California '03 Pt.2 On to Vegas.

Wednesday and we drive north to Laguna Beach. It sprawls a long way up and down hill along the shore. But eventually we reach Broadway and turn left into the Canyon and find the Sawdust Festival. Six dollars entrance each and we are regaled with hundreds of little stalls offering all kinds of art and jewellery from the grossly amateur to the occasionally stunningly professional. Scott Moore’s orange crate art inspired whimsy for one. We'll get Orange County Anchor Man for Barb and Mike. Heard that the surf movie with Dale Weston was screening in Newport Beach on Friday so we ordered tickets. Can’t escape this man, it seems there must be a reason. Trinkets for the girls and bracelets for a protesting Sue and back to the beach. More chicken and snoozing.

Thursday onto the beach early. Peggy getting burnt by lunch so after the worst Mexican meal ever costing a staggering $100 dollars on the front at San Clemente we put it down to our one permitted holiday mistake. Sue took Peggy back and I rotated on the beach grille basted in high factor oil. Sue shopped at Ralph’s. I have a slight strain in the abdomen, which I put down to wave jumping on Monday. It would seem to fit the time frame. Let’s hope it gets better soon. Christy has phoned to say she needs to pick up some stuff. Spot of tidying up.

Friday. Cindy came round armed with a huge black bag of clothes. I offered coffee but she declined. I suspect the idea of watching children rummage through her dead child’s clothing was too much to bear. We agreed to see each other before we left somewhere. Lunch at home, Peggy needed to be kept out of the sun for a day with a burn scar. Drove to Laguna Beach and up Bluebird Canyon to Scott Moore’s house and studio which is a vision of perfection. To be able to live here and work as he does must be paradise. Carol his wife took our order for the Orange County Anchor Man and we agreed to collect it next Friday. We’ll place our own order and have it shipped too. Fascinating to see bits of his work all over the place with models that appear in the paintings. He has no outlet in the UK… Hmmm… Drove on to Newport Beach which is very yacht orientated on one hand with Ferrari showrooms and very low rent at the other with a suggestion of Clacton about it. Very rough looking crowd on the main beach. Starbucks and hung around the mall before joining the surfing throng at the Lido Theatre, a beautiful North Beach Miami style deco pastel job. A line of rough and tough old surfers formed and this good-natured crowd oohed and ahhed at the monstrous waves on screen in Step Into Liquid. The director Dana Brown fielding questions at the end. Drove back through the neon. Must get the screenwasher fixed on the Chrysler – surely a fuse – and pulled into Ruby’s immaculate deco repro diner in Laguna. Great burgers, if a little bright with four fifties classics permanently parked outside. Shame there isn’t a Biff Burger scene here. Typical of California to invent a copy of one when it invented the real thing forty years ago.

Saturday. Christy came round to pick up her make-up. So like Katy. A Californian version. Maybe have dinner with her in the week. To the beach…

A long hot day. Fi and Peg stayed home in purdah and we rented an umbrella and surfed and ate chips and sunbathed. Left at five. Eight down to the pier in a suit and waited and chatted for an hour then ate on the terrace over the sea. Preposterous apologies from the obsequious waiter for not having Fi’s New York Steak and her having to make do with a Porterhouse which would have fed all six of us. Crabs and salmon and brochettes elsewhere. Food I must say not brilliant. Too much fuss and not enough content. Also eating in the dark albeit with the surf breaking below us in the moonlight is not easy. Tipsy after a Chardonnay. Drove home.

Sunday. Sue not feeling too well. Stomach upset. Dozed around and had Alka Seltzer. Went to Ralph’s and bought hamburgers. Plan to go down to the beach at 4. There is a local festival of arts on in Del Mar so the whole street is closed off and parking is a nightmare. More success later I hope. And swam and surfed on an increasingly quiet beach. Golden brown, strong surf. Tomorrow, it’s Disneyland. Gulp.

Monday. Up up and away up the I-5 to Anaheim in half an hour. Parked in Timon F15 and rode the Lion King tram to the gates of Disneyland. It was packed. Thousands maybe a hundred thousand. Mainly low income immigrant families. So fat, so many handicapped in wheelchairs. These smooth surfaces are a boon for the less fortunate. We rode on the Haunted House and wisely used our Fast Passes to get on others through out the day. Rode round on the train had an indifferent lunch of chicken at the New Orleans Square where we returned for chilled coffees. It is probably the most sophisticated place there, if such a word apples. The afternoon wore on in queues for Winnie the Pooh, which was pathetic, but we saved the best till last with Thunder Railroad Splash Mountain and Indiana Jones. Avoid the virtual rides and stay away from Tomorrowland, which all of a sudden feels like history. Time has gone right by its once futuristic World’s Fair meets Buck Rogers style. We shopped for nightwear and stationed ourselves on a café table at the end of Main Street for the parade and fireworks. Exactly the same as before of course. Then waited for the throng to subside. There must have been over a hundred thousand in there, at at least seventy bucks a throw. Say a hundred dollars a head. No wonder they can splash out on the sponsored fireworks. Drove home rather stunned and collapsed into bed at eleven.
It’s over.

Tuesday. Up and on the beach early. Well by ten. Browned and surfed till five. Under sun umbrellas and munching chips and ice cream. Perfect really. Sue and I would like to live out here, but of course how to afford it. It may be possible to buy something small as a toehold. I shall investigate. At six thirty out to dinner at Linda and Rodger’s. A beautiful house on the edge of a canyon with a wonderful patio the size of a helicopter pad. Very high up so we were almost on top of the world. Barb’s other friends Mike and Sharon came too. A jolly very American evening where we learned how life is here. They seem largely unaffected by 9/11 and all the concerns that seem to trouble us so much in Europe. Out here life is too good to worry. They hate their present Governor who seems to have driven their state into debt. We mentioned our enthusiasm to move here. Their assessment of their own homes’ worth seems to fall short of current realtor’s prices. We would need to sell up completely to be able to afford anything remotely like theirs here. Home and bed as a meteor shower flared in the clear sky.

Wednesday. Still trying to contact the school by email to no avail. Shopped in Wal Mart and Staples. Hot dogs for lunch waited for repairman for Barb’s window mesh. Sue stayed in We surfed and sunbathed for an hour. Amy whacked on nose by board. Blood from nose. Lifeguards thought she was seventeen. Whoo Hoo. Scoured Realtors and viewed some dismal property. Better stuff on the net. Can we get it? Chicken barbecue.

Thursday. Beach all day. Rather toasted. Bought burgers at Ralph’s and stuff for breakfast with Barb on Saturday. No joy with realtors all stuff gone by the time I find it. It’s a fast game out here. We want to get something though. Move out here after a few years. I shall cook burgers then out to cinema? No, early to bed too much sun. Rodger phoned to say he gave me the wrong size T-shirt. They’ll come round tomorrow evening.

Friday. The last day. On to the beach till two thirty then back and cleaned and part packed. Fi and I drove up the glamorous coast road to Laguna, following a Mustang. Up Blue bird Canyon to Scott Moore’s house. Outside an elderly but spry dowager dripping Rolex and jewels tottered by with two enormous dogs. “Irish wolfhounds?” I enquired.” No”, she said in a frail and almost apparently stoned” They're Russian wolfhounds. Their coats are more suited to this climate than ours. They’re properly dressed not us.” We walked up to Scott’s front door, which was wide open, and there he met us. The picture for Barb and Mike leaning against the wall. We chatted in his studio while he showed us objects that appear in his paintings. He was concerned people wouldn’t like his surreal style. Two old women were heard to say $1400 dollars for that! Another customer placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders and said, “is that all?” We talked about the joys of scale and childhood. He explained that he had always seen object in the shadows. It reminded me of my childhood where OI saw model lorries in ceiling mouldings and enjoyed playing with toys when scale didn't matter. We paid for the print and drove back following a ’59 Cadillac. Bought lottery tickets and filled up with gas for the drive across the desert tomorrow. Earlier visited the DelMar Realty co and chatted to a realtor. CC Something. Use to live in London. Will she be able to help us? Must find out more about financing. Waiting for Rodger and Linda. Oh yeah when you drive North of Dana Point the area becomes much smarter. Makes the French Riviera seem rather ordinary, I thought. Beautiful all the way up to Laguna. Sue phoned Cindy and thanked her for the clothes. She was pleased they fit.

Rodger and Linda arrived and we drank and snacked on burgers kebabs and chips. What a great pair of people. Rodger offered to assist us in finding something stable to buy and would check out anything we found that seemed viable. Fond farewells at ten.Packed and snoozed then before you knew it it was Saturday.

Up early and washed and packed. Barb appeared at the stroke of eight thirty after a six-hour Trans-desert drive. I have a cold, which I think I picked up last Tuesday from Mike who was coughing. Very throaty and runny nose. Breakfast and chatted. Barb keen to see us move in and will help with whatever might turn up. Loved picture had to fight to give her some cash for utilities. Then off. Bought ice and water. Six hours on the road across the desert some of it breathtakingly beautiful some dull. But big and vast and seemingly endless until at four in the afternoon Las Vegas appeared. Shorter and lower than I’d thought. BY day like a dancer it seems tawdry and rather cheap. The imitation New York and Paris and Venice seem, well, cheap. Into the Flamingo and some nonsense about me booking into the Hilton and eventually rooms are offered at $50 more. I take them. Spend the next half-hour choked with cold and handing out five-dollar bills to every man I see to get our luggage upstairs. Out through the shabby pool area which looks like a scene from American Pie and across the street for a swanky meal at Spago in the fake Italian village in Caesar’s Palace. Almost impossible to find an exit door after roaming through thousands of casinos. Eventually out into the street where it is pouring with rain. Literally bucketing down. We thought it was an effect. Even the Bellagio fountains paled into insignificance. Nature strikes back. We crossed the street and got soaked to the skin. Hot showers and bed. Pretty Woman on TV again. Picked up where we fell asleep last night. How different this day. What a ridiculous place this is.

Sunday. Awash with a cold. Stayed in room while Sue and girls went to the pools. Wandered down and failed to find them. Hordes of brown young yanks lumbering in and out of the water and splooshing down slides. I roamed round and round both the lagoon and the Flamingo pool where I found Bugsy’s statue on the site of the original pool. Walked up to look at the Venetian, which is a bizarre near facsimile of the real one. Venice Beach would have been proud. We were appalled that one of the most special places on Earth could have been so slavishly aped. St Mark’s Square though was puny and instead of Austrian waltzes there was Huey Lewis and the News playing. Gondoliers punted by singing Just One Cornetto. Viewed the awesome car collection in the shabby Imperial. Some real wonders including a Pierce Arrow. Quite unbelievable. Back via Caesar’s again and had our free pull of the million-dollar jackpot. We filled in forms so we can do it again tomorrow. What is the point? Nobody ever wins. I wonder if there is a device somewhere at the checkout to seize the departing guests by the ankles and shake the last few coins out of their pockets. We plan a drive to see more of the town. I am becoming immune to the sight of endless ugly punters pumping machines or huddle in groups round tables trying to outguess the croupier. It is just an irritating aspect of this place, like walking through the clothing department of Marks and Spencer to get to the food section. I do not notice them anymore; all I want is to find the obviously hidden and unsigned exits. Usually I ask a simpering employee who curtly points in the right direction or grunts that it’s behind the escalators or round to the left along the side past the café. They really would rather I couldn’t get out and remain trapped in this perpetual twilight of clanging machines where day and night do not exist and there are no clocks. Men ogle my children and wife, law and order only exists here to guarantee credit worthiness. This is a security firm’s paradise. We are mere meat in the grinder.

Out past the karaoke on the sidewalk where dykes render I Will Survive to other square hip jiggling dykes and over the walkway bridge via two elevators and back through the labyrinthine casinos to the Forum Mall in Caesar’s for Wolfgang Puck Chinois. OK Chinese food but it all tastes the same after a couple of dishes. Manage to eat for less than $200. Return journey and almost manage not to get lost. They really don’t want you to find the door. For gamblerholics this place must be like a maze with no way out. Thousands continue to check in. The rates are lower.

Monday. Down to the lagoon pool by eight and manage to find six chaises. Stake them out. Swelter and swim. Still trying to shake this cough and cold. Seems to be sticking in the chest. Three hours of dry heat and vapour jets. One swim in the sun block laden water. Can’t see your hand in front of your face. Shower and plans to visit New York and Paris. Only a hundred yards apart of course.

New York was a transsexual called Gina’s cab ride away. It is a vast casino with a Coney Island type slot machine arcade above it sponsored by the wonderful Nathan’s Great hot dogs, shame about the kids being trained to gamble on the penny arcade games. No cash prizes, just useless toys. Across the street the swanky MGM Grand has real lions brought in daily from their ranch to prowl in a glass cage. Interior of casino like a thirties cinema. Beautiful. Paris though rather crass and yet another fake street with a sky changing from day to night every half-hour. In a boulangerie exquisitely rendered a cashier dressed like an extra from ‘Allo ‘Allo in a beret, striped T shirt and red scarf asked me for eighteen dollars fifty. “Surely you mean Dix huit cinquante?” I joshed. “What?” He drawled. Mon dieu.

Back through Bally’s and another attempt to win £1million at Caesar’s. Failed and noticed that the prize has to be taken in Caesar’s vouchers. How much longer must we spend in this place? Dinner was room service, then bed.

Tuesday. Down to the pool baked basked and bathed. Checked out, need to get deposit refund from Visa. Took Rodger’s route out via Pahrump and Shoshone then down towards Death Valley. Spectacular scenery all the way, pastel shades of the desert. And so hot - 45 degrees at times. Got out of the car and filmed for two minutes. In this hot desert wind you would need a lot of water to survive. Heaven knows how the wagon trains made it. Found a memorial to one. We seemed to be running round thunderstorms all the way but managed to avoid them. A few splashes of rain on the windscreen. Rejoined the I-15 at Baker and followed the outbound route to Barstow, off across the country to the west on the Route 53 which turned out to be a truckers route, endless eighteen wheelers coming the other way, fortunately. Across the Mojave Desert past Edwards Air Force Base which was set back out of sight from the road. Four Corners was a massive truckers intersection where north south meets east west. Up into the mountains to 4000 feet and Tehachepi where the Travelodge was a perfect stop over. Saw on the TV that Las Vegas has been engulfed in floods. We guessed the rain we saw might be falling on the I-15. Rodger’s route turned out to be our saviour. We avoided all the rain and saw spectacular scenery. We win. Vegas loses. Sue has image of ancient women still operating one arm bandits waist deep in swirling sandy water.

Into the Cattleman’s Family restaurant for slow but efficient service and rather chewy steaks. Two demi-flagons of wine and a giggly return to the connected rooms. This is a very nice place top stay. Sue restless night however. Annabel contacted Haggerston so Jenny’s results will be sent to us tomorrow. And now off to downtown Tehachepi for breakfast then on to the coast. Beautiful sunny day.

Great breakfast at café in Tehachepi, old wooden panelling. Descended to Bakersfield and spotted Old Noriega Hotel an absolute dump in the middle of an industrial estate but apparently the best Basque food in the area. North then west to Cambria which is a twee souvenir haunt. Staying at a motel near San Simeon, three minutes from Heart Castle. Cruised up to view the scene with tourists staggering out with aching feet. Tomorrow it’s our turn. Sat on a local grubby beach overlooking the gentle surf. This is no San Clemente. We shall dine in the adjoining Bar and Grille which has oysters and karaoke. And very good it was too. Washed down with a bottle of Wild Horse Chardonnay a local wine, which we’ve had before in Florida.

Thursday. Up and off by nine thirty and into the Hearst Castle for breakfast. Then off up the five mile hill by coach winding up past sheer drops to the top. The castle as they call it is spectacular; the pools incredible all of it made with imported materials and taking twenty-seven years to build. The balustrades and flooring often unclad concrete and the finish on the main house rather new looking unlike the Venetian marble or castles where most of the materials were sourced. Quite beautiful in places, the ceilings in particular from Italian and Spanish castles. The whole rather over loaded with tapestries and religious choir stalls and somewhat suffocating. The views though of the coast below stunning. What a place. But somehow sad. Great tour guide. I asked if Kane had been shown in the cinema here. Apparently not. Joseph Manciewicz had been a guest. I thought Welles too. Like Kane, Hearst had been obsessed with a childhood happiness where he toured Europe with his mother and saw all this stuff. Rather like Rosebud, I suspect it was his happy time that he wanted to perpetuate with all these artefacts he relentlessly bought. Sad to leave. Maybe another time we will take tour 2, which visits the bedrooms, and Heart’s private Gothic quarters. Hmmm.

Down the hill on the coach and watched the Imax movie, which rather sanitised Hearst. Drove south to the Madonna. Into the Pick and Shovel. All as mad as ever. Jenny got her GCSE’s from Ann Shapiro. One A*, 4 A’s and 4B’s and science as yet unmarked. Also her ICT GNVQ. Very good, I’d say. Better than I did. Well done Jenny. And out we go to celebrate.
The usual table in the alcove under the stairs, Dolly Parton’s table as it turns out. The pink leather, the gold leather trim. The lights and the band as before. MR Madonna came by twice. The first to bet me the price of the meal that it would be the best steak I had ever eaten. The second time to tell us how he would have built a hotel in the grounds of Hearts castle and had people allowed into the main building. There seems to be some confusion over how the State got hold of the site and Madonna has many tales to tell I am sure. He knew Hearst. Then Sue and I danced and then the children and I danced. Magical as ever, though I sense there are vultures circling over the Madonna Inn. When Mr Madonna is no longer here, I fear some corporate take-over will happen and either it will be bulldozed or at best sanitised by a Best western operation. His is one man’s dream and as Mrs Madonna had gone home early tonight I suspect the magic may even be wearing off for them. This may be the last time.

Friday. A good nights sleep and a Frappacino for breakfast. Out of the Madonna and south to Santa Barbara for a hamburger at Joe’s on State Street. Old fashioned and good. Back through the swanky mall, still too clean for its own good and then south to Santa Monica. Long drive and slightly lost around Oxnard as usual. Malibu goes on forever. Onto the second floor at the Holiday Inn and started the laundry. So much to wash. The sweat of two weeks. What a distance we’ve been. It seems like only yesterday when we were here. But we’ve been to San Clemente and Las Vegas and San Simeon. So many miles so much to see. Fi has my cough and cold. Out to the Ocean seafood again. Good, tasty and pricey. Drank a bottle of Santa Ynez Chardonnay having driven through those spectacular hills earlier.

Saturday. Out at ten thirty, slowing down. Hot dog breakfast at Tail O’ The Pup and into Beverly Mall for trainers for the girls then on to Melrose Avenue for a Starbucks. How cool. Up to Pasadena. Very like a small town with ‘40s style buildings and of course every shop you can find in Santa Monica. Housing all sorts in neat tree lined streets. Suburbia prototype. Back via Griffith Park. Observatory closed for repairs but views fabulous over Hollywood and LA. Back down Melrose to the Farmer’s Market off Wilshire which is a fascinating collection of creperies and small snacky restaurants and stalls selling transfers and nuts and dolls. And meat. Fascinating and great for a future breakfast stop. Back to Santa Monica down Pico, the easiest drive home. Showers and out again to 3rd Street Promenade. The Gaucho Grill had a one-hour wait so we hung out at the Apple Store opposite. So cool. Still no help with the feedback whistle from my iMac. Maybe it’s drive problem. A couple of Martinis and those excellent New York Steaks again. I would dare to challenge Alex Madonna’s claim that his are the best. I wish Gaucho would open in London. They are in Pasadena so maybe they’re expanding. And back for our last snooze in LA.

Sunday. Up and out on the bikes south to Venice. So cool and refreshing. Such a great Sunday morning ride. Coffee and a muffin at the cafe on the way. Usual freaks, one in a leather kilt. Whatever you want to do is OK here. People demonstrate the oddest mannerisms. One woman in the coffee queue stood back with a bike. I asked her if she was in line and she almost swore at me. If she wants to queue at a distance, let her. Down to the Venice pier and back again, avoiding roller-bladers and walkers. Handed the bikes back, gave the man a tip[and said “see you next summer”. Got a two-hour extension on the rooms and showered. Packed all into the bags and loaded up the Chrysler. Down the freeway to the Dollar return at LAX, where a curt assistant said I should write and complain to customer services if I wanted anything done about the non-functioning windscreen washer. I will, then. Bus to the airport full of Americans with huge boxes. We were first off at Terminal 2 for virgin. Stepped smartly past most of the queue as Sue was Premium and had the bags X-rayed. I had to remove my belt and everything else was pretty thoroughly scanned. I still feel if someone was keen to get something through, they could. Into Wolfgang Puck’s Express and wolfed a chicken sandwich and pizzas. Two Coronas, just to remind me of San Clemente, damn it. Already the memories become less sharp in the mind, fading like my suntan. A lengthy wait then onto the plane and up, up and away. Out to sea then circled back over LAX with views down the coast to Long Beach and almost to Huntington. Up following the road to Las Vegas we drove along and now we’re over the Rockies again and the sun is throwing long shadows. I have set my watch four hours on. I’ll do the other four hours soon, in a vain attempt to get used to being on London time again.

So what to make of it all this time? Well we’re definitely interested in buying a house out here but what can we afford? Sue and I are both happy to be retired out here in the sun. I’ll investigate what we can get and how to do it. It is good to be away from the cares of Europe. And we love being in the sun. I shall miss the light so much, I fear. It has been great this time particularly. Maybe because the children are older and enjoy it so much too. Four weeks is a good long time to be away. We all voted for the time at San Clemente as our favourite, though Fiona liked the flash flood in Vegas. Splashing in the waves and watching them break on the shore is the thing I love the most. I love trying to ride a body board and could watch surfers for hours. The cars interest me less these days, maybe because they are becoming more universal, though occasionally a '58 Ranchero cruising along the boulevards will catch my eye. I love getting to know my way around Los Angeles. I feel I have a good knowledge of quite a lot of it now and the routes through it back to the coast. Melrose Avenue was a favourite and the Farmer’s Market on Fairfax a real find. {Pasadena I am glad to have seen. I need to go into Griffith Park again and take the Hollywood Trail, presumably up to the sign. Next time. I am glad to have seen Hearst Castle. It somehow holds less magic though having got up close to it. The swimming pools however remains quiet stunningly beautiful. The Casa Grande is quite beautiful although inside there is too much religious woodwork for my taste. The leavening quality of the bottles of ketchup and the cowboy music saves it from becoming too serious. The marble cladding on the outside – never finished – so perhaps the origins of Kane’s “never completed, already decaying pleasure palace” – is too new and inexact. Rather like the immaculate marble of Venice in Las Vegas, it is all too clean. It needs the age and dirt of centuries to provide patina. I enjoyed the drive across the Mojave to Tehachepi the most including the fabulous scenery near Death Valley on Rodger’s detour. Oh that warmth standing beside the road in temperatures of 106 degrees. What a blast. Should have slowed down and taken in Four Corners more in the Mojave. Shiny trucks parked up everywhere a real meeting place. Vegas, well I’ve seen it now. OK by the pool if rather crowded.

I always wanted to come to California and now I’ve been twice I know it’s my home. Someday soon I’ll be back to stay.

 

 

Return to: Dreamland