The Arena Of The Unwell

Sunday, 24 October 2010

Las Vegas - shiny thing, make it all better?

Next morning we leave for Las Vegas on the Greyhound. It’s a six hour trip. Bob snoozes whilst I do a spot of reading and swot up on some Spanish audio lessons. Vegas is in the grip of a huge thunderstorm. It gets an average of something like four inches of rain a year but I’m sure the Vegas weather gods have gambled everything with their London counterparts and lost, because we appear to have the next five years quota waiting just for us. We’re staying at Riviera Casino on the main strip. The rooms are pretty good, especially considering we’re paying half the price of LA hostels. Our evening is spent cruising the strip until we run out of energy in some karaoke bar at stupid o’clock and decide to turn in.

Our laundry day is overdue so we embark on a mission but get lost en route to the laundromat and end up way off the main strip. We stop a guy on his bike to ask for directions. He kindly obliges before departing with some comforting words of advice. “This ain’t a nice neighbourhood so be careful who you speak to round here” before turning his back and adding “especially you”. Not sure exactly which one of us he was speaking to but my laundry load just got bigger and we got out as quick as possible. The evening was spent in Fremont Street and we have a go on the awesome FlightLine (see video below). It’s only been open for two days and, assuming it gets approval to stay put, I’ve no doubt it’ll become a must-do Vegas attraction. We head back to the main strip and bump into some Aussies we met in the San Diego hostel a couple of days prior. The world of the traveller is indeed very small.

On the way to Stratosphere about midday the next day we bump into the Aussies yet again. In keeping with their stereotype, they’re already on the lash. We stop off at a 50’s diner for some of the finest cuisine Vegas has to offer in the shape of a hot dog the size of a large Dachshund before heading up the tower. The trip to the top of the tower is $16 well spent. The view of the strip itself is impressive but pales into insignificance when compared to the views of the desert and mountains which surround the city. The view directly down is pretty stomach-churning let alone the thrill rides up here. The most vomit-inducing has to be the SkyJump. From 108 floor up, lemmings are hurling themselves off attached only to a rope which breaks their fall if not their back. We watched as one girl stood quivering at the edge for ten minutes before bottling it. The price of her humiliation was $100 and I did feel pretty bad for her. She got further than me. This type of thrill ride is just a little beyond what I can handle right now (financially, of course) but if I come back to Vegas any time soon I will do it.

By the time we get back to the hotel the heavens have opened again. Vegas is really not built for rain. The casinos were leaking like sieves and one open air bar had water pouring off the speakers. We head to Coyote Ugly for a swift one then over to some diabolical place named Rockhouse which played, you guessed it, R&B. We finally settle on an open air bar named Carnavale Court with its outrageously talented barmen and see out the night there before bumping into some girls from Maidstone on the trek back. For the record, being British is not a novelty in Vegas like it is in San Diego. Literally every other person you meet here is British.

Our last day in Vegas starts wet and gets wetter. We discover the secret of Gold Line buses which have fewer stops but get you around so much quicker on busy days like today. We head to the south end of the strip and check out Excalibur, Luxor and the stunning Mandalay Bay. The evening is spent at Margaritaville and O’Shea’s where they have a band playing some classic rock tunes. We finish things off back at Carnivale Court again. When we leave we’re treated to our second dose of accidental stardom. Three hookers have been pulled over by the cops who appear to have a full-on film crew with them. It’s not a set up, I think this is an episode of Cops and these girls are genuinely getting taken away if cuffs. The cuffs don't seem to bother them but perhaps its not the first time they've been restrained this evening. However, imagine if these girls are innocent. I mean, it’s not as if they get paid to have their reputations ruined on film. At least not by "on-duty" cops.

Vegas is pretty easy to sum up. It’s Disneyland for adults with a passion for gambling and all-you-can-eat buffets. The number of morbidly obese fourty-somethings tearing up the sidewalks on their mobility scooters is a terrifying vision of the future. Seriously, some of these casino buffets even sell day passes to these coffin-dodgers so once they've filled one colostomy bag they can trundle off and come back later for a free refill. Nom-nom-nom-nom ...

Total gambled and lost comes to one dollar. Sorry Vegas, but that side of things just ain't for me.

Back to LA, next stop Washington DC.

Choon for the day: Stereophonics - Vegas Two Times

Barstow, en-route to Vegas. Nothing much going on, I just liked the photo.

Thunderstorm Sunset - better camera required

Freemont Street

Golden Nugget at Freemont Street

An alternative way to fleece the punters?

Vegas Boulevard from Stratosphere

Inside Stratosphere

Looking north from Stratosphere

Looking South-West from Stratosphere

"Look, I can see my breakfast from here?"

Freemont Street Flightline (video)

Saturday, 23 October 2010

You Stay Classy San Diego

I’d heard a lot of good things about San Diego so it seemed a shame to miss out on the opportunity to go see it myself. The car hire seemed a bit steep so Bob and I settled on taking a Greyhound bus from West Hollywood. We arrive late afternoon and the weather was total gashbags compared to LA. Cloud and rain were going to become a theme for the next few days.

A trolley (A.K.A tram) and bus ride away and we arrive at Pacific Beach by Mission Bay. San Diego has its own Banana Bungalow which looks right out onto the beach. The staff and guests here are really friendly. It seems as if many of the travellers here have come to San Diego, fallen in love with it and “postponed” their travelling plans in favour of the beach. The weather was failing to convince me I’d do likewise but I could see its charms nonetheless. Kev, the British guy who works here, knocks up a mean Spag Bol for $1 so we’re all over this like a rash. It’s bar crawl night at the hostel so we make like a baby and … head out.

First stop for us is the PB Shore Club by the beach. All the bars are pretty hot on ID. In London it’s rather flattering to be ID’d but here it’s just a pain in the arse. The bar won’t even take my driving licence and insist that I go fetch my passport. We stick around for a couple before Kev rounds us up and whisks us off to Miller’s Field. It’s more of the same. American sports bar meets western ranch, much like the Saddle Ranch back in LA although the beer’s noticeably cheaper and it’s got few more local jock types hanging out with back-to-front baseball caps and vest tops. I start to wonder why the British concept of The Chav hasn’t crossed the Atlantic yet coz right here is the US equivalent. Johnny V is an open-fronted bar with a dancefloor and cheap beer so we end our night here before witnessing our first US street fight. No guns or knives. Not even any new-wave chavs involved. Oh no, in fact it’s a pair of lovely Irish guys from our hostel smacking the shit out of each other on the sidewalk, seemingly oblivious of the cop car parked right next to them. Miraculously, we all got to sleep off our hangovers back at the hostel that night and in the morning the sparring partners patch up their differences over a game of pre-breakfast beer pong.

It rains all night so the open-plan hostel and the beach are looking a bit sorry for themselves in the morning. We try and fail to extend our stay here for our remaining night so we retreat to The Mission Bay Motel round the corner with an invite to return to the beach-front for the evening if we want to hang out again. Lunch is the most vile Burger King ever. I think it may have been digested once already. I certainly should have cut out the middle man and stuffed it straight down the toilet.

Whenever you ask for directions over here, you’ll get “oh it’s only 10 minutes, that way”. No one ever stops to ask if you actually have a car. “oh, you definitely don’t wanna walk it”. The point is, we still need to get around. Five dollars gets you a day ticket for the buses and the trolley in San Diego which is pretty damn reasonable. I sometimes think the reason public transport is shunned by the car driving masses is due to the huge proportion of freaks and meth-heads for whom public transport provides a captive audience for their asinine monologue of scratched records. Our choice is made.

20 mins later and the bus drops us off at San Diego Old Town. I’m not going to pretend to know any of the history but there’s obviously a big Central American influence here. It’s nice, really well kept and definitely worth a peek.

The trolley takes us on to City College where we switch to a bus and head to Balboa Park. I think they may have been feeding the cacti here LSD coz they’re crazy twisted green monsters. I’m not a fan of plant abuse but it does make for some sweet photo ops. The rose garden is also worth a look. Over the road there are lots of seriously beautiful museums and galleries. We elect to admire the buildings from the outside. Further on, the huge Cabrillo Bridge takes us over a freeway for some spectacular views of the city. Before we head back to Pacific Beach we check out the quirky Gaslamp Quarter. Lots of bars, restaurants and live music venues. A pair of homeless guys scrapping with each other just about kills it for me in so we blow the lamp out.

Back in PB we share a beer with our American motel neighbours Christian and Cyrus who try in vain to get us to head out with them. They’re fascinated with our accents and think they’ll get more female attention with a couple of Brits in tow. This conversation got me thinking again about how lucky I am to even be here. I’m over the Burger King debacle by now so I resolve to cheer up a bit.

Gatecrashing the Banana Bungalow for the evening we stick around for the main event - The Flaming Phoenix. Equipment needed: One toilet roll, one lighter, one arse and balls of steel. Hostel guest Preston runs out naked onto the beach and stuffs a large quantity of super-soft between his butt-cheeks so it’s all hanging down and flailing around his ankles. He sets fire to this and skips around in the darkness until he can’t take it any more, realises he’s nowhere near the water and rolls about frantically in the sand just before the Phoenix’s jewels return to ashes. I shall not be attempting this myself any time soon.

We take the Greyhound back to LA for one night. We’ve noticed a huge variation in the quality of the buses. From WiFi and leather seat luxury to cold and dirty mobile squats, they’ve got them all. This time round we’re staying at BB’s affiliate hostel The Orbit just round the corner on Melrose Avenue. They have a party bus going up to The Purple Lounge at The Standard on Sunset Strip. We figure it’s a cheap ride into town and if we don’t like it we can sack it off. It’s the classiest place we’ve been to so far and the sound system is pretty special but this place is too cool for my current incarnation so we just stay for one before scooting off to our now customary haunts.

Next stop Las Vegas

Choon for the day: 2Pac – California Love

Pacific Beach

Mission Bay

San Diego Old Town

San Diego Old Town Trolley

San Diego Old Town

Balboa Park Cactus Garden

Balboa Park Rose Garden

Balboa Park Cactus Garden

Balboa Park

Wankers

Balboa Park

View from Cabrillo Bridge

Gaslamp Quarter

The Tipsy Crow at Gaslamp Quarter

Gaslamp Quarter

San Diego Convention Center

Hard Rock Hotel at Gaslamp Quarter

Friday, 15 October 2010

City of angels and fake tits

And so it begins.

Leaving Heathrow on a 4pm flight bound for Los Angeles, I touch down about 7:30pm local time on Sunday. This is my first time in LA since 1996 so I'm quite excited to be back. Upon arrival I remembered what my brother Ian had always told me about jet-lag; west is best, east is a beast. He would appear to be correct as usual. Despite a number of sleep-inducingly crap films with British "actors" (please stick to the stand up routines Mr Brand) I fail to to get a wink of spatchka and arrive feeling surprisingly awake and relaxed.

I'm greeted at LAX by my cousin Bob and his mate Bryan who kindly drove us into town. Bob's been touring the US with The Australian Pink Floyd Show and hot-footed it over from Salt Lake City on the tour bus to join me for a west coast mini break. It's his first holiday for a few years so he's pretty excited about the next couple of weeks.

Arriving at Banana Bungalow in West Hollywood we dumped our stuff and quickly headed out to Barney's Beanery on Santa Monica Bvld. When I explained to some random drunk guy staggering around with his own pitcher of beer in hand that I was on day one of my adventure and looking for things to do in town he exclaimed "You suck at this!". I thanked him for his vote of confidence and trotted off to the legendary Rainbow. We speak to a few people in here and it quickly transpires that more or less everyone in Hollywood has something or other to do with movies and TV - ubiquitous to the point of being passé. I get the feeling if you rocked up with a briefcase claiming to be an accountant they'd think you're the mutt's nuts. We stayed until closing time. This is now 9am London time and I'm shot to bits. Up the stairs to Bedfordshire.

Free breakfast at the hostel is a polystyrene bowl of cheerios, toast (brown or white bread available) and enough coffee to transform developing nations overnight whilst having little effect on my own well being. A couple of buses take us down to Venice Beach where the sand just seems to go on forever. This is what a beach should look like. There an open air gym down here (think human zoo) with a pack of wild knuckleheads providing the entertainment and a bunch of wannabe rap stars trawling the seafront waving handfuls of their latest CDs in a our faces. They attack us with their oversized headphones so we can check out their efforts and try to convince us that LA has a monopoly on talent. Word up generic west coast rap dude. Don't talk to me about sophistication a've bin t' Leeds!

We grab a proper burger at the Sidewalk Cafe before walking north up the seafront to Santa Monica Pier and catching a bus back into town.

Spag Bol for a fiver in the hostel courtyard and straight back out on the town. We hit the Saddle Ranch for some Monday Night Football action then back up to Rainbow. It looks busier tonight. Turns out the clientèle, which consist mainly of washed up rockers and their unfair share of hot rock chicks, are in town for Steel Panther's Monday night residency at the Key Club. Tongue-thru-cheek cock-rock at its cheesiest. Bam Margera is there promoting the new Jackass film too. Very funny night out.

Wearing shades to hide the devastation behind we scoff some breakfast before heading out into the midday sun. Along Melrose Avenue and north to Hollywood Boulevard we continue on towards the lure of the Hollywood hills. We must have clocked up about six miles and twice as many blisters by the time we get to the top but it was well worth it. It would appear that nobody walks anywhere in LA, let alone up to its famous landmark. Thankfully a couple from Indonesia were kind / foolish enough to fall for our sob story and brought us back down in their jeep. It's becoming clear I'm a better blagger than a blogger!

The evening was spent in usual fashion. Back out on the strip we head for The Den for a quick one before moving on to the morbid curiosity of The Viper Room. For some reason I expected a lounge / cocktail bar but it's essentially a tiny gig venue for up and coming bands and tonight they're playing host to some three-piece outfit named That Noise. We got in for free but the drinks were a bit steep - $7 a bottle. We stay for one, then true to form, head straight back to Rainbow where we swap London stories with some LA girl with a freakish passion for our own green and not so pleasant land. I guess the grass is always greener.

The next day is a rather sedate affair. We head down to the Farmers Market where Fox are filming an episode of Modern Family. We actually walk right onto the set and are promptly instructed to act natural and continue walking along the sidewalk right behind where they're filming. Depending which take they use we may be getting beamed into living rooms across the nation soon. Sushi-A-Go-Go for some amazing Mosaic Rolls and head back to chill.

Bob's mate Tomi and my mate Steve from London are in town. Steve's out here with some actor and scriptwriter friends planning a film shoot for next year. We join forces for a couple in The Dime on Fairfax and Oakwood. There are dozens of dimly lit cocktail bars like this in London but here it seems unique and makes a nice change. Bob, Tommy and I scoot back to Sunset for a couple more before departing in our now customary inebrieted state.

Next stop San Diego ...

Choon for the day: Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Dani Calfornia