Apparently, visitors to LA like to see places like Sunset Boulevard, Universal Studios, The walk of fame, The Hollywood Sign, Manhattan and Venice beach, and particular shops… like Prada. Some might make it to the Dodgers Stadium, and very very very few, might get to experience an earthquake.
I was actually in bed this morning (Wednesday 29th) at 11.45, having had a late night, and with the intention of getting up about 10.30 to pack and shower as I’d agreed with Wendi to go to see ‘The Sign’. At first I had no comprehension of what was happening, then I thought (briefly) that the people in the next door room must have been having an energetic affirmation of their feelings for each other, obviously very strong feelings…pair of Gorilla’s with strong feelings… and then finally it dawned on me that I was on the 11th floor of a Los Angeles hotel in an earthquake.
The first thing that occurred to me was that there could be falling debris. I wondered if it would be better to get under the blankets, or under the bed, but decided that it would be really uncool to do that…and probably pointless. Can you imagine? The building is swaying like a ships mast and I’m dismissing strategies on the grounds of whether they’re cool or not! What was I thinking...that I was going to embarrass myself when I saw how uncool I was being? When Wendi and I were comparing notes about it later, I remembered this as being calm, but really, I wondering if actually, I’m deeply vain. I got out of bed and went to the window to see if there was any visible damage to the hotel. As I stood there, it felt a bit like when I climbed the mast of the ship that Daile and I went diving from in 2000. The whole hotel was swaying and the sensation was really weird. I couldn’t believe that nothing was breaking off!
A voice came on the tannoy (I didn’t know hotels had tannoys) to say that the Los Angeles area had experienced an earthquake and that we were not to panic. The voice was East coast and thick. The kind of accent that says ‘New Joysey’ not ‘New Jersey’. I wondered what he looked like and whether he was sweating. If I was a manager of a sixteen floor hotel and my office was on the ground floor I’d be sweating I mused, then realised that this was rich given my own location.
I decided to make coffee!
The voice repeated his strangely reassuring announcement and then again, in French. Given that the second language here is Spanish, I wondered whether he was showing off. He was fluent.
Time passed, there was no further movement, and I began to pack up my stuff ready to take it to Wendi’s room. Wendi called me after a bit, wondering if I was on schedule and where I was when the quake happened. I explained that I’d slept in. She was going to stay for an extra day, so I was to leave my stuff in her room. You’re supposed to check out by midday. She’d been watching the TV to see if there was anything interesting about the quake. The quality and tone of the reportage varied according to the channel. Some channels were recommending that you don’t leave your house…others were recommending that you don’t drive, nobody really knew anything, but because they’re news channels and because news channels have to communicate with the anxious viewers, they blathered on as if it doesn’t really matter if you know what you’re talking about, as long as you’re talking. In these situations reporters couch what they say in theoretical terms or quote ‘people in the street’ to pad out the pieces. They had a helicopter in the air looking for evidence of damage to buildings…but all they could find was a burst water main. Wendi was chuffed to bits that she’d been in an earthquake…the ultimate tourist badge for LA. The early reports of it being 5.9 were downgraded to something like 5.7. I have no idea what that means.
So we went to the big name streets, and to the sign.
This is 'the walk of fame' - a street that goes on for a half mile or so with stars every couple of metres. Needless to say, I didn't know who most of them were. This one rang a bell...
and this one is reserved for Josh?....
Getting to the sign was a bit hit and miss. They actually try to put you off the scent...but somehow I smelled it out!
I took a piss not far from where we were standing (after the other tourists that took this picture had driven off). I’d have preferred to piss on the actual sign, but Wendi didn’t feel like making the climb, couldn’t understand my motivation, and pointed out that we were running short of time. It felt like a rite of passage non-the-less and occurred to me that it would be really naughty and irritating to the yanks to alter the sign overnight so that it said something else. You could perhaps put a very large black bag over the ‘WOOD’ with white lettering on it, so that it read ‘HOLLYHART’. (My niece’s name) Imagine that!
On Tuesday night we went to see the Dodgers play the Giants at the Dodger stadium.
The tickets were bought for us by the guys that we employed to build the stand components here, Brett
and Bob.
It was utterly unlike anything I’ve experienced. When we arrived it was still full daylight, and the pitch was vivid green. In fact the place was a riot of colour and cordiality. We took our seats near the front, just behind the boxes. The family in the box in front were very enthusiastic and very serious about the game. In fact this is a national characteristic of Americans. He seemed irritated by the obviously basic questions that Wendi and I plied to Brett and Bob about the technicalities of the game. Its quite a strategic game, not dissimilar from rounders. They load the bases, make sacrificial plays etc. You don’t have to run after 3 strikes, and get 7 pitches I think. If you manage to not strike the ball for 4 hit-able pitches you get to ‘walk’ to first base. Rather creatively, they call this ‘the walk’. But to get a full round you have to hit the ball right out of the field of play. Quite a few of the crowd were wearing pitching mitts to catch the ball if it came to them. If it goes out of play, it stays there and the person who’s head it caves in gets to keep it. You might think that you’d have to keep your wits about you, but if you were to fall asleep in your seat and you were in a fall out area that took a stray ball, you’d be really unlucky to be hit as there so many guys around you all looking for the opportunity to catch the ball. One guy did a really impressive catch that had almost been hit right out of the stadium. He just sort of gathered it up. The way that the ball is handled is quite phenomenal. It looks so easy. They have a way of almost flicking it at each other, and it always seems to arrive at the recipient at midway between their head and their waist. The mitt allows them to catch the ball with almost no need to take the velocity out of it. This is quite distinct from cricket, where the fact that the catch is done with bare hands necessitates that you roll the ball out of its trajectory or suffer bruised hands. Very noticeable too was the sense that everyone was there to enjoy themselves, much as football was I imagine before people went there to have fights.
Around the top of the first bank of seats, circumnavigating the stadium (under the illuminated sign you can see) there are shops. You can get hot dogs (dargs) or (Dard-ger-dargs) as they are more formally known.
The atmosphere up there is really good. People are all hangin’ out, the cops are hangin’ out, the young fans are hangin’ out and the older fans are hangin' out.
You can get beer, bags of nuts, pretzels, hats and shirts, memorabilia and a multitude of other goodies.
When the ball was hit hard…everyone stood up and shouted…not cheered in that mindless way that you see at football games, but sort of passed comment….loudly. Under the canopy, the noise of this had the effect of making you feel part of something really fun.
There was no attempt to keep rubbish, everyone seemed to just drop all their shit on the floor.
This was the cab ride back. Spot the one looking through the front of the cab.
Hmmn.
Anyway, that was LA, and in the end I got to like the place. I guess its like anywhere. When you get know your way about a bit, and you get know some people, it all changes.
Here’s an interesting thing…. Ever since 9/11 every time I’ve taken a flight anywhere the security has been high. In the immediate aftermath, the disruption was massive. In a testament to the perverse way that we think about security, we normally become less worried about risk over time. That is, we rate risk lower after more time has elapsed since a catastrophe than less. I’ve been expecting for things to go back to how they were, especially since it all costs money, and the airlines are beginning to feel the squeeze. Never-the-less, some regulations become embedded and one of the regulations now prevalent everywhere is that you are required to put all of your liquids and pastes into a clear plastic bag that is provide before you go through security and they provide them. At Brisbane and Heathrow the security check is comprehensive. The driving force in all this one imagines is the US in its fight against terrorism etc. So imagine my surprise at being unchallenged about my toothpaste, deodourant, etc. No plastic bag or anything out of LA! I guess its safe to assume that they don’t really care if terrorists LEAVE the US with bad intentions? I never thought it would be here that I saw that.
When I got to Auckland, they wanted my stuff in the plastic bag. I didn't have one, so they confiscated it. Fab.
I didn't have a particularly good flight back. There really isn't much room. But what did it this time was that I developed a headache that I couldn't shake - no matter what drugs I put in the top end. When that happens, you can't read, you can't work on the laptop, you can't sleep...
And it felt a bit odd to be coming 'home' to Oz instead of Blighty, especially as LA is probably closer to London than it is to Brisbane. However, as we flew up the coast of Australia this morning, this is what I looked out onto.
I saw a line of whales under the surface, but couldn't get the camera to focus for some reason, and then they were hidden by the reflections on the water. I think this is Moreton Island because we passed over it just before we landed. The sun is out, not a cloud in the sky. All is well. Good to be home. :-)
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