LA Arrival

The story so far……..

In another world live a species of human unlike those that walk the same pavement as I. They have shares in wind farms, domestic help and travel in business class. I poked my shaved head into this world on the flight to the US and while welcomed by the amazing staff and pampered with great wine, comfort and around 150 channels of music, movies and electronic distractions, was increasingly glad of the noise reducing earphones. For these gems of modern technology filtered out the complete bullshit and whining the emanated from these otherworldly creatures. 

But the experience was amazing. Monica, our host, would not let us perform even the simplest of tasks, for a moment I thought she would follow me into the toilet. The supplied pyjamas were source of amusement for me as I stared with mirthful wonder at ladies beholden with their own image and comfiture then don these outfits only to then appear to be inmates of a well fed jail. The menu had items like duck, lamb, and seafood in combinations that excited while the wine flowed freely from bottles of Pinot Gris and Pinot Noir. Then our beds were made. Made for us of course and it was time to lay back, catch a couple of movies and sleep before breakfast. For my part, I didn’t have to wait a single time for the toilet, bugger any other comfort; this was almost worth paying the exorbitant price for!

Exit the airport in LA and start shivering! In a freak roll of the dice by the weather gods our 6am arrival was greeted by 5C register on the thermometer. We live in the tropics and have done for 7 years so back into the terminal to unpack undergarments and more t-shirts before once again attempting extraction into this supposedly temperate climate. By 7:30am we roll up at our accom for the next two days, the welcoming apartment of Chris and Kelly, fantastically cheerful, hospitable and great fellow couchsurfers turned hosts, in the heart of ULCA country next door to Beverley Hills. But it wasn’t long before we were counting sheep garbed in complimentary pyjamas.

The next couple of days were spent wandering the streets of West LA, a very interesting place to indulge in a spot of voyeurism. The bus ride to Hollywood proved to be a snapshot of culture. Here we were sitting on the bus behind a homeless man, wrapped in rags, carrying rags looking ragged. In the background a movie set-like scene of manicured gardens, curved drives sporting numerous and various luxury cars all gleaming new and clean in the crisp Beverley Hills morning air. As a traveller I try not to judge, things are as they are. My observations come from my own social norms framed within my home culture. Travel for me is about the observation of similarities and differences not the poncing, moralistic judgements of commentators. All things aside, this was one hell of a juxtaposition.

Hollywood proved to be in the grips of Oscar Fever as the red carpet was being laid down in preparation of the big night 3 day hence. A virtual forest if media satellite dishes had sprung up around the strip, the grandstand along the carpet read like a who’s who of the celebrity reporting media outlets as young security guards nonchalantly strolled within the fenced perimeter. But the locals were clearly unfazed by this, their own individual style guide strangely being an unspoken uniform. Ripped jeans, jingling chains and oversized earrings being the norm at 3pm on a Thursday afternoon.

Enter Spiderman. An elderly fellow wrapped in a bodysuit displaying bulging shoulders, biceps and abs that may have been authentic forty years ago. The original superhero on the strip he quietly bemoaned the incursion onto his patch by the new breed of underpants wearing buskers. With 35 years of personal history in the role you could see the strip regulars afford him the status he deserved, referring to him as ‘OG’ or ‘original guy’.

But its time to go, our quick stop over in LA only a delay in getting to the real adventure. So after working through the jetlag now we have an overnight flight to Lima via Mexico City before another layover until we get to our final destination of Arequipa, tired but hopefully excited to be in Spanish land, hasta la vista people!

A SLIGHT CHALLENGE – NO MOTORBIKE!

So the title of this entry might come as somewhat of a surprise to you as it did to me. The boat due to carry my metal mule to the new world sailed yesterday, however its precious cargo was left standing forlornly dockside, the unfortunate result of an administrative catastrophe. But upon reflection maybe I am not so surprised, but that story starts around a week earlier…….

I had booked the bike in to be crated up on the 11^thof Feb down on the Gold Coast, a tourist hub, not the industrial shipping mecca that might have sprung to mind for such a task. My shipping agent, let’s call him Peter to preserve anonymity, had arranged his man to perform the job. Now I am no stranger around power tools and woodworking, but for this first and most important of shipping endeavours that I am going to do in the next three years I though it prudent to trust it to a professional. And after talking to him the night before I use this term very loosely. Lets just say that the grossly overfed, ill-mannered filthy creature who greeted us the next day fit perfectly into my preconceived image of the man. To add insult to injury his ‘home’ put the phrase ramshackled to shame. Broken cars, rusted hoists and fallen trees greeted our arrival. But all hope was not lost as the innards of his sprawling shed revealed numerous vintage and collectable motorbikes, some in good condition, others clearly still on the ‘project’ self. One vehicle in particular a ’52 Ducati Scooter Cruiser caught my eye and momentarily distracted my thoughts of foreboding for my own machine.

In the end it simply was too late to change the situation and I left ‘zora’ with the fellow, hoping to once again be reunited with it on the other side of the Pacific. 

Skip forward past several reassuring emails and phone calls to ‘Peter’ to the date of departure for the ship which was to convey the bike firstly to Bussan, Korea and then onward to Callao, Peru. Just as Carlie was serving up our second last Aussie home-cooked meal, a delicious lamb roast with all the trimmings, our red wine indulgence was interrupted by Peter. “The bad news, mate, is that it didnt get onto the boat”, I was left waiting for the good news. I am still waiting for the good news. Of course it wasn’t Peters’ fault, it was the shipping agents. And here I was naively thinking that HE was my shipping agent. No all was lost, as of two hours ago and with only 22 hours before I myself board an outward-bound craft for the New World, I received a call. The bike will now go via Sydney, Singapore, Bussan and arrive in Peru only two weeks later than promised gaining no frequent flyer miles while I sit in exotic places fearing the next phone call from Peter.

Yea, it’s a challenge alright but there’s not much to do about it now but sit back enjoy the last Aussie beers for a while and get excited about flying business class. Now there’s fodder for the next blog entry…….

From the Australia Beer Garden,,

Mark