My parents came to visit this weekend, and a few things happened which confirmed we were back in California, a place unlike any other:
1. You are reminded that Steve Jobs is your neighbor. That's what you call someone you see sitting at an outdoor cafe when you are walking to dinner, right? We were in Palo Alto, on our way to our favorite Mexican place, and we stopped to check the menu at a new restaurant. Credit Jessica for spotting the incognito Mr. Jobs, who was wearing a deceptive yellow t-shirt in lieu of his usual black. Apple fans will be happy to know that he was eating steak. With vigor.
2. The beach is filled with naked men flying kites. We took Violet and a friend to San Gregorio State Beach for a picnic. After the meal, Jessica and I left the girls with my parents and took a romantic walk down the beach. Romantic, that is, until we started seeing pasty overweight men hiding in the bluffs, sans maillots. To their credit, these gentlemen kept their distance, so we weren't blinded by the whiteness of their flesh (we're still not used to the prevalence of white people in this country). In fact the only nudists who came close enough for us to see the whites of their eyes were a couple of toned and muscular lads dipping their toesies in the frigid San Mateo surf. No fear of shrinkage, apparently.
3. Old friends pretend not to know you. And you, them. This scene would never happen in India: you are sitting in a restaurant having lunch with your family and a woman you used to know (before she and her husband divorced and she moved back to the midwest) walks in and starts looking around. She takes off her sunglasses and you make eye contact, confirming her identity (and she, presumably, confirming yours), but when she sits down with her friend at the next table, neither of you say hi, hello, or even hey. It's a game of chicken, waiting to see who will cave and make a greeting. But you have underestimated her determination. Forty five minutes later, you pay your check and leave without saying a word.
