The California Coast

Now I remember. I love camping. I love being outdoors where I can feel the change in temperature, where I can watch the shadows approach and night settle in. I even love the chill and mist in San Simeon. I am perfectly comfortable sleeping in a tent, snuggled in a sleeping bag. I am not too old for this yet.

The view from my campsite is of the mountains and meadows. A few steps away and I can see the sea. All I need is a comfortable chair (I brought one), a bottle of wine, and fresh air to breathe!

In a motel room, I tend to watch television, because it comes with the price of the room, and because I do not watch at home. (No cable hookup!) It is like going to a buffet and choosing the expensive food because you have already paid for it and you want to get your monies worth. At a motel room I watch TV because it is there. It is not there in a campground so I find other things to do. I take a hike down to the ocean. It is quiet and beautiful except for the sound of the waves breaking.

I may have mentioned that I have a love affair with worthless rocks. The beach is covered with a gazillion wonderful weathered rocks. Rocks with mottled colors. Black rocks with streaks of white. Rocks tumbled smooth. Rocks in the shape of hearts or eggs. They are all calling to me. “Choose me, choose me.” I am in heaven. I gather as many as carryable. The hike back up the bluff with an extra 15 pound load takes longer. But I have rocks in my pockets and I am happy. I have accomplished. I am filled with enthusiasm. Life is good! (Really, sometimes it doesn’t take very much to make me happy.)

Back in camp I write this on my computer using battery power sitting in my warm car because I think I may forget this feeling if I wait untill tomorrow and try to convey the feeling while sitting in a motel room with the TV on.

The mountains, once visible, are now obscured by the fog. My sandwich is eaten and I’ve had a second glass of wine. I am tired and ready for sleep. It’s 8:45 PM. It has been a good day.

Earlier in the day I toured Hearst Castle, one of the homes of billionaire newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst. Those who have been there know the opulence of the home. It boggles my imagination to think that anyone could be so rich as to have anything they want. I think about that unbelievable wealthy lifestyle while I spend the night here, in a campground, in a tent, eating a turkey sandwich. I would have loved meeting the man because he surely was endowed with relentless energy, intelligence, creativity, and enthusiasm. His financial success is almost unfathomable? How did he accomplish so much in one lifetime?

I met a local lady walking on the beach. Her family has owned a motel up on the bluff since 1958, the same year the Hearst Castle was turned over to the state. Actually, other than the coming of the tourists, not much has changed around San Simeon. She thought Hearst did wrong taking artifacts from European churches to decorate his walls and treasures from Egypt to decorate his halls, and art from China to spiff up his pool. I had the same thought while touring the castle. He did well with his money, but he also did bad. But oh, to be so rich I can hardly imagine. I am impressed with his story.

It was a day of traveling from the sublime to the simple. Castle to camp.

The next day I continued the drive up Hwy 1 along the California coast. The drive is as spectacular the third time as it was the first. The rocky cliffs, the elephant seals, the mist, the rolling green mountains, the winding road that keeps revealing one magnificent landscape after another. I stopped for breakfast at the only restaurant I came to after an hour and a half of driving. I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet. I am not fond of little propane stoves, so I didn’t count on cooking in camp. The Whale Watcher Café was so charming I didn’t even mind overpaying for oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins. (Coffee and oatmeal, $12.54 with tip!)

Further down the road, tucked into a small nook in the rocky cliffs, there was a gallery housed in what appeared to be large oak rain barrels. I talked with one of the staff who had come to this area on her own at 16, a runaway who eventually came back to stay. 16 or 60, still an adventure, still awesome.

While traveling north on Hwy 1 at 35-40 mph, winding around the sides of the cliffs, ocean to the left, mountains to the right, few cars to distract me, it was wonderful. A “must do” for anyone who loves to travel. Then, abruptly, it was over. Towns, traffic, stoplights, and noise are back in the picture. I eventually I reached Seaside, a town that doesn’t live up to its quaint name. So I drove back a little way (and you know how I hate backtracking) and found a cute motel within walking distance of downtown Monterey, the Del Monte Pines Motel. Nice! A ten minute walk down the street and I was at a farmer’s market where fresh fruit and crafts were tempting me to spend a few bucks. And I did. However I could have made a meal out of the samples passed out to the crowd, orange and apricot slices, Rainier cherries, baked lamb chunks, organic wine, glazed nuts, pita and hummus. Yum!

And then it was time to walk back to my little room and relax. Put my feet up. Watch TV.

OK, there is something about the great outdoors I definitely do not like. Something that in fact makes me quiver and feel icky. Ticks. Aghhhh! Yuck! Ick! What was it you were supposed to do to get those critters out and off? Nail polish? I don’t have any of that. Will vodka work? Lip balm? OK, I know about putting a match to it’s back, but I am afraid of putting a match to MY back! One little clitch , one little tick to deal with. Yuck. Gotta Go.