Home, again. Home, again.

Returning home after a long trip is when the reminiscing begins. You no longer see new sights or discover new places, no longer meet new people with “funny” accents or experience the culture they represent. But, you re-live the trip in memory. And, in remembering far away places, you are also reminded of why you return home.  The desert is endlessly beautiful in a duo chromatic sort of way. The huge gashes in the earth with their inconceivable striated colours and impossible rock sculptures are breathtaking. The foamy surf that crashes along miles of either soft golden sand or black lava rock is a feast for the eyes and a symphony for the ears. Even the weather, although hotter than comfortably tolerable for this traveler, is dependable. But there’s something both comforting and refreshing in the cool lushness of the Canadian rainforests which paint the coastal mountains green from sea level to summit. And isn’t the anticipation of changing seasons just a little exciting?

Make no mistake, however, we did not wish our way home. We enjoyed every stretch and turn of the road except, perhaps, the noisy concrete freeways, every surprise encounter, except, perhaps, a blinding rainstorm just outside the Grand Canyon, and every person we met, except, perhaps, one indifferent desk clerk. But it’s returning home in light of what you've seen and done on the road that rekindles an appreciation for the familiar. Of course, we also return for practical reasons. Home is where all our “stuff” is.  Home is where our work is. Home is where our house and our other cars are. But, it’s just possible that we return home because that’s where friends and family are and, accordingly, where we left our hearts.  

Enough gush. Here are a few statistics from our trip to either bore or amuse you. Some are true. Some are not. You decide.

Days on the road:                               32
Bottles of wine consumed:                32

Days of sunny weather:                      30

Amount of rain:                                   30 minutes

Days over 70 Deg F (21C)                 27

Days over 90 Deg F                            20

Days over 100 Deg F                          7

Days over 110 Deg F                          2

           

Kilometers driven:                               7,500

Kilometers of desert crossed:            7,450

Rest stops seen:                                 150

Rest stops visited:                               150

Motorhomes towing vehicles:               50

Motorhomes towing a pickup truck towing a trailer carrying a Jet-Ski:           1

Blown truck tires:                                 200

Crashed trucks (probably the result of a blown tire):                                      1

Animals:                                             1 herd of buffalo, 1 herd of elephant seals, 1 herd  of elk, 1 cave bat, 4 mosquitoes.

Road kill:                                             1,223

         

Gift shops seen:                                 450

Gift shops visited:                               450

Gift shop purchases:                          4

           

Thanks to everyone who left comments on the blog and to those who just checked in once in awhile to see where we were.  I enjoyed writing about this once in a lifetime road trip and sharing it with friends and family. But most of all Frank and I hope you enjoyed the ride. 

Until our next trip. . . . 

Day 31: The road to Kelso, WA

It was a typical west coast fall day, cloudy, then misty, then drizzly. A walk on Cannon Beach revealed the eerie side of Haystack Rock, shrouded in mist and gloom. The air was brisk and the mist chilled us. It was time to head north which only held promise of rain and more cold temperatures.

When we arrived at Seaside, OR, about 20 minutes north, the weather was no worse than at Cannon Beach and the wind was perfect for the American Kite Flyer’s Association Conference. There were a few flyers on the beach but, we arrived at lunch time and decided to eat first then go back to the beach when we expected there would be more kites. However, during lunch the weather changed for the worse, it began to rain more heavily and, when we returned to the beach, no one was there, let alone kite flyers.

But all was not lost. We wandered in to the The Buzz, “The largest selection of candy on the Pacific Coast” – homemade fudge, caramel apples, all kinds of chocolates and chocolate dipped treats, giant Pez and even “black lab poop” (I have no idea). It’s hard to admit this after our two scoops of ice cream yesterday, but we left with a thickly layered caramel apple for Frank and some almond toffee for me.

We stopped for the night at Kelso, Washington, the gateway to Mount St. Helen’s, but that excursion will have to wait for another trip.

We’re now within striking distance of home. It’s sad to know that our trip is coming to an end; that our explorations, discoveries and experiences are behind us and the road home is only about 5 hours long. On the other hand, however, it’s comforting to know that tomorrow night we will be in familiar surroundings, living out of a closet, not a suitcase and sleeping in our own bed without having to check in first. Besides, I MISS MY BARBECUE!   

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 30: Depoe Bay and the road to Cannon Beach

There are several legends surrounding the naming of Depoe Bay, Oregon but the one most  commonly accepted (at least according to information obtained in the Whale Watching Centre) seems to be that it was  named after William Charles DePoe, a Joshua Indian, who worked at a US army supply depot in the 1850’s. He became known as Depot Charlie. The final spelling of Depoe Bay may have been a misinterpretation (Depot/Depoe) or even a correction to simplify print materials (DePoe to Depoe).

Regardless of how it officially came into being, Depoe Bay boasts the smallest harbour in the world. This was evidenced as we watched two coast guard boats navigate and negotiate the narrow harbour opening over extremely rough, bounding surf. I was getting seasick just watching. It also has the second roughest coastline surf in the US, next to the Columbia River bar.

Depoe Bay is also a famous centre for whale watching. From the Whale Watching Centre, beyond the large rocky surf, we saw the water spouts of a grey whale. A chart outside shows the average monthly sightings of whales from the centre. But, it has been a better than average year for sightings. The average for October is 58, but there had already been 101 so far this month. I guess the one we saw will make it 102.

As if wine tasting and olive tasting weren’t enough, as we made our way north along Highway 101, there it was, Tillamook, OR and the Tillamook Cheese Factory. Their cheese tasting room included curd, otherwise known as “squeaky cheese”, mild, medium, aged and super-aged, and two flavoured cheeses, pepperjack and black pepper and garlic. I’ve always understood that American cheddar isn’t as good as Canadian cheddar, which of course could be a Canadian’s opinion. But, I found it interesting that T.S. Townsend, who established the first Tillamook cheese making plant in 1894, hired Peter McIntosh, a Canadian cheese maker specializing in the cheddaring process. Tillamook cheese makers were so impressed with McIntosh’s skills and the recipe he brought with him from Canada that they still use his recipe today. And, oh yes, Tillamook makes only cheddar. Their facility includes the tasting room, of course, a store full of all their cheeses, an ice cream counter (two huge coops for $3.00), a café that offers sandwiches, burgers, chips, a fudge bar, and two gift shops. But, the most fascinating offering was the glassed in observation deck where one can view the processing plant: the holding vats on one side and the assembly line of cutting, weighing and packaging on the other. After we enjoyed our chocolate peanut butter, caramel praline, and black cherry ice cream, we left with four different cheeses and a daydream of a facility that would offer wine tasting, olive tasting and cheese tasting all under one roof. Sounds like heaven to me.

We knew we were near Cannon Beach when the “haystacks” came into view. These conical rock sentries of varying sizes are iconic on the Oregon Coast. They stand majestic and proud in the filtered sunlight and eerie and menacing in the mist.

Cannon Beach is a wood clad coastal town of heritage buildings consisting of boutiques, galleries, cafes and inns. Even on a sunny day such as today, it is delicately laced in marine mist. This only serves to nurture the beautiful gardens that abound throughout town. We found many of the hotels and inns too pricey for our budget. However, on leaving town, we came across one last inn – one of the wood clad buildings – and took a chance. The host was very friendly and the surroundings pleasant and quaint. He directed us to a small but charming ground floor room that opened onto a garden with a koi pond and small waterfall. While we having our supper at a private table outside our room, the host popped his head out of a nearby door and asked if we wanted wine glasses for our bottle of wine. I told him we were already drinking out of the coffee mugs from the room. He disgustedly shook his head and brought us two just-polished wine glasses. He declined our invitation to join us but we sat back and basked in the glow of his hospitality and the very tranquil setting. And, we were still on budget.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 29: Road to Depoe Bay, OR

When you start to feel warm and fuzzy at the sight of trees turning fall colours and you expect rain when you see a little mist in the valley and you know that once it starts it won’t stop for a very long time, you’re starting to get just a little homesick. So you remind yourself there are still plenty of beautiful places to visit and sights to see on your northward trek: like taking the scenic byway route instead of the I-5, along the Umqua River through the Umqua Valley toward the Oregon Coast. Even when we weren’t within sight of the blue, green and brown lady meandering through the valley, we wound through gorgeous open range farmland; if you painted the slow cattle grazing in the gold and green fields around white wood-sided houses and red barns, no one would believe it to be true.

On a less picturesque note, we stopped at McDonalds in Sutherlin, OR and ordered a couple of smoothies to legitimize our using their restrooms. Frank suffered his first brain freeze in many a year but was somewhat compensated by his winning an Angus burger in their Monopoly game. Closed door, opened window.

Near the mouth of the Umqua, just before Reedsport, we encountered yet another wildlife surprise. A herd of elk, mostly females, were lazing about in a field or chomping on whatever delicacies the creek had to offer. Young males fraternized with the females while an older buck lay in the grass apart from the group no doubt watching over his harem.

The coast of Oregon is breathtaking – and incongruous. Thick green forests so lush you can smell the dampness open onto soft white “mountains” of sand sprouting dry shrubs and windblown grasses. In fact, we drove for days across the interior deserts of the US and never saw as much sand as we saw in the dunes of one Oregon State park on the coast.  

Once we left the Oregon dunes behind, blue water and white surf constantly in violent motion took over the coastal vista. Where there isn’t a soft white sand beach, there is black rock which pushes up “haystacks” just off shore.

Cape Foulweather, just south of Newport, was discovered in 1778 by Captain James Cook and was his first landing point on the Pacific Coast. He apparently landed in bad weather with winds up to 100 mph and gave it the name that holds today. Other than the obvious description of the weather he encountered, I would love to read about his impressions of this beautiful rugged, violent coastline.

We stopped so often along the coast that we fell short of our original destination of Cannon Beach. We revised it to Lincoln City and finally settled on Depoe Bay. After watching the surf crash against the shore and billow over the wall onto the sidewalk, we booked a room at the Troller’s Inn.  Our room is very quaint with pretty touches such as antique furniture, hand knocked mats, a wrought iron style headboard and a quilted coverlet. (And all within our budget).

From the veranda we watched the sunset through the trees over the ocean.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 28: The Oregon Caves

So far on our trip, we’ve seen the indescribable sculptures of Red, Bryce and Grand Canyons, heard the phenomenon of 200 voices blend as one and witnessed the broad brushstrokes of crashing turquoise surf paint the California coastline.  Today, we witnessed an art form that was difficult to name – a   combination of stone sculpture, water art, and landscape architecture created in the absence of vegetation and sky over hundreds of thousands of years. Such is the beauty and mystery of the Oregon Caves. And this doesn’t even touch on the science behind the formation of the caves which I won’t pretend to understand.

A long and winding 20 mile road that felt more like 50 miles delivered us to the cave entrance.The cave was discovered in 1874 by Elijah Davidson, a hunter, whose dog was chasing down a deer when it ran into the cave with Elijah after him. Elijah had only a handful of matches to light his way and when they were exhausted he was in total darkness; he had only his sense of touch and the sound of an underground stream to lead him to the outside. The legend tells that it took Elijah almost 4 hours to find his way out of the cave but when he reached the outside his trusty canine companion was waiting for him.

The temperature inside the cave was 44 degrees (F) and the air was fresh and damp. Water dripped from the ceiling, a natural part of the formation of stalactites and splashed onto the floor, where stalagmites are formed. Over thousands of years, if undisturbed by nature or man, they will eventually meet in a “column”.  OK, so maybe I understand some very basic science.

The tour through the cave is about 1 kilometre long and includes 500 stairs and narrow passageways as low as 45 inches. The route has been enhanced over the years to include concrete walkways, and metal hand rails and stairways. These have been put into place, not only for the comfort of visitors to the caves but to help preserve the integrity of the very fragile environment. Around the turn of the century, in the early days of tours into the caves, visitors would touch the walls, climb on the formations and break off souvenirs. The renovations have reduced the human impact on this environmentally and geologically sensitive arena.

The Oregon Caves is an underground art gallery well worth the price of admission at $8.50 and the arduous drive to get there.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 27: The Road to Grant's Pass

Even the long “get there” driving day such as today can afford small treats along the way. Sacramento Valley is a wide expanse of agricultural land. Along Interstate 5, hectares of olive orchards flanked by processing plants and huge fields of yellow crowned rice spread out across the countryside. (I also understand that the Sacramento Valley is a big producer of tomatoes as well).

The treat? A huge billboard on the highway announced “olive tastings” at the upcoming Granzella deli, restaurant and inn in Williams, California. Being big olive fans, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sample local olives. But my expectations were not high.  I thought we might find a small restaurant that would charge for samples or provide a few olives if we bought a meal. But, the outlet was surprisingly large and contained a full service restaurant, a pub, a deli, an ice cream bar (gelato, not soft serve). And, yes, an olive bar consisting of a variety of open jars of olives grown and processed in the Williams area, all for the sampling.  They were delicious – crunchy, not soggy like some commercial olives can be with a well balanced salt content.  We left with a medium jar of Sicilian, a medium jar of garlic flavoured (not stuffed) and a small jar of pickled garlic cloves. I was as giddy as if I had been to a wine tasting. Hmm, there’s an idea: a combined olive and wine tasting room. It was a pleasant surprise and worth the diversion into Williams from the I-5.

And, just when you think the freeway will roll on forever through all that farmland, you round a curve and up pops Mount Shasta, guarding the skinny pine forests of the higher altitudes of the Pacific Northwest.  The bit of rain we drove through as we were arriving in Grant’s Pass was a mere foreshadowing of the lower altitude rainforests we have yet to pass through. (And so was the change in temperature; it was 91F when we stopped for gas in Redding, CA and around 60F when we arrived in Grant's Pass).

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 26: Napa Valley

This installment is dedicated to those friends and family members whom I know are wine lovers. Today was spent driving through the Napa Valley region, otherwise known as wine lover’s heaven. As I write, I’m sipping on a glass of St. Clement Chardonnay.

In a perfect world we would have stopped at every winery, tasted every wine and bought a sample of every tasting. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t be concerned about over imbibing, or drinking and driving. In a perfect world, a limousine would have pulled up to our hotel and whisked us away to enjoy the fruits of the Napa Valley. But, the world’s not perfect and neither are we. So, our aim was to select one winery, enjoy a tasting, and buy a bottle or two if so inspired. So, we drove north on highway 29 passing acres of vineyards, supporting dozens and dozens of wineries. Most appeared to be espaliered with some close pruned into perfect rows and dark purple clusters hanging off the bottom of each row, while others were propped up on their wire supports with vines hanging haphazardly hiding the grapes from passersby. Apparently, most of the whites have been harvested, except for the Chardonnay and the reds will be harvested in the next week or so. We felt somewhat privileged to be visiting the wine country of the US during harvest season.

The first winery we visited was V. Sattui, just south of St. Helena, which came recommended by a volunteer at the tourist office in Napa (the city, not the valley) and is celebrating its 125^th anniversary. Besides the usual tastings of their boutique wines, V. Sattui offers to put together a picnic lunch selecting from over 200 varieties of cheese, sausage and wine to be enjoyed in their garden picnic area. The building was beautiful, the grounds were beautiful, the weather was beautiful but it was insanely busy. The tasting room was huge and packed with giggly samplers. The gift shop had unique items, albeit somewhat pricey, but the crowds made it difficult to shop comfortably. It was all a bit too claustrophobic.  We left without sampling or buying but would definitely consider returning on a non-Columbus Day weekend.

A little further north along the highway we stopped at St. Clement Winery. A short climb uphill from the parking lot brought into view a Victorian style home with a wide veranda. Cozy couples and small groups sat casually around the treed yard sipping on glasses of red or white; the occasional full bottle anchored a romantic couple to a bistro table overlooking the valley they were apparently ignoring. The whole scene was the antithesis of the Sattui vineyard and thus perfect for us.

We engaged in a sampling of 5 wines, 2 white and 3 red. However, I didn’t want simply to enjoy the wine itself, I wanted to learn a little about how to properly taste wine. It seems that it involves “S’s”. (My apologies to my sommelier friends who could not doubt explain this in more eloquent terms). First, you “swirl”. Swirl the wine in the glass to open up the vapours; then “sniff”. Inhale through the nose with your mouth slightly open to evoke the anticipated taste of the wine; it’s similar to smelling baked bread before you eat it. You’re already enjoying it. Then, “sip”. Toss the wine around the inside of your mouth so all your taste buds get a sample. This is where you can pick out the various elements or flavours (berries, pepper, vanilla, chocolate, etc.). Then “swallow”. This is the ultimate satisfaction; it also grants a bonus in the finish or lingering aftertaste. Wow, a sip of wine can be enjoyed for a long time.

The winery rep that directed our sampling was very knowledgeable and patient with all my questions. But, we also met a couple from Texas who really knew their wine. They have been visiting the Napa Valley and St. Clement Winery in particular for over ten years and generously imparted their insight on wine tasting including how to properly aerate wine.

We left with a bottle of Chardonnay – not my usual choice for a white wine. But, in the tasting, there was a slight, well balanced oak flavor that I found pleasing.  I thought that if the tasting was good, the bottle would be great. I enjoyed it, and I hate to seem inflexible, but my next bottle of white will probably be one of my usual favourites of Sauvignon Blanc or Pinot Grigio. Sorry, Chardonnay, but I tried.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 25: Our Last Day in San Francisco

We took our hearts with us but before we left San Francisco, we had a few more icons to visit.

The Golden Gate Bridge, resplendent in its orange coat, is a symbol by which San Francisco is recognized the world over in movies, on tv and in the minds of anyone who has stood at the south end and visually followed her curved structure, or walked, jogged, cycled or driven her 4,200 foot main span across San Francisco Bay. Her notoriety is not without technical merit, either. It is one of the longest suspension bridges ever built and the two distinctive towers are the world’s tallest bridge towers at 746 feet. But a testament to the bridge’s popularity is the number of tour buses and other tourists crowding into the viewing area – on a Friday – in October.

My minor disappoint in the Mission of San Luis Obispo had to be rectified. And so it was in the Mission of San Francisco de Asis, also known as Mission Dolores. Of the 21 California missions, Mission Dolores, one of the oldest buildings in San Francisco is, according to the volunteer in the gift shop, the only mission that remains as it was originally constructed in 1776. It was established by Father Junipero Serra as was San Luis Obispo and many of the other California missions.

A walk through the mission cemetery garden was at once beautiful and haunting. The gardens are simple but cared for (the gardeners, who are likely also volunteers, were on the grounds during our visit). Grave markers from the 1800’s include some notable citizens of the time, at least one family group and several children.

The Basilica adjacent to the mission is quite ornate by comparison to the mission’s austere white-washed adobe structure. The mission survived the 1906 earthquake but the basilica did not and was re-built.

Our escape from San Francisco was over the Bay Bridge. An engineer or architect or even an open-minded citizen might find some beauty somewhere in the design, perhaps in the mere fact that it’s a two level bridge, but, in my opinion, it’s one of the ugliest structures I’ve ever seen.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 24: Downtown San Francisco

The transit system in San Francisco is probably one of the best in the world. Of course, I haven’t been around the world to test them all, but I just can’t imagine there being a better system. Buses, electric trolleys, cable cars, street cars and the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) give commuters several route options and gets San Franciscans out of their cars. Yes, there is a rush hour but, for a city the size of San Francisco, it’s really not that bad. There are several different types of passes to suit everyone’s transportation needs.

Our primary objective today was downtown, specifically Market Street, even more specifically Ross, Dress for Less. So, we checked the route, hopped on the #30 and headed downtown. We got off the bus at Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Church and on our own walking tour, saw most of the usual sights. We climbed up Telegraph Hill to the Coit Tower, named for Lillie Hitchcock Coit who bequeathed it to the city. The top of the 210-foot tower is narrower than the bottom and some say it resembles a fire hose nozzle. Lillie had an affection for firefighters and as a schoolgirl attended fires as a volunteer. The view from the top of the tower is supposed to be quite spectacular but even from the base the vista afforded views of the “crookedest street in the world”, Lombard Street, and Alcatraz.

Our tour also took us to the Transamerica Tower, which, other than the Golden Gate Bridge is probably the most recognizable structure in the city. It stands 810 feet, contains 48 stories and is covered with crushed quartz which gives it its white façade.

Old Saint Mary’s, California’s first cathedral, is an incongruous 150 year old brick building on the edge of Chinatown and in the midst of downtown skyscrapers. The original church building survived the 1906 earthquake only to be gutted by ensuing fires.

Our walk around downtown was intermittently punctuated by thundering roars from the sky. The reverberation off the tall buildings made it difficult to tell from what direction the sound was coming, but craning upwards at the right place at the right time, we would occasionally catch a glimpse of the Blue Angels overhead between the buildings - some singles and some flying five in formation. It was a beautiful sight. It seems there is a combination of celebrations this weekend: it’s the start of fleet week, the San Francisco (baseball) Giants are starting the playoffs at home and Monday is Columbus Day. Talk about the right place at the right time.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 23: Fisherman's Wharf

Joggers, walkers, cyclists and segwayers on the municipal pier and swimmers in the bay all added to the somewhat unexpected hub of activity around the Bay area harbor; unexpected considering it was mid week and mid October. Fisherman’s Wharf was alive with enthusiastic vendors of the ubiquitous wind jackets, fleeces, and hats and with the intoxicating aroma of fresh steamed mussels, clams and crabs. And, depending on the vantage, we were treated to views of Alcatraz or the Coit Tower or the Transamerica Building.

Walking was our activity for the day. It was a little over a mile from our motel on Lombard Street to Fisherman’s Wharf and several more miles to visit every shop on the wharf in the hope of finding the perfect hat or jacket or other memento.

We did a lot of research to seek out the best eatery for our lunch, stopping by many sit-down restaurants to check their menus and most of the kiosks that offered clam chowder in bread bowls, crab, shrimp and tuna cocktails and of course fish and chips. We settled on Cioppino’s which was actually the first restaurant whose menu we reviewed and whose cioppino was claimed to be the best in San Francisco according to some food magazine.  For those who aren’t familiar with cioppino, it’s a chunky mélange of seafood usually including some sort of white fish, prawns, mussels, clams, and calamari in a rich, spicy tomato sauce. It’s not sure whether it wants to be a soup or a stew. But it’s one of my favourite seafood dishes. And Cioppino’s didn’t disappoint. Once we determined that the cioppino was gluten-free we shared a large bowl on the sunny patio and capped it off with a cappuccino. Cioppino and Cappucino on the patio on Fisherman’s Wharf. Perfect.

Nourished and refreshed by our most relaxing and enjoyable lunch, we were able to negotiate the crowds on Pier 39, a shopping mecca to behold. Shop after shop and café after café wind along both sides of the pier on two levels with the central attraction being a two level carousal.

My own shopping experience today was a lesson in price bargaining. Although, I have to admit I contributed very little to the price reduction other than to remain silent. I had dropped into a camera shop to ask about a lens hood, something I’ve been thinking about for awhile. I purchased one and immediately the salesman presented me with a polarizing filter – a new HD version of one I have at home. The effects of the sample exposures using my own camera were astounding but the price was steep at $129. My hesitation, however, brought the price down by increments to $59. I’m embarrassed to say that the whole process was so overwhelming that I didn’t buy the filter but rather decided to sleep on it. I’ve been having what is probably the opposite of buyer’s remorse ever since.

Our walk back to our motel took us through heaven: Ghirardelli Square, chocolate central. Ghirardelli chocolates are available most places now but the 1895 red brick building in the centre of San Francisco is where it all started.

It was a cold, windy walk back to our motel. My feet hurt but it was a good day.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 22: The Road to San Francisco

The drive to San Francisco took us through acres and acres of farmland. Whenever we drive through this countryside here, I am amazed not only at how expansive the farmland is but how organized. Row upon row in field upon field of whatever vegetable or fruit is farmed in the area is laid out in exactly symmetrical lines. Farm vehicles and pickup trucks line the edges of the field and dozens of laborers bend over their work. I barley know an artichoke when I see it in the grocery store but today I saw thousands of them on their squat bushes, their spiny pineapple-shaped heads balancing on the ends of their stalks. In several areas there were signs advertising “French Fried Artichokes”. We didn’t actually see anyone selling them, but, if it’s not actually a myth, I’d like to try them if I come across them again.

In another farm area, flat topped two foot wide furrows were tightly wrapped with plastic. Passing through the farmland, the furrows were progressively further along in their growing cycle. In the next area, the furrows were covered with strawberry plants that had poked through the plastic and in the next, the strawberries were being harvested. When a fruit stand popped up a little way down the road, it seemed fitting that we stop and enjoy the fruits of the area.

A sign on the highway directed us to the Swanton Farm, a U-pick farm that we almost passed by since we didn’t really have time to go berry picking. When we entered the farm building that was set back on the property, there was no proprietor to assist us. In fact, there was no one in the rather spacious, eclectically decorated barnlike building except a man putting money in a tray. It turned out to be the epitome of an honour system. If you were there to pick berries, there were boxes available to take to the field, return with the berries, weigh and pay. There were half a dozen open jars of homemade jam for the tasting, with animal crackers to spread them on, baskets of picked strawberries and various other goods to purchase. Prices were clearly marked. We sampled a couple of the jams on plastic spoons (also provided), selected a basket of strawberries, put our money in the tray that, incidentally, had a considerable amount of money already in it, and left without ever seeing an owner or worker. And the strawberries were delicious! Best I’ve had in a long time.

We took the coast highway all the way to San Francisco. The coast is rugged with black rock both contrasting and complementing the light sandstone cliffs. Blue and white surf crashes against the shore and a voracious low growing succulent spreads over the dunes and adds its fall red to the colour palette. A lighthouse on any coastline is an icon. But, the 138 year old, 115 foot Pigeon Point Light Station near Pescadero, is one of the tallest in the US and fit perfectly into this misty, coastal landscape.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Days 20 and 21 - San Luis Obispo and Monterey

Day 20 –San Luis Obispo and the road to Monterey

I always feel somewhat privileged to arrive in a location at a time when I can attend Mass at a historically significant sight. It happened in Portugal when I arrived at the Basilica at Fatima just as Mass was starting. And, I was at San Luis Obispo, California (SLO) for Sunday Mass at the famous 18^th century Mission San Luis Obispo de Tolosa church. The plan was to attend Mass and then join a guided tour of the mission. At the last minute, however, the tour guide was unable to make it and there was no tour. I spent some time walking around the peaceful gardens in the mission courtyard and visiting the on-site museum. It contained a collection of artifacts from the period but little to describe the history of the mission or even to indicate that these items or even the buildings were authentically part of the original mission.

Historically, in a nutshell, the SLO Mission was part of a chain of missions established by Spain starting in the 1700’s to build their territories in the new world. SLO was established by Franciscan Father Junipero Serro in 1772 and was named after St. Louis, Bishop of Toulouse, France. It has functioned as a parish church since the second half of the 19^th century.

Although, the mission itself was a bit disappointing, the acoustics in the church were great, the soprano’s voice was excellent, and they had a large gift shop that is open 7 days a week from 9 to 5.

Back on the road again, we stopped near San Simeon, probably best known for Hearst Castle, the 165 room, 3 guest house, 127 acre former estate of publishing magnate William Randall Hearst perched high on Cuesta Encantada (Enchanted Hill) overlooking the town. We saw the “castle” from the highway but didn’t take the usual tour that most tourists passing through the area wouldn’t miss. Instead we were treated to the beautiful vista that was Moonstone Beach and one other spectacle that this tourist wouldn’t have missed: hundreds of elephant seals sunning themselves on the beach. There was the occasional flip of sand, a sudden burst of song, and the entertaining neck dance which is called sparring and is nature’s way of strengthen their neck muscles so as adults, they can fight off the other males to win the female. But most of them were just lying there, resting, preparing for their long sea migration. I felt I was intruding on a private moment when one seal raised her head and looked in my direction. Her partner lying next to her raised his flipper and gently pushed her back down beside him. His flipper reminded draped across her. There, there, dear.

The rest of the drive was along a winding road that climbed high along the side of the mountain and then fell again toward the sea, then again up the side of the mountain. Intermittent construction delays enabled us to enjoy the ocean vistas and the pampas grass that sprung up in the mountain crevices in some areas and covered the mountain sides in others.

The temperature had dropped significantly by the time we reach Monterey, so the perfect end to a perfect day was the fireplace at the foot of our king sized bed.

Day 21 – Monterey Peninsula

Our tour of Monterey started with a walk around Cannery Row a former hub of sardine canneries of the early twentieth century and now a collection shops, galleries, eateries, and inns. Cannery Row was probably put on the map by John Steinbeck’s novel of the same name.

We then embarked on the “17 Mile Drive”, a self-guided road trip around the Monterey Peninsula which took us past 14 golf courses, including Pebble Beach, home of the US Open, picturesque overlooks that featured the huge Monterey Cypress trees and the Ghost Tree and delivered us to Carmel-by-the-Sea. Carmel is a very quaint, European influenced town with unique gift shops and galleries, and high end restaurants and coffee shops. If you’re looking for the typical souvenir shop in Carmel, it’s probably tucked away on a side street not really wanting to be discovered. Like small old town Europe, there is very little parking and the street signs are subtle posts on the corner near the buildings. Unique plant combinations of succulents and florals in the many border gardens add fragrance and colour to the fairytale ambience.

The temperature is even colder tonight than it was last night, around 60F. Considering that most of our trip so far has been over 90 and many days over 100, it’s a bit of a shock to be more than 30 degrees below our average. San Francisco should be slightly warmer.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Santa Barbara is a beautiful city with all the charm of some of the towns we visited in Spain. Not having been to Mexico and knowing little about the history and architecture of that country, it’s possible that the style of the town that I am identifying with Spain is, in fact, Mexican. But the stucco walls, red tiled roofs, and signature wrought iron upper story railings were reminiscent of the Spanish towns we visited in Andalucía. Even the red and pink blooms that climb up trellises and fall over rock walls in Santa Barbara were prolific in Spain.

State Street, the main downtown strip was a long stretch of open door shops and outdoor cafes. Side alleys held their own hidden treasures and opened into courtyards or open air shopping malls like consumer secret gardens. Even the pedestrian walkways were patterned with different coloured bricks as they were in Europe.

Santa Barbara is a city I could return to. (Sorry about the dangling preposition). Beautiful parks, European architecture and culture, near perfect climate, and – pelicans (and other birds). Who wouldn’t want to come back?

Our route to San Luis Obispo was the coast highway, the road less travelled. For the most part it was a slower freeway that would end as we reached a town and then begin again as we left it. Just south of Guatalupe, in an obviously agricultural area, there were fields upon fields of blue/green foliage in perfect rows and a smell of cabbage permeatd the air. I was thinking broccoli or cauliflower, but I couldn’t see any crowns on the plants.  This will remain a mystery for the time being.

Until tomorrow. . . .

Day 17 and 18: Universal Studios and the road to Santa Barbara

Day 17: Universal Studios

I was once told that a visit to Universal Studios would take the glamour out of the movies. Perhaps it’s because the presentation format has changed at Universal, but there were few secrets divulged and consequently few bubbles burst in terms of how all the magic happens.  Instead, we were thrown front and centre into the action. On our backlot tour, we were attacked by dinosaurs who thundered through the jungle and knocked our tram car about, hissed at us and showered us with their moist breath until we were rescued by King Kong who loomed enormous beside us and then thumped across the top of our car to annihilate T-Rex; our tram stalled on a bridge over a dry riverbed somewhere in the old southwest when suddenly, a flashflood put us in danger of being washed away. The water rushed down the riverbed toward us but took a sharp turn as it reached the bridge and flowed off through the nearby viaducts; we stopped unexpectedly in a subway tunnel. As happens frequently in Los Angeles, the ground began to shake and the walls heave. It was the big one! A subway car careening through the tunnel jumped its track and jackknifed sliding sideways toward us. It came to rest against a support pillar again keeping us from harm’s way but the ceiling then caved in and a vehicle from the street above slid into the tunnel. As suddenly as it had started the shaking stopped and we were able to leave the tunnel unscathed.  And, I’m not even going to tell you, although I’m sure you’ve heard, what happened when we went to Amity Island.

A live action performance of Waterworld demonstrated some astounding stunt and pyrotechnic techniques that had stunt actors falling meters into the water, spinning refitted Sea-doos around the lagoon, nosing them underwater, and flying them through grenade blasts. At the peak of the excitement a battered twin prop flew over the wall through a curtain of fire, landed in the lagoon and came to rest right in front of the first row of spectators. As amazing as all these scenes were, the most incredulous thing about them was the fact that they were being performed live. No re-takes, no out-takes, no post-production. No matter what happened on that set, there was no going back. That’s what kept me on the edge of my seat.

Then there was – The Simpsons - the roller coaster ride from hell. As your coaster clicks upward, Sideshow Bob destroys the roller coaster one section at a time. You careen down the steepest hills and bank around sharp turns when suddenly your car is in mid air because there is no more track beneath you, Then, you come crashing back down onto a still-standing part of the coaster and you are turned upside down as the structure is ripped out from under you. The technically cleaver thing about this attraction is that your car never really goes anywhere. Except for shaking and tipping and tilting of your seat, it’s all visual. There is no actual forward movement of your car along a track as in a real roller coaster. But that didn’t belay the stomach wrenching sensations of dropping hundreds of feet. It might have been a cartoon, but it’s a ride I won’t soon forget.

Taking the Grayline tour bus to and from Universal was well worth the $80 charge. Besides the Fantastic experience at the park, we had the opportunity to witness but not actually have to drive in Los Angeles freeway traffic.

Day 18: The drive to Santa Barbara



Redondo Beach Pier



From Anaheim, we headed for Redondo Beach by an inland route that took us through some less attractive parts of Los Angeles including the BP Refinery which was for lack of another term: ugly. From Redondo, we went north along the Pacific Coast Highway through one beach town after another. These beach areas had eclectic collections of building styles and were studded with sudden outcroppings of large power plants or oil and gas refineries.

But, the most colourful beach town was Venice Beach. Venice is not just a beach community with the usual half-clad surfers and bathers but also a blend of cultures from African American musicians hawking their home made CDs, to skaters trudging down the boardwalk with their pants literally below their butts, to break dancers and acrobats, to the hucksters of “medicinal Kush”.

We passed through many other beach areas including Malibu. However, with no sightings of Charlie, we decided to move on. At first dusky glance of Santa Barbara, it appears to be a very pretty, quaint city. I’m looking forward to seeing more of it tomorrow in daylight.

Until tomorrow. . . .