TINSELTOWN

Flying in from great airports like Japan’s Narita, or Seoul’s Incheon, Tom Bradley International Airport in Los Angeles is a huge let down when you think of modern America. Throughout an eight year period of crisscrossing the Pacific ocean, TBIA or the airport sexier symbol “LAX,” seems to always have an area cordoned off for renovations with endless repairs, looking decidedly shabby and generally an overall disappointment when LA is your first port of call into America.

Navigating around Los Angeles is mind bogglingly chaotic. It becomes intimidating seen from this vantage point. Make a wrong turn and woe-is-me. So always go with Garmin Nav units that spouts out directions, in an English accent, Australian one, or the local SoCal accent. I prefer the SoCal accent, befits the surroundings, as Jeeves, the posh English one deserves directing me in Knightsbridge.

First impressions matter. First impressions stay. But before we put down and categorize the country on its front porch, a little foray into the 3000sq miles of area, every nook and cranny should be explored.

Traversing the length and breadth of Los Angeles along its eight lane freeways enough times, lost enough times, you learn not to be afraid of the NO-GO zones like Compton, East LA. You also learn that Beverley Hills, the swank area covers only a few blocks, and living on Wiltshire Boulevard doesn’t necessary mean you are in the high spots.

Marina Del Rey where I found myself residing generally termed by the locals as FOB territory – those (fresh of the boat). Real Los Angelitos apparently live further up the hills. Marina Del Rey harbors pricey boats, catamarans, fancy speedboats, expensive yachts with helicopter pads, alongside cheap house boats, weekend sails and small fishing boats. It draws the very rich debonair to the exotic style of living.

This is where I met Richard on my walks through the Marinas. He was lounging on the deck of his yacht, sipping from a red mug of steaming coffee. Moored to the east side the yacht will get the sun in the afternoon. As this was early morning, it was shaded and chilly. Yelling as I walked passed his yacht “Dandeana” “would you like some coffee?” A little flirty I thought, but turned around anyway, and was surprised at this Robert Redford lookalike, oops this is LA, lala land as they call it, it could very well be Robert Redford. As the retina focused a bit more clearly, it was an even better looking RR and less wrinkly.

Do I stop or do I go?

Tempting but the RR lookalike needs to wait a bit. If he remains on deck on my way back from Venice beach then I might take up the offer.

A short cut on Via Marina through Dell Avenue, Washington Blvd brings me straight to Venice Beach. Cow’s End, a juice bar serving the best grapefruit and orange juice just before you enter Venice Whaler beach is a must stop.

If you remember the Cantina scene in the 1977 Star Wars film where all sorts of creatures imbibing concoctions of smoky liquid, well Venice boardwalk is not unlike that scene.

Time warped, I could have been transported into the 1960’s hippie love & peace mood but its actually 2014 – the shorts, the tattoes, the skate board, but most of all the perverse sweet smell of marijuana wafting through as you walk along ingesting the sites and sounds.

Add caption

Bearded men, clowns, bag lady, hunky Baywatch life guards, hippies selling cheap bracelets, psychics, and many more walk alongside me basking in the sweet smelling weed drew me into the pharmacy with the sign saying “Doctor In house.” Life on Venice requires a puff to be in tune with the ambience, so I must learn to be part of the scene.

A twenty minute turn around and everything was visually enhancing, the weird people didn't look too weird, the grapefruit juice was just amazing, my hearing heightened, my legs didn't feel like legs, so I could have walked the 14 miles all the way to Malibu beach, or so I thought….

Venice broadwalk in the sunset

The afternoon floated into evening and it seemed sensible to walk home before the sun sets. Hungrier than I thought, the waft of garlic and tomatoes emanating opposite Cows End was C & O Trattoria made me cross the street, checked my wallet for credit card and walked in. The restaurant was rocking and luckily there was a free table. This place is every pasta addicts dream.

C & O Trattoria on Washington

Its carb, upon carb, upon carb….overhearing some loud American diner speak, “My answer is I will run 10 miles and do ab-ripper 90 reps afterwards if it means getting to eat an unlimited amount of juicy, delicious, garlic knots and eat a huge variety of pasta,” justifying the large instake with his friend.

Familiar tone of voice, I turned around and it was my RR lookalike sitting with a younger hunk – he remembered, “hey its you from this morning – join us please.”

C & O Trattoria - Venice

I did. Traded in coffee for a couple of glasses of Merlot. Somewhere in this picture is me with a plate of pasta.

You can’t have been to LA if you haven’t surfed the beaches of the “Bu” or partied in one of the beautiful homes in Malibu.

The affluent beach city of Los Angeles, is a 21 mile strip of prime Pacific coastline, famous for it is home to many Hollywood movie stars and those in the entertainment world.

A Malibu hideaway along the Pacific Coast Highway, belonging to a Director held a lunch party for a small gathering. BBQ and buckets of Champagne filled with interesting people and their anecdotes. This feeling can only be described as “pinch myself – I am here amongst the Hollywood set.”

There were lawyers, directors, producers plus a bunch of newly formed Cali friends. The conversation was heated on Obamacare and Scorsese's latest movie.

The prunes with bacon, the olive tapanard, the artichoke dip, was divine with iced cold bucket of Moet's finest. I did not want to be anywhere else in the world.