Wednesday 2 November 2016 / personal, travel
Los Angeles
LA. LA. I've been avoiding writing about it because I didn't want to turn it into 'work'. Silly, non? But I had such an incredible time, and I was scared I wouldn't be able to express that wonder in words. Especially as I have very few photographs to back them up.
It's hard to eloquently put into words why I loved LA so much. Had I been to Marrakesh, I could have talked about the chaos of the colourful markets, abuzz with mad collective energy and magical trinkets. A visit to Siem Reap and its ancient temples would have provided endless paragraphs on the sort of spiritual electricity that burns down the back of your neck and travels over your skin in such historic holy places.
But Los Angeles? It smells quite bad (though my sense of smell is mercifully dull). It's the dirtiest Western city I have ever been to, and I'm from Wolverhampton. There's no strong sense of culture or history beyond the entertainment industry, and even that stretches back only to the last century. I experienced more street harassment in my first half-hour in LA than I previously had in my entire life - and I've been to Paris. My favourite was the guy in the Spiderman costume who ran across Sunset Boulevard to catch me. Having stroked my arm while hitting on me for several minutes as I tried to enter a supermarket, I finally managed to escape, but not before he finished with this charming line: "Thanks for letting me touch you. I hope you'll let me taste you." And that's the story of how I was sexually harassed by Spiderman on my way to buy donuts. What a charmer.
So why did I love LA? Forgive the cliché, but I felt free. I had been concerned that travelling alone would reduce any avenues for adventure, but it only heightened my experiences. I'd never felt so instantly at home before, like my spirit was at rest. Maybe I lived there in a past life.
I kept being overwhelmed by the distinct sensation that I'd discovered what happiness felt like. For a long time, I've been convinced that it doesn't exist. Certainly not for me, anyway, and probably not for anyone else either. That at best, it's an illusion only a few of us had seen for what it truly is. But I certainly felt like I was happy in LA, and excited, too, at the realisation that it was finally my turn. I had never been happy before. My head felt clear. It is usually muddled, filled with cotton wool. But I knew what I would have to do when I got home, and it no longer seemed as intimidating. I was restored.
Perhaps I should elaborate on the things I got up to in California. I'm saving Desert Trip for a separate post, and there's going to be a "California Haul" post, as well. Los Angeles is home to some incredible vintage, which I wish I'd bought more of. It was 32c, which for a pasty Brit like me is pretty hot. It was too sweaty to wear my hat, which is a real bummer because I ended up leaving it in an airport restroom. On the first day, I decided to go for a wander around the neighbourhood, really get a feel for Hollywood. I always forget how long American avenues are, so I got lost quite easily - you can be on the right avenue yet miles away from your destination. In the UK, even if you're on the wrong end of the avenue, you're usually still only a few doors away.
By chance, I came upon the Hollywood Forever Cemetery without looking for it. Like most cemeteries, it's very peaceful. I've never understood why people don't like graveyards - they're just about the most serene places you could visit. The visitors are quiet and respectful, and the dead aren't saying anything either. Of course, it didn't look much like a regular cemetery. Hollywood Forever was beautiful. There wasn't another soul around. I could almost feel the hopeful energy of the young starlets who arrived in Hollywood to make it in the movies during the Golden Age.
The next day, I walked to Los Feliz. My destination was Squaresville, a vintage store famed for its eclectic, low-priced goods. I like to pick up vintage clothes when I travel. It's interesting to see how location influences styles from the same era, and it's nice to have travel memories attached to your clothes. The shop was populated by groups of well-dressed young women when I arrived (one of whom, an Australian, was wearing the most perfect silver tutu), though they sell menswear as well. The range was incredible - old band tees, dusty Edwardian jackets, exquisite 1930s lingerie and ridiculous 1970s platforms all occupied the same space, and at fantastic prices, too. I could have bought half the shop, but I was trying to be conservative about my spending so early on in the trip. I ended up with a 1970s Gunne Sax maxi ($28), a cute frilly maroon dress ($25), a pink lace blouse ($18) and a beautiful tooled leather bag ($28). I also picked up some cracking items of clothing in thrift stores around LA, but I'll save that for the haul post. For a sneak peak of the Gunne Sax and the bag, check out the picture at the top of the post.
I took a trip to Universal Studios, mainly to visit Hogwarts. I didn't enjoy the Wizarding World in Hollywood as much as Orlando, which I wrote about here. Either the Forbidden Journey was different between parks, or it just wasn't as good as I remembered it. At least I had time to explore the rest of the park this time. I particularly enjoyed the Studio Tour, which reaffirmed why I love filmmaking. Watching the pink sunset over the San Fernando Valley was magical. Getting stuck under a waterfall on the Jurassic Park ride was not.
The rest of my days in LA were a blur of yard sales, exploring neighbourhoods, following the Walk of Fame, watching films, shopping for camping equipment, writing by the pool and hiding from scientologists. Yes, you read that correctly. Long story short, I was sorta kinda tricked into going into their church, watching a propaganda film, and undergoing an interrogation before managing to escape. When I tried to leave, she kept saying I didn't really want to - I only thought I did - and that I
subconsciously wanted to be there. It felt like hypnotism. It was incredibly creepy, and now I'm considering changing my name/getting facial reconstruction surgery/moving to Namibia. I sort of want to write a blog post about the incident, but I'm still unnerved, especially as they have my contact details (major doh! moment).
So to summarise, I was sexually harassed by Spiderman, nearly abducted by scientologists, had my eyeballs attacked by angry desert dust (one for another post) and lost my favourite hat, but it was the most incredible adventure. Classic rock fans,
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