The dire straits that unsettles any tourist wishing to explore the Downtown area of Los Angeles, is that from studying a map, it's difficult to locate exactly where it starts and finishes. I don't know about yours, but my map shows a ravioli shaped district in the centre, titled adequately 'Los Angeles' which is where one would usually expect the downtown to reside. And yet, 6 miles to the west, the map launches both itself and the tourist into ambiguity, in labelling another area 'Mid City'. Plunging even deeper into the dilemma, 3 miles north of this region is 'Central L.A'. So I boarded the bus this morning with a blend of both wanderlust and a certain inquisitiveness.
I made a decision to get off the bus after nearly an hour of travelling. Voyaging in such a city like this puts the aspect of distance into perspective, especially for island dwellers such as myself, who seldom experience a commute through such a magnitude. A step off the bus and it shuttled speedily into the distance, and I was being welcomed by one of Los Angeles' more creative constitutions. This fountain becomes the focal point around an abundant concentration of theatre complexes; there was this inescapable scent of spent money here.
As I perused around, half expecting a face of fame to stroll past with an machiato and a neckerchief, perhaps with a forgotten smudge of theatre makeup on the facet after a harrowing series of morning rehearsals, I found my attention being anchored to the arresting exterior of the Walt Disney Concert Hall.
Typically curious, I made an entry and almost immediately, I became engaged into a consultation with one of the lovely volunteers regarding taking a free self guided tour of the hall, and with time to spare, I thought this a worthwhile passing. The inner furnishings are, I must proclaim, warm and welcoming and the carpets are purposefully colourful to that effect. My visit, to my great fortune, had befallen on one of the only days that the actual concert hall itself was open to public viewing. It's the most preeminent arrangement, cherishing a unique conforment, with a sense that serious and profound thought had found its way onto the blueprints. The organ caught my gaze; it's attached to more than 3000 individual pipes, which needless to say, took nine months to accurately tune. To perform here must be a real treat.
After being directed by way of very strategically placed signs- the kind of ones I somehow always miss first time round- around the rest of the complex, it was time to hand in the audio information wand, retrieve my ID I had left in exchange, and continue my walk down Grand Avenue. Onomastically speaking, Grand Avenue doesn't live up to it's implied grandeur, but I had been forewarned on many occasions not to expect much. Bearing this in mind, I executed an investigative stroll. Alas, there wasn't much to investigate.
Aside from the expected scene of skyscrapers flirting dangerously close to the clouds, Grand Avenue is a puzzling thoroughfare. It exhibits glass and metal in the mind riddling proportions, but what each and every window reflects so seamlessly is just another building across the street. Punctuating this monotony, though, was the National Art Museum. I didn't adventure in; it appeared from the outside as one of those institutions you could spend entirety in and still not cover every square inch. The weather was also moving towards a revitalising period of sunshine, but from the outside exhibit, it's clearly oozing with creativity and originality; a quality that the skyscrapers just don't naturally possess.
Still, though, I hadn't uncovered anything potentially unique or extravagantly unusual about downtown Los Angeles, which when you consider its acclaim, strikes up an anticlimax. I peered around street corners, picturing something that I could finally label as captivating, but despite my wish for a small specimen of urban enthralment, it was not thus. I purchased a Dr Pepper to quench the thirst, and studied the map. Perhaps the Historic Downtown segment would offer a contrary experience; willing to investigate nonetheless, I set off with anticipation.
Upon my eager arrival, with expectations of a district saturated in untampered grandiose, and untarnished ostentatiousness, bathos awaited me. Broadway Street held none of the anticipated class that a Broadway musical might do. I passed terraced shops; each and every one in hot pursuit for great pre-Christmas business. Police dotted the street, though from a passing glance, I could detect nothing in these small independently run establishments that required such hefty surveillance. I strolled past a mature yet rugged gentleman, who was bellowing out Christmas carols, in the most inharmonious way. This in itself, though, was remarkably unique, for such a street seemed only to deal with the Spanish dictionary. It was most disheartening, yet an experience nonetheless. A row of Broadway theatres emerged into view, but they only put on a show of dilapidation; indeed, each and every one was sealed with a dispiriting frontage of rusty iron bars. Looming above me were window frames without glass, and inside, a detectable sense of utter despondency. I was unpleasantly surprised as to the sheer absence of attention these fortresses of history had so undeservedly been subjected to.
I took a turning off Broadway Street, just passed the foreboding structure of what once was United Artists, and abruptly became welcomed to the Fashion District. Now, is it just me, or does the name 'fashion district' prognosticate images of the most superior apparel money can buy? Maybe the most in vogue gadget, that can be subtly stored in a silk lined tuxedo pocket, intricately stitched with the finest of cotton. Possibly, 'for her' the most ambrosial fragrance, and 'for him' a pair of recherche cufflinks. All of this comes to mind when I think 'fashion' and so it was to extraordinary surprise when I found myself not within avant garde, but what appeared to be an outdoor market selling, well, the kind of vulgar articles you generally find on outdoor markets. Sequined handbags (the sequins, by the way, are glued with PVA and could come away at any unpredictable moment.) Plastic rimmed sunglasses, where the rims melt as you employ them in temperatures above 15 degrees C, which is likely to be all the time here. Every now and again, you'll stumble across a miscellaneous box, with an arrangement of items you're unlikely to glance upon anywhere else in the world; plastic toilet tissue roll holders, bulb filaments, artificial variegated ivy leaves. And yet, despite the emanating and boundless woe, it's heaving. I couldn't move more than a few paces without an instantaneous halt, and then a meandering and awkwardly executed overtaking of the lady or gentleman who found something oddly attractive about a store only selling curtain or doormats. Once again, every greeting offered by the traders was saluted in Spanish, except for the lady who announced a half price sale on handbags, and thought for some reason, I desperately wanted one. What I desperately wanted was lunch, so I stopped by in the local McDonalds and indulged at my own pace. I try not to make too many of these little 'fast food' visits, and if I do, ensure I draw them out to become 'slow food' ones instead. I get glares off customers in the queue wishing to occupy my table and seat, but why should I move? The price of the meal certainly authorised my being there; a gawping figure of $7 just for a plain grilled chicken burger and a strawberry smoothie.
I left the 'fashion district'; just another small segment of Downtown Los Angeles which has not necessarily lived up to its name. Upon another eyeball of the map, I chanced upon the South Park district, and am pleased to say, this little gem suited such a title. For one thing, it resides in the south of the downtown region, but also has a charming park called Grand Hope. A vegetated arch offers a serene environment for zealous readers, a modestly sized fountain enchants the area with a certain atmosphere that only water can create, and a rather colourful clock tower beholds the eye at the other side. It was rewarding to be back in touch with nature again, even if for a few brief minutes in a local park.
Downtown Los Angeles has fallen victim as a result of the fame and success of Hollywood, and my brief saunter today revealed that in many ways. It feels as if the success of the movie scene, has somewhat made downtown redundant and in this way, a slow but sure process of dilapidation has transpired. It's a shame, because I feel it's got such wonderful potential. Maybe Santa has something promising in store for it!
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