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LIGHTS AND ACTION IN THE CITY OF ANGELSBy Colleen Friesen A woman could get used to having her own chauffeur. Unfortunately, the Beverly Hilton Hotel limits their icy-blue-complimentary Mercedes to a three-mile radius from their grounds, which as it turns out, is a godsend. In a city of 9.5 million people, it's nice to have someone impose perimeters and an area of focus. I'm dropped just before my Mercedes turns into a pumpkin and I start walking. At Melrose Avenue I spot my first stop-an obviously popular bistro called Le Pain Quotidien. The deck is crowded with diners and the yeasty scent of fresh baking bread. I order the arugula and goat cheese salad and settle back for some very fine people watching. The style is faded T's, ripped jeans and a chunky belt. Somehow, they manage to look rich in outfits that I would wear gardening-must be the perfect make-up, quality shoes and high-end haircuts. Probably doesn't hurt that the shredded jeans are worth a few hundred bucks. "Mind if I take a photo with you in the foreground?" I lean towards the nearest table and talk to the fashionista in the black vest. Minutes later, photo taken, I am invited to join them. She is Kimberly, a landscape designer who is launching her own line of garden furniture. Her benches will be a better buy than her competitors at only $7,000.00. Each. He is Steve, a contractor. His girlfriend has just flown back to her other home in Paris. I sip the last of my organic lemonade as Kimberly finishes writing out my must-see list of shops and other streets to explore. And so, waving goodbye to my new friends, I'm off to walk Melrose and the adjacent Third Avenue shops. Rodeo Drive may be worth the walk, if only to see the Beautiful People in their natural habitat. But for more of a village feel, and shops that don't carry things requiring a second mortgage, my vote goes to the Melrose and Third Avenue neighbourhoods. I stop at The Coffee Bean & Tea shop. Ted, standing behind the counter, points to my camera. "My god...not more paparazzi. I'm hounded all the time!" I laugh, "Are you famous?" "Not yet," he replies, and turns serious as he pours my latte, "but I'll be discovered soon-and have a huge house in Beverly Hills." I sit and peruse the newspaper but soon find myself chatting to the guy at the next table. I find out that Sam is studying to be a hairdresser to the stars while he works on another screenplay. Milena Popovich is on a different route to fame and fortune. I'm lured into her candle shop by the scents. Milena is a large Yugoslavian woman who used to massage the likes of Arnold Schwarzenegger. She very proudly shows me the letter from Maria Shriver thanking her for "creating such fantastic smells for our house", I can barely focus on the letter as I'm mesmerized by the size of her hands. I have no doubt she could knead Arnie's neck muscles into putty. Her assistant moves Milena's teacup-sized dog from the office chair and tells me how Milena makes all these paraffin-free, flower scented soy candles at home. Swinging my shiny Milena's Boutique bag, I leave with my orange/vanilla candle, certain its price will double as soon as the rest of the glitterati find this new way to see themselves in lights. The next day, I skip the limo and venture further afield. "Repent Sinners!" The man's ebony face drips sweat onto his baby-blue tracksuit as he stands on Pacific Blvd. admonishing Mankind. The tanned blonde woman with the tutti-frutti bikini appears oblivious as she roller skates past him with her hot pink surfboard held loosely under one arm. I wait for a director to appear and yell, "Cut!" It's all just too cliché. In this state of perpetual make-believe California fulfills all its stereotypes. But it's here at Venice Beach where the quirky and the bizarre go full out. Oiled up muscle-bound bodies pumping iron at the outdoor beach gym ignore the elderly lady who has dressed herself-and her poodle, no less-in head-to-toe shades of purple. Dreadlocked boys carry their boom boxes on their shoulders. The throbbing bass competes with the pounding of the Pacific flinging surfers to its shores. A cyclist sports a full-leather outfit-like a Harley-riding biker-except he's on a heavily chromed bicycle as he wheels along the pedestrian walkway. Doesn't he see the neon sign above the Cow's End coffee shop across the street, announcing the 94-degree temperature? Los Angeles is an overwhelming, freeway-strangled city. But within that sprawl are funky cities-within-the-city communities to explore. There's more here than Disneyland and Universal Studios; instead, go find where the people really live. Break the city into chunks, wear your biggest sunglasses, rip your jeans, stroll the streets and see who enters from stage left. Who knows what you'll discover or who might discover you... Just call for the limo when you've had enough. IF YOU GO: Check out the lights for yourself. (If you're looking for more mainstream action, you can buy the LA All Access Pass to get you into more than 35 L.A. attractions, museums and other points of interest). Info on neighbourhoods and the LA Pass can be found at: www.SeeMyLA.comLive like a star: www.beverlyhilton.com Get a candle like Arnie & Maria: www.milenasboutique.com/ Travel Writers' Tales is an independent travel article syndicate that offers professionally written travel articles to newspaper editors and publishers. To check out more, visit www.travelwriterstales.com Photos 1. Rodeo Drive, Beverly Hills 2. Third Avenue Shops 3. Sean Friesen checks out Venice Beach 
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