7-22-2015
Monterey, California

After my time in Santa Barbara, I’m feeling this total “om” at one, connected-to-the-present feeling with the world.  Of course, fueling this feeling with reckless abandon is the fact that I’ve been reading Kerouac novels like a fiend lately.  Anyways, holding onto that state of mind, we check out of our hotel in the morning, and make our way north on the 101, heading towards Monterey.  We ride as a caravan of sorts: my sister riding with me in the Tiguan, and my parents driving their Jeep.  We stop for breakfast at Andersen’s Restaurant in Buellton, California.  My dad is obsessed with this place and its pea soup.  I don’t understand why…it’s just mushy, bland pea soup – not much different from the kind you get out of a can – but my dad thinks it’s the greatest stuff on earth.  The place nevertheless holds some memories for me, as I used to stop here for breakfasts when driving home from college at the end of the school year.  It was the only time of year I’d stop here.  I think it was some sort of victory thing for me – a place to unwind after the stress of finals and another school year come to a close.  My dad eats pea soup for breakfast like some kind of monster.  It’s really hard to watch.  The rest of us eat normal breakfast food.  I keep it simple with eggs, bacon, and white toast.  Yum.

We continue north on the 101, and I reflect on my newfound philosophy of allowing the cacophony of human experience to envelope into this tangible thing we call the present.  I marvel at the different types of people that I see while driving: the old, retired couples in their Mercedes SUVs; a garrison of soldiers near Camp Roberts heading out for (what I’m hoping is) a training routine; the migrant workers working the fields, looking tired but strong; and my sister Lilly fast asleep with college and the future right there in front of her.  And I thought about all of the other times in the past I travelled up and down this same stretch of the 101: the little “hallelujahs” I said to myself when I made it out of the Bay and to that hallowed and infamous stretch of eucalyptus trees between Salinas and San Jose; the rides I used to give friends and strangers alike between UCSB and the Bay; the storms braved at Thanksgiving and Christmas; the long empty stretches of road between Paso Robles and King City; and slowly it dawned on me – there’s a reason this place, Central California, was the home of the Steinbecks and Kerouacs of the world – it is the land where incredibly human stories and experiences all melt together and culminate into iconoclast names which actually mean something and evoke feeling: names like Big Sur, Salinas, and Monterey.  This thought in itself makes me happy to be going to Monterey for the day.

We get to Monterey, drop our bags off in our hotel room, and immediately head to the beach.  Technically, we’re staying in Seaside.  Not quite as glamorous as Monterey, but our place (Unscripted Hotel) is literally on the beach.  This alone makes it worth it in my eyes.

The weather is perfect, if not a bit cool, in the 70’s, and the waves are high.  The sand is warm and the water is warm.  People up and down the State have been whispering the words “El Nino” lately, and now having swam in the Pacific this year, I see why.  It’s a truly relaxing experience, and we stay here for hours, swimming in the ocean and interacting with the local birds.

Bliss.

My daypack, Blueberry, on the beach.

My sister looking like a bum.

My dad, probably contemplating why he ate freaking pea soup for breakfast.

This bird was obsessed with my camera, and kept following me around.

Eventually a cold fog rolled in off the ocean, and we pushed back from the beach to our room where we changed into warmer clothes.  I went to the hotel bar (which, as a hotel bar should be, was open before 5), and started drinking beer from the deck.  My dad joined me, and we talked politics or something.

Later, we made our way into the tourist trap which is summertime Cannery Row.  We had dinner at the Chart House, a high end restaurant mostly known for seafood (although, me being allergic to seafood, I was stuck with prime rib…darn).  The food there was great, especially the artistic presentation, but the portions were a bit over the top.  Actually, they might have been just fine, but after the meals we were eating in Santa Barbara, stuffing our faces with more food just wasn’t a good idea.  From what I recall, we went back to the room all feeling stuffed, and took in the night view before checking in early with heavy cases of food coma.  And so another cliche, albeit important, life lesson was bestowed upon me: everything in moderation.

Monterey at night.

The tour through Central California now draws to a close.  I’m very glad that I took the opportunity to head down to these areas with my family before heading off on the main part of my journey.  Now, I return home for a few days to pack and get my affairs in order, and then it’s off, onto the road.  Next time I write, it will be about Oregon.

Cheers,

Rob