USA. Part V. San Francisco—Fargo

January 11–19, 2008

San Francisco

The nicest city in America. Like New York, but more homey.

Turns out that the local cable tram is not some dumb tourist plaything, but a fully fledged mode of transport. I had imagined that it went up and down a single street. As a matter of fact, you can actually cross the entire city on it. Hidden under the rails is a cable in perpetual motion, which the tram grips onto cleverly in order to run. What’s more is, there are several trams running on this cable all at once — I had thought it was just the one.

The utility posts here are wooden, the lampposts are made of metal.

All of the fire escapes have curved balconies.

Street names are pressed right into the concrete pavement at intersections.

The trolleybus wires make the city even more endearing.

Silicon Valley is a half an hour’s drive away. “Google” and “Apple”, two companies unsurpassed at what they do, have their campuses here. This attests to the fact that if there’s anything that the Americans are lacking (from my barbarian point of view), it’s taste. A taste for life, and for style.

Sacramento

They’ve got inordinately long trams here — four double carriages long.

This is also the state capital, that’s why the governor’s office (currently occupied by Arnold Schwarzenegger) is located here. Anyone can go and drop by his office in the local Capitol Hill buildling and pick up his card from his secretary. While you’re there you can marvel at the manky ceiling and the framed acryclic portrait that’s in the poorest possible taste.

Portland

For some reason the local trolley poles are vaguely reminiscent of Tomsk.

Local wooden poles have a distinguishing feature — they’re wrapped up in a thick layer of notices and posters. Although, generally speaking, in America they don’t plaster private ads all over public surfaces.

We’ll never be required to return.

Seattle

At intersections it’s always clearly stated which two streets are intersecting one another.

The maple leaves under the trees are made out of cast iron to begin with.

It’s perfectly normal to hook your bike onto a bus or trolleybus. I even happened upon a police car with a bike hooked onto it.

Seattle is a pleasant place. It somehow reminds me of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky 200 years from now.

Spokane

Quiet county backwater.

Detail of note: every building used to have a name.

Employees of some company or other were out demonstrating. They were all carrying standard Pacific North-Western Regional Council of Carpenters placards. On each one there was a piece of paper stuck on in a designated spot stating the name of the company they were laying into for paying such a low wage. The demonstrators turned their backs to me in unison as soon as they caught sight of my camera.

Moscow

I had a plan — to photograph my car upon my return to New York. The thing is, after two weeks on the road it was as clean as if it had just gone through a carwash. Alas, things did not go as I had planned, all because we added an offshot to our itinerary — we simply couldn’t pass up the chance to see Moscow.

It turns out that your name does in fact massively determine your destiny. American Moscow is the dirtiest town in the entire country. The car was absolutely filthy in a matter of minutes. We ran out of windshield washer fluid. My light footwear was not made to cope with ankle-deep slush.

Road signs thickly coated in snow — an unparalleled violation of safety regulations.

As for the local architecture, it’s completely indistinguishable from what you get in Russia.

Billings

This place has surprising lampposts that stand there with their backsides sticking out.

Bismarck

It’s rare, but it happens: I don’t having anything at all to say about this place.

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At this time of year, it’s −28°C outside here. And it’s right here, in the middle of the steppe, that a cop stopped me because I had gone six miles over the speed limit. He found some sort of fault with my paperwork and called for backup, which came with police dog in tow and searched the car for drugs.

Americans pay a great deal of attention to number plates — what is a guy with New York number plates doing in North Dakota, I wonder?

Fargo

If it wasn’t for the eponymous film, it’s unlikely I would have decided to spend the night in this small town.

The reviews posted by guests staying at local hotels are all carbon copies of one another: “we couldn’t get to sleep properly because there were trains rumbling past our windows all night long”.

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They don’t have enough money for traffic light poles in the provinces, that’s why the traffic lights are all hung like sailors after a pirate attack.