No matter where you go in the world, people look for divisions.
In my native Wales, it’s a north/south thing. The people in the north versus the people in the south - we don’t like their accents, they don’t like our wealth; and those in the west versus those in the east - we envy their scenery, they envy our transport.
In the UK as a whole, it’s a lot easier. The north (Scotland) and west (Wales and Ireland) don’t like the east, purely on the grounds that it’s England.
In the US, it’s a west/east coast thing. I’ve been on Los Angeles’ west coast for five years and love everything about it: the weather, the service, the people, the relatively cheap cost of living.
There is no moment more gloriously satisfying than sitting at the end of Santa Monica pier with a frozen Margarita watching the sun go down over the Pacific. Actually, that’s not strictly true: watching the sun go down over the Pacific having two frozen Margaritas possibly beats it.
In LA, there is no envy of anyone living on the east coast, and in particular New Yorkers. The overwhelming feeling is one of pity: the congestion, the noise, the dirt, the rudeness, the expense – Californians are consumed with sorrow that anyone has to endure such living conditions. New Yorkers, on the other hand, take pride in a transport system that enables them to move around their city with ease, and a lifestyle that is pretty much 24/7. You can’t afford to live it, but hey, ho, swings and roundabouts and all that.
Having been here nearly a week now, though, I have to report that I have met not one person who likes living in New York. Just like the people I meet when I go to Paris, everyone wants to live in London. Having lived there for 28 years, I am baffled why anyone craves what is easily now one of the most expensive cities in the world, not to mention one of the dirtiest and most impersonal.
So far, New York is way too much like London for me, and I am missing LA, which, more and more, feels like home. But I’m trying to become an east coast girl, at least for a while.
Yesterday, I went jogging in Central Park, for instance: not because I like jogging particularly, but just because it’s what they always do in the movies.
The problem was that the whole of New York had the same idea. A beautiful, warm spring day is all it takes, it seems, to get people outdoors. In LA, the Sunday equivalent is taking a hike up Runyon Canyon – all very slow and relaxed; in Central Park, I was nearly knocked down by three runners and a veritable herd of cyclists. SLOW DOWN, people!
But here’s the weirdest thing about this place – it really is like Sex and the City. In LA, everyone talks about deals and productions; here, they talk about relationships. In every bar and restaurant, that’s all you hear: he said, she said, where’s it going, where did it go, what did he/she mean . . . On and on and on. It’s like being in Relate kindergarten. Not since I was 25 have I heard so much self-absorption on the subject of the complications of love.
Maybe it’s my age; maybe it’s my not being in a relationship – but really, it’s all very tedious. It got me thinking about what I actually talk to my friends about. In our 40s, it was all about how much profit we had made on the houses we had bought at the bottom of the market and sold at the top; in our 50s, it’s about how much money we’ve lost on the houses we bought with the profits because we hadn’t bargained for another recession.
We talk about work, art, books; most of all, we laugh. About everything. I am so blessed in having so many wonderful, very clever, very funny friends.
And d’you know something? That’s something I don’t see much of on either east or west coast. Laughter. The kind that rocks your body and brings tears to your eyes. The kind I share with all my friends and family in both London and Wales. The laughter born of a humour that is the thing, to me, that most defines who we are.
It’s not that Americans lack humour; even the most cursory glance at their TV sitcom history and their brilliant chat shows (Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, David Letterman) bears testament to an immense sharpness of wit and imagination. You just don’t see much laughter on the streets. I’m beginning to wonder whether it’s considered the height of rudeness, a bit like blowing your nose in public is in Japan.
I 100% want to stay in California, but yesterday I found myself looking down lists of apartments in London to have as a second base. Yes, the city I claim to hate. But I wondered if everyone else loves it so much, what am I missing?
I’m certainly missing my family and friends.
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