Stranger in A Strange Land.

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Some General Observations About Life in America.

You would think that re-locating to the good old US of A would be as easy a transition, as small a culture shock as could possibly be imagined. After all, the white caucasians over here appear pretty similar and speak the same native tongue as us Brits don't they. Or do they ? After four weeks or so over here I'm not so sure. Fact is, this country differs from what you'd find in the UK in many more ways than some of our closer non English speaking European neighbours. Cultural differences that set the yanks apart, most of which one can only imagine have happened deliberately due to their late start and lack of history are plentiful. Here are just a selection;-

Health and fitness:- As we all know Americans love their food, a fact that needs no more proof than to look at the sheer size of the majority of short wearing, white socked, baseball capped tourists wobbling around many of our major tourist attractions. The world's most obese nation gains that notoriety as a result not only from it's intake of huge portions of burgers, fries and syrup topped pancakes but a combination of them all and more allied to a sloath like couch potato existence. The Connor family made famous by Roseanne Barr says it all.

Of all fifty states however California is probably the exception to the rule, a place where the climate and close proximity to the Ocean instills into a large percentage of its inhabitant's a willingness and desire to get out, to excercise and to generally remain fit and healthy. Opening the living room blinds of the apartment first thing in the morning on any one day will reveal someone, somewhere starting the day with a short sharp blast of serotonin be it with the aid of bicycle, skates, swim or shank's pony. Some of the sights make you rub your eyes and look again, men and women in their seventies bedecked in all-in-one purple lycra leotard's and pink headbands crawl by at a snail's pace, six million dollar women who thanks to major advancements in cosmetic surgery resemble nothing like how the good lord intended them bounce past, kids on skateboards slalom between them both and tattoed muscle men, usually accompanied by some breed or other of macho canine strut their stuff all partaking of the healthy lifestyle. It's everywhere.

For me that is just perfect. A willingness to remain active and avoid stagnation as I slip deeper into the realms of middle age is something I have always had within me and out here it is so simple to jump on your bike and head out for a ride along the beach or don your speedos (yeah, right) and head to the water. After a week here, helped by an almost constant barrage of abuse, dirty looks and disapproving tuts from Phil I smoked my last cigarette and somewhat surprisingly have not even thought of having one since. Long may it continue.

Food:- The choice, quality and availiability of food out here is second to nowhere in the world. Supermarkets are stocked with an incredible range and selection of goods either fresh, tinned or frozen and at prices that put our supermarkets to shame and the fresh produce such as fruit, veg and seafood comes to the shelves as fresh as a daisy, a gastronomer's delight. Eating out too is so tempting. On Second Sreet alone just a short walk from the flat can be found restaurants offering cuisine from a wide range of countries including Greece, Mexico, India, Thailand, Italy, Lebanon, Usa and more. In fact the only thing that missing is a jellied eel shop and all this in a street of bars and restaurants less than a mile long.

Ordering, for example, a sandwich however is not quite as simple as it would seem. Asking for something as straightforward as a cheese and tomato butty would more than likely see you bombarded with a series of questions more searching than if immigration had taken you aside to an unfurnished room and, with rubber glove being donned told you to bend over and drop 'em.

Firstly "What type of bread?". If you make the mistake of enquiring "What have you got?" as I have done on more than one occasion you get bombarded with a quick fire, off by heart list of about six or seven bread types. Rye, Wheat, Sourdough ?, French Roll, Italian, sweet bread etc etc none of which you can really be sure exactly what they actually are. Next it's what type of cheese; Cheddar, Swiss, American, Munster ?, Cream, etc etc, and then sauces; Mayo, Mustard, ketchup etc and finally accompaniments; Pickles, Gherkins, Peppers, Jalapenos etc. You are viewed either with a look of sympathy normally reserved for the mentally retarded or of horror as though you've just committed some kind of brutal or sadistic crime if you dare insist you just want an original plain cheese an tomato.

It may just be my unfamiliarity to the situation that causes me to be impressed by the wide and exciting range of all things culinary but Phil, veteran of twelve years isn't quite of the same opinion. Whilst writing this he peered over my shoulder and said "have you told 'em how shite the bread is ? and the chocolate, and the beans, and the cheese, and the........"

Driving and the Highway Code:- The first thing I had to get used to was sitting and driving on the wrong side and on two seperate occasions soon after my move I climbed into the car borrowed from the intern's and with a face of horror and bemusement thought "Christ, someone's stolen the wheel". Phil has said my driving is erratic and Marisa even went as far as to say on one occasion that she was scared when I was behind the wheel, a little bit harsh I thought when I've always considered myself to be more than competent if perhaps a little hasty. The thing is over here there are so many rules that apply nowhere else in the world that it is confusing to even an experienced international driver, there simply is no place for switching into auto pilot. Exceptions to the UK norm include;-

i) As with many countries but unlike Britain the roads here are designed on a logical, easy to follow grid system ensuring that crossroads are everywhere, the difference being out here that on all roads off the major routes there is no such thing as a main throughfare. Basically, every junction irrespective of which way it is approached has a stop line which has to be obeyed. Driving across without slowing to a standstill even if the coast is obviously clear and you are on what you would imagine to be the main road is a ticketable offence and right of way is dictated one at a time in a clockwise direction commencing with he who arrives first.

ii) As you'd expect with a grid system traffic signals on the major routes are a vital factor in the whole thing working smoothly, the main difference to home being that if you approach a red light you can still turn right if the coast is clear. This I must add is not a bad idea all things considered.

iii) Pedestrians get right of way at all times. This is tough and is one I am still having trouble getting my head around. Approaching The Woodies lights back in Ellesmere Port on green as someone crossed would inevitably result in a ten second blast on the horn, a couple of hand gesture's and a mimed obsenity or two but not here. You could be driving along, minding your own business admiring the ocean views and if a one legged ninety seven year old blind person on crutches stepped off the kerb in front of you you'd have screech to a stop sending whatever it is you have on the seat next to you (dinner, soft drink, passenger or whatever) crashing to the floor and as you bent to pick it up the cause of your troubles would toddle across in their own time oblivious to everything around them. I'm not sure of the penalty for abusing this law but wouldn't be at all surprised if included a spell behind bars.

iv) Not long after arriving over here I'd nipped to the shop with Olivia. When we returned I pulled into a convenient parking spot outside the flat. "What are you doing ?" she exclaimed as though I'd done something calamitously wrong.

"Huh" I replied, "why, what's up?"

"You're facing the wrong way". Unbeknownst to me you can only park in the direction of the traffic flow.

To make matters more complicated re; parking sections of kerb adjacent to private driveways, junctions, hydrant's and other areas are painted red and no part of the vehicle, not so much a bumper may overlap. Penalty; ticket as I found out on Sunset Boulevard after being to see Ted Nugent last week receiving a sixty five dollar fine in the process.

v) If you are approaching a yellow school bus, the type decimated by Keanu Reeves in the movie 'Speed' and red lights on the roof start to flash you have to stop irrespective of your position in the road. I have yet to come across one of these yet but hope and pray that my memory doesn't fail me when I do, especially if it's during my driving test. I suspect the penalty for mowing down the class of 2008 will be a couple of months on death row followed by the electric chair at a minimum.

vi) Even as a pedestrian you simply cannot switch off. Traffic signals dictate when you can cross the road and jaywalking is another punishable offence. In the long run it could be good therapy for my impatience issues but then again I know I'll find it hard to stand still for ten seconds when I can see the coast is clear. I've already received more than a few disapproving looks from waiting pedestrians as I've thought 'sod it' and crossed when not supposed to.

vii) When driving on the freeway there is no such thing as slow, fast or even medium lanes, you can (and people do) do as you please. Quite often you'll be motoring along at seventy miles an hour when a blur will flash past, dart into the short gap that exists between you and the vehicle in front then pull out again and be on its way, one of the reasons why I've already witnessed about five dinted vehicles pulled into the side as it's driver inspects RTA damage. One exception to the rule is generally the left hand lane, known as the pool lane which restricts entry to vehicles with more than one occupant. The penalty for straying over the line is a $ 341 dollar fine. At Christmas I asked Phil why 341, why not 340 or even 350, the answer being because 341 sticks in your mind easier. And they're right.

viii) Finally, rather like a land of fifty totally independent countries each state has it's own rules with regards to licensing and testing. California State law dictates that any residing aliens have to apply for a licence within ten days of arrival and take a driving test, both written and physical. My written test is pencilled in for June 23rd so please think of me and keep your fingers crossed.

Tipping:- When I see a price on a food or drink menu I have grown accustomed to thinking that that is what it is going to cost me plus a tip for the waiter or barman if I feel they are deserving. "Have one yourself" is a phrase we all use now and again but out here now and again is not even an alternative, it's simply everytime. What makes it even more galling is that the acceptable national figure for this compulsory tipping is a gargantuan twenty per cent. Phil sympathetically explains that all people who work in the waiting on game are on the minimum peanuts national wage but when I go out for a Friday night drink I like to go for a Friday night drink and if the rest of the boozer are in similar 'thirsty' mood then that is going to lead to some very wealthy bar staff. Perhaps when I tire of the Construction Management game I will turn my hand to working a bar.

Television:- I can't speak from experience this time around but I recall from Christmas that ninety percent of American TV was shite and full of adverts. Come to think of it that is pretty much exactly as it is back home. The reason I can't speak from experience is that since Christmas Phil has terminated his cable connection so his TV set just serves as a DVD playing medium. I haven't seen one second of TV other than a sports event on an elevated set in a bar and needless to say I have seen more movies in the past four weeks than Jonathan Woss and Barry Norman have in their lifetimes. My thirty seven incher, bragging again, is just sitting patiently awaiting its hook up to cable and if Phil thinks he's coming up stairs once a week to watch his favourite motoring show he's got another thing coming !!

Lingo:- Understanding the language is proving to be a lot tougher than expected. Firstly, let's get one thing straight. The language is called English and the fact that the yanks have devised their own alternative, conveniently and ingeniously called American English simply to lazily provide what they no doubt consider their own unique identity strikes no chord whatsoever with me, it is neither here nor there. Consequently when I go into the local branch of Target and slowly and clearly ask the assistant where can I find a trolley I don't expect a look that makes me feel as though I have just got off the latest rocket from Mars.

"Excuse me sir"? is the reply,

I repeat myself even slower, "Where can I find the trolleys"?

I'm greeted with another look of puzzled bemusement that telkls me I'm getting nowhere when at that instant a tiny chinese woman turns into sight down the bedding aisle struggling to push a fully laden bright red one that is nearly as big as herself. I point straight it.

"One of those" I explain

"Ah, a basket. Yes they're at the end of the store on the left sir. Have a nice day"

I raise my eyebrows and head off resisting the urge to point at the other woman I spot coming towards us who is carrying a hand basket, turn and shout "No. That's a f***in' basket".

On my next visit to target I was hunting for a bin for both the kitchen and the bathroom and, adopting what I thought to be an American approach asked the young lady if she could direct me to the 'garbage bins'. Her expression, similar to the trolley man told me I was way off the mark. "Rubbish bins" I offered still with no luck. I was about to give up and carry on searching when suddenly she responded, "Ah, trash cans" and promptly pointed me in the right direction.

Examples such as these are too many to mention, suffice to say it took me twenty minutes in the very same bedding section just to locate the quillt/duvet covers simply because over here they call them comforters and if by chance they do happen to use the same word as us you can bet your bottom dollar they'll choose to use an alternative spelling.

Banking I now know that it is not just Barclays UK but financial institutions the world over that are run by a money grabbing bunch of, to term a phrase, total 'bankers'. Last week I had cause to ring Citibank in New York. My new account package which had finally arrived a couple of days earlier had ommitted to include a cheque book and as a lack of Social Security number (mine finally arrived yesterday) makes it impossible to pay bills on-line these were a necessity to ensure my utillity service deposits got paid thus ensuring I wasn't cut off before I'd even moved in. I spoke to Lenny, a jovial yet somehow gay sounding Jamaican guy with an thick caribbean accent and a booming laugh that painted pictures of white beaches and clear tropical skies who had moved to NYC some years earlier. We talked cricket and discussed the typical way that yanks change dates to mm/dd/yyyy thus taking six months off my age as soon as I arrived before he apologetically informed me that cheques had to be purchased by account holders and that for forty dollars I could have a box of 120 cheques delivered to my door. Forty dollars for some cheques !

It seems every service you ask a bank to perform for you, irrespective of whether or not you are an account holder is a chargeable one. Asking the bank to write a cheque to repay the apartment deposit Phil leant me cost ten bucks as did the cheque for the deposit for my lease car. If my forty dollars worth don't arrive soon my piggy bank is going to be well and truly empty !

Social Security Card As I have said before, the period between application and actually receiving your SS number which can be as long as four to five weeks is effectively a time when, to all and sundry, you actually cease to exist. When I called through to the SS office yesterday and finally received mine over the phone I immediately rang the local gas company to activate my account thus enabling myself to actually eat something hot. I reeled off my number as requested and was told that it wasn't on their system and that it would take five to six months to be accepted. In the meantime I'd still have to traipse all the way to their downtown offices in person.

So, as you can see, all is not as straightforward as expected. It has been a long and often frustrating road but I'm finally, eventually getting there.

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Photos

Stranger In A Strange Land.
Trees.

Stranger in A Strange Land
Red Sky At Night

Stranger In A Strange Land.
Sitting on the dock of the bay.

Stranger In A Strange Land.
Isn't there supposed to be a child in there, not body boards.

Stranger in A Strange Land.
Garbage patrol.

Stranger in A Strange Land.
Kiters on Long Beach.

Stranger In A Strange Land
Bird watchers at Seal Beach Wildlife Reserve. I got some camera tips off them.

Stranger in A Strange Land
There goes Lou again.

Stranger In A Strange Land
Whilst shopping if Phil wants me he calls me up, if I want him I just head to the booze aisle.

Stranger In A Strange Land.
Taking a rest half way through my run.

Stranger in A Strange land.
Practice makes perfect. A solo skater by the flat.

Stranger in A Strange Land.
Basketball.

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When in Rome, Little Piggie...when in Rome.