Yesterday Dan and I went to Santa Cruz to see his new city of abode for the first time, to register his presence at the university and to look for some places for him to live.
Santa Cruz is some 77 miles away from San Francisco (the equivalent of London to Peterborough or Liverpool to Windermere), and involves a train ride and then a bus. The return journey cost $23 (just shy of £14). A quick glance at the national rail enquiries website revealed to me that an early morning walk up fare in Liverpool would be £28.10 and in London £34.70. Considering the state of California alone is 3 times the size of England, either the rail system here is very impressive, or Britain is even worse than I thought, and my opinions are very low owing to half a lifetime of heavy train use.
We rode on a shiny silver double decker train to San Jose which left just after 7am. It was clean and quiet and allowed me to soak up the visual feast from the top deck. In just over an hour we rolled into San Jose where our connecting bus was there to meet us, you know, exactly what you hope will happen. We didn't have to sit in a desolate station for over an hour with no facilities and no information to board a train so crowded that you gag from the heady stench of stale and fresh sweat when you push your way on. The smell of bad chemical toilets wasn't so overpowering that eating anything at all on board was out of the question. The ticket system didn't require a post doctorate in differential calculus in order to work out the best deal, or planning your trip twelve and a half years in advance. We had to pick single or return and then the zone we needed from a clear list and pay our fare. We arrived on time and if we had of stopped, we would have been given clear information as to why, with an apology and an estimated time of starting again. I know this because it happens on all of the other transport systems here.
The bus driver who took us to Santa Cruz was alarmingly cheerful. On the way back, he even complimented me on my skill at depositing $4 worth of quarters into the automated ticket machine, at speed. We shared the bus with a man carrying a right-wing placard and a large black bag full of recyclables to sell, in clothes which hadn't been cleaned this month, and who told a girl (who he may or may not have known) that Jesus saves; a man who had those horrible extended ear things and a pair of female eyes tattooed into the back of his head; giggling teenage girls presumably off to the famous Board walk for the day; and Silicon Valley workers. The bus (via an automated voice and scrolling text screen) was even considerate enough to point out some of the sites of the journey. The inhabitants of this bus were a good indication of the wealth of characters who filled the streets of Santa Cruz.
The university was truly enormous, located on 2,000 acres of farmland requiring one of their free shuttle buses to get you to where you need to be. For such a big size, there were very few maps or even names on buildings, so as you tramp through the forests, and across wooden bridges ( I cannot even begin to describe this place and any description I give will be wholly inadequate so I will stop there) you have to call upon the help of the students, who were exactly the same as any teenage college series I have ever seen. It was incredible. Later when house hunting, we even saw a sandy haired, braced up, American school boy skate boarding in suburbia, Saved by the Bell style. Sometimes I have to remind myself, yes, I do live in America now.
The day was a success as Dan found himself a place to live very easily for a what passes as reasonable price in these parts. He will be a lodger to a psychotherapist called Barbara and moves in hopefully on 1st November. I am sure there will be plenty of fodder in a mere 10 months time to write several best sellers and live off the interest, but alas, the stories won't be mine to tell.
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