Alcohol is banned on the streets of California, so it was a sober group who gathered on San Francisco's Embarcadero for the New Year's Eve celebrations. Instead of the usual drunken antics of 'snog the stranger and vomit in the gutter', we had to make do with playing 'spot the fat policeman'. This was a game of my brother's making.
Joe was in San Francisco on holiday for a few days so we met up to exchange belated Christmas presents. 'Spot the fat policeman' proved to be highly entertaining. Not only are American police fatter than their British counterparts, they are older too. Few looked like they would be able to chase even the slowest criminal. Then again, they don't have to; they have guns. The police officers on duty spent most of their time removing alcohol from offenders, though their concentration did lapse at one point when they stopped what they were doing to take photos of each other with their pals.
The San Francisco mayor was a bit too keen to see out the old year. He counted down too early and there was silence. He tried again, but this time he was too late and the fireworks started before he got to zero. We saw in the new year with out smuggled miniatures, careful to avoid the police, fat or otherwise.
Joe works in prison reform. I thought he was having a bit of a busman's holiday when I saw 'No More Prisons' graffitied on the pavement on my way to meet him at his hotel, though he assured me it had nothing to do with him. He was, however, a mine of information on prisons when we visited Alcatraz, informing me several times that 2m of the world's 8m prisoners are in the United States.
With big brother watching me there was no chance of any sex or kebabs. When he left I hit the town, heading first to Tonga (a bar where cocktails are served in plastic coconut shells and a band plays on a raft in the middle of a lake complete with fake rainstorms) and then on to Castro, San Francisco's gay and lesbian area. On my way back from one of these nights out I met Jerome. "People don't usually talk to me," he said. "I think they are scared of me." I was scared of him, too, though I was trying not to show it. "San Francisco is very poetic," he said. "I write poetry." He quoted me some. "I wrote that during my 11 years in prison." he said. "I feel you and me have a real connection." I began to wish big brother was still around.
I crossed the bay on the San Francisco Oakland Bay Bridge, the one that Dustin Hoffman drives over on his way to Berkeley in The Graduate, and headed to Napa Valley for some wine tasting. The last time I went wine tasting was with some friends in France and we were firmly shown the door after several hours and more tastes than I think we were welcome too. I was determined not to make that mistake again, though when the first tasting came at 10am I realised resistance was useless. Chardonnay followed Pinot Noir followed Cabernet Sauvignon followed Muscat as I learned a few things about wine that I already knew deep down: cork is good, screw tops are bad; it's quality not quantity that matters; wine should be sipped and not gulped.
The Napa Valley Wine Train winds through the valley while passengers sink back into plush armchairs and drink some more wine before the three-course lunch. It gave me some time to ponder on the things about America that puzzle me: toilets that flush automatically, tax added at the point of purchase and that incredibly annoying habit Americans have of telling you what conversational trick they've just used, following every sentence with an 'I was being funny just then', 'that was a compliment' or 'you will have been able to tell by my tone that I am angry'. I also wondered why one of the most advanced nations in the world has all denominations of bank notes made in exactly the same size and colour.
I asked a local family I met what I should be doing in the city. "Go to FAO Schwarz," said the daughter, aged about 10. "That's the coolest place there is." Well I'm nothing if not cool so I headed to FAO Schwarz, a big toyshop on Union Square. They didn't stock my favourite doll that I have seen in America -the trailer trash dolly that comes complete with hotpants and a lit cigarette - but it had other delights instead. After wandering for some time I realised that most of the female dolls were plastic and most of the male dolls had guns, which all things considered is quite a fair representation of life in California.
