Bienvenidos a Los Angeles

Some places you arrive you get to see an overall view that gives you some idea of what you'll be dealing with over the next few days. Not LA. It's freeways hide the city well and it's endless blocks look identical. But one thing is for sure, LA is huge. Like most cities it's a collection of towns of which we really see Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica and Venice Beach. Inglewood is to be avoided unless you fancy becoming part of a 90's homie gangster movie for real.
I've planned to meet up with fellow Leyland boy Si who is also on a round the world trip. We arrive at Venice Beach under grey skies and the look of rain. Venice Beach seems close enough on the map to West Hollywood, where we arranged to meet, so we head off in that general direction. It's a good 10 to 15 miles and takes some time stopping at traffic lights on every block.
We walk into the hostel and Si is right there. It's odd to see someone you know after 7 months of travelling. We've been places that couldn't be more different from home and now to be confronted with someone from home just seems odd. And we're in Los Angeles. One of the most famous cities in the world.


No room at the Inn for us but we check into the nearby sister hostel and head off out into the pouring rain, and boy does it pour.
We drive around getting lost constantly on the similar looking streets until we find Graumanns Theatre. This Chinese theatre is the cinema in which many a red carpet affair for the biggest film premiers in Hollywood and the world. Along the street on either side and in front of the theatre itself are stars and hand prints of the most famous actors of all time. Normally outside the theatre it's packed with tourists photographing the hand prints but today the rain is lashing down so hard that no-one is here except us.
After an all American milkshake in a diner we go inside the theatre itself to watch a film. It was the same price as watching a film in Preston as it happens. Inside is the grandest decoration I've ever seen for a cinema. It's all reds and golds and Chinese to the core and again it's all to ourselves. It's a good 15 minutes before anybody else arrives so we get a good nosey around the great main room and flash toilets.
The film was surprisingly good, 'I am Legend', but halfway through at a key moment the screen went black and the sound cut out. At least the sound and the tilt back chairs were good! After a minute or so people started to get restless and some guys started loudly complaining. One guy even started chanting, 'U.S.A!', but then must've realised that he was cheering his countries failings. After about 10 minutes the film restarted and all was well again. Of all the places for this to happen!
The next day the sun came out and we got our first glimpse of the Hollywood sign, originally put up on the hill for a movie. We drive the distinctly different streets of Beverly Hills. I say different because around West Hollywood every block of gritty buildings looks like the next. Beverly Hills has wide palm edged streets and glamorous houses where real money lives. The palm trees tall, thin and curve slightly overhead, line the length of the avenues.


Nearby Rodeo Drive is equally flash. Even the street lights are chandeliers! Every top fashion house is represented here and Ferraris and Roll Royce drive up and down. We walk past Ruud Gullit, ex-Dutch international footballer and manger of Chelsea and Newcastle. 'Alright Ruud, how's it going?', says Si. Ruud nods back but clearly doesn't want to be recognised this far from Europe.
It's all another world from the grime of the rest of the streets. We wanted to drive up to the Hollywood sign and look down over the sprawling metropolis but it was almost impossible. Instead we end up at a disused reservoir below the sign that can't be drained as it would affect house prices overlooking it.
At the hostel that night free beer was on offer for an hour so we get lubricated for the night ahead, even winning a game of pool against an American and a Norwegian. A free bus onto Santa Monica Boulevard steers us into the monsoon-like night. First stop was a bar packed out with all types. Everyone has to show their I.D upon entry and then again at the bar when you buy a drink. Even crazier is if you buy 3 beers each person in receipt of the beer has to hand over their I.D. Madness. More insane is the price, 1 beer = 5 quid! Get bent LA!
We try and dodge the rain whilst running down the street to one of the most famous rock venues ever, the Whiskey-a-go-go. This place has and still has some of the best rock acts ever to grace the stage. The doors were the only band in it's history to play 5 nights in a row here. Inside photos from times gone by and famous LA bands like Guns n Roses strutting their stuff on stage here. Thing is the place is tiny. Smaller than most in Preston and less busy. A heavy metal band were on soon to be followed by a punk Mexican band, both dire. Mexicans and an aged rockabilly jump around whilst pushing each other. This was awful. The small upstairs was already closed and then I spot another first in any club of my attendance. A guy is sweeping up on the dancefloor whilst the band are still playing and people are jumping around. Odd. As soon as the band finish the bouncers are prodding people out of the door. Crud. What a let down.
Surely nightlife in LA couldn't be worse than Preston? But it seemed so. I begin to fear that the hype machine that is the USA is just that.


Venice Beach is gritty also. It almost has a Blackpool type of grimness about it's tacky shops but America adds it's crazy tramps and nutters into the mix to make it more interesting. Quite why a muscle bound guy is standing in the cold in only a tiny pair of trunks on playing with a metal ball I don't know. I really don't need to see this, especially when he drops the ball and has to bend over to pick it up!


Muscle Beach is a small workout area next to the beach itself and is where Arnie once pumped iron with the best of them. It seems weird that he now runs the whole state of California.
There's a few free-to-use public amenities such as tennis, basketball and racketball courts as well as an outdoor gymnasium of sorts. Not bad. The beach itself looks ok and I'm sure on a good day it would be crammed.
It's a bit fried out for me though. Tramps wander about, some giving performances of sorts for cash. The odd mural, the Jim Morrison one especially, brightens the place up and you can imagine that back in the 60's this could've been the place to be. Now though, I could think of a hundred places I'd rather be.
We take a last look at Paramount Studios, wandering through the graveyard only Johnny Ramone's excellent statue stands out.


After a couple of days I was ready to leave and head back to a proper city, San Francisco. For me LA is just one mass of nothing. There's things to see which I can't deny but to come to LA solely for a holiday must be soul destroying.
There's no centre to the place and it seems the majority of the districts are just dull buildings and liquor stores with groups of Mexicans hanging around outside.
There's no style or class, not much discernible thing of interest or reason to stay longer than 3 days. Why anyone would want to live here I've no idea. But still I can't completely dislike the place. I'm not even quite sure why either. Would I recommend a visit? Err, I dunno. Would I go back? Possibly, if I really had to.