewart used to read mass on Christmas eve each year, among many other highlights. I'm being mildly flippant because while this is all interesting up to a point, I really don't subscribe to all this celebrity stuff. Our tour guide hit the nail on the head when he said that the stars of yesterday mainly lived in regular houses which were and still are visible whereas today's A-listers have security fences, 40 ft high hedges and are rarely, if ever, seen out. Something has changed. Either their perception of themselves or our adulation and almost deification of them. Incidentally, a little bit of history for you. The area now known as Hollywood was purchased by a wealthy mid-western farming couple in the 1880s and their ideal was to give plots of land to churches to promote Christian worship in the area. They named the area "Figwood" on account of all the fig trees in the vicinity, only changing it to Hollywood when visited by a friend who mentioned her house was named that, a moniker that mrs Wilcox loved. Ah, the things you learn reading this nonsense! (also available on Wikipedia) We found a little gem to eat in each evening, a place called the 5 cent Cafe just a block from our hotel. The food was reasonably priced and absolutely top notch stuff. After 3 nights we were welcomed as regulars with the owner sitting with us and chatting while we waited for our food. Catfish with brussel sprouts served with bacon and pecan nuts was my favourite there I think. It was strange because this haven was next door to a soup kitchen type place outside of which were hordes of hobos. There we all were eating beautiful food and just outside were guys in threadbare donkey jackets bedding down for the night under cardboard. Whilst that may have been a sight, "tramp central" was a couple of blocks away on south San Pedro street. We travelled up it by bus by accident and were open mouthed at how many homeless people lived there. The whole street was a sea of shuffling and bedraggled specimens, many of whom were wheeling shopping trolleys full of their possessions.  The other thing we did in LA was a spot of dead celebrity stalking. I've been into the doors and Jim Morrison for aeons so took the opportunity to visit some of his and their old haunts. The highlight of this was to get inside Jim's old room at La Alta Cienega motel which is where he lived for a couple of years at the height of the doors' fame.  No 40 ft high hedge for Mr Mojo Risin'! Was 4 nights and 5 days long enough in LA? Well, I think we saw what we set out to see and also unearthed a couple of other gems along the way so yes, probably. People here are so much less friendly than elsewhere in the US and the disparity between those with and those without so much more noticeable. In Beverly Hills for instance, just a block away from Cowell's Roller, we saw a sports car which our guide said would cost about $1.7m. On disembarking from the bus we were asked if we could spare a dollar by a desperate looking chap. Our Lonely Planet guide book states that nowhere sums up the USA better than LA. I disagree. I think it's the least American place we've visited. So, with sprawling megalopolis ticked off, what next? Ah yes, some much needed R&R on a palm lined beach. Goodbye LA, hello Santa Monica.