The mood in California was apologetic. Most people we met seemed embarrassed that their country’s dirty laundry was being aired quite so publicly. Hillary or the Donald? It will have to be Hillary, they sighed. Few seemed stirred by the prospect, but it was hard to avoid the subject. In Half Moon Bay in San Mateo county, we stayed at the Ritz-Carlton, perched on top of the cliffs. While salty mist drifted across the Pacific and pods of whales floated by, the second presidential TV debate rumbled on in the hotel bar. As the two candidates sparred, guests tut-tutted over their gin fizzes and tried not to look entertained.
It was pumpkin season and the fields were dotted with swollen, pimply gourds. A 2,000lb beast had been brought in by truck and crane, and the coastal roads were jammed up with locals coming to see it.
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