Venice Beach is like Camden, only by the sea. Numerous stalls offering jewellery, fake designer sunglasses and Chinese massage compete for space with sand models of topless mermaids, buskers playing the violin with a coke bottle as a bow and fortune tellers. People on rollerblades zoom past on their way to the section of the beach front reserved for rollerboogie. This is the name for dancing on rollerskates.
The best rollerboogiers seemed to be camp men in their 50s in all types of outfits. It was what I imagine you would get if you managed to cross The Village People with Starlight Express. I searched in vain for the Rabbi I had met a few years ago who had claimed to be the only Jewish fortune teller on Venice Beach. I bumped into him on my birthday while backpacking in the Middle East and he read my fortune as a birthday present. Though he wasn't around, there were plenty of alternatives offering good health, much happiness and true love for $10. I spent my money on pizza and ice cream instead before heading to Santa Monica pier.
Having grown up watching Baywatch every weekend at an age where it was watched for the story line rather than the totty, it was incredibly exciting to see real live LA lifeguards in Malibu where it was filmed - though not quite as exciting as seeing the police station from Beverly Hills Cops and the post office with the 90210 postcode.
The stars were out in force for the Golden Globe awards, though funnily enough none seemed to cross my path. I went for a drink at the swanky Chateau Marmont in the hope of spotting some, but none materialised. Though I met no stars I did meet a film director at a computer shop while I was emailing home. His first film had been well received at film festivals around the world, and if he was to be believed, he is an up and coming big thing. I certainly hope so, as he was the closest thing to a celebrity I met.
Flying business class to Fiji was an absolute pleasure. Sitting back in my seat and stretching out my legs as far as they would go, I still couldn't reach the seat in front. I left LA on Tuesday and arrived in Fiji on Thursday, crossing the international date line as I went, leaving LA several hours behind Britain and arriving in Fiji half a day ahead.
Fiji gained independence in 1970. 30 years later some British traditions still remain, in the tourist areas at least. The hotel where I am staying serves free tea and scones with jam every afternoon at 4pm. In the stationery shop Treasure Island and Swiss Family Robinson were the books at the front of the display.
And while the old colonials have left, a neo-colonialism seems to have replaced it. McDonalds has moved in and opened a restaurant on the main island, Viti Levu, and Coca-Cola is everywhere, of course. Shell and BP signs can be seen on every highway and the supermarkets shelves are stocked with brands I recognise.
Luke, last seen buying a bizarre smoking pipe on our day trip to Mexico, has followed me to Fiji. His penchant for tacky souvenirs has not abated. Wandering around a handicraft market in Nadi, he purchased a wooden 'cannibal fork'. Cannibalism was practised in parts of Fiji until the mid-19th century. This naturally leads to lots of bad taste jokes every time we see a child.
"I like children."
Dramatic pause.
"Couldn't eat a whole one though."
The drive from Nadi to the Coral Coast is beautiful, with countryside made up of hundreds of different shades of green leading down to the sea. Though Fiji is beautiful, tourism seems to be mainly resort-based, with travellers finding a resort they like and remaining there for the duration of their stay.
The biggest decision I've made so far has been what to have for dinner. Sitting in the shade in the hotel garden watching the sea has given me the perfect opportunity to stick to my Netjetter application promise and read War and Peace. I rise each morning and it's once more unto the beach with Tolstoy. The 1500-page book seems like the perfect length to fill my week of doing nothing.
In the evening the hotel serves a wine called Chateau Hi-Power. I've managed to resist so far, enticing as it sounds. A more popular drink in Fiji is kava. It is mildly narcotic and was historically used only by Fijian chiefs and priests, though nowadays it is drunk by all and offered to tourists as a welcome. I'd been warned that it tasted like muddy water so I steeled myself for the worst, but I rather liked it. "Be careful," warned my taxi-driver, "Too much kava and you'll get an overhang."
