First set of news

Hello all,

right now, I am listening to Democracy by L Cohen. Sail on, sail on, oh mighty ship of state, he says, past the reefs of greed to the shores of need through the squalls of hate, democracy is coming to the USA.

Back home, I didn’t really appreciate the song, but now I feel it and for the little I’ve seen, I start to understand it.

I caught the plane on Friday at 12.40 pm and arrived on Friday at 12.40 pm. An oddity, but feasible since I crossed the dateline.

A couple of weeks, I contacted someone regarding a room they had advertised on some community listing. This person was going to go on exchange to Australia in February, and since we both needed information, we sent each other a series of e-mails. Close to my flight date, he offered to come and pick me up from San Francisco airport. I accepted, and sure enough there was someone waiting for me at the airport with one of these cheesy signs, my name on it. This wasn’t the guy I had been writing to, but that didn’t matter.

Jimmy (his name) spoke with a soft American accent; he did a lot of the speaking; I was tired. When I saw his car, I experienced my first real American moment. A 1966 Ford Mustang, purple, with a shiny body. As I was to learn in our three hours drive, through accordion traffic, the body doesn’t make the car. He was a lot more interested in the motor, and he told me much about it; all I got was that it had the power of a corvette, and made as much noise as a truck.

That first day in the USA was like being both the main actor and an observer of an increasingly interesting play. On the road, San Francisco and its gracious bridges stretched past; cars big as small buses claimed the road around us; four lane freeways followed one another, their lines defining four meter-wide lanes; flat plains opened up, dry fields interrupted by sprawling towns; cluster of track housing, where a few models of houses are repeated over an enclosed suburb, perverted the American dream; Davis appeared amidst suburban trees; the car pulled into the driveway.

In the house, I awkwardly stood around, unsure of what I should do with my bags, before confidently walking towards another housemate and meeting her. I then went to campus, Jimmy driving. It is a very large and green campus. Roads crisscross it, but they are only for authorized vehicles and bicycles. There are bike circles: the local equivalent of roundabouts; an intersection unknown to Americans, and replaced by all-way stops. The buildings are modern and clean; they do not aspire to any type of aestheticism. My main interest in this first visit was finding out where North was, from a variety of points.

Jimmy also drove me through downtown Davis, the commercial busy centre of town; a few shops in what looks, essentially, like another residential area. Back at his place, I met Thomas, the man I had been in contact with. Jimmy meanwhile phoned around to organise the night. A consensus was reached; what it was, at the time I did not know. It seemed like it could involve cards. People came, a table was set-up, chips were taken out. I understood: cards mean poker, namely Texas hold’em poker.

They say that California is where it all starts; an idea here germinates quickly into the new fashion. Last year, an internet nobody won the over two million dollars at the poker world series. Since then, the “sport” has become very popular. There’s always a good chance that there is a game on TV. Predictions are that it’ll be over in a year or so.

This was a tournament; buy in was set at three dollars; since I had never played I was invited in for free. Beers appeared, alcohol flowed, and the game was played. It took a long time for the first person to go out: more than two hours. Soon after, there were about six of us left. My chips at times stacked up and at others vanished into another’s pile. The joke was made that it would be funny were I to win. When they were only three of us left, the joke was not deemed funny anymore. When my pile reached enormous proportions, people looked strangely angry at me. They muttered to themselves, keeping their complaints to themselves. When I won, my hand was shook, I was congratulated, they left, but no one was really happy. I had won $18. The next day, the grudge was over, we all went for pizza, another game was played, I came second, and did not lose any money.

On food: well I have to say it, but mum was right. Americans eat very badly. Forget Hollywood, forget all you see on TV. People don’t look like that. Add the pounds, yes not just on the stomach, but on the hips and the legs too, and you’ve got your average American. And to the average American, eating out is a habit. Not like the French where it is a ritual; no, here, it’s about eating fast and cheap food. I have seen, up to today, at least ten different chains of fast food, but that is only because I try to convince the others to eat healthy.

Sunday was the day before this girl’s 21^st birthday; stereotypes decided to all converge on the house. First in the name of a gay guy called Joey, and his fat but straight friend called Amy. Joey was indeed a very nice person; he is black (sort of), fit, has done a lot of Tae Kwan Do fights, and also very open about his sexuality. “This girl jumped on me at a party, and she started undoing my belt, and I said ‘What are you doing?’, ‘What are you doing!?’, ‘Stop that, I like boys’”. The birthday girl is a bisexual women’s studies major; she hates sexist jokes, and becomes aggressive at any hint of a challenge. The others vary, but they are mainly typical American men. The birthday girl, at someone’s request, had brought Edward Penishands, an interesting porn parody, that we all watched, mostly in fast forward. No one cared. The others then went out, since she was now twenty one, the legal drinking age.

Monday after the usual recuperative morning/afternoon, we headed out to Sacramento for dinner. This was a restaurant dinner; Sacramento is a half-hour drive away. It is the capital of California. Knowing the distance, I was rather surprised when I saw the building of the restaurant. A concrete cube, cheaply decorated, it heralded the inside: after walking through a kitchen, we found the dining room; was I the only one shocked by the decoration? It seemed like it. Since this was an Italian restaurant, all was somehow linked to Italy; there was for example, a replica of what must be a famous scuplted fresco in which three women, arm in arm, turned their back to the viewer; one of the girls was fitted with a red G-string. There was also a photo, of an old man staring at a woman’s breasts, when dancing with her, he pulled down her dress. Food was also entertaining; eggplant was deep fried. When I remarked on that, I got told that in fairs, they sometimes sell deep fried snickers bars.

Tuesday and Wednesday I did things that I had to do with the campus to keep my visa valid. I also played basketball; a very different sports from any I am used to. Shepherding is allowed, and it changes the game dramatically. On Tuesday I was marking this player who started insulting people as soon as his team started losing. He seemed like a ghetto guy. Tattoos in street ball are very common; talk is rough, raplike.

Today, and Adrien will love this, I went to an autoshow: Autoshow, GM in motion. Amazing.

It was a different concept from usual shows: there were 50 or so vehicles available to drive on small race tracks. A driver after registering, gets in line when there is one, and drives the car on the track. With a couple of notable exceptions, the driver is alone. The show is held by General Motors, but competitors’ vehicles were also available. Thomas got invited to this show because he is with Visa. He is allowed to bring as many guests as he wants with his invite. Driving is free, food is free, drinks are free, entry is free. There is nothing to pay. The key is knowing about it.

Let me tell you about my new driving style. We first went into the passenger car section; there were cars like the Camry and its GM competitors, but also cars with bigger engines. I first drove a Chevrolet Grand Prix. I went around the track a little fast, a bit like I’d drive if I was in a hurry to get to class. I got out, spoke to Jimmy, and he reckoned that the track was good enough to test the vehicles. I drove a few others and found it pretty enjoyable. I then went in a car with Thomas driving and I understood what they meant; tyres squelched in the corners. That was driving a little harder. So slowly, as I worked my way up to the Corvette, I increased my driving speed. The Pontiac GTO was rather nice; it looks very similar to some Holden cars. I went on to Luxury cars, still waiting to drive the Corvette. BMW, Acura, Pontiav, Lexus, Saab: I all drove you, a little harder each time. I then went in line for the Corvette.

The Corvette, according to Thomas who has a lot of practical and theoretical knowledge, is a bit like a low-end Ferrari. Look it up. It’s a very nice looking vehicle, selling for only $50,000. It is mass-produced, hence the price. I could only drive it once, and that accompanied by a staff member. I’ll try to describe it. I got in and took in the luxury. Good seat, good vision, comfortable reach to the pedals. I drove it the starting line and I waited for the man in front to get further ahead. I had checked out the course. It went straight and then a small chicane followed by a hairpin turn, a straight, hairpin turn, hairpin turn, straight finish. I had calculated that I could go straight through the small chicane without hitting a cone.

On the starting line, I pushed down the pedal, and the car rushed forward. The cones were coming fast, really fast. Through the chicane in a split second, I broke hard, turned accelerated in the turn softly (which would come to a flooring acceleration with a normal car), accelerated hard, broke and turned, the car started sliding (yeah!), let go, it righted itself, and went on... What a ride! After it, I wished I had driven it harder, and to make amends, I drove every subsequent car to the max, except for one:

The Hummer. Adrien knows what it is. If you don’t, check it out. It’s an army vehicle, illegal in Australia, because of its size (huge). It is a very comfortable car inside; although the test they had for it showed its potential, a good 4WD would do that much too. And we couldn’t really drive the thing, with a staff member inside. Hummers are pretty much to show off. Not worth their price.

This was in the afternoon; there were less people, so I drove a variety of cars. Many 4WD. Verdict: on a road, the BMW X5 is the best. It handles better that most lower cars. I was taking turns with it without breaking, my foot floored on the straights. (By the way, each section had different tracks.) For passenger cars, the GTO was very good. I had to go very fast to make it slide out. But there was a nice surprise: a Saab Wagon (2.3 something). I drove that thing many laps. No one wanted it but me. It doesn’t look good, but it’s a joy to drive. You start by accelerating and it feels like nothing much... until the turbo kicks in. It got to the point where I felt like I was in Gran Turisimo. Cones came fast; I was leaning forward, trying to take professional turns at the fastest speed possible (the answer to this, except in rally driving, is before the wheels slide out); my hands were constantly moving the steering wheel one way or the other; my foot stayed on the accelerator as much as possible. It was like a game, but a lot better.

I’ve played poker again; won $3 over the $2 buy in. Some people don’t think; they're really just giving me their money.

Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco. Sunday I am going to a concert there: Dave Matthews band,

until next time

Albert