"Los Angelenos,
To live in sunshine
Their funky exile
Midwestern ladies
High-heeled and faded
Drivin' sleek new sports cars
With their New York cowboys"
So wrote Billy Joel, in what has been described as a "typical eastern American view of the west coast." And that's the thing about Los Angeles - we've all got preconceived notions of the place. Despite never been within a thousand miles of LA, I still feel as though I know it, as do billions of others around the globe, all thanks to the magic of Hollywood.
It's also not somewhere I've ever clamoured visit, but as one of the Pacific's major transport hubs, there's always been a good chance of winding up there at some point, if only for a day or two - which is how we happened to be there in October. Our own arrival into West Hollywood is, on its own, a cause of massive celebration, for after being stranded for some time at the international airport, we eventually resolved to take a taxicab through the dimly-lit and seedy underside of the metropolis. Our driver, who we're sure carried a gun under the seat, drives at about 90mph, but this feels like the lesser of two dangers, and we're in a massive state of relief when he finally turns onto Sunset Boulevard, for what we've seen out of the window confirms our suspicions that this is not an entirely safe or friendly city. Los Angeles, perhaps more than any other city on earth, has a reputation for a "step on anybody" culture, where success is measured by wealth and property, where there are big winners - but also massive losers. However, our long journey is rewarded by very friendly hotel staff, and a spacious, safe and quiet room with a view over the distant city skyline.
The next morning, and everything feels so different. The threatening edge is gone from the atmosphere, and Los Angelinos are making their way - somewhat slowly - up and down the boulevard in their huge pickups. As we have less than 48 hours here, we opt for the hop-on-hop-off tourist bus, which whizzes around the main sites of Hollywood and Beverley Hills. Our pick-up is the nearby Comedy Store, a well-known incubator for many of America's top laugh-out-loud acts, and we are almost bundled onto the first service of the day, which arrives 15 minutes late, causing the driver to wave us on without even checking our tickets. From the top deck, Tinseltown opens up before us - the Capitol Records Building, Melrose Avenue, Paramount Studios - on an exhilarating ride around.
We are eventually deposited at the very epicenter of the show business world - Hollywood Boulevard - whose famous Dolby and Chinese Theater are known the world over (The Dolby hosts the Oscars, whilst the Chinese Theatre has around 200 celebrity handprints on its forecourt.) In front of them both, and stretching down the the boulevard in both directions, are the Hollywood stars, embedded into the paving as a permanent reminder of film, music and television greats. in my opinion, they've taken some liberties with who they let join the club, but looking beyond this, all the class acts are represented - Frank Sinatra, Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Audrey Hepburn, and Donald Duck. It's something of a pass-time to search the stars, and we find many, if not all, of our favourites (note to those searching for the great Bill Murray, his star is not to be found on the Hollywood Walk of Fame - something to do with him riling the establishment up in just the wrong way.)
In all honesty, there's not actually much else to do on Hollywood boulevard, so we take a couple of local buses and navigate our way to Griffith park, home of a famous observatory. Up here, the whole of the city - and, it seems, the whole of Southern California, are within our frame of vision. The observatory itself is probably the most interesting place in the city - opened in 1935, it contains a large solar telescope for projecting images of the Sun, alongside the deeply absorbing Foucault pendulum, designed to demonstrate the rotation of the Earth. Outside the walls of this scholarly institute, those who have made the journey up here are rewarded with the best on-foot views of the famous Hollywood Sign. Surrounding the entirety of the site, the scrubby, dry landscape hints at snakes and scorpions - although it was the dry land itself that was to make headlines in the weeks following our visit, when the Californian tinderbox went up in smoke, with some of the worst fires in living memory.
The next morning, our bus takes us down the never-ending stretches of Santa Monica Boulevard, to the beach of (funnily enough) Santa Monica. This is old-school America, its enormous wooden pier hinting at the leisure activities of an earlier time. Upon the pier, we're instantly attracted to the Bubba Gump Shrimp co. shop, a spin-off from the Forrest Gump film, selling all manner of T-shirts and other merchandise. The very end of the pier itself is another piece genuine Americana, for at America's very western edge, the pier marks the end (or beginning) of the historic Route 66, which once trundled some 2,448 miles from Chicago, until 1985, when it was officially removed (most of its distance having been upgraded to the great US Interstate system.)
Beyond the pier, we stroll along Santa Monica beach, although the weather is slightly grey, a little squally. There's good reason for coming here though, for this is my first ever sighting of the Pacific Ocean, the great body of water that will be our almost constant companion for the next three weeks. As for the rest of of coastal LA - that is, Venice Beach and the Marina Del Rey - they'll have to wait for our next lay-over in the City of Stars, for our time has already run out, and we leave in anticipation of our next destination, which will be altogether more exotic and extraordinary...
