West Meets East Part II - Escape to New England

After three days in New York, it was time to head north for a week exploring the Massachusetts coast.  Mile per mile New England is half way home – and it felt like it too.  For a start there’s greenery; fields; forests; even a grass verge along the edge of freeway and joy of joy, instead of traffic lights - roundabouts!

Our first stop was a lunch break in the town of New London on Long Island Sound.  New London is a seaport with shipyards; we tucked into a sandwich in an old fashioned café on a tired semi-industrial waterfront uncannily similar to the suburbs of my home town of Southampton in the UK. (If anyone from Southampton is actually reading this imagine Woolston but just a tad more up-market).

We then headed off in the rain to Newport Rhode Island, home of ocean sailing yachts and expensive boutiques.  Too smart and wet for us so we jumped back in the car and set forth for Plymouth, our base for the week, and yes, home to those original Pilgrim Fathers.

Plymouth actually felt very much like any small British coastal village – a harbor, a village green, shops along the front selling everything from Cape Cod sweatshirts (a New England necessity), Plymouth rain coats (another necessity) cranberry teabags and the usual array of useless seaside knick-knacks.  There were even youths hanging outside the local mini-market.  We felt right at home.

Pride of place in Plymouth harbor sits a replica of the original Mayflower that carried 102 Pilgrims across the Atlantic in 1620.  The actual rock where those Pilgrims apparently took their first steps on shore is now preserved for prosperity beneath a very grand marble mausoleum-like structure on the quayside.  Since the original landing this piece of rock has been moved many times to various resting places around the town and apparently every time it’s moved; it’s dropped.  It is now rather unceremoniously glued together with a seam of 21st century cement and is half the rock it used to be.  Still it’s a major tourist attraction.

Plymouth is a living history book - every other house is a museum or a relic of a bygone age - A Pilgrim woz 'ere so to speak. Amongst all this memorabilia stands a relatively recent solitary statue of a native American whose people populated the area long before those first Europeans and whose ancestors must long rue the day they held out a helping hand of friendship to those early settlers.

We had rented a typical New England clapperboard cottage for the week – built in 1870 when LA was just a mere glint in someone’s eye (and in my opinion that’s exactly where it should have stayed). The neighbours were friendly, made eye-contact, held a conversation and cut their own grass.

A quick trip to the local shops to acquire jeans for me; something with long sleeves for the teenager and the regulation Massachusetts anorak for him and we were all set for exploring New England.

West Meets East Part I - Big Apple Adventures

Living in LA its pretty easy to lose a grip on reality.  We are cocooned in a celebrity obsessed media driven society, bubble wrapped in a purpose built concrete metropolis surrounded by barren dessert.  This is a land where the sun shines continually on the unrighteous.  So how would we flaky Californians find the East Coast?

It’s a 5 hour flight from Los Angeles to Newark – I'm used to travelling long haul with free food and free entertainment so flying domestic with Continental Airlines left a lot to be desired.  $8 to watch TV (we didn’t); $8 for a miserable snack box (we didn’t) and at 6.00 am even I thought it was too early to splash out on an alcoholic beverage – so we didn’t. Makes for a pretty long boring flight though.

However, out of the gloom came a welcoming sight; as we descended over the the suburbs of New Jersey one thing became immediately apparent – the East Coast is green.

A half hour train ride from the airport and we emerged from Penn Street station to the hustle and bustle of New York City.  Sky scrapers; yellow cabs; lots of people; lots of noise.  This was more like it! So different from the deserted streets of downtown LA regularly devoid of human life.

New York is busy.  It’s vibrant; it’s hectic; it’s noisy, it’s smelly but I loved it.  Every hot sticky tacky touristy minute of it.  We did Times Square, the Empire State; Central Park; took the Statten Island Ferry for the view of the Statue of Liberty; walked up Wall Street.  You’ve seen at the movies; you’ve seen it on TV and yes NYC is exactly how you expect it to be – only more so. 

 

We did a Broadway Show – boosted our Parents of the Year status by taking the teenager to see Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter) in How to Succeed in Business, which even without the added attraction of the Chosen One would have been an extremely entertaining show.

We rode the subway; admired the Rockefeller Center, marveled at the Chrysler Building, had lunch in a New York Deli; breakfast on the edge of Central Park.

NYC really does have it all - history, character, culture, from those elegant brownstones to the art deco interior of  the Empire State; the grand splendour of Grand Central Station and the Metropolitan Museum; to those modern highrises.  There is are amazing choices of food and places to eat; every whim and every nationality is catered for - street vendors, street cafes, upmarket restaurants. Shop til you drop then retreat to Central Park.  There really is something here for everyone. 

If only I could capture that atmosphere in a bottle and ship it out west.

Two years of living in LA. Two days of NYC.

No contest. The Big Apple wins hands down.

Helpful Hints

I’m a Virgo which basically means I like to be helpful, busy and active – probably why I’ve struggled so much to adjust to my enforced desperate housewife lifestyle. Virgos are also supposed to be charming, witty and loyal so whilst I take some time out to assemble some charming witty ramblings about our recent trip to the East Coast, here’s some more of my personal tips and advice on coping with life in America. It’s an in-built need, I just can’t help myself….

Shoe sizes – two sizes bigger than than UK sizes and several times smaller than European.  For example I was a size 5 in the UK and am now a size 7 in the US.  That’s a 38 in European.

Dress sizes – two sizes smaller than in the UK so I’m now a 4 or a 6, depending how much dinner I’ve eaten.  That’s 34 or 36 in European – which does rather tie in with the 38 shoes. 

I rather like the idea of wearing size 4 clothes because that makes me feel somewhat petite, on the other hand I don’t like the idea of size 7 shoes – that’s enormous! The American sizing system classifies me as some kind of Hobbit.

Bodyweight is always assessed in pounds (lbs) – a stone is something you find lying around on a beach.  Nobody will have a clue what you are talking about if you give your weight in stones – or kilo’s for that matter.  My daughter’s classmates have no idea what the metric system is, even though apparently it is the official system of measuring in the US.  At school she learns everything in feet and inches and all the road signs are in miles – not kilometers.  Also Americans do not understand the 24 hour clock – that's  "military time" over here.

A US gallon is smaller than a UK gallon; a US gallon of petrol is also way cheaper.

Voltage – whilst most of Europe runs on 220 V, the US runs on 110.  Apparently this is because it is thought to be safer.  Whilst this may be reassuring if you are an  electro-phobe, to the rest of us it just means everything is decidedly slow.  Back in the UK I have an electric kettle that has boiled before I can get the cups out of the cupboard and the tea bags in place, here I take a shower and get fully dressed whilst the water boils.  Similarly you wont get blown away by a fast and furious hairdryer.

And talking of hair – in the UK I have a fringe.  Here I have “bangs”. No I don’t get that one either.

For those who like cooking cornflour is cornstarch; plain flour is all purpose and icing sugar either powdered or confectioner’s.  Butter comes in packs of 4 oz sticks – very useful – but quantities in recipes are always given in cups – full cups, half a cup, third of a cup.  If you plan on doing any cooking you will need to invest in a set of “cups”.  Whilst this does eliminate the need for scales and is very handy when you’re cooking with a five year old,  I personally don’t see anything wrong with broadening the mind and using weights and measures. After all when you’ve just given birth nobody assesses the baby’s weight by guessing how many cups it’ll fit into.

And talking of birth, there is little or no maternity leave and definitely no paternity leave although adoption is extremely common – especially if you are wealthy or Angelina Jolie.

For those of us who like to smell nice when it comes to deodorant you are stuck with a roll-on, body spray and spray deodorant for women are inexplicably unavailable. Whilst at first I thought this was an admirable attempt to save the ozone layer, it's obviously not because you can buy aerosols for men.

And finally, for those of you still under the delusion that LA is the height of sophistication and all things modern “Express Parking” (ie you pay at an automatic machine before you go back to your car rather than paying the man on the exit gate) has only just arrived in Pasadena and so has tomato puree in a tube – recently launched  at my local Fresh and Easy and previously only available in a tin.  Wonders will never cease. What will they come up with next? Spray deodorant for women hopefully.

I'm Working On It

I’m always rambling on about things that I miss about England and things that I don’t like about America so I thought it might be a nice change if I did the opposite – after all there has to be some aspects of American life I love, something that makes me think that’s such a good idea….

Well one thing that struck me during our recent trip to the Hollywood Bowl was how lovely it was that a performer wouldn’t be able to see the rows of empty seats because they were hidden behind rows of trees.  I thought that was very inventive. Americans just hate having to be the bearers of bad news:  Don’t tell the artist the seats haven’t sold, just keep them out of view.

 

They really don't want to let you down - one of my favourite American phrases is “I’m working on it”.  This is the standard answer Americans will give you if you ever need to chase them up about anything.  It basically means  - thank you for reminding me what it was you asked me to do because I had actually completely forgotten.  I’ll get started on it straight away, well tomorrow anyway…. But at least it sounds like they’ve been busy doing something on your behalf.

Another similar phrase I like is “we’ll see what we can do” – we had a lot of that when we first arrived and were trying to buy furniture and large items including the teenager’s dentistry without any credit history.  At the end of the day the answer was still a no you can’t have any finance but at least they made you feel as if they had tried – even if they just slipped out of the room for a few minutes, pretended to make a couple of phone calls  and came back in sadly shaking their heads. (You’ll also get this one a lot when it comes to negotiating the price of your new car.)

Most Americans appear to have been born with a natural politeness gene - they really do want to be helpful.  I’m sure it stems back to this child-like myth of the “American Dream”, only good can happen here. To say I don’t like it would make me sound like a right killjoy – but it does get a bit ingratiating after a while.  Sometimes people just need to be honest and tell it like it is. After all I do!!

What else do I like?

Well I can’t say shopping because that makes me sound incredibly shallow and my husband says I do far much of it anyway. Obviously the weather but that doesn’t count because good weather isn’t exclusive to California.  I could go and live in Sydney and have the same climate just at the opposite time of the year.

So what exclusively American thing do I like so much I can’t imagine returning to the UK without it? Is there a product that has jumped off the supermarket shelf into my basket that I find so innovative, so original that I will want to take packets of it home stashed in my suitcase? Well I do like my dried cranberry and toasted almond salad toppers from Ralphs but as I can buy both dried cranberries and toasted almonds back home I could easily make that myself, it just wouldn’t be so convenient. I have also become particularly partial to raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing but again I’m pretty sure I could find that in Waitrose…

(I’ve just asked my daughter this question and her reply was “Lucky Charms” which is a fluorescent  children’s breakfast cereal probably containing every additive and food colouring known to man.  I think we might actually struggle to get this one through customs and accepted into the EEC).

The trouble with America is that it is everywhere; there isn’t anything here that I couldn’t get anywhere else in the world – apart from Lucky Charms of course.  America has globalised the globe. When I want to take presents home I desperately search for something that is “traditionally” American; something unique and exclusive because rather surprisingly, an "I love Hollywood" T-shirt is not the perfect gift for everyone.  I search in vain.

I think this is one I might be working on for some time.

Meanwhile it’s going to be a couple of quiet weeks in the Bubble because I am off doing what I really do like best about living in America – exploring. 

Back in a few weeks!

A Night At the Hollywood Bowl

Last weekend we decided to spend an evening at the Hollywood Bowl with Kylie Minogue.

We're not particularly great Kylie fans although I don’t mind her music and my hubby quite likes her bum. The main reason for going was because we wanted to visit the Hollywood Bowl. There are regular classical concerts at the Bowl throughout the year but not being classical music buffs we thought we would wait for something a bit more contemporary to come along and Kylie fitted the bill.

 

Rather surprisingly for America, the Hollywood Bowl is one of the few places we’ve visited where you are advised not to take your car but use public transport. This worked out very well for us because there was a park and ride based within walking distance of our apartment in Pasadena.  For once we could leave the car at home and set out on the bus. 

Back in the UK Australian born Kylie is a household name having transformed herself from a gawky teenage soap star into a succesful singer.  She has even been awarded an OBE for services to music.  In America Kylie isn't quite so mainstream - here she's an absolute icon on the gay scene.

As we boarded our bus with two other Brits, a couple of Ozzies and twenty well groomed good looking guys in check shirts, my husband did feel slightly anxious that maybe he was just going to be a tad out of place.  That was just a taster of what was to come.

The Hollywood Bowl is an amazing venue set in a natural bowl shaped dip in the Hollywood Hills.  It can take a maximum capacity of nearly 17,000 and rather cleverly each section of seating is bordered by a neat line of shrubs. As each section of seats is sold out, the shrubs are pruned back but the empty sections are kept hidden behind the uncut tree-line .  You can judge your popularity based on the amount of topiary you’ve been awarded!  I'd say the Hollywood Bowl was about a half to two thirds trimmed for Kylie.

We settled into our surprisingly comfortable wooden seats with a view of that famous HOLLYWOOD sign in the distance and watched the sun set.  This being America you are obviously expected to buy something to eat whilst you wait, and I was rather envious of those Kylie fans who had forked out their dollars for the stall-like boxes in front of the stage where you can sit up to table and indulge in a four course meal.  Instead we chomped on a couple of burgers and indulged in a glass or two of wine which, although purchased inside the Bowl in a bottle, then had to be decanted in a large plastic cup before we could take it to our seats (at an extra cost of course). Still, it’s probably something we’re only going to do once.

The actual show was quite spectacular; lavishly produced, very theatrical and great fun. Kylie was on stage for nearly two hours and about eight extravagant costume changes.  She sang most of her hits; had a good rapport with the crowd and was surrounded by a enough scantily clad muscular dancers to keep most of her audience happy.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been to a concert where there has been no wait for the ladies’ restroom which made a very pleasant change! Definitely a good time was had by all.

And of course, I can’t get that song out of my head either.

A Dog's Life

One thing it's very hard to avoid here in LA (and believe me I have tried) is the pampered pooch. They are everywhere - snapping at my ankles when I go for my morning walk, riding up in and down in the elevator at the apartment block where I live. An LA dog is not so much a pet as a fashion accessory. Everyone has one!

Personally,  I’ve always preferred cats.  Cats are my kind of animal – not the friendliest of creatures; they like being left to their own devices and are pretty contented with a regular supply of food, easy access to the great outdoors and somewhere warm to curl up and fall sleep.  A cat’s idea of loyalty extends no further than to whoever is opening up the next packet of Whiska’s. 

 

But dogs are different.  Dogs are loving, loyal creatures and even I can appreciate the company and enjoyment they bring to their owners. Occasionally I have this romantic idea of acquiring a canine companion of my own.  My dog would rush to greet me every day with a look of love, a wagging tail, a friendly bark; I picture us taking lovely long walks in the countryside; bounding through the park playing a game of fetch.  My dog would frolic happily on the beach, splash through the waves and spend every evening lying contentedly at my feet. That's my dog.

An LA dog is in a totally different league.

For a start, if you are a small dog, a Chihuahua or a Shihtzu type thing as most of them are, then you won’t have to walk anywhere.  You will be carried.  You might have to suffer the indignity of pink or blue ribbon in your hair, dependent upon your sex of course, and probably a little sweater or T-shirt, but generally speaking you will get to go everywhere with the master or the mistress, welcome or not, and you can yap and growl and bear your sharp pointy little white teeth as much as you like whilst everyone around you has to pretend you are amazingly cute – just because you are small.

You might occasionally have the urge to run around and chase a stick and feel the fresh green grass under your feet, but that’s not really very likely to happen.  Most of the day you will be housebound and the only time you will get taken out for a walk is to answer the call of the nature.  But that’ll be once around the block at the most.

Being a small dog and easily portable does have its advantages.  You will be able to go to the doggie boutique and choose your own clothes. You'll look gorgeous in Gucci.  If slightly too big to fit into the Prada handbag, you might be able to persuade your owner to invest in a pet stroller which will make visiting the mall a lot easier. Yes you might occasionally get mistaken for a human baby but don’t fret; as soon as your admirer realizes their mistake they will just coo and aah even more. Oh a dog…that’s so adorable (yes that’s your cue to bite their finger off).

If you are unlucky enough to have a master or mistress who is out at work all day, then suggest they book you into doggie-day-care.  It’ll be far more fun than being cooped up in an apartment. If you are left home alone, then don't panic I've found just the answer - you'll never have to chew on an old  slipper again.  Your owner can now download a computer game for you to play - yes I've just seen it advertised on TV - apps for pets or a blog for a dog or something similar  (and look how that's kept me occupied!)

When it comes to the evening meal, as an LA pooch you will be spoilt for choice.  None of that shop-bought Winalot for you! Ask your owners take a subscription to Everyday Rachel Ray magazine (Rachel Ray is a sort of American Nigella Lawson – but even more so). I was recently flicking through this mag at the Orthodontist and realized that Rachel does a super line in home cooked gourmet dog food – recipes for owners and their pets to share, up to table of course!

Unfortunately the major hazard of this super indulged pampered pooch lifestyle is that one day you might suddenly find yourself out of favour.  Fashions change.  One stain on the carpet too many; yet another trip to the vet and suddenly the Chihuahua is out of vogue.  Dogs are so last year, meet the micro-pig.

As for me, I’ll stick with my  cat – currently residing very happily with the in-laws back in the UK and un-eagerly awaiting my return.  I am slightly worried I might have a job winning her affections back when the time comes but hopefully regular portions of Rachel Ray's mouth watering Mexican bean and white fish stew and her own Twitter page will do the trick. Now there's an idea!

Manic Monday

It’s the start of the week and another typical day here in the bubble. 

 

7.30 am and it’s time for the school run. This five mile drive to school never passes without incident and this morning is no exception.  Positively incensed by the ignorance of the super-school mom and dad who decide that rather than drive into the drop-off car park they will actually block the exit whilst dropping their kids off  in the street. Never mind the rest of us!! Quick blast of the horn and scowl. 

Forego the power walk and the gym this morning and return home for a housework-out instead.  I haven’t picked up a cleaning cloth since we got back from England over a week ago. Vacuum, scrub and dust for at least an hour but then admit defeat against the LA grime which filters into the apartment despite the window screens. Abandon plans to tackle the teenager’s bedroom.  That’ll have to wait. It’s Ex Wives club day and I’m off out for coffee.

10.00 am Ex Wives coffee morning. There are eight of us today –  all our partners bar one have moved to California to work on the same project.  No-one is looking forward to the next stage of the assignment when the men have to relocate to Saudi Arabia but so far only one wife has definitely committed to accompanying her husband out to the Middle East.  Everyone else in a bit of a dilemma as to whether to go or not. We’re all bored silly here in California where we have all the freedom in the world; being stuck on a compound in the middle of the desert sounds like no fun at all.  We console each other and agree to meet again in two weeks for lunch. What a life!

12.00 noon Head home and pay a visit to the post office.  It’s Monday so, just like back in the UK there is a long queue. Only two “windows” open and this being America nobody hurries themselves.  One of those moments of quality time to reflect and meditate. Can't help but overhear inane conversation behind me – one women complaining to the other that she has had great difficulty finding a Mother’s Day card suitable for her sister (?) I’m not surprised.

Quick lunch and then, revitalized, bravely set out with the vacuum again – there’s just time to tackle the teenage bedroom issue before the afternoon school run.

 

2.00 pm and it’s time to hit the road.  What delights can I look forward to on this trip? Stop at lights and realize the driver in the car next to me is eating some sort of ice-cream Sundae.  It looks very yummy and this guy will be a strong contender for my weekly “Multi-Tasking Whilst Driving Award” (last week’s winner was the woman  spotted in traffic on main street Pasadena with an i-pad balanced on her steering wheel).  Multi-Tasking whilst driving is positively encouraged in America; in-car dining facilities can make or break a vehicle sale -  never mind miles per gallon, it's whether the drinks holder take a super-grande-mocha-chocco-latte-frappe or not that counts. I speed swiftly away from the lights and leave Mr Whippy scooping up his nuts.

How was the teenager’s day? Surprisingly good - she was supposed to have sat a test she’d missed in history but the teacher had said she could do it the next lesson.  He then handed out the results to the rest of the class who had done the test whilst she was away and went through the answers.  That’ll be an easy one then.

Back home and I walk across the road to Ralphs to pick up some groceries.  I’ll do a big shop tomorrow –  living in a 5^th floor apartment, large shopping trips have to be planned with military precision and always involve several extra-strong reusable bags and a small suitcase. Today I just nip out spontaneously to pick up a few things for tea. We’re detoxing so it’s salad.

6.00 pm and hubby’s home unexpectedly early.  Feeling like a desperately bad housewife because he’s caught me on the computer again, I hastily assemble the salad.   After dinner we sit down and as the others can’t find a suitable alternative on any of the remaining 300 TV channels, I get to watch House Hunters and House Hunters International for the rest of the evening. 

9.30 pm and I realize I must have dozed off, either that or the unassuming British family buying a rustic little place in Spain have doubled their budget and magically morphed into a couple of wealthy Americans searching for something luxurious in the Caribbean.  It must be time for bed.

Oh the excitement of living in LA!