Waking up fifteen minutes before the shuttle bus to the airport is due to depart wasn’t a good start for the Talbot Bros. A little pre-emptive thinking the night before had seen luggage and music cases packed ready for the walk out the door. A quick change of clothes into pyjamas saw us on our way.
Hank, the bus driver, was none too pleased, however careful persuasion served us well, getting us what we wanted. You would have thought a little 5am trip up the highway would have seen traffic light as a Great Northern beer, you would have been right.
The only jam we encountered was on the complimentary toast served by the fine staff within the Qantas Club. The problem with arriving early is having to wait a longer duration for whatever it was you were in a rush to get to in the first place.
The pros and cons were endless; obtain a few minutes extra slumber and risk the pain of a Tullamarine traffic hold up and the chance of missing your flight or force yourself to get up that little bit extra early, ride down the Tullamarine care free and wait out the four hours until your flight in an air lounge knowing that unless you fall asleep, you are guaranteed to be on that plane. Option B thanks Eddie.
We had to wait four hours within that Qantas Club for our flight at 11:00AM. Luckily the seats were comfortable and breakfast was complimentary, not that it was fantastic or anything.
I’d say it was a step up from the slush served at prison. Read through the Age and Herald Sun (both soon to be renamed Trump News) whilst Adam took his club benefits the extra mile, having a shower.
11:00 finally arrived and off we crawled to Gate 9. There she was, the grandeur of a Airbus A380, our vessel to the states.
The flight would take thirteen hours to complete crossing the international dateline delivering us at local Los Angeles time of 5AM. So we were leaving Australia on the 1st of February at 11AM and arriving at 5AM on the 1st of February. All Marty McFly and Doc had to do was fly from Australia to America, stupid idiots.
The flight was a little daunting given the sheer length suspended in the air however it did go at a gentle pace. Interest was maintained via reading and Westworld on the television whilst Adam worked on his stocks and spreadsheets.
Unfortunately, the sandman refused us a visit, sleep just wasn’t on the cards unfortunately no matter how hard we tried, a combination of a loud engine (bloody pilot!) and excitement kept us awake.
Arrival into America was at the LAX airport. And weren’t customs hard to get through. The journey through customs involved navigating a mile of roped off queues zigzagging the line around the room. Took half an hour to reach the first station, involving a scan of passport, fingers, thumbs and face.
After the rigmarole of the first stage of customs there was, well, more rigmarole. Another mile of queues was traversed before yet another station involving yet more scanning. Fingers, thumbs, toes, face and passport were scanned to within an inch of their life. These body parts were all scanned out!
This wasn’t the final station, no, we had to complete a quick questionnaire to clear us of any remanent of suspicion (even if our Caucasian Australian appearance hadn’t done it already).
The following questions were asked:
- Where are you staying?
- How long for?
- What are you doing (holiday, work related etc.)?
Answers of Tampa, Georgia, Orlando and LA; eleven nights and holidaying were deemed sufficient to guarantee the USA’s national security. And weren’t we happy.
Through the checkpoint we became reacquainted with our bags, relieved that following such a longwinded process they remained completing an eightieth lap on the conveyor belt. If we thought this was the final piece to the USA immigration jigsaw puzzle you would be wrong.
One more station remained. I could here the final lap music from Super Mario Kart playing in my head as we approached the desk. Again, the process involved a simple questionnaire.
- Where do you come from?
- What is your occupation?
- How long are you staying?
Answers of Ballarat, Australia; student/nursery owner and eleven nights again satisfied the guards. Relief washed over us, both to be allowed into the US and to go through the whole flight process without being recognised as the brilliant musicians we are not being ones to enjoy the lime light.
Los Angeles, the city of angels and Hollywood, tinsel town. The Talbot Bros hit the pavement running, finding their shuttle bus booked for cheap transportation to their Hollywood hotel, approximately forty minutes to from the airport in medium traffic.
Our driver was Scrit; a small, bald man of middle-eastern roots. A nice man, there was an undercurrent of brashness which announced itself throughout various stages of our journey. Don’t get us wrong, he was pleasant but geez he could be a prick in his own little freakshow.
We appeared to be in good hands, Scrit employing three navigational devices including a GPS, iPad and Samsung tablet to determine the fastest route possible to transport his eight customers to their various hotels. Each, however showed a different route and arrival time making things confusing.
Driving down the highway we (Ned, a student engineer) was struck by the infrastructure surrounding us. Material of choice was certainly the reliable reinforced concrete, a most popular of composite materials.
The roads were in a terrible state, cracked to buggery with horrible pot holes lethal to rubber. Scrit looked like a Bathurst driver dodging them like his life depended on it, and looking back, his life did depend on that rubber staying fully functional. Poor bastard.
Ned had the misfortune of sitting next to an elderly couple. It had been sixty years since enjoying their inaugural achievement, a birth certificate. Vernon and Mary were their names. What was it about Vernon and Mary that irked Adam and Ned so much? An investigation revealed the cause.
- Was it Mary and Vernon’s age? It’s defective, it’s never really built to last.
- Was it Vernon and Mary’s bickering? Its defective, the relationship corroded and decayed
- What about their family? They’re defective, all the batteries are shot.
- What about their hope? Its defective, its tattered and its frayed
- What about their god? He’s defective, he forgot the warranty.
- What about their education? Its defective, it’s a pack of useless lies
Their life was a lemon and they want their money back.
Small talk somehow turned to money, a most uncomfortable of subjects especially amongst strangers. Asked how much the shuttle bus had cost us, they were dismayed at our fare costing an extra $4 than theirs. Dismayed! Ned poked his head out the window to check the sky was still suspended above the Earth’s crust and was relieved to see its blue hue still there where it should have been. Ned tried to look disinterested in the conversation, but the money talk continued. How much was our flight? How much was our hotel? How much did we earn a year? Enough was a enough, thankfully Scrit arrived at their hotel before things got reasonably ugly seeing them bugger off. Nice people.
Then something strange happened. Scrit became possessed, volunteering to drive us up into the hills along the famous Mulholland Drive without our consent. Ours and another bloke’s hotels were within a ten minute vaccinity of current position however Scrit’s brain (if you can call it a brain) was fixed on taking us up into the hills, “a touristy route” he declared. The bloke, Tim, was shitty.
The highway weaved itself into the Hollywood region past the Los Angeles Oil Field, a 320 ha area producing 350L of crude oil a day. It was a strange sight to see so many dirks pumping away within a kilometre of the city.
America’s fuel prices appear little different to Australia’s own prices. The message boards at service stations read $US2.40 a US gallon, which is 3L (according to Scrit). A quick conversion see’s our fuel prices at $1.26 per litre compared to America’s $1.33. We’re winning!
Scrit’s efforts at tourism, though admirable, became a downright nightmare when we struck a mass traffic jam. There we were inching up Mulholland Drive forty minutes away from our hotel when before the distance had been ten minutes. His neck needed wringing.
Mulholland Drive was in a severe state, breaking apart like a brittle cookie. This looked to be a combination of heavy vegetation on the road reserve and the steep slope the road traversed. It was terrible to look at, bloody engineers.
Finally we reached the top of Mulholland Drive. The views were quite nice, it was a bit like de ja vu really given I had driven along these roads extensively in GTA V, a game based in a fictional Los Angeles counterpart. Scrit completed a u-turn and again got us stuck in traffic. Swearing his head off (under his breath) “shit, shit, shit”, we slowly crept down the hill.
Finally half an hour later, we arrived at our hotel. Scrit helped us get our bags out and asked, “so how do you want to pay?”
Adam said “I’ve paid online already, its all sorted.”
“Really, so is that all?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, so no tip?”
We had a tip for Scrit, bigger off.
Our stay at Hollywood consists of three nights at the Hollywood Orchid Suites. A humble hotel it will serve us well over our stay.
Given it was only 10AM, the brothers took to the streets and conducted an exploration of their vicinity. The famous Dolby Theatre, home of the academy awards each year, was within 300m, the walk of fame honouring past and present members of the filmmaking community 200m, the Grauman’s Chinese theatre where celebrities insert their palm print into fresh concrete 500m. We were in the heart of the city!
Was good fun inspecting the Walk of Fame and the names etched upon each star’s brass cover. Many people were doing the same thing, finding their favourite actors and snapping a photo.
The Grauman’s Chinese Theatre was also highly interesting. Actors, directors, personalities etc. are selected to put their hand and footprint into a slab of wet concrete before allowing it to set leaving a permanent imprint. Some were exceptionally old, Dick Van Dyke’s from 1937, Bing Crosby from 1932.
The tradition started when theatre owner Sid Grauman supposedly fell whilst the construction of the front foyer was underway. He fell forward hands first into a wet slab of freshly poured concrete. Thus it began.
The Hollywood sign could be seen from Hollywood Boulevard, a magnificent sight up on the hillside. Originally placed as an advertisement for the newly developed Hollywood estate, the sign was originally Hollywood Hills.
It was only recently (within the past fifty years) that it has been refurbished and looked after, for a long time it was left in a dilapidated state. Curiously the original sign said Hollywood Land, don’t know why they removed the “land” part but anyway, glad they kept Hollywood.
Don’t know if this is true but Vernon told me a story that when California’s government changed marijuana laws, the O’s in the sign were blnked out in certain spots to read “Hollyweed” from a distance. Curious little fact.
Our walk continued around the streets of Hollywood this time heading back toward the Sunset Boulevard. Adam needed to buy a sim card for his phone. This allowed him to make phone calls and use data in America without obtaining a mammoth bill back home. This proved exceptionally handy for booking Uber cars and getting directions to certain parts using google maps.
All this walking around had us feeling hungry. The streets were filled with the odour of cooking oil. Its unbelievable just how much food is fried in America. Chickens, potatos and beef are consumed in unbelievable quantities all from the bowels of the deep fryer. The sheer multitude of fryers creates a smog of oil fumes especially in streets with a concentration in restaurants and diners.
Buffalo Wild Wings looked to be our point of call, a large sports bar/grill with walls coated in LED screens and sporting memorabilia. Its crazy just how much sport is available in the US. NFL, NHL, NBA, Major League Football, Major League Basketball, College basketball, college football, ten pin bowling. The list is endless and it seemed all were on at the same time. People in Australia complain when football is on the television saying “There’s too much sport on tv.” This was something else. Would not like to see the power bill.
For lunch I had a steak wrap with fries (I asked for chips though was greeted with a blank look from the waitress) and a glass of Budweiser. Well, what I got wasn’t really a glass, it was a bucket. There was so much glass within that glass bucket that a fulltime brazier would have been employed to produce it. Still there’s never a big enough glass when it comes to beer.
A whole afternoon lay stretched out ahead of us and it needed filling. Down the Sunset Strip we headed, our goal to see as many sights as possible before 5:00PM when we would be heading to the Staples Centre to spectate the NHL clash between LA Kings and the Colorado Avalanche.
The Sunset Strip is particularly famous for its music scene. This we pursued earnestly. So many bands made their name here, Guns N’ Roses, The Doors, The Police, Led Zeppelin to name a few. Could the Talbot Bros do the same?
On the way we found an oasis is a see of hobos and bums, a drum superstore. Within lay Eden, a paradise of all things drums including whole drum kits from every brand known to man, cymbals, hardware, drum heads, bass drum pedals, electric drums, you name it.
Ned wanted a souvenir. Famous drummers are asked to produce their own signature series of drum sticks to use on tour made to their specification. These are then sold to the public. Unfortunately these sticks are hard to come by in Australia so here was his chance to purchase a few rarities.
Two names were asked for, Neil Peart (from Rush) and Mike Portnoy (Dream Theater). The store assistant, Titch, had both in stock. Hallelujah! We struck up a conversation with the Titch about Australia’s music scene and the great drummer’s he had seen performing in LA. There’s a lot of nice people in America.
Continuing up Sunset Blvd we walked past Tower Records where Axl Rose had worked as a teen before become a rock supergod. Up the road we found The Whiskey A Go Go, and Viper Rooms, two very famous concert venues. We inquired about a gig. The owner inquired how long we were in the country for and promptly told us they were busy until that date, very very busy.
It was time to head back to the hotel and prepare for a night of hockey. Our Uber driver was Mustapha, a little black fellow. Google maps informed us the trip should take approximately 40 minutes accounting for the heavy traffic at peak hour. Poor old Mustapha’s GPS must have been glitching, it took him an hour to get us there. The thing about Uber is the fee is fixed, you pay the amount through your account and that’s your final payment.
So the time it takes a driver to transport a customer around doesn’t affect the price. It is therefore in the driver’s best interest to get a customer from A to B as quick and efficiently as possible or else they’re just hurting themselves. Each trip is also rated by the customer on the Uber app meaning each driver has a rating based out of five stars, If you have one star, you may not get many customers. Well Mustapha hurt himself badly, wasting twenty minutes that he could have used to drive another customer around in.
Not knowing any of the rules we went in blindly, no understanding everything going on. It was a highly entertaining show to attend live, even if the hockey wasn’t necessarily that entertaining. Still amazing how they fly around on the skates and bang into each other. Some players got smashed into the wall however dusted themselves off with no worries at all as if it were a regular occurrence.
What I did love about the hockey was the organ that fired up at each stoppage and before each quarter. Leading into the start whistle, the organist played a striking rendition of Van Halen’s Right Now. Geez it was good, made the hairs on the back the neck stand up dead straight. It sounded so powerful and filled the entire stadium.
After each goal Motley Crue’s Kick Start My Heart fired up. The crowd absolutely loved it, Unfortunately for Adam and I, jet lag and the fact we hadn’t slept for 48 hours finally caught up with us. For the first time ever, we were falling asleep at a professional sporting match. To avoid embarrassment we head home at ¾ time for bed.
Starting the day in Australia and finishing in the United States, we had experienced a forty hour 1st of February. The trip was off to a great start.
