Day 20 & 21 - Fishing for the Normal
Day 20
I head towards to the beach to get a little seaside vibe on a Sunday, and my location of choice is Newport Beach, the community who nurture their wealth as much as they enjoy the exclusivity of a constructed atoll where their unassuming multi-millionaire weekend retreats are not too far from their unassuming multi-millionaire boats. If Los Angeles is a the city of dreams, Newport Beach is the town where those dreamers come to actually live those dreams and pretend that they're not too close to Los Angeles.
All along the coast around here there are beach communities that offer something different, and though I've sampled a few of them over the years, I've never found them to my taste quite like here. It's not just the pier, because most of them seem to have a least one, and it's not crowds because you can't have a community in this city without it being far from milling crowds of pleasure-seeking zombies. If I'm honest, I can't define why I enjoy coming to Newport Beach, I just do.
I park a little away from the beach because Americans in L.A obviously don’t like to take more than a few rudimentary steps in any direction, and the carparks near have filled up long ago, in an early to ride the waves kind of philosophy.
There's an everyday craft fair just before the pier that includes rural South American dresses and food that no Los Angelino's kitchen can exist without. The crowds are here and willing to push and shove for a bargain that reminds me of a church sale I once attended where a women stabbed me with her brolly because I'd shown a passing interest in a cardigan she's decided was definitely for her husband.
On the pier I watch lazy fishermen dangle lines without seeming to put in much effort, except for sitting stylishly in their chairs and working on topping up their tans. Nobody seems to have caught much, and lines hang sadly over the piers edge.
The surfers paddle their boards because the waves look no more threatening than a choosing breakfast at The Farmer's Market, and the whole action is half-hearted, but with that Southern Californian determination to make doing nothing seem the most serious proposition in the world.
It’s a lovely day to take photos and people watch, and I do a substantial amount of both before heading back to the seafront and walking passed shops selling surf gear for those weekend wave warriors, and bars where tanned Californians sit and swap stories of the curl that got away.
Not far from here is the Fashion Mall, a large outdoor shopping melee that you have to experience with the teeming hoards who are all joining you. Thankfully the parking is easy and the design is laidback on the eye. One things I've learnt is that Americans love their shopping, and enjoy doing it in a location that loosens them from their money with the slightest of fuss.
It’s all single story, open air and not too demanding on the feet, and I window shop until I go inside a Barnes and Noble where I hope to find bargain books, but after a few moments realise that these can be bought much easier, and cheaper in the UK (Original Sin by Jake Tapper and the new Mark Twain biography can be mine after a few simple searches on my Kindle, and the Wines of California book can bought from the Academie du Vin) and at a much cheaper price.
I'm hungry and start to forage, but everybody has got here before me, and if I want fast food I'll have to wait 30 minutes. Not being in the mood to wait, I push on and realise that I’ll have to eat somewhere else.
Newport Pier
That location is the South Coast Plaza. It's a behemoth of a shopping complex that seems to cover two or three states, and I always remember it for being the first location of a Planter Hollywood restaurant.
Well Arnie and his burgers may have left town, but there's still enough here to entice the rich to come to give their credit cards a workout.
The high-end stores make my eyes water, with prices that make my wallet cry because of dollar envy, although I do notice that while the mall is crowded, there’s nobody actually inside the unique stores,
searching for unique gifts that are yours for a price that could buy a small house in France.
I quickly weary of finding nowhere that fits me and my bank account, and go back to searching for scoff, and I thank the heavens that Ruby’s Diner can just fit me in if I'm willing to sit out of the way, because a solo eater might prove an embarrassment. I'm desperate and readily agree, and I've got to say that though the burger was cheaper than other food experiences, it was deliciously edible and proved to be just what I was after at that moment.
I'd planned to throw myself into further shopping experiences after lunch but my heart was no longer in it, and after buying Original Sin (a book I would really recommend) for my Kindle I head to my car, and with a non-committal shrug towards the mall, I leave the place to the Los Angeles Olympic Shopping Squad!
A brief stop at Walmart to buy cake and wine, and then I'm back at the hotel spending a couple of hours by the pool under an overcast sky with humid temperatures, before I go to a local garage/market and buy a couple of scratchcards. The winning prize would make me one of the wealthiest men in England, and I've seen enough on this trip to make me dream of buying a vineyard in Northern California. Suddenly all my doubts about the current American nervous breakdown have vanished as I realise that I want to win the money to allow me to become part of it all. Damn logic, give me the money!
I win $40, but considering that I actually spent $40 it’s a breakeven that feels like a win, and though becoming the latest winemaker in Napa might not be on my radar at the moment, the dream was there for a few moments.
Day 21
What would Los Angeles be with Disney, and I feel like a couple of hours amongst smiling Californians might be just the thing for my penultimate day.
I'm not doing the theme parks. I've been quite a few times before (even won a Mickey Mouse watch once) and I'm of the age where queuing for rides that last longer than a marriage out here, or eating food that needs a credit check to purchase is no longer to be tolerated, so I head to Downtown Disney to take a look around the mixture of shopping and eating. It's the closest I can get to experiencing the House of Mouse without the stress.
This used to be quite a fetching experience that felt a lot less cynical than it does as I stroll gingerly along. The previous selection of stores was larger than it is now, and there's no room for anything that doesn't pay homage to Uncle Walt.
I’m sure it actually felt more like a harbour village in those old days, but now it’s a place to harbour your Disney shopping fix, laying down a small fortune for an average polished something that you cannot remember why you bought it, or actually what it's meant to be. If that doesn't satisfy, there are hundreds of other ‘special’ items for the discerning Disney maniac.
What is noticeable is that in this land of smiles and a return to your childhood, nobody actually smiles, and the sound of laughter is rarer than a Mickey Mouse glove with five fingers. It all seems rather hollow and very sad, but thankfully, after less than forty minutes I've only sacrificed shoes leather.
My next stop is an outlet mall where bargains are said to exist, but are rarer than hen’s teeth, and all the cheap prices I’ve seen advertised are nowhere to be found. It’s more disappointment for me, because it lacks the cheap prices that were once so much a part of a visit to America. Once, no trip here took place without a shopping list, and America loved a good deal, but this seems to have long gone, which is what I need to do.
The pool is a great relief, and not just because it's free (well it came with the room and that doesn't count). The place is calmingly empty, and I lap up the solitude selfishly for a couple of hours, or until I feel nicely toasted.
In the evening I head towards a nicely styled homely Italian that serves huge portions of everything (I have a Fettucini Alfredo that reminds me of the film 'The Blob').
A real local find is a place whose name I never learn. It's in Garden Grove, near Euclid Street. It's containers put together around a large covered square where people can sit watching sports (what else) as they drink something refreshing. I choose a beer at the SteelCraft, and it’s a nice brew in a calming place, and of course I only wish I'd have discovered it sooner. As well as watching sport, there are people playing cornball with a glee that seems almost Victorian.
​
I finish back at the hotel watching a documentary about the West narrated by Kevin Costner. It’s very enjoyable, and in my tired state it’s just what I want. I've been here for three weeks, have interviewed and sampled, visited and experienced, and all at a speed that has surprised me with its relentless pace.
​
The Lonesome Lifeguard