It didn’t take a fluxcapacitor and a souped up Delorean to go back in time last night. It took just a train from the Bay Area and some fading memories to give the impression that time has stood still in the Californian college town I left in 2003.

Nothing here has changed very much. Perhaps there are more iPods per head than before, but save for the dangling white cables those heads are the same pretty young things, more often than not, shrouded in blonde hair or baseball caps and not much mystery.

The University of California-Davis is tucked in the Central Valley, just an hour from both snow and sand and about 50 miles north of San Francisco. The campus is a tad more conservative than its big sister in the Bay and has never quite shaken its agricultural roots. Students here still call themselves “Aggies” and a quick glance at the course catalogue tells you that Tractor Driving 101 still runs in fall quarter.

The college does however now offer a broader curriculum, with strong bio-science and engineering departments. It’s nightlife department however is rather weak. And without classes to go to (or even classes that I should be going to), I’ve little to do besides write, remember and move on.