The Mecca of Body Building
Who says that tough guys don’t have a sense of humour?
Full English, No Beef.
Last week I spent three near perfect days in London. Previous trips back had for some reason been tinged with vague animosity; stress, the intenseness of a city I was in the process of leaving behind, Christmas. But last week (on a trip that had meant to be longer), I ticked multiple boxes and felt like a legitimate tourist.
An afternoon with Mum, a curry on brick lane, Shoreditch House, mates, breakfast in Borough Market, cabbies, piss beer and real bacon. The Shard is nearly built, the rain broke for two days of almost blue skies and England seems prepped for a Jubilant and Olympic summer. God bless.
More Number Plate Nonsense
There was a time and a place when this would have been really, really cool.
Dam! Bridge!
15 miles out of Sin City is the Hoover Dam, built in 1936 to pull power from Lake Mead. On the border between Nevada and Arizona, two years ago they finished a bypass of the precarious dam road, called the Pat Tillman memorial bridge. Both amazing structures spanning an amazing space. Not one for the vertigo.
The Original Sin
A visit from a couple of old friends from home gave an excuse for a road trip across the Mojave and a few days in Las Vegas.
Whenever I have been to Vegas in the past (usually business, not pleasure) I have stayed on and around The Strip; the mile or so long neon rabbit warren of interlocked megahotels, casinos and attractions. But before The Strip became The Destination, there was Fremont Street and Downtown.
If each of Vegas’s casino’s can be read like a chapter in a book of 20th century materialism, those Downtown speak to a seedier pioneer-town era. The first casinos there popped up shortly after gambling was legalised in 1931 and old time sin city grew around them over the next 40 years. Today, it is were the not so high rollers come for a good time; the drinks are cheaper minimum bets lower. But it still has an edgy historic feel, the smell of century of winners and losers and the fact that during those times the doors of many businesses have never closed.
We went to one of the more famous casinos, the Golden Nugget to play roulette. Here, the minimum bet as as low as $1 (on the strip the minimums are usually $10) and cashing in $20 we were handed a stack of worn, grubby chips to place on the dusty felt. (As it turned out the condition of the table had no effect on our luck — I ended up winning $80 on the stake of $20, despite being quite, quite drunk on similarly second rate bourbon.)
Downtown is home to many larger than life attractions. One hotel has a water slide through a shark tank, prime steak and seafood dinners are ubiquitously advertised for prices too low to be economically viable and there is a restaurant called the Heart Attack Grill.
The Heart Attack Grill is a perfect metaphor for Vegas’s love of crossing a line for effect. Everything on the menu is a tribute to the super calorific and the artery clogging; the waitresses wear nurses outfits, customers don surgical robes before eating. It holds the Guinness World record for the highest calorie burger; a 4 burger bacon sandwich; a reported 9,983 calories. Most grotesquely the restaurant has an industrial scale outside it for customers to weigh themselves. If you are over 350lbs (as one gentleman was when we were there — and not uncommon in Vegas), you eat for free. Small wonder then, that a number of people have collapsed whilst dining; some from actual heart attacks over the last few years.
How Much?
A fetish car for LA anglophiles and a simple case of supply and demand. I have seen these on Autotrader.co.uk for under a thousand quid. (Mind you, I can get a 1960’s Mustang for about $10,000.)
Raw-Enforcement
While most of the US seems not to question the economics and provenance of their food here on the Westside of LA, picky eating is a way of life.
Vegetarianism, veganism, raw foodism, super foodies, gluten frees; we live opposite one of the biggest Wholefoods in California, so we are privileged to see this ultra faddism and their foodie subcultures in all of their glory. Everything Wholefoods sells is batch brewed, locally sourced, hand reared by bearded types and horribly expensive.
But even then, there are those for whom the sustainably farmed cornucopia of Wholefoods still too mainstream. For those guys, there was Rawsome.
When we first arrived in the neighbourhood, we poked our head around the corrugated iron walls of Rawsome (a block from WF, opposite our flat) and were instantly greeted with the sort of rudeness and suspicion that you’d exepect from a central London bouncer. A few more questions (before we were eventually shoed off the premises) revealed that Rawsome was a private fruit and veg cooperative. For 12 bucks a month, they let you in and you could buy your pick of eggs, honey and oddly shaped fruit and veg from selected farms around LA.
Rawsome would be open at odd hours, but whenever the door was ajar, punters would be inside, filling canvas bags. But one day, there was a dramatic raid Rawsome got shut down. The charge? Selling raw (unpasturised) milk
Considering the marauding homeless, the semi legal weed, the gangs and the fact there have been 3 shootings on our block in 9 months, I always felt that the local police would have a pretty common sense approach to enforcing the law. But it looked like someone really had it in for Rawsome. Conspiracy theorists abounded and missives posted to the padlocked door kept members up to date. The owner was in prison, awaiting trial on $123,000 bail. The corrugated structure became the canvas for protest, with locals daubing messages of support and anger.
The popular support gave hope, but last week, the demolition crews moved in and razed the plot. Once again, the only source of fresh greens is the local Wholefoods (and the six or so marijuana dispensaries within walking distance). For the pasteurisation community, normalcy has been resumed.
Visit Great Britain: It Has History
This week I saw an ad by the British Tourism Board as I was heading the LAX. It is interesting to see how the UK sells itself abroad.
Yes, Heritage may be Great, (the ad, a good dig at LA’s lack thereof), but even after a few rounds of photoshopping Sussex’s beautiful Bodiam Castle, California’s skies remain a much more pleasing blue.
A Bad Workman…
It has been a while since I have been surfing. If you have taken the time to read the below post you’ll see it has been a while since I have done a lot of things. Anyway, you have heard my excuses.
But compounding this, when I did have more time, I didn’t make much progress. Yes, there was the accident but to be honest, that didn’t put me off.. that day I was actually having a lot of fun and left the ocean quite inspired (if bleeding heavily).
No, it is more that a case of not doing it often enough and then not giving myself a break (e.g. a lesson, advice from anyone, driving to a better spot to find more forgiving waves than those directly infront of our house etc).
So I did what any bad workman would do. Blamed it on the board.
I suppose this is not strictly true; more that a couple of guys at work had put in an order for a few boards from a local shaper in Oxnard that were”perfect for learners”. I always knew that the board have owned since my second day in LA had been bought without much research (I was a little excited, fresh off the boat and I thought I would be a natural surfer). So when the opportunity to try something new, lighter and potentially more forgiving came my way, I took it home (on loan) and covered it in wax.
It’s debut is before work this Friday. I will let you know how we get on.
2012: The End of the Begining
Regular readers of this journal may have noticed that over the last few months, updates have become….well, less frequent. It was something enquired about by my father over dinner a few nights ago. “Have you begun to give up on your blog?”. (This if course is not what he said; his tone and request was much less terse. More I suppose, what I heard.)
“Do you know how much time I have had to write since the beginning of the year?”, came the (very) terse reply. He had clearly hit a nerve.
When I first arrived in LA, everything was a bit of a novelty; I had to stop myself from blogging more than 3 times a week; partly out of a need to define a relevant tone (so as not to bore you senseless); but also so that I had something left to write about the next week. But, over time life kicks in, the novel becomes the mundane, it is inevitable. But with a singular mission to document this acculturation, this cannot, and is not the excuse.
My real excuse instead has been one I utterly hate from others. Lack of time.
This morning my parents (who had been visiting over the last week) said good bye and left on a short road trip up to Big Sur. Their trip overlapped on the front end with with a 10 day stint with Mrs Hirst’s parents which had overlapped with my trip to Istanbul. This had overlapped with my sister staying for 10 days, which before it had overlapped with my week in SXSW. This overlapped with Mrs Hirst’s trip to China which overlapped with my trip to Alaska, which butted up against our trip to Hawaii right a the beginning of February (I had missed the end of January — Mrs Hirst’s birthday — I had been in Austria). You get the picture. I estimate that (excluding tonight), Mrs Hirst and I have spent less than 5 nights at home in LA, together, alone since January 1.
This isn’t a complaint. I would like to be a little less busy, sure. But for the most part I have been blessed with visits from people I love and been pre-occupied by a collection of things that I never thought I would do in my lifetime, much less in the first 3 months of a year.
To add to this, it is tax season (filing in two countries). I have been promoted at work, (Mr Director, good, but..). Oh, and I am trying to run 1000 miles over the course of 2012 (230 miles to date. Again good, but..).
In conclusion Dear Reader, please do not feel neglected. Living here no less stimulating, the reward of writing no less rewarding.
You see, whilst it was sad to wave my parents away.. (and while after two days at home we have a trip to Coachella booked for this weekend, so no rest..), I feel I have reached the End of the Beginning of 2012.
I hope the start of the year has been kind to you and we can enjoy the rest of it together.
From the Sublime to the Hapless
More on the curiously incongruent Turkish Airlines. Their lounge was like Soho House, their endorsements were world class… but there was something so very Basil Fawltey about the whole thing.. Okay, I’ll shut up now.
Istanbul is Cool
Istanbul. A central place for a meeting if most of the attendees are based around Europe. Less convenient if you are an outlier based on the West Coast. So after lunch with friends last Sunday, Mrs Hirst took me to LAX where I boarded a 14 hour flight to Istanbul.
Turkish Airlines have just started a direct flight to Istanbul from LA (yes, that is a long haul). To celebrate, they are running ad campaigns featuring global sports stars from Manchester United, Barcelona, Kobe Bryant (and others) in what feels like an attempt to convince potential passengers of their worldly sophistication. But the experience wasn’t quite there. While the first class cabin was pretty snazzy, the safety video featuring a hapless Rooney and co (The Superstars of Manchester United.. Ker-ching!) was utterly tragic and the overall service was much more Fawltey Towers than a sleek global carrier. I think that they are still getting to grips with the new route. Anyway, it kept me amused. But I digress.
People rave about “Istan-cool” and it is easy to see why. It has all he chaos and history you’d expect with an ancient city rooted to the cusp of Europe and Asia; a vast rabbit warren of shops, apartment blocks, the constant drone of the Imams and scent of sweet tabacco. But unlike say, Morocco (or even further east), it has amazing level of first world sophistication. Amongst traditional bazaars and fuit stands are hidden high end restaurants, bars, lounges and hotels with amazing understatement, much more on a level with of New York than say even London or Paris.
I spent three days there in meetings, boated on the Bosporus, saw belly dancers and ate some of the best food I have had in a long time, before getting back on the plane to LA. I am looking forward to coming back and exploring more. However, the chaotic security check points just to get into Istanbul Airport remind you that Turkey, despite its growing reputation, but sharing borders with Syria and Iraq is not yet as stable as it sophistication belies. (A metaphor which, after another 14 hours, seems to apply equally neatly to its charming national airline.)
SXSW: Mixing Business, Sleep Deprivation and Pleasure
SXSW marks the unofficial start to the US creative industry’s “season”. All in all a 10 day take over of Austin TX, SXSW first hosts movers and shakers from the tech world (SXSW Interactive — lots of iPhones, name badges and t-shirts advertising start ups). Then mid week, the tech crowd (and all their mobile devices and #hashtags) start to ship out. The city is momentarily filled with film buffs (who for the most part are invisible— a line, then they disappear into a dark screening room for 2 hours) and then slowly, from Thursday, the music crowd arrives.
This year I was there to promote 3 parties; network and attempt to do business. And see some music if possible. Each year, hundreds of thousands of true fans shell out for the $750 pass and queue up dutifully to watch legends play small venues. I (like many “industry types”) made no effort whatsoever to get hold of a pass, instead relying on contacts to “walk me in” to the key parties where I would meet my contacts and where I would largely drink for free. Sure, business gets done at SWSX (I had meetings from 10am each day), but in all reality it seems that just being present is as important as hustling. For some it is a golden opportunity to mix business with pleasure and get your idea/band/magazine/website infront of movers and shakers. For others it is more about living off an expense account by looking like you are trying to do meaningful business, often three sheets to the wind, in venues where you can’t really hear yourself speak, let alone make an impression.
SXSW is an amazing festival, (maybe the best in the world) and a true American experience. Unlike last year I didn’t arrive on a tour bus, I wasn’t on “Snoop’s list”, nor did I spend much time in studios with heroes. However I was once again astonished by the energy and breadth that Austin in spring offers. Despite seeing brit rockers the Kaiser Cheifs and Kasabian play to a mere couple of thousand moderately impressed Americans, doing shots with the Temper Trap in their dressing room post show and overheating at the illegal boiler room rave, we were easily on the go from 10 am til 3am each day and conservatively saw less than 1% of what went on across the city.
By Saturday, 5 days in, the late nights had caught up with me. Us. Our flight out at 6am Sunday morning was no help either. We left the last party at 3am Sunday morning and endured the usual scrum finding a cab at chucking out time. We took that straight to an empty airport, fell asleep and ended up in LA for breakfast and the start of an almighty detox.
New York from the Air
Seem to be taking lots of pictures from planes at the moment. A limited view sometimes pays off.
Alaska
I few months ago, a friend invited me on a trip to Alaska, heli-skiing. As the photos suggest, heli-skiing (or boarding) involves renting a helicopter and pilot to access some of the more remote mountains and descending their untouched snow. Not having done this before, I was a bit unsure of what to expect. But nonetheless, I agree to join the 7 others on a trip to the Chugach range of mountains, just south of Anchorage in Alaska.
Arriving in Anchorage (via Seattle, 5 hours from LA), you instantly get a sense of how far north you are. It hasn’t stopped snowing there all year; heavy clouds hung low in the air as we drove long a snow packed road next to a sea inlet full of icebergs. We were there for 3 days of skiing; a gamble not unlike going to Scotland for 3 days and hoping to ski all three; not impossible, but the variable weather make it unlikely (to say nothing of the difference in price between an Aviemore lift ticket and chartering your own helicopter).
We got lucky. In spite of unprecedented amounts of snow (knee to waist deep), the avalanche risk was pretty low, even on the steep slopes thanks to consistently low temperatures that had kept the snow pack stable. The first day was the best weather. We skied for almost 7 exhausting hours and over 35,000 vertical feet (including the rather hairy descent of the Pencil Couloir shown in the below photo (look carefully.. the black dots are us!) as well as the video below this post. The next day the sky started blue, but after a great morning the weather closed in, but not before we managed to get off the mountain (getting stuck isn’t fun, but not uncommon). Thursday the cloud didn’t lift, so we used the chopped to access lots of runs under the cloud level. 45,000 feet of descents in total.
After a true wilderness experience, Mrs Hirst was relived when I made it home unscathed. As was I.
(Look closely at the above photo..those little dots on the very narrow couloir and shoulder are us!)
