Catalina:

Ever since I started visiting LA I was always mildy curious about Catalina, a dark shadow in the Pacific haze off the coast of LA. Seems most people either come here when they are kids or the never come here at all. Kind of like Lundy off the coast of North Devon, without Tarka the cowing otter.

I like to take photo's of places I've been. And I mean exactly where I've been. Here's the hotel. It's author Zane Grey's old house. All of the rooms are named after novels of his. I know you can't tell which one it is unless I point it out so it's that nice one, at the top of the small foreground hill on the right hand side, just down from that gazebo thing, which is actually a chime tower that didn't chime much. Got it? Good.....



And here's the harbor, including the spot on the far side of the quay by the red roof on the dockside where I took the picture of the hotel from above. This is a small obsession of mine. Once, me and my friend Scooby, flying on fresh, self-picked mushrooms (Fillongley in da' house!), spent the night walking from one side of a playing field to the other to see where we'd been (and to see if the trees were really smaller over the other side of the field as they appeared. They never were). I never really got over that.

For my birthday one year, Scooby bought me a brand new toilet brimming with brussels sprouts. He deserves credit for that. That was an original gift. We had to make our own fun back in those days - before nintendo and PS2. F*** guitar hero - give me a royal doulton full of sprouts any day.



Avalon (above) is a very pretty town. And very quiet. Hardly any cars, mainly very expensive-to-rent Golf Carts, which I liked. Must suck to be a teenager though - and I thought there was bog-all to do in Coventry....

There are semi-submersible tours. I went at night to see the spooky fish. I saw a couple of Lobsters and a bit of flappy seaweed. Nothing even a bit spooky, though. Not any halibut hauntings, shark stabbings or fishy frightenings or anything at all alliterative, late-night and creepy. Not like New York, I thought. Halibut Hauntings? I ask you...come on, Hattie.



The sub looked like a dodgy French club when we first got on (should I say 'Boarded'?) but I simmered down later when they turned the lights out and it got all A Life Aquatic. The best bit was seeing the phosphoresence in the dark....



Here you can see me actually thinking in Ringo. It's the submarine. That and the fact that the only rhythm I have comes from being raised Catholic.




Here's a view inside the hotel room. The room was named after Zane Grey's novel The Vanishing American. It wasn't that nice a room - kind of tourist vacation quality - but I liked it. I liked because it wasn't the usual kind of hotel I stay in on tour (they're nice, usually, very nice, nicer than me, mostly. But they do get a bit samey) and also because of the way the light fell on it, it seemed quintessentially Californian, especially as the sun set behind the hill out back. Gots to love the light in CA.





Mmmmm. Delicious California.

On Catalina they have Buffalo. In fact they're not really Buffalo (Buffalo live in Asia) they are Bison. They were intrroduced to the island by a film crew who were filming a version of Zane Gray's The Vanishing American. (Wheels within wheels, eh?) After filming the film crew left the Bison behind saying they didn't know how to round them up. Now there are up to 250 Bison yomping around the Island. They were cut from the movie. They are big and hard-looking.



The Wrigley Family (they of the Chewing Gum fame) were the first to try to develop the island for tourism (and to institute rules regarding its conservancy after they sold their shares). They have a ranch still in the middle of the Island called The Secret Ranch because you don't see it until you're on top of it. They still keep Arabian Horses there, which are beautiful. I guess they thought the same about me. Espeically this guy. I didn't know whether to be intimidated or flattered - I was both. I mean....crikey! Was Catherine the Great really into all this....? (Way to Go, Catherine. And I really mean: what a way to go...)



I had to sit down for a minute with some people my own age. Turned out nice again.



The road led up to the Airport in The Sky, which is a very small airport only capable of landing DC3's (which are still in use from Long Beach bringing the mail). They built the airport by leveling the tops of two mountains and flattening them enough to lay a runway between the two. This is the view from near the end of the runway.



A cute little airport - kind of like Long Beach or one of those Deco feeling airports (Burbank too, maybe?). I like airports and I like planes.

We were told under fear of God himself not to go out back near the rich people's planes. It was like being on a school trip. I think in America people worry about both litigation and liability too much and also about people doing dumb things like wandering on to a live runway, although you'd have to be pretty stupid to do that, no? I guess that's what irked me about the warning. By implication the guide was calling everyone a f***wit. Maybe I was just being touchy....?

It must be very nice to have a private plane to fly to Avalon of an afternoon. From the ramp you could see Palos Verdes Estates on the mainland through the afternoon haze. California is beautiful. I don't know anyone from PV or anyone who knows anything about it - it seems pretty luxurious to me. But then again, coming from Coventry, so does almost everywhere in SoCal.







And this was the view in front of the airport. Go on, tell me you wouldn't have had a look if you'd seen this. I showed my friend and he asked. "Did you take that picture because it looks like a penis?"
"Yes." I was quite proud of myself. I had a camera full of willy jokes.
"Oh." he said, not quite infected by my ebullience. He gave me a look full of love even though I was a dopey twat. In fact he sounded the same way my mum did when she found out I'd started smoking. I could tell he didn't think it was all that funny. I resolved there and then never to share my todger pictures again. It would be my secret hobby that I couldn't even tell my best friends about.

But then it was time to update my blog and...and....and they're funny, goddammit.



The ferry back to LA leaves in the evening. Even got back in time to feast. Delicious day, no?



I am listening to Keren Ann a lot. Too much. Soon, she'll be calling Gwen Stefani to get advice on how to get me to stop.
But until then....

Solstice Canyon.





A quiet, beautiful, almost private place just off the PCH. It's a lovely mile and a half walk along a path through undergrowth filled with rutting animals to the boulders and waterfalls where I clambered, desperately trying to convince myself that I was somehow still seven years old and not a million and a half years old, like I am.

Look, here's me clambering. You could be forgiven for thinking I'm stalking game from this photo', or at least doing something daring. I'll let you think that. I definitely wasn't trying to navigate my way up the waterfall without slipping on dog pooh or potato chip packets; no, I wasn't, not at all. I was exploring and stalking, like a wild man. Yes.



Note I have my hair partially tied back. I think men (or me, specifically) shouldn't tie their hair back in pony-tails as it looks well, a bit pony. So this is my compromise. It's a partial pony, favoured by French Alpine skiers. Better be a bit of a wanker who can ski than a complete tosser without any style who can't.

Of course, I could get a haircut. And aside from the fact that it would give me cause to visit the lovely Mika one more time this month, it would also mean I'd have no hair. And that, friends, would mean I'd look exactly like a right banker in all my suits.

After Solstice Canyon I ate delicious fried evilness while admiring the pacificness of the pacific. Top trumps. It took two and half hours to get home. Gots to love LA.

I went to see the Watts Towers in Watts. I tried to visit them before in January but I got lost in Watts. Not the best look for me, was that. I drove around in smaller and smaller circles trying to find my way back to the freeway, waving at all the nice young men who were enjoying the afternoon sun by communing on the street corners. It was quaint. I called my friend Rob in London as I was driving around. "I just called for a chat." I said. "I'm er, a bit lost in Watts."
"Are you scared?" he asked from the comfort of his house in south London.
"No." I said. "I just called for a chat."
"From LA to Streatham, on your mobile?"
"Yeah. So?" I kept thinking of Reginald Denny stopping his truck at the intersection of Normandie and Florence just after the Rodney King verdict. I like to class myself as English but on this day I had to admit I felt white. Sad that, isn't it? But maybe not so unusual, only unspoken in polite circles.
"Just asking." he said.


This time I didn't get lost. I liked the Watts Towers. The strangest thing about them for me was that after Simon Rodia spent 33 years building them he just upped and left them behind, I think he gave them to his mate or something. That seemed very sad.






It has been nearly a month since I got back from Vietnam. I was missing lording my inherent wealth over poor people. Can you believe there weren't any poor people here for me to gloat over? Look at this place - shameful. Not one measly beggarwoman or hungry child outside the Watts Towers. How am I supposed to prop-up my insecure personality without paupers smiling up at me as I shower them with small coins? This isn't a proper vacation, that's all I can say.



Afterwards I went to see Gwen Stefani (in concert, not at her house or anything like that. I'm not allowed to do that anymore--by law). I like Gwen Stefani - she's like a larger than life cartoon character, which I think is an essential attribute for a pop star. I wasn't expecting her manly talking voice though, that threw me a bit. I didn't get to see the No Doubt reunion and I missed What Are You Waiting For, which is my favourite, as I'm old and prefer getting into the car and out of the parking lot before seventyleventy thousand people do the same thing. I heard the song as I walked away and it reminded me of Harley, as he rings-out PA systems with that song when he's mixing shows. I was going to tell him but I read on his blog that BA had lost his luggage for days so I thought this: I bet Harley couldn't give a monkey's willy about me hearing that Gwen Stefani song from the parking lot right now, so I didn't tell him. But I was thinking of you, H. Hope you got your bags. And the home address of the guy who manages luggage for BA.

Now the Solstice has passed I enjoyed this cheery thought. From now on we're on a downward slide through to December 22nd. Days are getting shorter, life is pasing us by, winter is rushing headlong at us and soon our feeble aching bones will be shivering under bitter winds and against spiteful, driving rain.

And I'm in a good mood these days, too.

It's All Too Beautiful:

Halong Bay, Vietnam.

I couldn't post pictures before while in Vietnam. But now I can, so lucky you.

Actually, as you'll see, lucky me.

You get to Halong Bay proper at first by "sailing" on a boat from Halong City for about 45 minutes. The bay is made up of about seventyleventy million limestone islands along the coast of Northeast Vietnam and Southwest China.

Some people live in floating houses on the bay. They farm fish. Each house sat atop a cage for breeding fish in the salt-water below. Most had dogs on them as alarms to prevent fish thieves from stealing the goods. Alarm dogs for fish, whatever next?



When the tourist boats got to the "Amazing Caves" (Which were, I have to be honest, pretty amazing) they waited around while the tourists transferred into little row-boats to land at the caves. As we stopped to switch boats, a small fleet approached, each boat captained by a pretty girl who tried to sell everything from Choco Pies (marshmallowy type biscuit/chocolate things) to cigarettes and whisky from her floating 7-11.



These kids lived on the water. They'd fashioned a raft out of an old polystyrene container and they were rowing around the bay. The water is very deep but they didn't care. Note the guy in the boat at the back rowing with his feet.



So we were all joking about being stung by a jellyfis as we saw plenty of them floating through the bay. "It never happens," said Chi, our guide, as we stopped near an oyster farm for a swim. It took me around 2 1/2 minutes in the water to get stung.

On our boat there was an Australian surfer (he'd got lost...) who had some antihistamines (jellyfish being a big problem when you're an Aussie surfer). I took one, which was just as well as 1/2 hour later the gland under my arm got tight and my lips started to tingle with the poison. Later it moved down my spine and through my kidneys. It's a weird feeling is being poisoned. This is the sting the morning after. You should have seen the other guy....(and everyone suggested peeing on it...everyone.)



The bay went on and on. I sat on the poop deck with my my fizzy ginger pop and frizzy ginger sideburns, looking for all the world like a pale, bloaty crap Bond Villain. I simpered every now and then to get some sympathy for my throbbing stings. As I was competing with this, no one could care less...









Quite right too...

Hanoi:

It's easier to pictures than it is writing about it. And besides, don't you just like to watch sometimes...?

Hoan Kiem Lake

This is the lake in the centre of Hanoi. Sometimes, when I was feeling especially ebullient, I would run around it at 6:30 in the morning before the sun got too high for pale, blue-skinned, below-rock dwellers like me to be out. It's a little over a 1 1/3 miles in circumference and in the mornings, at about 6:30, lots of nice Vietnamese people also like to exercise around the edge of the lake too. I know they were nice people as I spoke to them. All of them.




In the middle of the lake is a small island called Turtle Island. It is an ancient monument to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, who were all born in this very lake. Local legend has it that there is still a huge turtle living in the lake, but since he didn't get in the movie like the others he's rumoured to be little more than a bitter drunk, endlessly swimming up and down boring hapless tourists with stories about growing up with Michealangelo, Donatello and the zany Raphael. I never saw him. He must have been down the pub when I was there.



Look! See the nice Vietnamese people enjoying their bodies first thing in the morning. It is true I hardly saw any fat people in Vietnam. When I got off the plane at Newark the first thing I thought was this: Aren't there a lot of fat fuckers at Newark Airport?

In addition to badminton (who's nets were strung exactly at the right height to garrotte a 6ft tall jogging westerner. Some war habits die hard, eh chaps? And boy, did I laugh...I laughed and laughed, as I fell gasping to the floor clutching my trachea....) people were doing Tai Chi in groups. One old guy was punching a wall for fun. He looked like he'd auditioned for the role of mean Mr Myagi, but never got the part. (Maybe Hanoi is full of failed film wannabees? The Vegas waitresses of Vietnam...?) On the east side of the park was a huge aerobics class that spread to both sides of the street. Directions were shouted out over the music (I couldn't see who was leading the class, but obviously everyone else could) and lots of women were bending and stretching on the street. Some of the moves were a bit rude. As I ran past I noticed that some of the grannies were doing saucy pelvic thrusts and doing them quite well too. Maybe being a Granny, that's something you've had a bit of practise at? Then I felt a bit weird that I'd been appreciating the pelvic thrust of someone's granny (Not that it would have been any better if it had been my granny).



Train tracks. I looked for a band to photograph on them but no one in Vietnam has the time or inclination to be in a band. I think they're all busy trying to make a living instead.



This is what it looks like just before the lights change. Come on, lover....



A nice peaceful pagoda on the west lake. Possibly the quietest spot in all of Hanoi.



I liked the streets in Hanoi. I liked the way the electricity power cables are a cluster-fuck. It's the roadie in me - I notice things like that. (When I went to watch the Water Puppet show, before it started, I saw that the curtain wasn't hanging straight. It bugged me so much that had it not been for the fact it was hanging in a pond of stagnant water then I might have gone over to straighten it).



A lovely street market.



Many of the streets in Hanoi seemed to sell the same thing, making them look almost themed. This street sold chinese lanterns, decorations and lots of red envelopes for giving money during festivals.



This street was a motorbike maintainence street. These lovely gelato-looking things are, in fact, different oils and grease for engines. I only found this out because I bought one on a waffle cone.



Lots of vendors all over Vietnam carried their wares like this. I think it's really hard work. They were all women too, I don't remember seeing (m)any men doing this kind of work. The men were all busy selling motorbike-grease waffle cones.



Everyone had Bananas. Often the women selling fruit like this on the street were quite cheeky with westerners. Being a vain, imperialist pig, I enjoyed their flirting and the feeling of power it gave me. Despite my 6ft height, I am a very, very small man.



When people weren't carrying things on bamboo planks over their shoulders, they carried them on their bikes / motorbikes. I saw everything from 3 live, caged pigs, large panes of glass, to heavy machine-tools / drills all balanced precariously on the backs of motorbikes.



Recycling. Arf.



It's very, very fresh.




No, I didn't....



Squids in.



We met under a Banyan Tree after dark, the city hot and chaotic around us. These women spoke no English, I spoke no Vietnamese. It sounds romantic, right? I pointed at their giant deep-fryers and they fed me with unhealthy fried deliciousness. We never spoke. I wonder if they're missing me now? I miss you, deep-fried meat-pasty-thing Ladies, I miss you.

Picture This:

Some of the remaining photo's of the end of the trip. I'm done with opining now ("aaand I'm spent"). So, now I've got nothing to say...

A road sign on the way to Hanoi Airport - note the special horse and cart lane.




Inside a Chinese Temple in Saigon. Peaceful.



And just to keep you in line....do all religions have punitive deitys?



70Km North of Saigon is a religion called Cao Dai. This is their temple. The religion is all-inclusive and based on buddhism they also incorporate elements of Christianity, Taoism, Islam & Confucianism. The temple is overdone and kitsch ( to my all seeing eye) but fascinating. Tourists are allowed to watch (and photograph) the four daily services. The different coloured robes on the right represent the different religions and the closer to the All Seeing Eye at the end of the room you sit, the higher you are in the temple's hierarchy. Victor Hugo was posthumously named the Chief Spirit of Foreign Missionary Works.
And why not?



The All Seeing Eye.



Along the Mekong Delta.



Note the forest of TV ariels above the floating poverty.....



When I toured with Pulp and I was doing everything too much and a bit of a knobhead someone joked that "Kurtz had gone too far upriver." (They were right, btw). Here he is, over 10 years later...still doing the same thing. Hot, sticky, covered in flies, mmm looking good....



I ask you, would you jump into this and swim?



these Water babies would....



My last night in Ho Chi Minh City and it rained like a bastard....



On my last night in Hong Kong on the way back home. Did I mention yet that I love Hong Kong? I did? Oh, sorry...



Now the only thing I've got to talk about is my love for backpackers.....