This fall marks my six-year anniversary of moving to California. My boyfriend and I headed out west a few months after graduating from college in Iowa. Sure, we had a vague sense that California would be different from the Midwest, but we didn’t anticipate just how much of a culture shock it would actually be.
Our first indication was when the cab driver from the airport—I was too intimidated to try Uber—dropped us off in front of our temporary Airbnb in Oakland, an RV in a backyard. The driver slammed the trunk shut and crowed, “You’re not in Kansas anymore!” I didn’t try to point out that Iowa doesn’t even border Kansas; she was laughing too hard at her joke and, likely, would not have given a shit.
I’ve found myself reflecting on all the things I’ve learned since that first cab ride. As much as “culture shock” happened in the context of the big differences we expected with such a significant move, it also manifested itself in the form of smaller day-to-day quirks. If lesson number one was the cab driver’s sage wisdom that the Bay Area isn’t Kansas, it kicked off a steep learning curve during that first year here.
The following is a non-exhaustive list of 11 things I’ve learned from Californians:
1. “That’s cute” means you might be cute…or just different
Every time I ordered a “pop” instead of a “soda,” locals would smile delightedly as though a puppy had appeared in my lap, and say, “Pop! That’s so cute.” At first, I thought it was sweet. But then three people in my office separately paused while watching me pull Pop-Tarts out of the toaster for breakfast and said, “Pop-Tarts for breakfast! That’s cute.” And finally, a new friend looked down at my shoes while I was in line at a bar and said, “You always wear sneakers to go out! That’s so cute.” It clicked. These things were not said with malice. But I understood that it also meant “that’s different.” I now say “soda” instead of “pop.” And I now understand that Pop-Tarts aren’t a socially or nutritionally acceptable breakfast food. I still wear sneakers to bars.
2. Chipotle uses sushi rice. Also, there are different kinds of rice.
That first year, I was desperate for familiarity, and I had no idea how to eat healthy. Obviously, that’s not true of all Midwesterners, but it was true for me, and the combo of homesickness and poor nutrition habits had me queueing up at Chipotle and Noodles & Company like it was my job. With an entry-level salary at my real job, though, I made that burrito bowl last for at least two days. It was on one of those day-two days, as I was poking around the brown guacamole, when one of my most intimidating managers stopped by the kitchen.
He paused and said with no hint of sarcasm, “You know, they use sushi rice in their burrito bowls. It doesn’t even make ethnic culinary sense.” He was trying to make conversation, but given that I had no idea that there was a difference between kinds of rice, I said something intelligent like, “Oh.”
I had never met people who knew — and actually cared — about the details of their food and its origin. It has started to rub off on me over the years, and that’s a good thing.
3. Basements are fascinating
At least twice a year the topic of basements comes up, and if a Californian is nearby, they might ask with a note of wonder, “So what do you have in a basement?” Basements are rarer in California — in part because there’s no need to build below the frost line. So for at least a few minutes, I can impart the lore of a Midwestern basement: a mishmash of cast-off furniture, daddy longlegs as big as your hand, and the “basement fridge,” which safeguards years-old popsicles at any time of the year. Someday, I promised them, I’ll show you one.
4. Turning signals are optional
I am obsessed with turning signals. I signal when I’m pulling into and out of parking spots, regardless of whether anyone is nearby. I don’t expect every driver on the road to match that level of over-communication, but it seems that Bay Area drivers play their next moves absurdly close to the chest. At one point, I theorized, it’s because people here prefer a little more risk in their everyday lives. But that theory falls apart when it comes to parking brakes.
5. But parking brakes are never optional
I get that parking brakes on a hill are necessary. I still remember the first time I actually had to turn my wheels when parking on a hill — my boyfriend and I got into an argument about the direction. But what baffles me is that my native Californian friends always use a parking brake. Always. Even on level ground. I’ve asked why, and they just shrug. So maybe it’s like me and my turning signals — second nature. All I know is that whenever a friend uses my car, I will drive at least a mile before realizing the damn parking brake is on.
6. I can’t pronounce “jalapeño”
All my life, I’d been unknowingly pronouncing it wrong. Like pretty much everyone else in the Midwest, I said it as “hala-peeño,” really drawing out the “peen” like a goober. It took only 12 times of being corrected by a Californian with a concerned expression to make me quit that habit. It wasn’t my fault; I grew up with a grandma who pronounced it with a hard “j”: “jala-puh-no.”
7. I can pronounce “La Croix”
I admit that I was smug about this. Finally, Midwestern dialect wins out. When LaCroix became popular in my office, I’d magically appear anytime coworkers pronounced it “la kwah,” like the French word for “cross.” “Oh no, no,” I’d say. “Easy mistake to make, my dear.”
Much to my delight, it’s pronounced “La Croy,” like the St. Croix River in Wisconsin. That’s the birthplace of the beloved fizzy drink, the drink my great-aunt used to force on us in 1999, because it was “just like pop but healthy.” I fully understand that this pronunciation is probably still a butchering of the originally intended name of said river, but that’s what we do. That’s why I grew up next to Des Plaines, Illinois, proudly pronounced with both S’s.
8. Chain restaurants are passé
This is likely more due to the difference between living in a city versus the suburbs, but I was woefully misinformed about what constitutes a “nice” restaurant. During my first year, I planned a work-team dinner at California Pizza Kitchen, much to the bemusement of my co-workers. I also won a contest for me and 10 coworkers to experience a special “tasting menu” at Noodles & Company. (Did I mention that I used to go there a lot?) My boyfriend and I even went to Chevys Fresh Mex for Valentine’s Day in SOMA, and it was empty save for one man and his giant-margarita date. We’ve now fallen in love with the Bay Area’s diverse cuisines but have made it a nostalgic tradition to go to a classic chain restaurant once a year.
9. But old movie theaters are to be treasured
The Bay Area loves its movie theaters. The first time I stepped into the Grand Lake Theatre in Oakland, I was transported. Egyptian motifs, tiny stars in the ceiling, heavy velvet curtains: it was as though I had arrived from the sock hop to see Casablanca instead of It (part 1). I love movie theaters; I will see a straight-up bad movie just to go to a movie theater (a.k.a. why I saw Arthur Christmas on the opening night).
In Illinois and Iowa, the movie theaters are massive, warehouse-size growths sprouting off the sides of shopping malls. But in the Bay, so many of them are old-school treasures. In Berkeley, I was floored that I could walk to three different historic theaters. And when I discovered the quirky New Parkway in Oakland, I went for four straight weekends. Now, where I live in Orinda, the 1942 theater still glows neon pink and is visible from the highway. I’d trade chain restaurants for local movie theaters any day.
10. They don’t know much about the Midwest
A lot of my Californian friends know startlingly little about the middle of the country. I don’t expect anyone to know exactly where South Dakota is in relation to Indiana. But I was taken aback when a friend asked why I was so excited about eucalyptus trees and asked, “Don’t they have them in Iowa?” Or when a SoCal native remarked on “ how fun it was to visit the Midwest” after a trip to Denver.
Many of my Californian friends grew up here, went to school here, and now work here. And why shouldn’t they? At any point in time, you’re never far from mountains, deserts, beaches, or Scotchmallows. There’s no reason to leave.
11. And I didn’t know much about California
I knew squat about California before moving here. Except for a layover in LA when I was nine years old, I had never set foot in the state. But I moved anyway because of a job offer and because I grew up hearing songs and watching movies about a place called the Golden State.
California — for all its flaws and contradictions — still holds a sort of magical aura for many non-coastals. At least it did for me. It may sound childlike, but I was drawn here, at least in small part, by that exotic cool factor, the “otherness” of a place so unlike my home.
And that’s the biggest lesson I didn’t expect: There’s an energy that not only draws you here but also keeps you here. Unlike other cities with a palpable “energy” — like New York City’s, which makes you feel like you’re floating six inches off the ground — the Bay Area is a place that grows roots when you’re not watching. You could spend a strangely hot February day in Tilden Park or a foggy July afternoon shivering to free bluegrass music in Golden Gate Park.
Next thing you know, it’s six years later. You look down and see that you’re wearing hiking boots and buying bird stickers of “California Corvids” for your metal water bottle. And you think, “Well, one more year can’t hurt.”
