A dust devil whirled down the road as we approached. Clouds
of dust rose from the dirt track and dust caked windows, doors, curtains,
tables and chairs alike. A jacket hung forgotten on a nail, a sewing machine
stood waiting for a seamstress that would never come and stacks of magazines
crumbled in the schoolroom. Amid the sagebrush, rusting machines lay
abandoned, gradually succumbing to the fierce winds and extreme temperatures of
the high desert.
Into the old West
Once the means of gathering riches, now a monument to a vanished world
No one will ever shrug on a coat and stride down these streets again
This was Bodie, a Californian town known throughout the West
for its lawlessness, of which one little girl, on the eve of her family’s
departure to the remote valley, wrote in her diary: ‘Goodbye God, I’m going to
Bodie.’ In its gold-mining heyday in the late 19th century, when $32 million of gold and $6-7 million of silver was extracted, its 10,000 inhabitants had
an astonishing 65 saloons to choose from. The ‘badman of Bodie’, never identified, was a bogey man that law-abiding citizens in other towns would
whisper about behind closed doors. Killings were common, providing plenty of
work for the passing bell atop the fire station. In 1881, the Rev F. M.
Warrington called the town a ‘sea of sin, lashed by the tempests of lust and
passion'. Even John Wayne might have
struggled to bring order to this place.
The main street of Bodie, silent now where gunplay once rattled
How many men's heads were broken in here?
The Dechambeau Hotel and Post Office, remnants of respectability
The Swazey Hotel, collapsing under its weight of memories?
Yet less than 100 years after gold was discovered in this desert, high above the salt-encrusted expanse of Mono
Lake near the border with Nevada, the town that once bustled with life and death alike lay abandoned and crumbling. Today, only 5% of its buildings
remain, the rest lost to a fire in 1932, which was started by a 2½-year-old boy
called Bill playing with matches. It now serves as a reminder of
the Gold Rush that led to thousands of people crowding into anywhere with a
whiff of the shiny stuff. To wander the streets, peer into the church (the oilcloth
bearing the Ten Commandments was stolen years ago) and tread the rotting boards of the
Miller house is to step into the past. It’s incredible how swiftly the lumbering
tourists with their cameras and burger bellies vanish and the ghosts take over. Of course, it is said to be haunted, and a book of letters from worried visitors returning stolen trinkets testifies to the belief in the Bodie curse, that anyone who steals a rock or broken pot will meet with nothing but bad luck.
The table is laid for a meal in the Miller house, but the food will never be served
Decades of neglect are manifested in the peeling wallpaper and damp walls
The whole place has been left in a state of ‘arrested decay’, allowed to
crumble exactly as it was when the people moved out, right down to the
books on the shelves and the ironing board in the laundry. In
winter, this is a barren, bitterly cold place, being 8,379 feet above sea level,
shrouded in snow and whipped by strong winds. In summer, it bakes under a
pitiless sun, grass yellow and dry, wood cracking and paint peeling. Even before
you add the lawlessness, this would not have been a comfortable place to live,
and it is no surprise that once the gold ran out and fires destroyed many of
the buildings, people were little inclined to stay. For those who come to visit
now, treading carefully on the broken floors, it offers a haunting glimpse of
a lost world.
Given over to dust, the town of Bodie broods on its past
One of the grander houses in town: home of the Hoover family
Me outside the home of the Kirkwoods, who made their fortune
supplying and shoeing the hundreds of horses and mules who
hauled the hard-won gold from the mine
The old Methodist Church, built in 1882
The glassy expanse of salty Mono Lake, a few miles south of Bodie
A few nights later, I shrugged off the dust of Bodie and
entered a very different but equally American world: that of a baseball game at
the AT&T Park between the San Francisco Giants and the Cincinnati Reds.
Exuberance is the name of the game here – kiss cams, chants and an endless
stream of food vendors, cheers and whoops and catcalls, everyone dressed in
bright orange and black, floodlights banishing the night. I’d never been to a
baseball game before and I loved every minute. Everyone was good-humoured, from
the fans to the photographers, even though the Giants fell 3-1. We feasted on hot dogs and garlic fries, which more than
justified the many exhortations that had led me to have them. My friend Shannon
did her best to teach me the rules, but I confess, beyond thinking it’s easier
to understand than cricket, I failed to follow everything perfectly. One thing that was different to cricket, just as American football
doesn’t even approach the rigors of rugby, was that all the fielders wear
gloves. Admittedly, they pulled off some spectacular and seemingly casual catches, but it seems easier than stopping the harder cricket ball with bare hands!
Sunset over the AT&T Park
A genuinely impressive moment was Adam Duvall’s first major
league home run, which he clouted way into the bleachers just over our heads.
Cue lots of screaming and leaping to catch it and intense disappointment when
it flew far above us! Our disappointment, however, was as nothing to the pain felt by an
over-excited chap who catapulted onto the benches beside us, flattening an
innocent girl in a desperate attempt to clutch the ball and slamming onto the
concrete in a way that could not have been comfortable for certain parts of his
anatomy. Even more excitement ensued when they showed the replay and we spotted
ourselves on the big screen – my first ever Giants game and I get on TV! If you
feel so inclined, you can watch the big moment by clicking here. Shannon and I
are at the bottom right, second row from the front…
Shannon and me with a random visitor from Denver, Colorado
Feathers, sequins and rainbow flags replaced orange and
black last Sunday, when Market Street was closed for the annual celebration of
Gay Pride. It’s a genuinely heart-warming event, when everybody cheers for that
simple but life-affirming thing: Love. A gay couple bore a banner saying ‘Just
married’, a transvestite belted out YMCA and the mayor, Ed Lee, travelled in style in a gorgeous old Lincoln. Most impressive, to my mind, were the police officers
wearing sashes and belts in the rainbow colours, hand in hand with their
boyfriends and girlfriends, being cheered by a scantily clad and beaming crowd.
I can’t think of many cities where a police force would come out so openly in
favour of gay love. The whirl of colour and naked flesh was a little too
outrageous for my delicate English sensibilities, however, so I escaped down to
a Bart station to take the train to Oakland and a more intimate celebration.
Police sharing the smile!
The Mayor rides in style
No, I don't know why either...
The gay community is certainly thriving here!
Who said men can't wear purple?
Positively modest for Pride-goers!
Shannon warms up the crowd with a quick game...
...before we watch her moment of triumph!
For something more English, don't forget to book your tickets to the Country Life Fair, September 27th-28th at Fulham Palace, London SW6. Use Promo Code OP14 to enter the fabulous prize draw!
