I first wrote home a few days into the trip. When I re-read it now I recall how struck we were by South California — it was just like we’d seen on TV. What strikes me now is how much things have changed in the past 25 years. I wonder if the sunny South Cal we remember still persists. ~Ian
We’re at Jeff and Terri’s, and I’m typing this on my new laptop next to Teegan, who’s watching Peter Rabbit on their iMac. It’s a bit distracting. In fact I’ve just spent 15 minutes learning my alphabet.
The flight was fine. My colourful new Apple clam-shell laptop was the sexiest computer in Economy, and we had exit-row seats over the wings — roomy, although a bit too close to the constant stream of people flushing toilets behind us.
It took us ages to get through US Customs but with no real problems. Picked up the rental car, got to Long Beach without accident (although I reckon Heather was clenching everything) and with only two directional errors.
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Jeff and Terri live on an amazing, sheltered little Island called Naples, across a bridge from Long Beach. The name sums up the intention and the vibe. As a suburb it dates from the 1920s and it’s absolutely picture-box perfect.
Theirs is a tiny house — it may be bigger than ours at home, I’d say, but the tiniest here. They have a lovely cottage garden and rabbit banners, not the Stars and Stripes, on a flag-pole outside the front door.
All the houses are on tiny little lots. If you’re rich, you buy the house next door, tear it down and plant a lawn.
The canal at the bottom of their street has walk-ways down both sides with the houses opening onto them. We walked along holding glasses of wine. It’s an absolutely impossible way to live from my point of view — I’d want to go inside and draw the curtains to hide from everyone. I’ll bet it keeps the infidelity rate down. Jeff and Terri don’t even have drapes on their lounge windows, which sure puts paid to snogging on the couch. Some places you can see right through to breakfast time. Apparently polite people don’t look. I’ll have to take lessons.
People keep their boats moored on the canal. They’re incredibly house-proud, and maintain their canal-side area with little gardens and/or out-door furniture. Everyone says Hi when you pass – it would be terribly rude not to. The houses are pricey, and further along they become real mansions – quite incredible. It’s absolutely charming, in what to us is a kitschy sort of way, but there’s something irresistible about it. You can hire kayaks, electric boats or a gondola — your guy will serenade you under the bridges.
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We went to an Irish Pub the night we arrived — loved the Guinness and the sawdust on the floor — and then to bed early. Slept 12 hours on Day One and ten the following two nights.
Went shopping on Day One for some basic clothes at Mervyn’s — Mervyn’s!
I didn’t get arrested, although maybe I deserved to be. We couldn’t make sense of the sizes, so I asked an assistant for help. I thought she was going to faint with embarrassment, I don’t know why. I grabbed some likely looking jeans and headed off to the changing room. Changing room? Where’s the changing room? Eventually I found one, got changed and went out to get Heather’s approval. When I went back in, a woman and her little kid were in there, looking like I certainly shouldn’t be. But my PANTS were in there — so I carried on with my normal charm, just a tad worried that the woman might have a .38 Saturday Night Special with her, as she barricaded herself in her stall with the kid and waited for my footsteps to recede in the distance. Which they did as rapidly as I could manage.
We ate Hot Dogs with ketchup and mustard on the barbie that evening. The hot dogs were big enough to star in a movie.
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Next morning, while Heather and Terri did water aerobics at the pool, Jeff and I bought takeout coffees in disposable cups and took Teegan in the stroller to watch the college babes play beach volley-ball on Long Beach in their itsy-bitsies. Then we went to Chucks (world famous locally) for breakfast. Heather and I simply had to order Weasels — scrambled eggs with chilli beans, potato and toast.
The enthusiasm here is infectious. You gotta love it. So South Cal. So Only In America.
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Later that day we went to Muscle Beach to see the wild life. Venice is similar to Long Beach in a way, but with most properties walled off against the hoards of tourists. It was great. Lots of whacky stalls, T-shirt sellers, performers of all sorts — an excellent comic mime, Tarot readers, musicians, sketch artists — the obligatory pedestrian with a giant snake for a wrap, skate boarders, roller skaters, cyclists (recumbent and up-right), body builders, body piercers — body poseurs of every sort. Jimi Hendrix is still alive and well, it seems, and playing battery-driven guitar on roller-blades at Muscle Beach. We haven’t seen Elvis so far.
Then there were the White Men Can’t Jump ball courts. Weight-lifting arena ($4 required for a day pass, plus a talent for exhibitionism).
We went whale watching on the beach (true, they’re out there sometimes). Didn’t see David or Pamela doing Bay Watch duty but their stand-ins were everywhere.
But Muscle Beach was like the Caluzzi Bar — the drag cabaret in Auckland that Queensberry went to before Christmas — the freaks watching the straights watching the freaks watching the straights. The real South Cal was the babes on the beach playing volley ball, and people like us eating Weasels and sodas (alcohol free, proceeds to charity)
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Jeff and Terri are teachers. All the kids have an attitude, they say. The trick for them is to work out your own but not hate others because they chose differently. In class you’ll get the immaculately made up Prom Queen sitting next to a Goth, sitting next to a baseball jock, sitting next to a baggy pants creep and a geek — but they do all talk to each other.
Jeff’s school is affluent. The reigning princesses are twins who drive to school in brand-new matching black BMW convertibles.
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Last night the four of us went to the Crab Pot. We started off with salty margaritas on the terrace overlooking the marina. When our table was ready we ordered a nice chardonnay and some delicious crab cakes — though the sauce was more like pineapple jam until we added Tabasco. Then they laid butcher paper on the table, tied bibs around our necks, plunked a board and a mallet and a tiny fork in front of us, and tipped a BUCKET of sea-food onto the table. Cockles, muscles, shrimps, clams, crabs and a fairly respectable Lobster — plus corn and red potatoes to be getting on with. The bucket goes behind you so you can toss the debris in it. Four of us shared a meal for two. Since it was our shout I offered them the same again, but there were no takers. Some of the other diners, however, looked like they hadn’t had their bibs off since the place opened.
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This morning we were hungry again, so we went to a coffee shop and ordered bagels and cream cheese with lattes (light cheese please, and low-fat lattes). There’s a swag of fresh choice at the supermarket (called Trader Joe’s of course). It’s just that no-one seems to eat it. Instead everyone seems to eat out a lot, and if so there’s not much fresh at all, salad or vegetable. For our road trip we decided we’d need to buy a cooler and eat breakfast and lunch from the supermarkets. Heather says she doesn’t need any more hot dogs or butter pecan ice cream. Stopping everywhere for burgers would mean we’d need to buy extra seats for the flight home. Having said that, the burgers are good — that’s the problem.
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You’ve got to warm to South Cal. People are well meaning and helpful. At least where we are. As Ray says, the US is the centre of the universe right now. When and if Americans think about that, they’re grateful. Their self-esteem level is high. Maybe we’ll drive through the exact new epicentre (Silicon Valley) in a few days, on our way to San Francisco.
Or maybe we’ll get a more balanced outlook tomorrow. We have an appointment at 10.30am in Anaheim, which is nearby and not a wealthy area — most people there probably have a service job at Disney Land.
Disney Land. Maybe we should go. I’d like to take the Terminator Two ride.