Layover It. 

I’d been to venice beach when I was 14 and from what I had remembered it was pretty grunge-esq but as it would turn out we heading for the swanky part of town. Good looking California boys for days. Everyone was way too cool. The buildings were way too cool. The all black pug wearing a bandana and hanging out in a clothes shop was too cool. We were both extremely hungover and chose a pretentious spot to eat where we sat through our entire meal listening to some wanker tell his group about 80 times that he’d just gone surfing. He was from Malibu and worked in the music industry, I won’t bore you with the rest of his life story because I’m desperately trying to erase it from my memory. I’m still yet to drink a decent margarita in the US so I can see why everyone goes batshit crazy over the ones we make at Mamasita. 

We walked a bit further down the street, crossed the road then headed back the other way. I managed to walk past the Scotch and Soda shop twice before finally caving in and retracing my steps all the way back to the sale rack. Despite the blonde haired blue eyed sales boy who also looked like he’s spent most of the day on a surfboard I exercised some self control knowing that I had 6 months left of carrying everything I bought. 

The next and final stop was at a bar called Roosterfish where I hoped a beer would cure the jet lag. It didn’t and combing the two with the overly camp bar tender practically screaming a shit story to his friends at the bar was giving me a headache. Zag emerged from the bathroom informing my naive self that we were in fact in a gay bar as there were ‘dicks everywhere’ in the bathroom (Upon further investigation done by yours truly i discovered that he meant photos of naked dudes all over the walls and not actual dicks). The bar had a pretty cool rustic courtyard out the back but we couldn’t deal with the general public anymore. 

Cab back to the airport then another 5 hours of floor naps and walking around in circles. It was good to get some fresh air and eat some non-airport cuisine but the whole street reminded me of what I was getting away from. If I wanted perfectly groomed boys and shops I shouldn’t be spending money at I would’ve just stayed in Melbourne. Bring on Cuba.