And so, finally, at the end of the two week holiday we took last September that has now taken me FOUR MONTHS to blog (is this some kind of record?) we arrived in LA, for the briefest of brief stays.
Everyone told us we’d hate it, and I fully expected that it would be the sort of place that I would, but actually I quite enjoyed what we did and saw. Perhaps it’s because for the most part we stayed firmly put in one part of town, West Hollywood, and didn’t try to get around too much. Partly this was because, given that we were only there for two nights, we’d made the slightly ridiculous decision not to bother renting another car. Attempting to visit LA without access to a car, according to our guide book, is “virtually impossible”, but actually we didn’t do too badly. There was plenty of stuff on the Sunset Strip within walking distance of our hotel, and Hollywood itself, with its slightly shabby associated tourist attractions was just a 10 minute bus ride away.
[I’d like to make it clear, for the record, that the above was the result of random chance, rather than a concerted effort to locate it, but having spotted it, I couldn’t NOT take the picture, could I?]
Of course there’s more we would have done, given appropriate transport options, so much so that by the end of our two days we were already planning the next trip, whenever that may be (in fact, in the cab on the way back to the airport, I noticed that at one particular junction we were offered the choice between LAX to the right, and San Diego, to the left. I was briefly tempted to lean forward and ask the driver just to take the left and keep driving, but sadly I did not…)
The one time we could have used the transport, I suppose, was when we popped down to Santa Monica (and subsequently Venice) to catch up with some familiar faces, who were coincidentally in town at the same time as us in order to attend a wedding.
Despite the fact that a week of wedding preparations, not to mention having spent the day at Six Flags had clearly taken its toll, they put in an admirable show, with Rob in particular joining us for Coronas in the bar near their hotel despite barely being able to stay awake.
Our hotel, by the way, had been selected for its sleb spotting potential: hotel residents get automatic entry to the allegedly exclusive nightclub, which is supposedly patronised by the rich and famous. We popped in on both nights, but saw no one we recognised (although a woman who claimed to be a well known fashion photographer did ask if she could take Sal’s picture: “Do you have any idea who just took your picture?” asked one of her friends. We did not. And by the time I was back in front of a computer I’d long since forgotten her name and haven’t even been able to ask Google whether that particular story checks out.)
And that, I suppose, pretty much, was that…