Living up to expectations

A place to rest my weary backside.
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4.45am, local time, Friday July 18.

I already love this country. Everything is new and shiny to me.

Too Goddamn wired to sleep. In the 12 hours I’ve been on the ground and on my own (to an extent) in LA, I already love this country. Everything is new and shiny to me; I know this was the smartest thing I've ever done.

The flight from Fiji to LA was shit – words can’t describe. But whoever invented chairs that recline should be shot – where’s my 18 inches of legroom now, bitch? Thankfully, the guy who reclined on me all through the night was kind enough to cuddle me in the morning (I kid, I kid) and let me take the window seat in his row to see us touch down at LAX. I was like a kid in a candy store; I couldn’t stop beaming.

It was all long stretches of freeway from the airport to the motel, and that was an experience in itself. Seeing the big green signs for gangsta rap music staples such as Crenshaw Blvd, Rosecrans and Long Beach were surreal, and the traffic seemed to stretch for miles.

When I finally arrived, eager to get out of 24-hour-old clothes (and thankfully having survived my first international phone call and tipping experience), I set out for the staples: Mylanta and beer. My new roommate Roland and I found this sweet “Liquor Beer Snacks Groceries” market run by a Latino guy. Everything I do seems straight out of a movie. A six-pack of Coors, some razors, Mylanta and mouthwash ran up a $20 bill. The beer here is so Goddamn cheap, it’s going to be the death of me.

After having a few beers in the motel room, Roland and I wandered over the road to Downtown Disney, this entertainment precinct bordering the Disneyland theme park and hotels. While we only looked for about half an hour, it was easy to see how enchanting Disney could be for kids…and brutally expensive for parents. The food is all pretty reasonably-priced – more so than I expected Disney to be - and the women…I haven’t seen such a concentration of hot women like this ever. I think we may ooze some sort of “I’m not from around here” vibe, or maybe it was because I couldn’t stop grinning, but the people we interacted with were friendly as hell.

We got back to the motel and some lout called out my name – a group of three who I’d sorta met on Facebook from the Contiki tour. We went and had dinner (at Denny’s, where I got a good idea of why this country gets its reputation for obesity) and then headed back to the ranch for a couple more beers, but not until I hit up my favourite beer-selling convenience store where I found my favourite hot sauce ever. Oh, and watched the old Spanish guy in front of me contemplate a selection of prepaid cards I could only guess were for phone sex. Ms Carnalita, anyone?

I love the USA.