Los Angeles, CA

LA is hard to put into words. There are too many contrasts hitting you all at once. How do I describe the fabulous feel of West Hollywood where hotel pool lounge areas are covered in blue Astroturf whilst a trolley-wielding hobo sits outside shouting obscenities at a lamp post? Or the azure blue sky and tumbling surf that frames the hippie's RV installed as a beach front castle down on Venice Beach?

Ebba meets Paris: I like your shoes
Ebba and and I are eating at Koi, a sushi place on La Cienega. Serge joins us for some sake and edamame. Ebba disappears to powder her nose and comes back brow furrowed, a little surprised, perhaps confused - I can't tell.

"I was washing my hands," she explains, "and this blond girl comes out of the stalls next to me. I was thinking 'That's Paris Hilton!' but I couldn't tell. Then she turns and yes! It is Paris! She starts striking a pose front of the mirror and adjusting her hair, checking her teeth, straightening her top....

"She turns to me: "Are you having a good time?" I'm a little suprised Paris is chatting to me, but I say: "Thanks. The food is so good. I ate too much!" "Oh, I like your shoes!" she blabs. I wanted to tell her my shoes were from Aldo, but I couldn't. "My shoes are killing me," she continues. "They rub my legs". I look down and see that she's wearing knee-high F-me boots. No shit, I think. And then she sails out, high as a kite"

Culver City: Fruit for everyone
But LA isn't just the glitz of Hollywood and the perfectly manicured lawns of Beverly Hills. I travelled down to Culver City one afternoon with Ariana (a local) and Ebba. We stopped off at the farmers market and ambled through the stalls for an hour or so. There was the pretzel man serving up deliciously salty breads. The fruit sellers had mountains of sweet, juicy strawberries. The orange growers chopped up 12 different varieties for us to try: navel oranges, pink grapefruits, tangerines, and more. California's incredible farms were on full display - the heaving tables of cilantro, carrots, and cucumbers testimony to bountiful soil, water, and plentiful sun. A Rasta played regae version of nusery rhymes (imagine Bob Marley singing "itsy bitsy spider"!) as kids bobed back and forth. And down the end was an ingenious popcorn stand: a huge cauldron into which the chef poured enormous amounts of corn, salt, and sugar. It all swirled together in a delicious pop, pop, pop!

This was laid-back LA. A place where the community vibe still mattered. A place where people could connect to their food, and through vegetables and fresh juice to eachother. The sprit of the swinging 60s lingered all around the market. This was, I realised, the perfect antidote to LA's scene; Culver City's superficial alterego was just down the road on Sunset Boulevard.

City of Angels
LA feels like the city of dreams. It is anything to anybody at anytime. It's a place where all can aspire, vagrants can hide, and everyone can remake themselves. Every waiter could be the next Tom Cruise. And although thousands have been crushed, it's irresitable to imagine that you just might make it big. And that's a good thing. It's what America is founded on. But with so many potential falling stars, I was also happy that this was the City of Angels.