| Poor old LAX: the heaving, antiquated, white elephant of US arrival points from the Pacific region. If you repeat to yourself for weeks in advance, "It's going to take three hours to get out of there" then, like me, you'll be fair chuffed with 1 hour and 45 minutes (50 minutes to reach the machines that you stick your passport and your fingers into, then another 55 to reach the immigration officer to show him your passport and stick your fingers into his little machine). On the bright side, your baggage has gone around 350 times before being removed by someone and placed at the side of the carousel, so no waiting there (unless someone else has walked off with it). There seems to be some kind of hierarchy, whereby the grumpiest, shoutiest staff welcome you from your plane and scream at you that you're an idiot for not queueing properly (maybe owing to the lack of signage?), the would-rather-be-somewhere-else-but-can-affect-caring-if-I-really-try staff help out at the electronic machines, while the immigration officer at the final desk is pleasant and friendly. Maybe it's a kind of Hunger Games / Battle Royale deal: survive each stage and you get to pass into the U.S. The arrivals terminal (Tom Bradley) is cramped and full, but because it's small it's easy to escape. Not sure I'd fancy transferring from it, though. Not without four hours up my sleeve. It's better than it was ten years ago though, and once you get out into LA's sunshine you can quickly forget it. Tip: arrive here directly from Shanghai Pudong, and you'll at least feel more like a human being than you would if you arrived here from Auckland, Changi, Narita, Hong Kong, Melbourne and Heathrow.