Life in Livermore - the great American suburb

I knew I was truly in America when I went for a run and passed an open garage in which two men were shooting at a person-shaped target on the far wall. Quite a normal Friday evening in this charming, friendly, well-kept neighbourhood that just happens to have turkey vultures nesting at the end of the road. Such is suburban America, a world of pretty front yards and gleaming cars, familiar to viewers of Edward Scissorhands or Desperate Housewives, but infinitely less sinister in reality.

Pristine and pretty: a Livermore street

Turkey vulture in a tree

Showing off a magnificent six-foot wing span

At rest, or posing 

In this quiet area of the East Bay in northern California, only 40 minutes from San Francisco on the BART train, dusty hills ring vast shopping malls and comfortable neighbourhoods linked by multi-lane freeways that stand in for British A roads. In my friends’ area, four designs of identikit houses, half built off site and adorned with well-kept front gardens, have been assembled along roads that curve artistically around a couple of parks. Although slightly plastic looking, it's an attractive place to live, with palm trees and watered lawns adding to the sense of leafy open space. You feel people make an effort here to keep their homes nice, just as they do the environment. This being California, the recycling bins far outrank the regular rubbish bins, and there are hefty fines for anyone caught putting anything in the wrong one.

Beware incurring the wrath of the Californian rubbish police 

if you mix these three bins up! 

Guess which is the smallest, recycling, organic or garbage?

Smooth tarmac and plenty of parking - essential for a car-dominated area

Three vultures circle above a dried-up levee. 

The hills beyond will be green for about two weeks in spring, I'm told

Wide roads are flanked by sidewalks that get little use, as everyone drives everywhere. There are no corner shops here, no newsagents or off licences residents can pop to on foot to fetch a pint of milk. An enormous Safeway is a few minutes away by car, together with a giant Target, TJ Maxx and Lowe’s, not to mention assorted Starbucks, Macdonalds, Subways and so on. It’s all awfully tempting, a stereotypical temple to consumerism, full of food that’s terribly bad for you and trendy clothes you don’t really need. Of course, there’s an awful lot of stuff that’s tremendously useful too, and it’s very convenient having pretty much everything you could ever need within easy reach. You just have to resist the lure of the e-numbers!

Looking over the Livermore rooftops towards the hills, 

during my half-hour march to Safeway

I can’t help but think that all this does make for slightly soulless residential neighbourhoods, though. Because everyone drives everywhere, rather than walks, there are fewer people to be seen out walking or chatting, and because the yards at the back of houses are so spacious and private, there’s plenty of room for family life well out of sight of the road. The only people I’ve seen out running are fellow joggers, occasional dogwalkers and a few children on bikes. They’ve all been pleasant and, I’m sure it’s different in the summer, when the basketball hoops at the end of cul-de-sacs must get a lot more use, but I do miss the easy friendliness of popping to the shop from my flat in Fulham and seeing several people on my way.

Awaiting summer

Livermore does have a tremendous saving grace, however - vineyards galore. There are some 50 wineries in the area, including the gorgeous Concannon, which managed to stay open during prohibition by making wine for the church, and nearly all offer daily wine tastings. I will return to Livermore wines in detail at a later time, but suffice to say that a relaxed afternoon sitting in a shady garden, glass of wine in hand, is a welcome change from the crowds at the outlet mall.

Inside Concannon Vineyards

Who could resist such an entrance?

At this time of year, there is an added interest to exploring an American suburb - the astonishing array of Christmas decorations. Every second house is festooned with every possible variation on festive themes, from gaudy Santas to elegant white fairy lights. Occasionally, houses opposite each other seem to be having a competition to see which could fit the most twinkly coloured lights on their facades, with strings of red and green and blue and pink and gold flashing from every eave and tree and encircling the lawn in fairy rings of glittering colour. Around here, there aren't too many of the blow-up figures I find rather creepy (anyone know why blow-up snowmen carry brooms?), and the whole effect is really rather pretty. I dread to think what the houses' electricity bills are this winter, but I'm jolly glad their owners make the effort. It's like living in a Christmas tree!

The Christmas Lights Competition commences: