This is where the fun started. At immigration I didn't have one of the required
visa forms. I'd assumed it was an
application form for the actual visa (which was attached to my passport) but
apparently it forms part of the visa and I should have brought it with me. So I ended up in the special room for naughty
immigrants. Thankfully I persuaded the scary
man from homeland security to accept a PDF copy which was stored on my laptop.
(I do wonder why they call it "homeland
security"? "Homeland" sounds
like something you'd hear from an exiled or occupied people. Zionists dreamed of returning to their
homeland, Palestinians dream of being allowed to return to theirs. It is an odd expression to use of a nation whose
population are largely non-indigenous.
Perhaps the word has different resonances in an American ear?)
Then came car hire. I'd
asked for a car to be reserved for me for the entire three month period, but
initially the chap at the counter wanted me to return the car in October and
then renew my hire in person. Thankfully
his supervisor was very helpful, and explained that as long as I signed three
separate rental agreements (in four different places each) I could have a
longer rental period. I now have a blue Dodge, which sounds very American and looks very nice.
By this time it was 5pm in California (1am in the UK). The keys to my accommodation had to be
collected between 4pm and 6pm, so thinking I might be a bit late (bearing in
mind I hadn't braved the freeway yet) I thought I should ring and warn them. This is when it all got more confusing. If I were sending somebody confirmation of a
booking in California on a piece of paper setting out my office hours and phone
number, I would expect that person to assume that those hours referred to the
time in California. Seems logical
doesn't it? I mean you wouldn't tell
somebody in Manchester that he could ring you between 9am and 5pm but fail to
mention that the office was in Moscow would you? But apparently when I rang it was 8pm and the
office was shut. I didn't know the
office was on the East Coast, and I have no idea how I was supposed to
know. Cue lots of faffing around and
phone calls. I arrived at the apartment at
6.15pm, and the building manager was surprised to see me because he'd been led
to believe I was going to be very late.
I'd assumed that Americans were used to living in a country with four
different time-zones, but it seems to confuse them even more than it confuses
me.
The apartment is pleasant enough but a bit bland. Hardly surprising really. Interesting what they do and don't
include. I get napkins and wine glasses,
but only six coat hangers, no mugs, and no spare toilet paper. No instructions for the very noisy
aircon. The lightswitch in the bedroom
operates the plug beside the bed, so the clock resets if I use it. There is quite a large complex of apartments
with several pools on the map, but I haven't explored it yet. It doesn't feel quite warm enough for lazing
by a pool right now. And the bathroom doesn't have a window which was a key requirement. I shall post some photos when I get round to taking some.
I managed to find a supermarket last night to get some milk. The supermarket was a bit like Mercadona - a
lot of the checkout assistants spoke Spanish, but their English didn't seem as
good. Today's jobs include finding a decent
supermarket and doing a big shop (including toilet paper), followed by teapot shopping at Ikea.
So what have I learned so far?
(1) Palo Alto and East Palo Alto are different
cities, but East Palo Alto is not to the east of Palo Alto, but the north. Palo Alto is more gentrified, I'm in the
other one.
(2) Palo Alto does mean "tall stick" as I
had previously speculated, but by extension can also mean "tall tree"
and refers to a particular redwood tree which is the subject of the oldest tree
preservation order in California.
(3) The Michelle Pfeiffer film "Dangerous Minds", about a teacher in a school full of
scary drug pushers and gangsters, was based on a true story about kids from East Palo
Alto. I think some of them probably grew
up to work for the department of Homeland Security. Yes, I really am living in a Gangsta's Paradise.
(4) San Jose is extremely well signed from the freeway
(much more so than Palo Alto) so I don't know what Dionne Warwick's problem
was.
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