From past experience I had expected Los Angeles to be a number of things; sunny, endless conurbation, full of strip malls, traffic congestion, Mexicans tending lawns, and lots of vaguely plastic-like people. It is all of those things. I have however enjoyed it, largely thanks to my friend Jay who has graciously let me stay in his apartment in West Hollywood and is making sure I have a complete ‘LA experience’.
Situated beside Beverly Hills, between Sunset Blvd and Santa Monica Blvd, his apartment in ‘WEHO’ offers a fine vantage point to view the well manicured and in bloom gardens while pretty people in expensive cars zoom to and fro. Seemingly carefree (and underemployed or not in need of employment) casually and fashionably dressed people, mostly younger men, stroll up and down Santa Monica Blvd. fiddling with their mobile phones or eating salads in the cafe’s that line the street gossiping about the passarela.
The weekends’ (at least in the summer) social activity centers around pool parties. On Jay’s suggestion we went to one in the Hollywood Hills above Sunset Blvd on Saturday afternoon. Ostensibly a fundraiser, it was held at a money manager’s house with a fine view of the sprawling county of Los Angeles. The white house perched on a hill, flanked by a canyon, opened on a pool deck crowded with the shirtless, buff and tanned bodies, vaguely swaying to the loud music. While actual swimming wasn’t particularly popular, there was a swimsuit ‘fashion show’, and a bad singing performance that mixed a female singer making club music-like vocal wails counterbalanced by faux-machismo rapping from her male counterpart. Jay’s friend Brian entertained me with biting commentary about everyone that walked by – just about within earshot…
We finished the evening in Angelino fashion by driving across the vast urban expanse to Venice for tapas. Jay noted the star of the Mad Men series at the bar next to us. He like everyone else in the bar was glued to the televisions watching the basketball game.
Regarding my bike, it arrived as promised at the Continental Airlines cargo terminal at LAX airport. I was given a stack of papers and we drove about 5 minutes to the US customs office. Despite an organized system of take-a-ticket and wait to be called (a relief after Central American border behaviour), and two ‘officers’, it still took 30 minutes to get from #32 to #35. The bored, professional, Mexican customs agents waiting alongside seemed to be quite familiar with this game. The border agents would disappear from the windows to their desks and not come back while every two minutes or so another one would walk by the windows and re-stack all the papers that were sitting on the desk.
When my number came up the agent was flummoxed by this novelty of a Canadian registered motorbike arriving in the US from Argentina. It needed an Environmental Protection Agency waiver. I pointed out that I drive it into the US from Canada without such a waiver anytime I want. This did not compute. So I was given forms that neither she nor I understood how to fill out correctly. I made up half of the information including the waiver number (which I did not have) and this was all accepted. I happily picked up my bike and drove back to Hollywood.
I left Sunday morning for the drive to meet Mario, Mike, and Rick (the three KLR riders I had met in Guanajuato, MEX months ago) in Hollister, CA. Driving up the Pacific Coast Highway is pleasant with good views of the ocean, beaches, and mountains – although crowded with slow drivers…










That is not the Oompa Loompa gate! That is the gate for the domestic pigs employed for sniffing your luggage for smuggled Oompa Loompas. If you brought some back, can I borrow them for a bit? I hear they make great chocolate.