On Safari

We recently decided to pay a visit to the San Diego Safari Park.
 

Some time ago we had been to San Diego Zoo primarily because I wanted to see the giant pandas.  I’m not a great supporter of zoo’s – like most people I think I’d rather see these animals in the wild than behind bars but being realistic, the chance of spotting a panda in its natural environment is extremely unlikely.  San Diego Zoo is world famous; most of the animals (although not all) are in large enclosures and the zoo runs an extremely successful conservation and breeding programme.

The Safari Park was originally conceived as the zoo’s “over spill” but is now an established wildlife park specializing in endangered African animals.

It promotes itself as being the closest thing to a real African safari as you can get outside Africa.  To be fair that is probably the case because there are not many places outside of Africa that have such vast empty hot dry uninhabited spaces where these safari type animals can be homed. On the other hand I’m not sure any Safari you go on in Africa would have you standing in the back of a truck hand feeding a giraffe.  Nor would the lions be sat on a very fresh looking piece of recently watered bright green grass, or wild cheetahs be participating in a 70 mile an hour “cheetah race” just for your personal entertainment, but I’m pretty sure the park’s founders had their heart in the right place.

Unfortunately you can’t conserve without money and you can’t make money unless you can generate an income and the easiest way to generate an income is to attract an audience.  The Safari Park is up against Disney and Sea World so presumably they have to do something to make people want to go. Sadly it would appear that just “viewing” these endangered animals in as near to their natural environment as possible is not enough. The public wants to be entertained and to interact - that whole 4-D experience.

We did enjoy the Safari Park and the hot African-like temperatures only added to the ambiance of the place.  Like most modern day tourist attractions there was an abundance of fast food outlets and retail opportunities to keep most of the visitors happy - just in case anyone lost interest in the animals. Overcome with exhaustion we decided not to stay until 5.00 pm for that cheetah race, or spend the night in one of the Safari Park’s purpose built tents for the total authentic “African” experience, but headed off instead to a nearby hotel.

We ended up in La Jolla (pronounced La Hoya - just in case you ever need to ask directions) the positively upmarket end of San Diego, and very lovely it was too.   La Jolla is a Mediterrean style resort – it’s compact and walkable and unlike most of beachside America it doesn’t have a main highway running through the middle of it (it also has the best Crab wontons I've ever tasted - I'll warn you now that week in New England has turned me into a total foodie!)

Dolphins and seals swam and frolicked just a few feet off shore in their totally natural environment - so close you could almost touch them, but thankfully that's not encouraged here.  In fact it's totally forbidden - there are signs posted all along the beach front warning against any interaction or interference with the marine mammals.  Just a few miles down the road you can take your kids to Sea World for the day where they can hang over the edge of a man-made pond and pat a captive dolphin on the head. Or, you could bring them to La Jolla, sit them on the beach and watch a wonderfully natural and spontaneous display of wildlife.

Personally, I know which show I'd rather see.

An All American Family

Now that the school term has officially ended and the Californian summer is well and truly here, we appear to have metamorphed into a typical all American family. 

The Teenager is currently attending summer school – there’s none of those long lazy lie-in’s for us. Summer School is a Californian educational must-have; the chance to improve on those grades for some, or fortunately for our teenager, the opportunity to get a couple of compulsory subjects out of the way to free up space in next term's highly academic schedule for some lightweight art “electives”. Of course we have to pay for this privilege – as do her friends attending public (state) run summer schools, and if she wasn’t at the Summer Academy (and some of her friends appear to be there from 7.00 in the morning until 7 at night) she would have a total of 11 weeks off school.  So why they just don’t extend the school term for another 5 weeks in order to fit everything in?

Daughter No 1 is currently here too, volunteering as a counselor at a local children’s summer camp. That’s another All-American must-have; with 11 long weeks to fill summer camps provide the ideal solution not just for working parents who need to find childcare, but for High School kids looking to earn credits towards college entry through voluntary work.  University places in California are like gold-dust – you don’t just need the straight A’s to get accepted; you need to have been in at least six school sports teams, chaired a dozen after school clubs and have completed several hours worth of “community service”. Don’t even think about applying to the big two, USC or UCLA, without it.

So the kids are well and truly embracing their new American lifestyle.  After camp and after school they trot off together to Starbucks to indulge in some frothy toffee café latte type thing. The Teenager is now in possession of a Starbucks Gold Card and enjoys all those little extra upgrades this brings - extra caramel, extra ice, extra calories.  She has also realized that at 15 and a half she can now apply for a driving permit so is about to embark on a course of “Driver Ed”.  Scarily enough as soon as she’s passed her written test she can start to drive on the road as long as she accompanied by a “competent adult” (that wont be me then.)

I keep thinking am I going to be the last bastion of Britishness in this family or have even I  succumbed to the Californian way of life?  I do still take my own bags to the supermarket but I have just signed up for golf lessons - although I am not sure if that is embracing a new lifestyle or just part of the natural aging process.

Perhaps the most telling sign of this acclimitisation is literally just that – we’ve started putting the air conditioning on. A few days of temperatures well up in the 90’s and I realize I am housebound again – it’s straight from the air conditioned apartment to the air conditioned car.  And then when the “marine layer” moves in for a day or two we welcome it as light relief – Cloudy today? Oh thank goodness for that…spoken like a true Californian.

And because it’s too hot I’ve had to curtail my morning walks and have resorted to visiting the  residents’ gym. Like everything else in America, exercising is highly competitive. I’ve usually got the gym to myself but occasionally I’ll be joined by a total fitness fiend – someone who puts me to shame burning off 600 calories in one 15 minute session.  I much prefer the alternative – the exercise-phobe who strolls in with a cup of coffee and positively dawdles along on the running machine.  Then it’s my turn to feel ultimately superior and I fear all that competitiveness has rubbed off on me…….you really think five minutes walking at that speed will keep you fit?

As always there is a big flat screen TV up on the wall in the gym but this constant obsession with the TV is definitely part of American culture that I haven't embraced. If I’m exercising on my own I don’t have the TV on – after all it’s normally first thing in the morning, I’m contact lens-less and quite frankly have enough trouble seeing the digital readout in front of my nose let alone a TV screen a few feet away – that’s just a blurry distraction.  However, part of a regular American warm-up routine will be the search for the TV remote and several subsequent channel hops.  I have actually been asked if the TV was broken simply because it was off – there was a complete look of amazement when I replied no I just hadn’t switched it on.  You’re kidding me!

No I’m quite happy just jogging along to my I-pod.  The livelier the music the quicker I tend to run.  Green Day’s “American Idiot” seems to work quite well for me. ;-)

Independence Day

Being British I do feel slightly awkward about Independence Day celebrations.

Last year we made the mistake of  going to Huntington Beach where unbeknown to us there was quite a significant Independence Day Parade taking place, lots of flag waving and pledging of the allegiance. It was a display of American patriotism at its very best, but we kept our heads firmly down and tried not to draw attention to ourselves, feeling distinctly like we'd gatecrashed a private party.

Various sections of American military personnel marched proudly past to rapturous applause followed by an assortment of local school bands, decorated floats and some elderly townsfolk who had presumably done something significant with their lives apart from just being old.

Huntington Beach was packed – people were crammed into the sidewalks; homeowners were perching on their roof tops; there were families having BBQ’s in the front yard where the sofa had been dragged outside so grandma could get a better view.

This year we knew better so we decided to keep a distinctly low profile.   No parades for us.

It was very hot and seeking refuge from the heat we decided we’d go to the movies where it would be nice and cool inside.  As I’ve mentioned before we are very lucky in Pasadena because we have a positive plethora of movie theatres all within walking distance and I wanted to go and see the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean. 

  

It’s very indicative of just how many more movies come out here than back in the UK because films tend to come and go from the big multiplexes very quickly.  Even blockbusters like Harry Potter don’t hang around here for more than a couple of weeks before the next big thing arrives, but with an abundance of movie screens I knew we’d be able to catch those Pirates somewhere.  Sure enough – they were showing at the “Academy 6” a very small movie theatre at the less salubrious end of main street Pasadena, a building reminiscent of something which  we would have lovingly  referred to back home as a flea pit.

At $2 a ticket it was almost cheaper than staying at home with the air conditioning on – and I got to sit and watch Johnny Depp for two hours.  That’s not bad.  The place was certainly better on the inside than the out, and exceeded my expectations with regard to comfort of seating and internal décor. It did take us a while to choose a seat however - every time we sat down we appeared to be viewing the screen at a slightly odd angle.  There were the usual disturbances of other people filtering in and out throughout the course of the film, including a couple with a dog (that’s a first) and there was also a rather annoying fuzzy green line which appeared down the middle of the screen half way during the film and stayed right to the very end, but hey, at $2 a ticket what can you expect?

At the end of the show we were thrust back out into the brilliant sunlight and the ghostly quiet of mid-afternoon Pasadena.  The streets were deserted – where was everyone? Were they really all sat at home watching Independence Day TV marathons? (Yes I saw these being advertised in the run up to 4 July – a whole day of watching and re-watching repeats of your favourite show - what a great way for US citizens to celebrate their independence from us Brits – slob out watching crap TV all day with a fast-food takeway.)

Later on we walked downtown and ate a meal in half empty restaurant, where rather ironically we noticed that the background music had a distinctly British feel about it - Mumford & Sons, Florence & the Machine. There we were a few weeks ago in Boston, walking the Freedom Trail and standing before a large bronze statue of American hero Paul Revere, famous for his midnight ride to warn the American revolutionists of imminent attack with his cry of "the British are coming, the British are coming".

Who'd have thought, 235 years later and, funnily enough, we're still here.

The Honeymoon's Over

Ten days previously we had set out for New York and New England from sunny California, but now our East Coast adventure had come to an end and it was time to pack our bags and had back west.

I loved New England; a whole new world had been revealed to me and I wanted to know more.

On the long drive back to Newark I had lots to ponder on; I vowed to go on a quest to discover all I could about those brave Pilgrim Fathers, Martha’s Vineyard, the Kennedy’s, and the Native Americans whose story has almost been erased from America’s history books.

As we drove back through the lush green countryside I could almost imagine that famous, (albeit very Disneyfied) Native American Pocahontas running bare foot through the trees with the colours of the wind flying through her hair.

I was seriously starting to think I do rather like this county, but then the vagaries and absurdities of living in America struck yet again.

It wasn’t just my imaginary Pocahontas I could see with the wind in her hair as we drove back down those Connecticut freeways.  Hairy biker after hairy biker sped past our car and it soon became very apparent that this is a state where the crash helmet is not a legal neccessity. Yet when we pulled up in nearby New Jersey we discovered that we couldn’t even put gas in our own car.  Yes here the self service gas station is illegal - quite simply its considered too dangerous, only a highly trained gas station employee has the safety awareness and required knowledge to press that button and manhandle the pump.

Hop on your Harley Davidson in NJ and it’s considered too much of a health risk for you to unscrew your own fuel cap; travel a few miles east to the CT border and you can rip off your helmet and ride bareheaded to kingdom come.  Am I the only person in the world who thinks that’s just slightly mad?

The skytrain mono-rail at Newark Airport was on a go-slow, already delayed at the gas station waiting for a NASA trained fuel pump attendant, we were then literally trapped for 20 minutes on a ride that should have taken five.  

We made it to our departure gate with minutes to spare.

Pilgrim Fathers? Who gives a fig.  It was definitely time to splash out on a Continental Airlines alcoholic beverage.  Ice cold red wine?  Ooh my favourite!

West Meets East Part III - Cape Cod Capers

 Now that we were warm and waterproof we could head off anywhere - Massachusettes was our oyster or rather our lobster because that’s the local delicacy. 

 

On our first day we headed to Provincetown at the tip of Cape Cod.  This is an artists’ retreat and very arty it was too.  We declined the opportunity to have a tattoo from a man body sprayed entirely in pink paint and instead browsed the tiny little main street bordered by traditional New England cottages with delightfully rustic front gardens crammed with unruly bright flowers and objects d’art.  

We made a detour to view America’s “most photographed” lighthouse.  Whilst it was in a very picturesque setting, the lighthouse itself it was a bit of a disappointment, mainly because I’d misread the Guide Book - it was actually only 40ft tall not the 400 we were expecting. Still I was able to quickly redeem myself by spotting a couple of seals frolicking in the waves below.  The distraction technique – works every time.

The next day we took the train into Boston and started our tour of the town at Harvard.  I like to give the teenager something to aim for.  She was suitably impressed so we forked out for a genuine Harvard sweatshirt just in case. We then followed the Freedom Trail around the city streets along with a million local school children obviously on an end of term treat.  We managed to lose the school kids and divert off the trail to take lunch in the Italian quarter before heading for some retail therapy (Jack Wills – traditional English “outfitters” and the teenager’s favourite – we really are trying hard for that Parents of the Year award), then a quick glimpse of the original Cheers bar – memories of youthful Friday evenings spent in front of the TV.

The following day the wind had dropped and the skies cleared so we decided to risk the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, the summer vacation destination of the rich and famous and the setting for Steven Spielberg’s movie Jaws.  Fortunately it was early in the season on the Vineyard and it was relatively quiet.  In the height of summer you can’t move for the multitudes of wealthy tourists, great white sharks and US presidents.  We hired bikes and cycled down the coast to Edgartown where, coincidentally there is yet another Jack Wills store.  After purchasing the fancy frock spotted the day before in Boston and lunching on a lobster roll, we cycled back to blustery Oak Bluffs for the 40 minute ferry ride back to the mainland. As the sun was still out we headed quickly home to Plymouth so hubby could light the BBQ.

The sun continued to shine for the next couple of days.  The Plymouth mac was rolled away; we sweltered on the local beach; we took long walks along the harbor, we visited Cup Cake Charlies – runner up in TV’s Food Network Cup Cake Wars; we ate an awful lot of seafood and  devoured far too much Boston Cream Pie. 

On our last day we head to Hyannis for a quick tour of the JFK museum and a visit to the local “Zooquarium” – yes that’s a cross between an aquarium and a zoo.  We said hi to a very rare blue lobster in one of the aquarium fish tanks but I could tell I’d been in Cape Cod too long – I was no longer admiring the sea life from a conservation point of view – it was more a question of I wonder what that tastes like …….