California dreamin'

This lucky ducky gets the pool all to itself, bah!

Whenever I head off to California, people at home always get excited for me. And I guess this is because the west coast of America always drums up images of blue skies, beaches and, for those of us old enough to know it, the music of The Mamas and the Papas.

And it is true; there are wonderful beaches and a sky so blue that it could have been painted on. There are mountains, sometimes topped with snow, sometimes brown and scorched by the sun.
But then there are also the endless roads that look the same, having to drive for half an hour just to get anywhere, the box-buildings that could be a supermarket, a book shop, a Taco Bell - with no way of knowing until you see the sign because they are all identical.

And then there is Bakersfield.

There is an old Burt Reynolds film called The End in which he plays a selfish divorcee who discovers that he has a terminal disease. When trying to explain to his young daughter that he has to go away, while implying that he is going to die, he says that he has to go away. "Where daddy?" she asks.

"Bakersfield," he replies gloomily.

It says it all.

My friend's husband also told me that before he accepted his current job in Bakersfield he had gone to the doctor with back and shoulder problems only to be told that many people seemed to develop psycho-somatic symptoms before transferring to Bakersfield. It's not that Bakersfield is terrible. In fact Americans have a lot to thank Bakersfield for - carrots and beetroot in particular, so I am told. In fact this is a huge farming area responsible for putting a great deal of grub on the counters of America's all-you-can-eat buffets.

But the highlights of Bakersfield life are limited. Near to where my friends live there is a woman who has to dress up as the Statue of Liberty and stand on the street corner with a billboard. That is quite interesting because it livens up the streets that are otherwise devoid of any kind of human existence. And one can get quite knackered trying to make it from one end of the mall to the other. Beyond that, the glamorous life of California Dreaming is far away. Even Barbara Streisand's sister, a successful singer in her own right, recently performed in front of a tiny crowd. My friend, who has now lived here for a couple of years, said that while Bab's sister was wonderful, people in Bakersfield just don't really go out for that kind of evening.

And so at the moment I am enjoying what I came for; the company of wonderful friends. There is a luscious, blue swimming pool outside, but only the plastic ducky can use it right now until the sun heats up the water during the summer scorcher. But we chat in the car and go from one chore to the next, we have lunch in a Panda Express where one can eat until one explodes just for a few dollars, and we walk around the neighbo(u)rhood admiring the mountains in the distance. And there is always ping pong and croquet in the garden.

It's a good life. Who needs LA, eh?