A Pom and an Aussie in Santa Monica

After a fantastic day in Disneyland Bec and I headed back to Santa Monica. The days in Santa Monica were beautiful and sunny and the evenings balmy and relaxed. The night before I'd walked down to the Santa Monica Pier where the "Bubba Gump Shrimp Co." had operations and I'd gone for a walk around the carnival area of the pier and a Ferris wheel. It was there that I had my picture taken with the only kind of gun you're likely to see me handle- a fake in a toy shooting gallery. Check out my sneaky "I'm in America and I have a gun" look though. That was fun though I didn't win anything.

My evening with Bec was a lot of fun. I had admired her sneaker-shoes so much we decided to go to Sketchers in the Plaza area. I don't know what the Americans call it but Santa Monica has a outdoor paved restaurant and shopping area two blocks from the beach which is very similar to The Corso at Manly, Sydney. However, the Corso is unlikely to have some of the most outstanding breakdancers in California.

After Bec and I went to Sketchers and amused the clerk by me asking for "Princess Disco sneakers" (see photo) we stopped and watched the breakdancing. It was amazing. Not only the dancing but the showmanship of the three young guys who did it. They announced that they would do the first half of the show and if we liked it and everyone contributed to the bucket, they would do the 2nd half of the show "for free". Fantastic concept. Even better, that the last person to put money in would have the 2nd half of the show publicly dedicated to the contributer's hometown. It was great. Everyone wanted to be last so people kept contributing. Hong Kong won. Go Asia- Pacific ! The lead guy who was black had a great sense of humour about life in LA. When spruking for contributions he said "Give up $5 and you won't have to give up the plasma tv because I won't be coming to your house, pay $10 and I won't have to bother going to college". When a nearby ambulance sounded its siren he dropped to the ground with his hands on his head, making himself and everyone laugh. I was surprised that Americans were willing to laugh at themselves over the racial stereotypes.

My last day in LA was eventful. I had met Julie, a lovely blonde Briton with blue eyes and a cut-glass accent the evening before in the Mexican-themed courtyard of the Hostel. We had such a lovely time chatting that by the end of the night I'd convinced her to come back to Disneyland with me the next day. It didn't take too much arm twisting since she had been to Florida Disneyworld several years beforehand and loved it.

We put our names down for the shuttle and met the next morning we met and went to go meet Mickey Mouse and Friends. To our horror, the shuttle was not going. No shuttle was going to either Disneyland or the Disneyland California Adventure park. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday. It was St Patrick's Day. Both Parks were open. However, not a single person from any of the hotels in Santa Monica had booked to go apart from us. So we wheedled and charmed. Got nowhere. This was Hollywood. Nothing less than a movie-star smile and cash was going to get anyone anywhere and this was business.

So we pulled our heads in and booked onto a shuttle that was doing tours of the stars homes and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It was a great day out. Our tour guide had a great sense of humour, taking us around Beverly Hills where there are no footpaths, they literally didn't want to encourage visitors or people to walk in the neighbourhood and he successfully snuck the bus into a few gated communities. Most of the houses we saw were old Hollywood- houses that belonged to Sinatra, Zsa Zsa ("don't get mad, get EVERYTHING, dahling") Gabor etc. Whilst Madonna and Leonardo DiCaprio own homes in Beverly Hills, when they are in town they mostly stay at their residences on Malibu beach. Still it was interesting to be so close. Our tour bus driver told me it's actually the servants who have the best life. When you are live- in staff at a luxury mansion and the owner is away 11.5 months of the year, life is pretty cushy and you can throw your own parties.

Onwards then to the shopping mecca of the Western world- Rodeo Drive. Julie and I relived our collective memories of watching Pretty Woman and dropped into the Beverly Wiltshire Hotel. We were chronically underdressed for a drink at the bar (near THAT piano) so we skipped it in favour of freshening up in the Powder Room- Chanel No. 5, fresh 100% Egyptian cotton washers anyone?

Feeling like a million dollars (but looking about $200 combined) we both sauntered over the Drive to Tiffany and Co for the most delusional part of the day... pretending that we weren't scruffy daytrippers in sneakers and we could even afford Tiffany diamonds. The clerks left us alone, clocking us for what we were, the usual tourists who were trying not to look starry eyed. We did see a young couple picking out an engagement ring together which was sweet and a serious business- a big contrast from Audrey Hepburn asking to get her cereal box ring engraved at the store in the movie Breakfast at Tiffanys.

Julie and I met on the street, Mr Gregg Donovan Esq the Goodwill Ambassador of Rodeo Drive, a guide in a top hat and polyester suit- a colourful character paid by the City of Beverly Hills to welcome tourists to Rodeo Drive and to tell you that days' gossip- which star had closed which store for private shopping etc. He took quite a fancy to Julie and we had a brief chat before moving on.

The shuttle took us onwards to Mann's Chinese Theatre and the Kodak Theatre (where the Oscars are held). I was excited to see the stars on the pavement. Jules and I grabbed a Maccas lunch and took in the atmosphere- there was security and cleanup crews everywhere and they were laying out the Green Carpet (rather than red) for the premiere of the new Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles movie.

Now I haven't heard "Cowabunga Dude !" since I had pimples and Pizza Hut was the coolest new restaurant in town. I don't understand how the sequel concept could be stetched so far. Maybe I can make it back to LA for the premiere of Indiana Jones and the Gerriatrics of Doom when I'm 70 years old or Die Hard- Cryogenically Alive when Bruce Willis is 102 yrs. If you have seen the new TMNT (turtles) movie, are prepared to admit to it, and liked it, I want to hear from you.

Meanwhile there were anti-war protesters trying to draw the media attention in addition to some more creative enterprising types. I saw a guy in a low-quality Dark Vader costume carrying two plastic light sabers. He would offer people one to fight him and then jingle the plastic cup attached to his utility belt for money. The West Hollywood Police seemed untroubled by him so I managed to get them in the same photo moment.

After our brief run around the area so I could get pictures with the stars I wanted (see photos) we just made it in time to meet the shuttle. Onwards we went to see the famed Hollywood sign. The closest and best vantage point was very hot and crowded on an exposed section of one of the Hollywood Hills. Ironically it also afforded an excellent view of a star's house not amongst the Beverly Hills set we had seen earlier. David Hasselhoff. Yes, The Hoff, Knightrider, lives within clear eyesight of the Hollywood sign. Strange that he is now more famous in Japan.

Julie and I headed back to Santa Monica for a quiet drink in a bar and a debrief on our day.

I was really blessed in LA for girlfriends. I went there expecting to meet no one and have a fun time doing my own thing. I met two terrific girls and had a fantastic time.

Leaving LA was always going to be hellish. Not because I was sorry to leave (which I was) or because I was going back to snowy Calgary. It was the 3.30 am wakeup and what happened next that made humour essential and murder contemplatable. I like my sleep. I don't function without it and I'm not great with gigantic crowds.

I felt ill. Really ill. Running around like a pork chop for several days straight on little sleep I was like one of the oversugared, overtired children at Disneyland. I made it on the shuttle to the airport and got off at the United Airlines section of LAX. I knew I was getting on a United flight operated by Air Canada. There was a long line and little help there. Unfortunately by the time I got to the front of the line it was 20 mins later and I was informed that I needed to check in at Air Canada desk. It was several kilometres away on the other side of the airport after getting down 4 flights of stairs (escalators not working) with my wheelie bag and Calgary coat.

I looked out onto the curb for a shuttle bus. Intermittent flashes of panic shot through my heart. There was a very real possibility of missing my flight. Maybe I could live in Disneyland... Focus ! My saviour arrived in the form of Willie, a big black American shuttle bus driver who cheerfully let me struggle on with my luggage. He took one look at me and told me that God had told him that it was going to be a good day. I'm not sure how, but I just accepted it and hoped it was true.

There were some Canadians on board who were complaining loudly about the distance travelling home to Vancouver from LA. This was unusual in itself because Canadians seldom complain about anything as a people.

Willie took one look at my half- asleep face and recognising my accent said, "Honey, where have you been travelling?"

I could only respond in a singsong monotone, "Sydney, Honolulu, Vancouver, Victoria, Quebec city, Montreal, Ottawa, Winnipeg, Calgary, LA".

Everyone went silent.

"Oh, ho ho ! This little lay-dee has been around half-way the world!".

The Canadians didn't say anything for the rest of the bus ride but they were the first to help me off with my luggage and up the stairs, bless them. I was too tired to explain that I hadn't travelled all those places continuously.

Arriving at the Air Canada desk was like going from the frying pan into the fire. The self-service kiosks for check in were all offline so by 5.15 am there were about 180 people waiting for one open desk to check in for the flight back to Calgary. It was also the morning after St Patrick's day and I was not the only one who looked pale-faced and homicidal.

After making it through, American customs were next and I had actually woken up sufficiently to chat to an American man and his 18 yr old son who had just won a filmmaking scholarship to go to Vancouver. Nice guys and I wish I could remember the son's name so I could say, "I knew him when..."

The flight back to Calgary passed in a blur and my first real test of my working holiday visa came into play. I had not left Canada since I arrived and it was a little nervewracking as to whether I would be allowed back in. No problems. After Laura picked me up and brought me home we had a cup of tea and a bit of a "show and tell" of souveniers before I crashed into bed at 2.00 pm, not to open my eyes again until a cold, crisp Monday morning in Calgary.

I slept so long my housemate told me he thought I must've died.

"No, I've had the time of my life".