California used to belong to Mexico till the americanos stole it, so, unlike some people I know, I don't get the least bit upset when people answer me in Spanish. But it was still a shock to get off the I-5 highway through the Central Valley and come to a small town where no one spoke English. As I drove through town, I saw that most people looked Mexican and all the signs seemed to be in Spanish. I had trouble using my credit card at the gas station. Every one of these machines seems to be slightly different, and in Paris I was used to "Full Service." Two pleasant clerks came out to help and another motorist came over. But none of them could speak English, and my Spanish evaporated as I tried to remember how to say, "The counter should be standing at zero." I got back in the car and drove to another gas station. Same story, but here the machine at least had instructions in English! I figured things out.
In this part of the Central Valley, much of the fresh produce of the United States is grown, and picked by immigrant workers. Every town specializes in something; on route 46, where I drove into the sunset, I passed groves of almonds and pistachios (whose American sales boomed after the Islamic revolution in 1979 cut off the supply from Iran).
One of my old friends was driving through a Central Valley town and called out the window to a pedestrian, "What's this town the world capital of?"
"Asparagus!" the man called back.
In this (now your) part of the world, (native) English speakers are now a minority.
Posted by: LA Frog | 16 February 2007 at 22:40
Have a great time in Cali... eat some fabulous tacos for me. I do miss it there mucho.
Bonne Route!
Posted by: riana | 17 February 2007 at 23:04