Traipsing Around: Travel and Psychogeography: LA Non-Confidential

LA is a massive city and it is initially a bit of a shock! The airport is vast and tricky to negotiate, but people are very friendly and helpful (apart from at the information desk, ironically). I sort of got to establish by asking around that I take a bus to a certain stop and then get on the Metro and do 1 change. The bus was easy, but there were problems with the track and some diversions, which meant going in the opposite direction (counter-intuitive), but whenever I stopped to ponder, people would come up and offer to help, completely unasked! That was countered by the miles of suburban wasteland of small, tatty businesses, breakers yards and wholesalers, broken walls covered with graffiti and topped with barbed wire and ramshackle houses before we reached the City centre. It is really interesting being on a train with such a mix of people, some obviously with mental health issues (a larger proportion than you might see in the UK, it seems, but maybe that is just due to the large population). I had forgotten about the poverty and insanity of America. In terms of the landscape, it is a million miles from forests and soft, sandy beaches, but so far it is redeemed by the people.

Next day I collect my Amtrack rail pass from the very beautiful Art Deco Union Station building and travel back to downtown LA (7^th/Metro Center) with the intention of going to Rodeo Drive to watch expensive cars, but I see a sign for Long Beach and the train pulling up and I just get on. I descend at the end of the line after about a 40 minute journey and look for a long beach. It is harder than it sounds, about a mile away, initially past some white, square, dream-like buildings, straight out of a David Hockney painting and then past a marina. I walk past the many boats, including the still very graceful Queen Mary. The yachts are the culmination of someone’s life work and a salty eulogy to their tired but hopeful owners; Dream On, Milestone, Second Wind, Last Chance. Some names are more spirited and defiant: Desperado, Vagabond, Kontiki and Odyssey. Tethered rebels awaiting their next adventure. It is like watching birds in a cage or large predators in the zoo, without the hopeful hopping from perch to perch or psychotic pacing in frustrated anticipation of future new horizons. I sit on the beach for a while, but it is a little bit dismal to my eyes after tropical beaches, flanked by buildings and houses which follow the greyish-yellow sand into the far distance. On the train back a man stares at me for an uncomfortable period of time and then sits in the seat directly behind mine, tapping his feet loudly on the floor beneath my seat. He is quite big, maybe 6” or more, with long, straight brown hair and brown skin. He reminds me of an indigenous American. I turn around and say Hello. He tells me he is Mexican, that the Mayas were the personification of evil, that Europeans brought Christianity to Latin America and that we can all find redemption in Jesus Christ.

Hollywood Boulevard is an eclectic mix of souvenir shops, mini-marts, tattoo parlours, smoke shops selling cannabis related accessories, theatres, bars (the waitresses are beautiful!) and wax work museums, tour touts and people begging. The Walk of Fame is very funny, intentionally so, I think, where the names of the famous in music and film (many of whom I’ve never heard of) are contained in pink, gold lined stars which are embedded in the pavement, to be ignominiously and eternally trodden on by passers-by; a reminder of the intransience of fame, fortune and ambition. The star of Clarke Gable, just outside the entrance to a Trader Joe’s supermarket, amidst the strong smell of urine and cannabis made me laugh out loud. Humphrey Bogart is outside a vintage clothes shop, Charlton Heston is facing a Wells Fargo office building. There are also some interesting juxtapositions; Sylvester Stallone is next to Yehudi Menuhin, Errol Flynn next to The Go Go’s and Jamie Lee Curtis is two down from The Rugrats (Yes, The Rugrats!). Whoever says Americans don’t get irony is completely wrong! There is even one to Swindon’s own Diana Doors. I was surprised not to see stars for Phil Spector and Bill Cosby, but perhaps I missed them?

However, I do see one for someone I do know, a real blast from the past: Roy Rogers! He was the star of a 60’s Wild West show on TV when I was very young. Roy Rogers! Fantastic! I’d completely forgotten about him and his horse, Trigger! I’m disappointed that Trigger doesn’t get a mention (even though fictitious cartoon characters such as Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse do). Perhaps he has his own, separate star. Yes, that would be appropriate. I search but I can’t see it anywhere. No tribute to Trigger? I’m bitterly disappointed. Anyway, I have been looking at the map and thinking of the next destination. Roy Rogers swings it. I’m off to Dodge City! No idea what’s there, but I’ll soon find out. On such sometimes random inconsequentialities are decisions made!