Close encounters with firemen, nail artists and doctors... and a bit of Oscar Wilde

Have you ever begun the day with several hunky firemen in your house? I hadn't either until, one morning, I had a luxuriously hot shower without realising that the fire alarm sensor was just outside the bathroom door, nor how sensitive it is. Ten minutes later, I saw two enormous gleaming fire trucks pull up outside the window and went downstairs, to my shame attired only in an old sarong and sloppy jumper, to find said hunky firemen being let in by a kindly neighbour.

The trouble is, I wear hearing aids which I have to remove to shower, and therefore never heard the alarm - and also never expected a bit of steam to attract the San Franciscan cavalry. I put my hearing aids in only in time to hear the distinctive wail of the trucks and the firemen banging on the door, but not in time to render myself at all presentable. What an opportunity missed! The tall, dark handsome man leading the group said immediately 'nice hot shower?', and the mystery was solved. Fortunately, they all found it very amusing, and having ascertained that the alarm was properly reset, packed up their hoses and drove away, no doubt to entertain their fellows with the story of the odd English girl... Still, my gay neighbour and I much enjoyed the sight, and I guess it is reassuring that the fire brigade in this city of wooden houses is so efficient. One thing's for sure - I will definitely be having cold showers from now on.

My new nails!

Being someone who has never been particularly interested in spending hours on my appearance, not to mention taking every opportunity to visit a stables, I have never had a manicure or pedicure. In San Francisco, where nail salons seem to outnumber every other kind of shop, such a revelation has always been greeted with incredulity and horror, not least from my neighbour. He immediately promised to rectify this situation, and swept me off to Zaza Nails (www.zazanailspa.com) in SoMA to be pampered and groomed to Californian standards. After a full 'mani pedi', complete with paraffin (plastic bags of purple gloop fastened over one's hands and feet), exfoliation and green tea foot bath, I am now the proud possessor of well-shaped, bright pink nails. It remains to be seen how long they last, but a regular manicure may just become part of my life.

The most groomed my hands have ever been

We often take for granted how lucky we are in the UK to have the NHS, but now that I am in America, I admire more than ever Danny Boyle's homage to the institution at the Opening Ceremony of the London Olympic Games last year. Here, the cost of an operation can reduce people to bankruptcy and the number of people on the streets, especially in San Francisco, who are in desperate need of mental-health care is truly shocking. If you are lucky enough to have a job, health insurance is usually provided, but there are all kinds of caveats even then and most employees have to make some kind of monthly contribution to the costs. Private health insurance can be astronomical, and if you fall seriously ill without any, the costs can mount up with frightening speed. President Obama is doing his best to reform the system, but the big business health insurers and pharmaceuticals are fighting him every step of the way, fearful of seeing their enormous profits vanish.

However, if you can afford it, the standard of healthcare is extremely good. I had been worried about something for a few weeks, but the prohibitive cost of seeing a doctor had put me off going. The figure of $270 just to visit a surgery was quoted, and I decided to wait and see, in consultation with a very competent doctor friend at home. However, I couldn't shake off a slight concern, and in the end, on the advice of a local friend, I bit the bullet and went to 909 Hyde. And I am so glad I did. Dr Sytova was immediately reassuring, kind, efficient and thorough, and she gave me an clean bill of health. It was one of the best encounters with a doctor I have ever had, better than sessions with harrassed, often foreign NHS doctors in London. It seems a terrible thing to say in this day and age, but as someone who is deaf and struggles to understand even English accents occasionally, the extra effort it has sometimes taken me to make sense of the no-doubt sensible things being said in a thick Indian or Polish accent has left me feeling exhausted. Here, I exited the surgery feeling on cloud nine. And all for just $75. If I had to have any medicine or procedures, it would have rocketed, but as it was, it was the best $75 I have ever spent.

A great friend of mine, also from England, has Type 1 diabetes, and tells me that she has had the best service of her life in the US. The equipment is top-notch and help is available 24/7. Many of the nurses she has encountered also have diabetes, and therefore can offer immediate and informed assistance. If only such service could be available to everyone in the US, no matter their circumstances, this first-world country would have first-world healthcare. I hope against hope that Obama wins this fight.

The Memorial Church at Stanford University

Lady Bracknell would have no sympathy for all this, as she believes that 'Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life'. I was reminded of her caustic comments when my neighbour Chad Jones, husband of my spa companion, took me to see The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde at Stanford University. A theatre critic and author of the excellent Theater Dogs blog (www.theaterdogs.net), he is knowledgeable and discerning, and it was a pleasure to discuss this wonderful play with him. I know and love Earnest better than most, having directed a production in the gardens of the Art History building when I was at St Andrews University, and always jump at the chance to revel in the wonderful dialogue. The exquisite tea party between the two young ladies is one of my favourite scenes of all time: Cecily: 'When I see a spade, I call it a spade.' Gwendolen: 'I am glad to say I have never seen a spade'.

The campus is so vast that we took a while to find the Pigott Theatre, which is close to Stanford's magnificent Palm Drive and Main Quad, but had a lovely stroll in the evening sunshine. The production, by Stanford Summer Theatre (http://sst.stanford.edu), was deliciously uncut and in period. The cast were generally very good, and improved as the evening went on after a slightly nervous beginning. The American actors made a good stab at the accent, with Algernon and Ernest being the best, fortunately, but there was the odd, regrettable, lapse - there are distinct social possibilities in Cecily's profile, not her profeel. Still, as Algernon says of his skills as a pianist, 'I don't play accurately, anyone can play accurately, but I play with wonderful expression'. The actors gave it their all, and as there are several weeks left to run, I have no doubt that the Bay Area audience will find it as delightful as Gwendolen and Cecily find the name Ernest.

'Prism! Prism! Where is that baby?!' 

The Hoover Tower at Stanford University

America's Cup racing? Surely not!

At last, I have seen two boats going head to head on the America's Cup course! Given that racing theoretically began a week ago, this shouldn't come as a surprise, but the 34th incarnation of the competition for the oldest sailing trophy in the world has been embroiled in far more drama and controversy on land than on the water.

Emirates Team New Zealand en route to the starting box

The rules of the America's Cup (www.americascup.com) dictate that the winner of the competition chooses the type of boat used the next time it is held. When Oracle Team USA won in 2010, they designed the extraordinary AC72, a wing-sailed catamaran capable of reaching speeds of more than 40 knots, some 50mph, and a long way from the elegant schooners that originally challenged for the Cup. The sail is no longer a sail, but a stiff wing towering 130ft above the 72ft hull, and the whole is capable of 'foiling', literally flying above the water. The boats only keep contact with the sea via the rudders and foils, narrow keels that can be lowered in a similar fashion to their distant cousin, the centreboard familiar to dinghy sailors. The 11-man crew, clad in shiny helmets and futuristic suits, dash across the mesh connecting the two hulls, winching and trimming for all they're worth. It must be unbelievably exhilarating to dash downwind from the Golden Gate Bridge, flashing past smaller yachts, with support motorboats going flat out to keep up. My experience of sailing comes principally from Swallows and Amazons books and meandering about the Camel Estuary in Cornwall in a Mirror dinghy, yet I can still remember the excitement I felt on a rare trip aboard a Hobie Cat from Rock sailing club, the closest most hobby sailors will come to experiencing one of these formidable catamarans. The America's Cup is as far from a relaxing cruise as a Formula 1 is from pootling about the lanes in a vintage Morgan, but that is the point. This is the pinnacle of sailing, the fastest men have ever been without the assistance of an engine, and it is thrilling to watch.

Emirates Team New Zealand flying above the waves

Luna Rossa Challenge gets up on its foils

The old meets the new: the replica of America, the original 

America's Cup boat, sails inland past the new AC72s

However, such technical brilliance has a major drawback - it comes at a very expensive price. From the original 12 challengers to Oracle's crown, only three remain. Emirates Team New Zealand, Luna Rossa Challenge of Italy and Sweden's Artemis Racing are, in theory, currently racing in the Louis Vuitton Cup, the competition to choose who will race against the US boat in the America's Cup in September, but even that small group is in turmoil. Tragedy struck in May, when the Artemis boat capsized and broke up, killing British sailor and Olympic medallist Andrew 'Bart' Simpson. The death of this enormously popular and respected man has cast a pall over the whole competition, and the subsequent debates on safety and rule changes are still causing delays two months after the accident. It is too complicated to go into in detail, but suffice to say that Luna Rossa's protests over the rule changes meant that they refused to sail until the adjudicators had ruled. Coupled to the fact that Artemis is still rebuilding their boat after the May disaster, the result was that the first three 'races' saw only one team on the course. Emirates gamely sailed round the course alone on the first two days, and Luna Rossa deigned to sail on the third day after their challenge was upheld, unopposed by Artemis (who may now object to the new rules not being enforced). Confused yet? All this followed an opening-day 'parade' that was reduced to a San Francisco fire boat, the replica of the original Cup boat America, one or two other previous Cup challengers and a bunch of motorized support boats because it was too windy for the AC72s to join in. It is almost as if humans can't keep up with the machines they have designed. Unfortunately, the best way of describing the whole America's Cup circus so far is 'damp squib'. 

The San Francisco fire boat leads the 'parade' past Alcatraz

America, followed by another previous America's Cup competitor

The rest of the parade - motorized support boats

Until, that is, Saturday, July 13th. The sun shone, the winds kept below the requisite 20 knot limit (just), and two boats lined up at the start. Sadly for those of us wanting to see the spectacle of these boats jostling for a turn at high speed, however, the race itself was somewhat onesided, with the Emirates boat tearing off ahead and finishing an enormous 5 minutes 23 seconds before the Luna Rossa crew. Technically, apparently, that means the Italian team didn't even finish, because they were too far behind. The rules of this competition would give a NASA physicist a headache.

After boxing Luna Rossa in at the start, Emirates swoops away

Support boats race to keep up with the AC72s

Whizzing past Alcatraz, with a significant gap opening up on the first leg

But to concentrate on the positives - this truly is the most wonderful setting imaginable for a sailing race. From my position on the breakwater near the Golden Gate Yacht Club, I could see almost the whole course, with the Golden Gate Bridge to my left and Alcatraz to my right. Only the finish line itself is hidden from view, and the competitors swoop by only a couple of hundred yards away. There are two official America's Cup venues, a 'village' at the Marina and a 'park' at Piers 27/29, with shops (shot glass for $10, anyone?), big screens and entertainment, but the views afforded all along the San Francisco waterfront beat them hollow. There was a fairly decent crowd, not quite the 'hordes' that an over-zealous policeman thought would sweep us into the sea if we persisted in sitting comfortably on the rocks ('elf-n-safety' strikes again), but at least enough to look as if some people were interested. It was a gloriously sunny day, breezy but not cold, and San Francisco looked like the world-class backdrop it is. 

Not a bad spot to watch the racing from

Luna Rossa races towards us before jibing away towards the Golden Gate

Luna Rossa beginning the last leg, back towards the finish from the Golden Gate

The great danger of all the shenanigans is that the audiences will fall away and the city will suffer financially. Its waterfront was once one of the busiest in the world, but it has suffered with the lessening of sea traffic and endured an ignoble period when it was blocked off from the city by an elevated freeway that was thankfully demolished after the 1989 earthquake. Since then, various projects have tried to revive the area, but the stretch between the Giants' AT&T baseball stadium south of the Bay Bridge and the tourist trap of Fisherman's Wharf is still blighted by empty warehouses and building sites. In the spring, the magnificent new Exploratorium (www.exploratorium.edu) opened at Pier 15/17, and it is to be hoped that similarly successful ventures will follow, but an ignominious international sailing competition could damage the chances of the hoped-for redevelopment. There are rumours of sponsorship being withdrawn and the city has already been publicly embarrassed by the lack of water-based spectacle.

I watched the race with two charming New Zealanders, who had delayed their departure in order to see their team take on someone, anyone, after watching three walkovers since their arrival on Monday. They were lucky to see an actual race, but there must be many more visitors angry at the poor show so far. The America's Cup website does a good job of trumpeting the speeds and the slickness of the crews in its continual news reports, but the fact is that, however fast it is, one boat does not a race make. Everyone in the city has their fingers crossed that the America's Cup can shrug off this early turmoil and concentrate on the action on the water, because if we do get to see these enormous machines flying close together towards a turning buoy at 40-plus knots and generating excitement among audiences around the world, it may actually have been worth it.

Emirates flying eastwards, with Luna Rossa still on the previous tack

The two boats practising after the race. Hopefully, we'll get to see the boats 

actually racing as close as this at some point this summer!

Cattle cutting, cowboys and very chilled horses

It must be something to do with being in California, but all the horses I have encountered in this state have been remarkably chilled, never turning a hair at traffic, other horses or all the bustle of a busy yard. Or 'barn', as stables are called here. After meeting the hounds and horses of the Santa Fe Hunt in San Diego, I took the train up the coast to visit Laurie Brumage, a fellow member of the Santa Fe who lives in San Juan Capistrano, one of the most historic towns in the US. Adobe homes built by Spanish missionaries are preserved here, and Los Rios Street, a charming, tree-shaded lane with quaint wooden homes, is the oldest in California. You can even have an English-style afternoon tea at The Tea House (www.theteahouseonlosrios.com), complete with fine bone china. 

Los Rios Street

The Tea House. If there were cucumber sandwiches available, 

even Lady Bracknell would approve

Laurie's barn, Sycamore Trails Stables (www.sycamoretrails.com), is a vast complex, with 10 barns holding dozens of horses each, seven arenas, covered and uncovered, and several turn-out areas and round pens. There are horses everywhere, hacking to schooling sessions, letting off steam loose in a small arena, jumping, on horse walkers or just being led back to their stables from the sunning pens. Every single one seemed to be quiet, interested in everything, but never spooking. My old pony, much as I loved her, would spook at a clod of earth if she caught it at a funny angle, but here, the sunshine and laidback attitude seems to have infected the horses as well as the people.

Laurie and Peri in Californian mode

Looking smart!

It translates into the style of riding, too. Jumping Laurie's horse Peri, an extremely handsome Clydesdale x Thoroughbred, I barely had to touch his mouth. Horses are taught to be ridden from the seat, and 'washing-line reins', so derided in British Pony Clubs, are no handicap here, even on the hunting field, although I would have to have a little more time with Peri before I set off after hounds at a gallop 'on the buckle', as Laurie does! Such a light hand allows the horse to work freely, and is becoming increasingly seen in dressage. After all, at the Olympics last year, it was Charlotte Dujardin's soft touch and Valegro's relaxed yet correct outline that won us the gold over the more rigid German and Dutch riders. 

Me jumping Peri - no contact needed!

English-style is hugely popular round here, and most riders aim to compete in some form, with almost everyone having a personal 'trainer', who will give them lessons and often accompany them to shows, giving advice on every aspect. In fact, few horses get the chance to experience the wide-open spaces seen out hunting, and I hope the Santa Fe manages to tempt more and more out of their arenas. For many non-hunters, equitation classes are the favourite, in which, I gather, style of going is marked and riders aim for a smooth, almost robotic rhythm over fences. I cannot judge without having seen such competitions for myself, which I hope to do, but I couldn't help a smile when I heard that, in some classes, marks can be awarded for a particularly luxuriant tail... 

A double of cowboy-themed fences in the Front Jumping Arena 

Chilling in the creek

In Western riding, the relaxed style comes to the fore, with the horse's outline being long and low, and control coming from the seat and positioning of the rider's weight - although being relaxed doesn't mean it is any less skilled or effective. This was brought home to me deep in the Californian desert at Reed Valley Ranch (www.reedvalleyranch.com), owned by Santa Fe Hunt follower, Georgia Storm. On a blissfully sunny day, fellow hunt members Jane Langridge and Byron Ayala, top Chinese rider Logos Hall and I (all friends of the ubiquitous Aidan O'Connell!), joined Georgia there to try our hand at Western riding and cattle cutting. 

One of the Reed Valley Ranch buildings

Inside the main lodge

An oasis in the Californian desert, Reed Valley is a classic, comfortable and beautifully decorated cattle ranch, open to guests who want to escape the urban sprawl along the coast. It was easy to imagine Georgia and her three sisters living a 'Little House on the Prairie' childhood there. A top-class showjumper, Georgia is equally at home on a Western saddle, and she and ranch manager Don showed us just how effective seat and weight could be by turning 360˚ inside a tractor tyre, walking sideways over a log and pivoting on a stone slab a foot square, all without touching their horses' mouths. We also had a go at cattle cutting - a favourite rodeo class - and, for complete beginners, weren't too bad! It involves moving cattle from one pen to another one at a time, taking it in turns to choose a beast and herding it through the gate, keeping it moving by positioning one's horse in the optimum position to the side and rear of the bullock. It's a lot harder than it looks, but enormously satisfying when it works.

Don pivoting around a tiny stone slab

Following Georgia and Don along a trail

Byron, Georgia, Jane on Blue, Logos and me

For me, it was wonderful to have a chance to try the saddles (and practice lifting them - they weigh a helluva lot more than English saddles), as, in August, I will leave San Francisco to experience life as a wrangler at Bitterroot Ranch, Wyoming (www.bitterrootranch.com). After a taste of the lifestyle at Reed Valley, I'm more excited than ever about fulfilling my childhood dream.

Me on Rem - short for Remington

Who needs a gym when you've got Western saddles to hoist?

Hounds, heat and a hint of hunting

I passed my driving test as quickly as possible when I turned 17, principally so that I could drive myself to hound exercise with my old pack, the Clifton-on-Teme in Worcestershire, at crack of dawn, without having to drag my parents out of bed. Little did I imagine then, riding out along the along the lanes in cool early morning sunlight, that, 13 years later, I would be doing the same in California, the dust rising from the hounds' pads and the sun baking the valley at 8am. 

'Roading' in the Temecula wine country

I joined the Santa Fe Hunt (www.santafehunt.com) for a morning's 'roading' after being introduced to membership secretary and Englishwoman Jane Langridge by hunting doyen Aidan O'Connell, a legend in equestrian circles from his native Ireland to Virginia. Aidan holds his enormously popular hunting clinics in the US, and on hearing my travel plans, put me in touch with the hunting community here. The hunting world is an extremely small one, and the welcome from its people is second to none, whether you're in Co Clare or California!

Jane and Nicky ready for the off

Recently amalgamated with the West Hills Hounds (of which Ronald Reagan was a founding member), the Santa Fe hunts coyote across the vast deserts of Riverside and San Diego counties. Jumps are mainly three-foot 'coops', wooden palisades across wire fences, and the land is often steep, peppered with boulders, bushes and ground-squirrel holes. I imagine that covering it at speed is similar to hunting on Dartmoor or Bodmin moor, and a clever horse that can jink and change legs around to twist around obstacles is ideal. Jane's horses are just the sort - Nicky, her mare, is a seasoned hunter and her offspring, Snickers, named after the Snickersville hunt in Virginia, where Jane hunted for some years, looks set to be a worthy successor. At just four, he gave me a lovely ride, quiet, responsive and keen, unfazed by all the excitement of the hounds, but quite ready to gallop. 

The finest view in California - Snickers sees hounds and his ears prick up!

Hound exercise (or 'roading', as they call it), in the Temecula wine country was strange, but familiar. We were on the horses by 8am, yet it was already baking hot at Kingsway Farm. With a light breeze making a welcome appearance, we set off behind Santa Fe joint-master Terry Paine, owner of Kingsway. A superb horseman with an old-fashioned charm, Terry came to hunting relatively late, but soon caught the bug and was a joint-master within a few years. He's a notable breeder, too, with dozens of youngsters around the farm and a couple making serious names for themselves - in particular, Gin & Juice, ridden by Hawley Bennett, who came an impressive 7th at Kentucky and is being aimed at Burghley in the UK in September. His full brother, 5O'Clock Somewhere (notice a theme?) is showing equal talent. 

With the hounds' sterns waving cheerfully in front of us, we cantered across sandy fields, trotted up a steep road that afforded tremendous views across the valley, and finished with a splash in a pond back at Kingsway. All four-legged creatures behaved beautifully, and it was a treat to experience California in a way few visitors do. 

Terry (left) and Byron cool off the hounds in a rare pond

The hounds were eager but biddable, admirably attuned to every word of the kennel huntsman, Guatemalan Byron Ayala, dapper in a red shirt. A workmanlike mixture of English and American hounds, they include some notable drafts, such as Beaufort Cheerful, who has several offspring tumbling around in the desert-ringed kennels. The hounds have a large sandy area to play in - where their favourite pastime is wedging themselves in one of the water butts. I could see the attraction in temperatures that were edging towards the 90s! Thankfully, the weather is a lot cooler in winter, although meets are held early or late to escape the worst of the heat. Hounds have to be determined, with plenty of stamina, and a turn of speed to keep up with the swift-footed coyotes, and riders must have their wits about them to stay in touch. By all accounts, the Santa Fe is going from strength to strength under Terry and Byron and their team, and I can't wait to come back in the hunting season.

Talk to me! Santa Fe puppies

Time to play!

Mmm...it's cool in here

San Francisco: the air-conditioned city

Mark Twain's assertion that 'the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco' is oft-quoted around the Bay and is recorded on hundreds of fridge magnets and t-shirts. He was nothing if not accurate - the fogs that roll in from the Golden Gate lower the temperature far below that experienced inland. Right now, the western states are baking in a heatwave so severe it is being reported in the British papers, yet it is cool, sunny and breezy (blowing a gale) in San Francisco. It is known as the air-conditioned city - sunshine and wind together is the order of the day.

The Golden Gate Bridge veiled in fog, with the rest of the city in sunshine

Until now. Today was my first experience of the true San Franciscan fog, which blows in from the sea and sweeps inexorably from Ocean Beach to the Embarcadero, making the tourists shudder and the inhabitants turn up their heating. Yet it has an ethereal beauty, cloaking the streets in mystery and bathing the street lights in a ghostly halo. I have just walked home through Pacific Heights, one of the most beautiful districts of San Francisco, and could see wisps of vapour drifting past the imposing porches and neo-Classical facades of the city's grandest mansions. There was no one around, and, from the high ridge of Pacific street, both the Bay itself and the inland areas of the city, Buena Vista and Castro, were hidden in waves of shimmering fog. 

Pacific Heights in fog

I went to university at St Andrews, on the west coast of Scotland, where the view was frequently hidden by the damp, clammy Scottish Haar. Its Californian cousin is cold, certainly, and when especially thick can bedew everything in glittering pinpricks of vapour, but it is gentle and mysterious, beguiling, not threatening. Even in daytime, one can see its folds sweeping by inexorably, as if driven by ancient purpose, unconcerned by the tiny human figures going about their insignificant lives. 

Fog beyond the Palace of Fine Arts and an Americas Cup competitor

The Golden Gate Bridge veiled in grey, seen from Fort Point

The Golden Gate Bridge emerges

I had seen the Californian fogs before, in the guise of the marine layer that lies along the coast like a scarf dropped by one of Neptune's daughters. Driving up Highway 1 in a Ford Mustang convertible, the fog would periodically cast a chill over the road that made me shiver, before I climbed beyond its folds to brilliant sunshine. Hiding the horizon and lying thick and impenetrable wherever the cold sea met the hot land, the marine layer can cloak whole areas in grey cloud. 

Evening mist off the beach at San Simeon

The marine layer from Highway 1

Sometimes, it burns off within hours of sunrise; other days, it firmly denies any glimpse of the magnificent ocean views that lie just beyond the phenomenon. I have never seen a weather system like it - on some days, the Golden Gate Bridge can be completely hidden, as if some giant, in a fit of pique, had emptied a sack of cotton wool balls over the entrance to the Bay, when the rest of San Francisco is basking in unbroken sunshine. If you cycle or drive through it, it is freezing, and turns your skin clammy and damp, yet within minutes of leaving its chilly embrace, you are as warm and comfortable as if you had spent the day on the beach. It moves faster than you would believe possible, sweeping in to swallow up the view, yet can dissipate in moments. It is capricious, magical, beguiling, strange and beautiful, as much part of San Francisco as the cable cars and, so long you have a warm coat to hand, one of the thousands of things that make this city one of the most wonderful on Earth. 

Fog off San Simeon

Turquoise and silver from Highway 1

A veil of thick white fog across the Pacific Ocean

Me and the Ford Mustang!