Of oysters, banks and beaches, Part 2

I’ve slurped down my share of raw oysters, tasting that delicate brininess before the slimy mess slithers down my throat. Those experiences are usually followed by this thought: Why did I just do that?

They don’t have anything on the straight-from-the-sea monster oysters we had in Bodega Bay. Served on the half-shell, steamed and served with a light drizzle of garlic butter, these are as fresh as they get.

These don’t get to be slithered; these guys are cut through like butter and savored piece by piece.

I get it. Not everyone’s an oyster fan. These sea creatures have a lot of haters out there.

So on with the other monsters of Bodega Bay: the birds. Or, rather, the birds.

So much has been done already to Bodega’s image by the Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds. It’s funny that the killer black birds shown in the movie are found everywhere. Seeing one of these land nearby still brings up a movie image of the birds attacking the woman in the phone booth (what’s a phone booth?).

Their beady yellow eyes aren’t too friendly these days either.

Years ago, the movie was Bodega Bay’s claim to fame and the bird-kitsch here went crazy. Like phone booths, the movie is fading from memory. This cute seashore town has moved away from the kitsch and remade itself into a place to escape from the big city. It’s a pricey, resort-y and reasonably quiet spot to watch the waves, sip a little wine and if, so inclined, tip back a few oysters.

The monster-hunting weekend wasn’t complete until I saw one of the monsters of the deep. And so we journeyed on through the town, around the Bay and up to the headlands. Above the cliffs, we faced the Pacific and it wasn’t moments before one and then several whales spouted. It’s prime whale watching time on the north coast as these giants head back to the cooler Alaskan waters for the summer. We walked and pointed as spout after spout went up that day.

The headlands were also a great spot to witness a little comic relief. Seals leaped out of the water as they headed to and from a large rock island just off shore. The rocks were coated with seals and their barking could be heard all over the Bay.

Does that barking come from joy or jealousy? Are they calling to a mate? Whatever was going on, it was happening with enthusiasm.

Of oysters, banks and beaches, Part I

I’m passing by a thousand shades of green. Lime and mossy grasses, peppermint hills, rich chai shadows, and olive stands of oaks. The only break in this color palette are the Jerseys, sheep and goats that dot the fields and hills.

My attention is split between the hypnotizing scenery and Google Maps. Where the heck am I?

The ultimate destination is Bodega Bay. But faced with $600/night hotel prices there, I searched farther afield and found a unique alternative. We are staying the next couple of nights in a bank. A former bank. Complete with teller windows and a vault.

The bank is in a blur of a town called Tomales. Not even half a dozen businesses here, even if you count the white steepled church.

It’s not hard to find our accommodation for the weekend. The sign high above the door reads “Not a bank.”

Inside, we find an artist’s loft. Baby grand piano. Funky art. Tall ceilings.

For no extra charge, there’s a bar right next door.

We spend 10 minutes walking from one end of the town to the other, slowly. There’s a nursery that propagates its own native plants. Friendly natives invite us to stroll through their greenhouses and we do. We chat with them about greenhouse materials and they happily oblige. Strangely, they already know that we’re staying at the ‘Not a bank’. And we haven’t been in town more than a half hour. Small town, right?

An early riser, I’m up the next morning seeking coffee as the sun brightens the horizon. The town is deserted and filled with the kind of silence that makes you hear it. The only movement comes from across the street, where inside a tiny bakery, a pastry maestro is behind the counter rolling out dough. The cases are filled with rows of options – crisp and soft, raisined and cinnamoned. At this point, coffee becomes secondary.

There is no seating inside the bakery but this is the community center. Outside are benches and chairs and by the time we’re ready to start our day, the area is full and the bakery cases have emptied. No matter. We've been there already.

Unexpectedly, we find that there’s a beach route accessible from Tomales. Dillon Beach is a long stretch of sand just five miles west of Tomales, up and over a winding hill. A cluster of vacation homes huddle at the entrance and then it’s all beach and dunes. We watch dogs catch Frisbees and surfers catch waves. My neck turns bright red as we walk and walk.

Bodega Bay was the destination but Tomales is the memory that lingers from this weekend.

What was just supposed to be a quirky overnight location turned into one of those ‘finds’ you want to keep to yourself.

Shhhh.