Sunset Blvd on the way to pick up the rental car the next morning I am hit with a robust Mexican aroma I knew I would be unable to live without.
The place was called Cheebos and all their furniture was painted orange. Sat near an actress who was complaining about the quality of her scripts. A robust, cologne-dappled Mexican with a handsome face knew how to push her buttons. “She didn’t even comment on the dress you wore to the Oscars remember?”
Relocated to a bus stop. The sky was pink and blue through my sunglasses and the air smelled of exhaust fumes. After waiting an eternity for the bus, we hailed a cab to Hertz located next to Norms, a diner that I was certain was the one used in Mulholland Drive (it has a creepy laneway and everything) but alas, it wasn’t it.
Waited three hours for the car. Hertz guys needed a foot up the ass. Killed some time driving a replacement back to the hotel to get the bags and up Mulholland Drive for mythological interest. Back at Hertz and pretty bored listening to the guy we were dealing with tell us he was divorced. He said he liked living alone. “I know where everything is and it’s easy to keep clean.” The Hertz restroom was immaculate. He had left reminders on the paper towel dispenser for his employees to wash their hands before going back to work. He drew us a map of Australia by hand. We were genuinely impressed.
Tad nervous about driving U.S. roads (having drove once in eight years), but eventually took to HWY 1 with aplomb and pulled it off without a hitch. Must-be-seen-to-be-believed sea views of misty waves wrapping itself around every beautiful clifftop turn.
Destroyed after a hard day on the road, pulled into a dodgy diner in Guadalupe at nightfall and laid down five bucks for the best Mexican one could ever hope for. The waitress had gold teeth and cooked it up in front of us, while we knocked back Pacificos and listened to the 50s jukebox chime mariachi favourites of yesteryear.