After years of gorging on the pap of pop culture, in the antipodes and the tropics, it's an exhilarating feeling to know that we've arrived, close and nestled up against its very teat. Its the cradle of pop culture, and it is sprawling. This is LA.
The airport is nice enough, somewhere between the tired of Londons Heathrow, and the well maintained of Singapore's Changi. The anodised aluminum art that rails the long hallways of the corridor from the gate that we landed at, seems to hint at cost saving, rather than deliberate avant garde. The immigration hall is long and it is full. Rather seems to fill quicker than anyone travelling for 16 hrs give or take a few, would prefer. You know what I say - any trip that's over 3 hrs, is a journey that should really furnish memory lane.
We line up with our travel documents, clutched in our hands, anxious and weary, reading and rereading to make sure that we havent accidentally rendered our nascent trip to USA irrelevant with information underload. A convergence of international flights have landed at the same time, and people are everywhere. We wait and are weighed by the TSA officers who watch from afar. I feel a little like it's the first day of school
The TSA immigration officer, with his nametag (Underwood) is a Caucasian, obviously job weary, but he's up to a bit of banter. Both Jacquie and I are at separate counters, and we come away with conflicting information about what cards we did and didn't need to fill out to enter the land of the free.
Luggage collection is relatively painless, but the line to customs snakes and we spend a good 20 mins sifting and shuffling before we both present ourselves and our 4 large pieces of baggage before another caucasian mustachioed chap who gives little inspection, but alot in his drawled effort to say thank you and good bye in Mandarin. He was earnest.
That could have even been his name.
Finding my sister and her husband is also easy enough, they are the ones whom have been waiting the one hour plus whilst we have been put through immigration cocktails at happy hour at LAX. It was busy at the bar, and everyone wanted the same drink - a long tall glass of L.A.
The car is parked close enough, and before we get a chance to load the luggage into the back, a low slung African-American chap who looks like the early 90's rapper, Coolio, with corn rows, and moustache, only shorter and far broader and wearing overalls that you could only call "industrious"swoops in and literally takes our luggage out of our hands, and has them packed into the car, whilst the four of us are simultaneously in WTF mode/half flight-fight and a quarter indignant. It was obvious that we didnt need help, so none of us offer a tip, but as we move to board the car, offering our thanks, he half asks/half berates us if we can at least spare a tip for coffee. Morgan proffers some small change, and he wishes us a godbless and safe trip.
We're away shifting down the LA highway. It's a slight disconnect to be driving on the right and turning at right turns. After a quick luggage unload, the weather has us a rather amiable jack frost, not quite nipping at our noses, but perhaps, its could be said, sitting down and having a polite chat with us, enough to remind us that he's here to stay, at least for two and a half months.
Cue hipster, busy vegetarian restaurant. It's a soundtrack of cool and the people are mostly white and informal. The service is good at Elf Café, and after waiting sometime for the table to be vacated (we could only assume that the four ladies hadn't seen each other for a very long time - and this being underscored by the four chatting outside with jack frost for at least 20 mins more - the food, as they say, was good.
A broccolini soup and a mac and blue cheese with truffle sauce serves as appetisers. For mains, two tarts (caramelised onions, tomatoes and blue cheese) for the gentlemen, a hearty tagine for Jacquie and a roasted beet dish for Claudia. Good food took time, but it was worth it.
We drive back down Sunset Boulevard, (cue man floating in pool for you movie afficianados) to Los Feliz, it being 11 something. The stores are far apart, - little bunkered islands many metres (or meters) apart. Its like a gigantic, fat lady wearing the technicolour dream coat with its many diverse food stands and cultures hipster accessories, laid back cool lay down on the beach and never got up again. It's a vibe, and it's everywhere.
