Los Angeles and Anaheim

It was well and truly time to leave Las Vegas after five nights of gambling and drinking by pools (who would've thought I could tire of that?!), and we boarded our bus for LA quite excited about going somewhere new. We'd only spent a few hours in LA on our last trip, but had four nights there this time, followed by the obligatory night in Anaheim to visit the dreaded Disneyland. The early morning bus trip from Vegas necessitated headphones, as for some reason the driver thought it was a good idea to play childrens' movies in Spanish on the many tv screens, while simultaneously blasting Mariachi music on the radio. Too bad for anyone wanting to sleep... We arrived in downtown LA mid-afternoon, and walked to Pershing Square station to catch the train to Hollywood where we were staying. I hate walking round with our luggage in tow because it screams 'tourist' and 'target for crazy people' and sure enough, most of the journey was spent attempting to avoid crossing paths with a dude yelling that he was off his meds and wanted to kill someone. No one else seemed to be paying him much attention though, so we crossed our fingers that this was standard downtown LA behaviour and tried not to make eye contact. At one point he did tell Sam he liked his badges though. Once safely ensconced at our apartment on Whitley Ave in Hollywood (another value-for-money Airbnb find), we set out on a quest for food, and discovered that we had fortuitously managed to base ourselves about two blocks from a wonderful vegan restaurant called Vegan House, whose meatless chicken drumsticks quickly became our new favourite. I decided to have a night in and make the most of the comfy couch and huge screen TV with free Netflix and catch up on internet tasks we hadn't be able to do in Vegas, while Sam went off to see Peter Murphy from Bauhaus play again just down the road.

The view from our apartment on Whitley Ave

The swanky zebra themed bedroom in our Hollywood apartment

On Saturday it was back to Vegan House again for lunch, then a wander round some shops in the Hollywood area, including the LA branch of Amoeba Records (the first of Sam's three trips there), and a strange little vintage store with a gig and gallery space above it that happened to have an exhibition by one of the guys from the Germs on display. It consisted of lost pet posters he had collected from the Hollywood area during the years the band was active in the late 70s, and was an oddly moving yet morbid show when you started to wonder if the pets were ever eventually reunited with their owners, then concluded that even if they had been, they would be long dead by now anyway. Sad face. The guy who worked in the store was another eccentric but extra-nice American character (we seem to attract them!) who was like a Mexican hair-metal Toddy, and who gave us some sweet discounts on stuff, and seemed genuinely disappointed there would not be a gig on in the space upstairs for us to go and see while we were in LA.

Not to worry, as we already had plans for Saturday night anyway. I'm an avid reader of Juxtapoz magazine (thanks parents for the yearly Christmas present subscription!), and one of the galleries that often features in there was having an opening that night. Finally, one of the many emailed exhibition opening invitations that clog my inbox from galleries I follow in the US could actually be put to use, rather than just making me jealous when I'm in Dunedin that I can't go. The show in question was a group exhibition called 'Shades,' at Corey Helford Gallery in Culver City, about a 50 minute bus ride from Hollywood. Bus proved easy to negotiate and for a mere $1.50 each, we got an impromptu sightseeing tour of LA into the bargain (contrary to popular belief, LA is not at all difficult to navigate entirely by walking and public transport). The exhibition itself was immensely impressive, featuring 16 x 16 inch works (mainly paintings) by 16 different artists, and I would have been happy owning almost any one of them. Of course, they weren't exactly in my price range (Vegas, why did you not pull through for me?!), and it was a moot point anyway given that most of the show was sold out even before the opening, but at least we got some free fancy beers. It transpired that the area surrounding Corey Helford was a bit of a mecca for art galleries in general, and a number of others had openings on that night as well, so we gallery hopped to about five different shows within a few blocks, feeling very arty and sophisticated.

Work by Tom Bagshaw in 'Shades' show

Work by Lola at 'Shades' show

Sam and work by Shag at 'Shades' show

Too starving by that stage to face a 50 minute bus ride back to Hollywood before eating dinner, we went to a Mexican place in Culver City that wasn't overly amazing (and they didn't sell alcohol!), but were at least well-fed for our trip back. Since it was a Saturday night, and since we had already started the evening looking at lowbrow art, we continued the lowbrow approach (although as I type this, I think that's just our approach in general anyway, and I question whether we did anything distinctly 'highbrow' the whole trip, or would want to), and went and partied at some dive bars in Hollywood. The first one, Loaded, didn't really live up to the divey reviews we read on Yelp, and just seemed more like a normal nightclub but with a bit of a rocker bent, but the Burgundy Room was just what we were after (small, dark, lit with candles, cheap booze, ouija board tables, tattooed bartenders and punk on the stereo) and we settled in and drank there till closing time. On the way home we stumbled upon Frank Sinatra's star on the Walk of Fame, so I had a bit of a Grandad moment.

One for Grandad.... 

I had heard that Melrose Ave was where the more alternative-y type clothing and record stores were, so we bussed there late on Sunday afternoon for a looksie. Lo and behold, when we got off at the stop, there just happened to be the best outdoor flea market I had ever seen in front of us, which is only held on Sundays, so we had accidentally timed that well. The Melrose Trader's Market was like the biggest, most eclectic vintage clothing and general junk store ever, and even had some stallholders selling records, so Sam had something to entertain him while I faffed about with pretty dresses. Unfortunately we had just an hour till it closed, and probably only made it round about two thirds of the stalls, but it was well worth the $2 entry fee, and I snaffled up a few bargains.

We then found a beer garden on Melrose that during happy hour, would give you a huge cheese pizza for free if you each bought a drink, so that was dinner sorted. Despite our late start, most of the shops on Melrose were open until at least 8pm, and we spent a couple of hours after dinner wandering along and checking them out. If Sam is ever desperate for money (actually, this may be a good idea right now), he just needs to take his studded jacket to LA and sell it on Melrose; there was a jacket similar to his in the window of an upmarket clothing place for $3000! Unfortunately his jacket hadn't accompanied us on the trip this time, so I wasn't able to rip it off his back immediately and sell it to the nearest extreme rocker type (of which there are many in LA, so much big hair and make-up, and that's on the guys). During our trip, I'd been on the hunt for a leather vest, which had so far eluded me, and at one of the last shops we were walking past, I spied a red one in the style I wanted in the window, so went in to see if they also had it in black. Success! After I'd tried the vest on and ascertained that it wasn't $3000, the super-friendly shop girl and guy then talked both Sam and I into trying on a bunch of new jeans that had just arrived in so that they could take photos of them for the shop's Instagram page. Our first modelling job, ha! We agreed when they assured us they just wanted pictures of the clothes and would take the photos from the neck down. An odd half hour followed in which we were given free beer and piles of jeans to model. And when I bought the vest, the guy ended up chucking the pair of jeans I'd liked the most in for free as a thank you. LA is weird. Tipsy and bemused by our new status as jean models, we walked back to the apartment for some down-time, and watched 'The Dictator' on Netflix. Apparently we can only take so much down time, as after the movie was over, it was back to the Burgundy Room again for the rest of the evening.

Monday was our last day in Hollywood, and it dawned on us that we still had a rather long list of things we wanted to do. Inevitably some had to be culled (sorry Santa Monica and Venice Beach – I was keen, but then we decided we could go to the beach in Santa Barbara a couple of days later instead.... which itself didn't happen, so a beach-free trip in the end), although we managed to tick quite a lot of boxes on what I think may have been the busiest day on the whole trip. First up, we got photos of Capitol Records and the Hollywood sign, which were both in the neighbourhood and we had walked past a number of times, but we needed photographic proof, dammit! We then trekked about half an hour to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery to pay our respects at the graves of Dee Dee and Johnny Ramone: Johnny's headstone was a life-sized half-statue of him playing guitar; Dee Dee's was less ostentatious but had more fan tributes and offerings, including the always popular beercans, cigarette butts and lipstick kisses. Even for non-Ramones fans or people uninterested in checking out the other celebrity graves (we were in a hurry and the place was huge so the only other one we stumbled upon that we recognised was Mel Blanc's, whose epitaph was 'That's All, Folks!'), the cemetery grounds were beautiful and well worth a visit, from the elaborate tombs to the 15-strong gang of peacocks who roamed freely through the graves. Apparently they also screen outdoor cult movies there on Saturday nights during the summer.

Sam and the Johnny Ramone headstone

Graveyard peacocks

Squinty Sam and the Hollywood sign 

Capitol Records

Oh and this mural we came across down the road from Capitol Records...

Once I tore myself away from the graveyard peacocks, it was off to the La Brea Tar Pits for what was a supposedly educational experience, but for us just involved joyously watching the ooze and delighting in the retro animatronic exhibits of - among other things - a sabre-toothed tiger attacking a giant sloth. Rad! I guess it was mildly educational though, as I did learn that the dire wolf was not merely the sigil of House Stark, and that rather than being invented by the author of Game of Thrones, was an actual species of wolf now extinct. Another one of those moments that makes me  fairly sure I have become increasingly stupider since high school... From the tar pits, we bussed back to Hollywood Boulevard and then caught the train to Vermont and Sunset to visit the shop Wacko. Unfortunately its attached gallery, La Luz de Jesus, was closed for installation, but the shop itself had more than enough gorgeous art books, collectable toys and other ephemera for us to peruse. The squirrel lamp I wanted was too expensive though, and in hindsight, would have been a pain to lug round anyway.

Oozing tar pit... Looks more just like a generic swamp in the photo, but smelt like tar and was black and bubbly

Animatronic awesomeness at the La Brea Tar Pits

After a Mexican dinner at 3 Dog Cantina, then a final visit to Amoeba Records for Sam, we caught the bus to Sunset Strip for drinks at the infamous Rainbow Bar and Grill, favourite haunt of Lemmy from Motorhead and other illustrious musos. Consisting of a number of dark little nooks and crannies lit with colourful fairy lights and blasting mainly rock music, it was a great place to indulge in some Jack and Cokes, particularly as it wasn't all that busy on a Monday night. It was pretty cool to see Lemmy's name appearing on the high score list of the card game machine thingy in the top bar, and I encountered the nicest and most honest bar girl ever; when I was buying our drinks, a drunk guy started ranting at us and I was distracted as I was paying. Instead of tipping the customary $2, I accidentally left a $1 and a $20 note on the bar without realising, and although the girl easily could have taken it and I'd have been none the wiser, she came over to our table ten minutes later and had me swap the $20 for another $1. Lemmy, your bar is all right...

Lemmy's second home 

Posing outside the entrance to the Rainbow

Tuesday: Disneyland. Sam gives the impression that I forced him into this, but his eyes shone like a small child's at the prospect of going on all the rides, and he became most disgruntled when I made it clear I would not be accompanying him on scary rollercoasters, anything spinny or rides where we would get wet. Yes, I am the fun police. Our plan was to go as late in the day as we could in order to avoid as many kids as possible, then stay till closing time at midnight. Seasoned laundromat users by this time, after checking out of the Hollywood apartment, we did a final load of washing before catching the train to Anaheim (the biggest problem this time was repacking my suitcase at the laundromat once all the clothes were clean; stop buying band t-shirts Andy, your suitcase is going to explode).

LA River, seen from the train on the way to Anaheim... You may recognise it from Grease, Terminator 2 and a bunch of other movies, as well as a Rancid song

Our motel in Anaheim was only a few blocks from the main Disneyland entrance, and across the road from a bunch of restaurants, so we took our time with dinner before braving the hordes of screaming children I was anticipating having to wait in line with for rides. We had the best pizza meal of the trip at California Pizza Kitchen (there were actual vegetables on it, not just cheese!), and indulged in some long island ice teas, in preparation for the fact that Disneyland was alcohol-free. Turns out we didn't need to though, as there was a conveniently placed liquor store close by that sold minature bottles of every spirit imaginable, and from where it was positioned and the knowing look of the old hippy dude working there, he did a roaring trade with the 'sneaking booze into Disneyland' crowd. Sure enough, the bag checks were laughably minimal, and we made it in to Disneyland about 8pm with a number of little bottles of Fireball and Drambuie concealed on our persons that we surreptitiously consumed along the way. 

Pre-Disneyland long island ice teas

The real saviour of the night though was the Disneyland employee we encountered after we got through the main ticketing bit. He caught sight of Sam's Inepsy patch and told us that he used to be in a band on the same label as them, and had been a touring guitarist with Dr Know and the Dayglo Abortions. He then wrote us out some passes which would permit us to bypass the long lines; forget hiring disabled people to allow you line skip, just take a punk rocker with you... This proved fortunate, as the very first ride we wanted to go on, the Indiana Jones one (which turned out to be one of the rides we liked most), had a 75 minute wait, so we would have been screwed if we hadn't run into punk guy. In quick succession we then did Pirates of the Caribbean (awesome!); the Haunted Mansion (even more awesome, and I heard a little kid ask his Mum afterwards “Mommy, were the ghosts in the Haunted Mansion real?” Mom, impatiently: “No, of course not.” Kid: “Is Jesus real?” Mom, stuck for words: “Come on,” and dragged him along sharply by the arm); Matterhorn Bobsleds (a bit too fast and jerky for me, I closed my eyes for a lot of it and missed seeing the Abominable Snowman who popped out at various points); It's a Small World (painfully cheesy, but necessary, given the number of things it's referenced in); Astro Blasters (you had to shoot at space monstery targets, and it took me most of the ride to figure out how to work the spacegun so I think I got the lowest score of anyone on the ride, including the three year olds); Star Tours (just a virtual reality Star Wars one, and kind of lame, but Sam liked it); Space Mountain (this was the one ride I had been quite adamant I was not going on under any circumstances, given that it was the most intense and fastest one in the park, but after much nagging on Sam's part and too much miniature bottled booze on my part, I caved in and bravely climbed aboard, and yes, it was horrible. I had my eyes closed for all but the first few seconds, and was too traumatised to even scream but apparently emitted whimpering noises the entire time. At least it was over fairly quickly); and finally, Mr Toad's Wild Ride (a slow, tame, kiddy ride, which was all I felt like after Space Mountain). I would have liked to have done a few more such things, like the carousel, and may have even been convinced into getting soaked on Splash Mountain after all, but by then it was closing time so we had to leave. 

Sam being a pretty princess outside Cinderella's castle

In conclusion, Disneyland was more of a success than I thought it would be; Sam loved it, and I wasn't as big a wuss as I had been planning on being. Going at that time of night meant there were definitely fewer kids, although we still would have been stuck in long lines for some rides if we hadn't been able to skip them, and I would even consider visiting again if I was back in LA. Thumbs up all round LA, you were pretty awesome, and those East coasters should stop talking smack about you...