Los Angeles, USA
Los Angeles was where I finally met up with JT after weeks of counting down, and there was this weird but great feeling of seeing a familiar face after so long on the road. We went straight to a Mexican place for happy hour beers, then sorted out phone plans at AT&T (the glamorous side of travel that nobody writes about), and took a walk down Santa Monica pier with cigars. Dinner was at Bubba Gump’s on the pier, which is exactly as cheesy and American as it sounds, and I mean that in the best way.
That night we went to a Wombats concert. Being Australian at a Wombats gig abroad always feels a bit odd — nobody else is quite as invested. I got so drunk I was falling asleep on the dance floor, which is a talent that takes years of practice to develop. The next day we did a city tour and one of those celebrity homes tours, where you drive around Bel Air and Beverly Hills while someone points at hedges and says “behind that fence lives so-and-so.” It’s absurd, but you do it anyway because you’re in LA and that’s just what you do. The hostel pub crawl rounded out the first visit nicely.
I came back to LA later in July for the final stretch before flying home, and it had a completely different vibe the second time around. Maybe it was because the end of the trip was in sight, but everything felt a bit more relaxed. I went for a run along Santa Monica beach, which is one of those runs where the scenery is so good you almost forget you’re exercising. Almost. Spent the day at Venice Beach with Alex, watching the bodybuilders at Muscle Beach and the various characters that Venice attracts like moths to a flame.
That evening I had beers with Alex, Lauren and Nicholas, which turned into one of those unexpectedly brilliant nights where the conversation just flows and nobody wants to call it. The next few days were spent doing beach days, finding good coffee shops, and exploring downtown LA, which is grittier and more interesting than the westside tourist strips.
The highlight of the return visit was the LA Galaxy game. Getting to see David Beckham play live was pretty special, even if the standard of MLS football was, well, a bit ordinary. The man himself still had that aura though — every time he got on the ball, the whole stadium perked up. The real lowlight was the public transport situation. Getting home from the game took two hours on buses and trains. Two hours. LA’s public transport is genuinely shocking for a city of that size. I’ve had shorter international flights.
I also managed to get to the ESPYs, which was a surreal experience — all these massive American sports stars in one room.
On the final day I did some last-minute shopping, got a haircut (wanted to look presentable for the return to civilisation), and had an Umami Burger, which lived up to the considerable hype. Spent the evening watching Mad Men, which felt appropriately LA, before catching a 16-hour flight back to Melbourne. Six months of travel, and it all ended with me eating a fancy burger and watching Don Draper. There are worse ways to close out a trip.
