The main reason why I picked this place was indeed its close location to the airport. Not to watch the approaching airplanes but to save money if I’d have to go to the cargo section of the airport several times to get my motorcycle. And the daily free glass of Champagne supported the decision clearly. I was all wrong, it took me less than thirty minutes and 35 dollars on my first visit and I left the premises on my two wheels. Five minutes at the Qantas Freight office, seven minutes at US Customs, another four minutes back at Qantas, ten minutes to reconnect the battery and chat with the workers watching. Actually I didn’t count the minutes, as Buddhie started with the very first kick, I was faster on the streets of Los Angeles, struggling with directions, than I could even think about how long it took. That’s why I love air transport. By vessel might be cheaper but when we talk comfort, not mentioning speed, air is the transport of choice. No wooden crater (the cost of a crater can exceed the savings on volume), still a quart of the gasoline in the tank, you simply re-attach the battery and you are ready to roll. Singapore by boat: 3 days and 800$ fees. Melbourne by boat: 9 days and 650$ fees. L.A. by air: 30 minutes and 35$ fees. At a sea port, nobody cares if in one of the millions of containers you might have a wooden box with a motorcycle in it. At an airport, though, space is limited. Everyone wants you and your stuff to get out of there as fast as possible.

This smooth procedure offered me all of a sudden a lot of time in Los Angeles. I figured out that if everything continues working out that light, I will hang around Venice Beach the next day before noon, after bring my motorcycle for an oil change and myself for some medical check. You bet right, life isn’t just like that. After making an arrangement with a very friendly guy of some motorcycle workshop of Santa Monica on Saturday for the next day, the dude that was actually there on Sunday scared me off in seconds with his attitude. Probably he doesn’t like working on Sundays, what I can understand to a certain point. Talk to your boss, change something, emigrate to Australia where you definitely never have to work on weekends, but don’t spread your bad mood on your customers. Not good for business. It didn’t take so much time, I was back in the motel quickly, only that I had my KTM still with me. Scratch it, reset, no worry, let’s go for the health thing now, I said to myself. As I’m so close to the airport, it would be a great idea to just go there. Witnessing that every few seconds a new airplane arrives from places all over the world, bringing in millions of people, they must have a medical center there. Hey, this is America! Heart attacks, premature births, thrombosis, lumbagos, there are hundreds of reasons why an international airport of the size of L.A. will have half a hospital on site. The free airport shuttle of the motel brought me to a terminal. Straight I went to an information desk and asked for the medical center. Well, this seems to be quite unusual. First I was told there’s none. Only after I replied that there must be one because I saw the street sign close to parking area C, just before you enter terminal 1, the guy pointed on a maze map of the airport area to an empty lot at the edge of the worn out, bleached, wrinkled paper. Let me tell you one thing. Americans hate walking and likewise pedestrians. The chance that you die crossing one of the roads is fairly higher rather dying of most of the reasons why you would visit a hospital. At least, the thirty minutes’ walk, I got lost and stuck several times, got me warm. Used to very high temperatures over the last months, Los Angeles felt something like below zero. Not having eaten properly the last couple of days didn’t help either. Let me tell you another thing about America. Every food that is vaguely suspected to be healthy is strictly avoided. Sure, the first days I loved to nourish myself with almond m&m’s and Dr.Pepper, that’s part of the fun to be here. Maybe it’s a matter of national security that all the food is either deep fried or had a pulse before it was shot in the face and grilled. It’s mostly a combination of both, though. If you’re not fond of junk food, you’ve got a problem.

Finally I reached the Reliant Immediate Care medical center. Unharmed. There were maybe two other parties waiting in the entrance area. After introducing myself and my needs to the receptionist, I immediately started to work my way through the pile of paper forms. Basically I needed a blood count because of the drug treatment and a new prescription for those to refill my stock. It took only about two hours and I was invited to follow a nurse. Before, I paid 145$ for the service. Ok, that’s unusual somehow that you have to pay in advance, but as I clearly described what services I’m looking for and why, I guess they want to be sure that afterwards I’m not running out on the streets and get killed by a car before I paid them. When she started to measure my height and she asked me to stand on a scale, I didn’t interfere. At this point it was somehow funny, I kept my weight and shrunk a bit, I can live with that. After measuring me I was waiting in a small examination room they must have got donated from a Hollywood studio in the sixties of the last century. If only the needle will be fresh for the blood sample, I’m still fine with this place. After another half an hour waiting a woman with no name and no hello ordered me across the hallway to another room. A small step for a man, but a time travel of about two to three decades closer to present. I really liked that I was given another thirty minutes to accustom myself to the new room before finally a doctor entered to visit me. The doctor started to measure blood pressure. Now I objected that I’m not sick at all, I feel perfectly fine and strong. It’s for their records, they have to do that. I kept insisting that this was not necessary but I had no chance to stop it. Heart rate, body temperature and listening to the lungs. “Now, what are you here for?” the doctor asked. One of my weaknesses is that I can get impatient once in a while. I told the receptionist, I told a nurse, I filled in a dozen paper forms, I waited more than two hours and the message didn’t get through to the person in charge. One of my strengths is to keep calm in such situations so I repeated my request politely. When I told her about the blood count she asked why I wanted one. Now I have to tell you first more about one of the drugs I take. It’s an immunosuppressive drug, used to prevent organ rejection following organ transplantation and to treat a vast array of autoimmune diseases. It’s a well-known drug that is on the market for a long time. Until this day, every doctor around the world at least pretended to know what it’s all about. Not so in Inglewood. “So what you want us to check in your blood?” the doctor asked. “Well, you’re the doctor, you tell me” I replied. Sorry I can’t really tell you more than that. All I know is that, even if you take it for years, the drug can all of a sudden have severe influence on your blood picture. Therefor you have to check it regularly. Some experts advise to do so every month, others tell that if you get along with it well, every six month is sufficient. Though at home I agreed with my favorite doctor to check every three months. How exactly the blood count looks like or should look like, I have no clue. My amateur shot will be to simply check it. If just something is not like it’s supposed to be, alarm! It’s something about the white blood cells which are part or have something to do with the immune system. But I could read in the face of the doctor that she had absolutely no idea either. Now what happens in the country of liability suits if you have no idea of nothing? “We can’t do blood counts here” was the only reasonable comment. If you don’t do anything, you do nothing wrong. Sad but from their perspective it’s the right thing. “You have to go to some emergency room, they can do it there.” A blood count is one of the most common things in modern medicine and is performed for about 50 years now. If you don’t do it your own, a lab will do it for you, it’s a fully automated process. It took me more than one deep breath to find my inner balance again. “Ok, just give me the prescription then” I said. “Ok, I can write one for 30 days…”, she started but I interrupted “no, I need for 50 days, please.” “I can’t give you 50 days, we are a clinic for urgent matters and we’re only allowed to give for 30 days.” “Ma’am, please, I’m a tourist, I’m travelling around, I don’t want to go to a medical center a second time just for a prescription.” No way, no freaking way she turned in. All the drugs I need are completely worthless on the free market. You cannot smoke them, they won’t make you high or faster or happy, they don’t even support your stamina. When I left, after more than three hours, I was really angry and upset. I complained that I paid 145$ and haven’t got what I asked for at all. 145$ for a 30 day prescription and the knowledge that my heart rate was 60 – before I got angry. But, yeah, you can bet on that, it didn’t make any difference. Not for me at least.

My experience at the pharmacy was another story. In America, sticking to the rules is more important than your health. Common sense doesn’t live in Inglewood. Anyway, I realize I still get angry when I write this text, just one suggestion to all the pharmacists in the world: When you have a client who buys prescribed drugs and not useless dietary supplements - I acknowledge that in Inglewood the only way to get some vitamins is to buy it in shape of pills – save your comment that they are expensive. I paid more for less.

Every minute, thousands of people arrive in the majestic, big birds that fly over my head, at the airport in Inglewood. The people arrive in Los Angeles, nobody stays in Inglewood.