What do you give someone who has everything? Las Vegas.
Have you ever had one of those moments of sublime people-watching that keeps you entertained better than any Hollywood movie could? You know, one of those times when you are sat in a cafe, or pub, or wherever. You spot some minor drama happening nearby and for the duration, you are enthralled. Well, that's what Las Vegas is like 24/7.
From the moment you drive out of the empty, featureless Nevada desert up onto The Strip, you are under sensory attack. Flashing neon stretches into the distance. Giant monolithic hotels line the road, each broadcasting its' own over-the-top theme. You want the Statue of Liberty? It's there on the left. The Eiffel Tower? To the right. Arc de Triomphe? Straight ahead. It's a one-country shrine to excess.
But the first night we stepped out, it wasn't the neon that defined Vegas. It's the people. Maybe it's the heat that does it, dry and in stark contrast to the air conditioned casino interiors. It makes people loco.
The streets of The Strip are like the bastard son of MTV Spring Break and Patpong, Thailand. Pneumatic-breasted barbie dolls of indeterminate age jostle on the sidewalks with packs of college jocks, whooping and high-fiving as they go. Flocksof Mexicans hand out cards offering cheap sex to whoever wants it. Old and young pour forth from convenience stores, fast food joints and roadside bars, novelty oversize cocktails glasses in hand.
Occasionally, it all gets too much. You have to dash back into a casino to gain respite. But then, even in the early hours of the morning, you are assailed by endless halls of tables and slot machines, never-endind shopping malls and the most weird and wonderful things you could ever imagine seeing under the roof of a hotel (lions? roller coasters? the Trevi Fountain? Yep).
I am really struggling to get it all into a post that doesn't read like an chapter of War and Peace. Vegas is nuts. Brian, a fellow poker at my table in Planet Hollywood last night, told me the average loss per person in Las Vegas is $6,000. It seems unbelievable, but look around and the evidence is everywhere.
I'm glad we're only here for three days. Any more and I think it would begin to eat at the soul. If Roman Emperors could be brought forward in time to Vegas, they would see it for what it is. It's an orgy. Pure and simple.
Photos to follow, as soon as we can get access to a reasonably-priced internet cafe.
Click here for the Las Vegas photos
Monday, 25 May 2009
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Day 10 - The City of Angels
Ten days between blogs? Shocking oversight. Shame on me.
How do you compare two cities like San Francisco and Los Angeles? Well, let me give it a whirl.
First things first; context. The missus and I arrived in San Fran greener than a leprechauns' underpants. To the hardened traveller we probably looked as out of place as Mormons in a strip club. We knew no-one. We did the tourist things, like Alcatraz (cool, but one dimensional), biking the Golden Gate (brill but lots of hills) and getting fleeced by a Napolitean restaurant in North Beach.
San Fran is a seriously cool city. Its all impossibly steep streets, buildings with more character than Alec Guiness' resume and dingy little bars that positively order you to write poetry about showgirls and absinthe. It's also chockers with homeless people. Some are friendly, others crazy. We chatted to Jason one night about why he was writing Bruce Springsteen lyrics on the road. Still not entirely sure why.
I've heard it compared to Sydney. I don't see it. It's more like Melbourne with a huge bay. Like Melbourne, it's also a city that feels like the best bits are just out of reach. It's a city for living in, not visiting.
So, we drove down to LA. Along the way, we saw many faces of California. Huge sweeping cliffs. Low slung and windswept beaches, inhabited by elephant seals the size of your car. Redwood forests hiding Bigfoot, maybe. Then, two days and the best meal of the trip so far, we entered the Worlds' Entertainment Center. The city of freeways. LA.
LA is big. Seriously big. It sprawls across the land like a roman orgy. It not pretty or organized. Don't even consider not owning a car here. It's like someone took the idea for a city, plonked it in the middle of the desert and then flattened it out with a giant spatula.
And the contradictions! Fast food joints line the road in every less fortunate neighbourhood (no wonder obesity is a problem when the only viable economic option for so many is processed junk), whilst the opulence of Beverly Hills and Bel Air is astouding for both the scale and frequency. There is some serious cash in this town. Make it here and you've made it everywhere.
By any measure LA should be a vile pimple on the bum of humanity. But it's not.
Standing in the Hollywood Hills, staring into the haze below, I realized there's "something" about LA. The weather is always perfect. Amongst the landfill of broken dreams there are plenty that came true. It's full of some very cool, kind and damned talentedcreativecleversmart people. Sure, it's showy and everyone is a little too self aware. However, for all the new age hocus pocus, I think I get it.
Sat in the park, joining in the free yoga class, I came to the conclusion that LA is about "being". Be whatever you want. Be all you can be. You might not get there, but at least you aimed for the stars. I like that attitude. It sure beats tall poppy.
Then again, it may something to do with the company. As well as my esteemed travel companion, we've stayed at the (amazing) home of two of the most generous people you'll find. Ian and Samuel have been kinder than we have any right to expect. It's always more enjoyable to experience a city in the company of people who know it well. Even moreso when they are a pair of solid gold Rockstars.
Maybe one city really is better than the other. Who cares? Like the Melbourne vs Sydney debate, it's pointless. Let me instead just summarize it this way; we're off to a flier :)
Click here for LA photos
How do you compare two cities like San Francisco and Los Angeles? Well, let me give it a whirl.
First things first; context. The missus and I arrived in San Fran greener than a leprechauns' underpants. To the hardened traveller we probably looked as out of place as Mormons in a strip club. We knew no-one. We did the tourist things, like Alcatraz (cool, but one dimensional), biking the Golden Gate (brill but lots of hills) and getting fleeced by a Napolitean restaurant in North Beach.
San Fran is a seriously cool city. Its all impossibly steep streets, buildings with more character than Alec Guiness' resume and dingy little bars that positively order you to write poetry about showgirls and absinthe. It's also chockers with homeless people. Some are friendly, others crazy. We chatted to Jason one night about why he was writing Bruce Springsteen lyrics on the road. Still not entirely sure why.
I've heard it compared to Sydney. I don't see it. It's more like Melbourne with a huge bay. Like Melbourne, it's also a city that feels like the best bits are just out of reach. It's a city for living in, not visiting.
So, we drove down to LA. Along the way, we saw many faces of California. Huge sweeping cliffs. Low slung and windswept beaches, inhabited by elephant seals the size of your car. Redwood forests hiding Bigfoot, maybe. Then, two days and the best meal of the trip so far, we entered the Worlds' Entertainment Center. The city of freeways. LA.
LA is big. Seriously big. It sprawls across the land like a roman orgy. It not pretty or organized. Don't even consider not owning a car here. It's like someone took the idea for a city, plonked it in the middle of the desert and then flattened it out with a giant spatula.
And the contradictions! Fast food joints line the road in every less fortunate neighbourhood (no wonder obesity is a problem when the only viable economic option for so many is processed junk), whilst the opulence of Beverly Hills and Bel Air is astouding for both the scale and frequency. There is some serious cash in this town. Make it here and you've made it everywhere.
By any measure LA should be a vile pimple on the bum of humanity. But it's not.
Standing in the Hollywood Hills, staring into the haze below, I realized there's "something" about LA. The weather is always perfect. Amongst the landfill of broken dreams there are plenty that came true. It's full of some very cool, kind and damned talentedcreativecleversmart people. Sure, it's showy and everyone is a little too self aware. However, for all the new age hocus pocus, I think I get it.
Sat in the park, joining in the free yoga class, I came to the conclusion that LA is about "being". Be whatever you want. Be all you can be. You might not get there, but at least you aimed for the stars. I like that attitude. It sure beats tall poppy.
Then again, it may something to do with the company. As well as my esteemed travel companion, we've stayed at the (amazing) home of two of the most generous people you'll find. Ian and Samuel have been kinder than we have any right to expect. It's always more enjoyable to experience a city in the company of people who know it well. Even moreso when they are a pair of solid gold Rockstars.
Maybe one city really is better than the other. Who cares? Like the Melbourne vs Sydney debate, it's pointless. Let me instead just summarize it this way; we're off to a flier :)
Click here for LA photos
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Day 1 - San Francisco
American customs are supposed to be hard. That's what they say. They're supposed to interrogate you to within an inch of your life, make you feel like you have the GDP of Columbia up your bottom and a machine gun in your backpack. What they're not supposed to do is wave you through with a cheery smile and a "have a nice day". But they did.
Did I mention we got upgraded to business class? It's been quite an amazing few days.
From the experience of finishing work for a whole year to finally realizing you're not coming back this way for some time. Saying goodbye and trying to get your head around it all. It's been like trying to follow what the 'ell Russell Brand is 'awn abowt.
During the train ride into San Francisco, I couldn't quite grasp the surrealness of the situation. Like Peter Kay and garlic bread: San? Francisco? San Francisco?
So, we went for a walk. We stumbled upon a Taiwanese Barber shop quintet in Union Square and munched on Taiwanese tamales (aren't tamales Mexican?). We got accosted into buying almond chocolate brittle at the Port of SF (not really that hard a sell, if I'm honest). We followed the maddening tourist crowd to Fishermans Wharf to get our accents mimicked by a pneumatic breasted grandma in a jewellery shop with more energy than the national grid. We watched 300kg seals bark at each other from pontoons. We chatted to a yoga teaching space cadet called Amanda in a small bar on the water. She thought Australia was "totally cool", and to show it told us "Nicole Kidman".
On the way back we did some grocery shopping. Why would anyone ever need to buy a small bucket of butter?
By 7pm, it was all too much. Back at the Hotel Frank, it was all I could do to eat dinner before jetlag claimed me. Alas, there was to be no Saturday night fever for Stu. At least, that's what I thought.
Bless my bungled body clock. It's just decided that midnight looks enough like morning to justify a wake up call. The question now has become; is it time to hit the town? Hmmm.
Click here for all the SF photos
Did I mention we got upgraded to business class? It's been quite an amazing few days.
From the experience of finishing work for a whole year to finally realizing you're not coming back this way for some time. Saying goodbye and trying to get your head around it all. It's been like trying to follow what the 'ell Russell Brand is 'awn abowt.
During the train ride into San Francisco, I couldn't quite grasp the surrealness of the situation. Like Peter Kay and garlic bread: San? Francisco? San Francisco?
So, we went for a walk. We stumbled upon a Taiwanese Barber shop quintet in Union Square and munched on Taiwanese tamales (aren't tamales Mexican?). We got accosted into buying almond chocolate brittle at the Port of SF (not really that hard a sell, if I'm honest). We followed the maddening tourist crowd to Fishermans Wharf to get our accents mimicked by a pneumatic breasted grandma in a jewellery shop with more energy than the national grid. We watched 300kg seals bark at each other from pontoons. We chatted to a yoga teaching space cadet called Amanda in a small bar on the water. She thought Australia was "totally cool", and to show it told us "Nicole Kidman".
On the way back we did some grocery shopping. Why would anyone ever need to buy a small bucket of butter?
By 7pm, it was all too much. Back at the Hotel Frank, it was all I could do to eat dinner before jetlag claimed me. Alas, there was to be no Saturday night fever for Stu. At least, that's what I thought.
Bless my bungled body clock. It's just decided that midnight looks enough like morning to justify a wake up call. The question now has become; is it time to hit the town? Hmmm.
Click here for all the SF photos
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