You cannot do Los Angeles without taking a "Homes of the Stars" tour. That's the rule. And apparently
Starline are the pros at this kind of thing, so off we went in the comfy white van with the tinted windows. Our guide wasted no time in telling us that, like everyone else under 30 in this town, he was "trying to break into the business" and had an audition for Letterman in two days - as a "human beatbox", a talent he proceeded to demonstrate as he tore up Sunset Strip.
The whole thing is highly entertaining (provided your irony switch is fully in the "on" position) - even though all you get to see of most of the homes is a brief glimpse of a door through heavy security gates (as was the case with JLo's house in the pic). But what had Sarah and me in total stitches /shock was when our driver spotted a parade of expensive cars winding up the canyon ahead of us. In an attempt to impress the cute blonde teenage girls at the front of the van, he announced he was going to follow the cars, because "he had a sense for this kind of thing, and there was definitely someone famous in there." And thus we formed this bizarre, surreal little caravan: two black Escalades, a Jaguar, another two black Escalades and us (the white Econoline van)- racing up the twists and turns of Beverly Hills. Of course, they eventually disappeared through a large gate manned by burly security guards who made it clear with hand gestures that we were not welcome. I sense that the Human Beatbox has a future as a paparazzo. Dejected, he then returned to his regularly scheduled route.
Continuing the fully immersive Hollywood experience, we then walked up and down Hollywood Boulevard to look at the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It's apparently not that hard to get one: you need to have been famous for at least five years; someone needs to submit a nomination letter on your behalf (probably your manager); you need to write the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce a cheque for $25,000. And voilà - you get a star.
Mann's Chinese Theatre is one of those tourist-mecca nodes on Hollywood Boulevard where the bodies are packed in like sardines. But really, how could we resist? Especially when the George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon hand and footprints had just recently gone on display. My favourite, though, were the Japanese school girls in full-on Harry Potter paraphernalia, posing next to the Daniel Radcliffe imprints.
It's the quintessential All-American pop culture experience. Equal parts commerce, fantasy and anticipation - with a dark undercurrent. Wandering amongst the throngs of tourists were costumed street entertainers trying to earn tips by posing for photos, street people selling maps to the stars' homes for one dollar, and the constant honking of horns from angry motorists trying to beat the traffic. And on every available flat surface, advertisements for the next big movie.
You cannot do Los Angeles without taking a "Homes of the Stars" tour. That's the rule. And apparently Starline are the pros at this kind of thing, so off we went in the comfy white van with the tinted windows. Our guide wasted no time in telling us that, like everyone else under 30 in this town, he was "trying to break into the business" and had an audition for Letterman in two days - as a "human beatbox", a talent he proceeded to demonstrate as he tore up Sunset Strip.
The whole thing is highly entertaining (provided your irony switch is fully in the "on" position) - even though all you get to see of most of the homes is a brief glimpse of a door through heavy security gates (as was the case with JLo's house in the pic). But what had Sarah and me in total stitches /shock was when our driver spotted a parade of expensive cars winding up the canyon ahead of us. In an attempt to impress the cute blonde teenage girls at the front of the van, he announced he was going to follow the cars, because "he had a sense for this kind of thing, and there was definitely someone famous in there." And thus we formed this bizarre, surreal little caravan: two black Escalades, a Jaguar, another two black Escalades and us (the white Econoline van)- racing up the twists and turns of Beverly Hills. Of course, they eventually disappeared through a large gate manned by burly security guards who made it clear with hand gestures that we were not welcome. I sense that the Human Beatbox has a future as a paparazzo. Dejected, he then returned to his regularly scheduled route.
Continuing the fully immersive Hollywood experience, we then walked up and down Hollywood Boulevard to look at the stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It's apparently not that hard to get one: you need to have been famous for at least five years; someone needs to submit a nomination letter on your behalf (probably your manager); you need to write the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce a cheque for $25,000. And voilà - you get a star.
Mann's Chinese Theatre is one of those tourist-mecca nodes on Hollywood Boulevard where the bodies are packed in like sardines. But really, how could we resist? Especially when the George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon hand and footprints had just recently gone on display. My favourite, though, were the Japanese school girls in full-on Harry Potter paraphernalia, posing next to the Daniel Radcliffe imprints.
It's the quintessential All-American pop culture experience. Equal parts commerce, fantasy and anticipation - with a dark undercurrent. Wandering amongst the throngs of tourists were costumed street entertainers trying to earn tips by posing for photos, street people selling maps to the stars' homes for one dollar, and the constant honking of horns from angry motorists trying to beat the traffic. And on every available flat surface, advertisements for the next big movie.
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