Coastal meanderings

The heat drives us west, where cool breezes skim off the cold Pacific water. I have the chills for the first time in months. It feels good.

Carmel is the first stop, where pricey shops and tablecloth-bedecked restaurants abound. My first view is a couple dining al fresco, a tiny white poodle sitting on each of their laps. This is Carmel all right.

Beautiful and expensive, Carmel is known for its cypress-lined streets, proximity to Pebble Beach and high-end real estate. Think 1,600 square feet for $2.4 million. We enjoy walking through the neighborhoods, along the beachfront and through the town. After a $60 lunch, we head to Point Lobos to watch the sea lions. For free.

Point Lobos abuts Carmel to the south and is a scenic spot that has been kept free of development. 

Thank you, California, for preserving large portions of your oceanfront. The views are irreplaceable.

Then we took the 10-minute trek north to the famous Monterey Bay Aquarium. There are no words that best describe this place. But the creatures it displays made me believe in legendary sea monsters.

Only advice here is to arrive early. Line up before the aquarium opens because it crowds up quickly and the noise level can be daunting.

Last stop for the extended weekend is Santa Cruz, about 45 miles farther north. If Carmel is the rich old lady (who’s had a little work done) and Monterey is her blowsy daughter, Santa Cruz is the hip, laid-back granddaughter who’s maybe a little high. There’s the boardwalk and rollercoaster, the beaches, and the college-oriented downtown.

Up in the hills, we find a meditation retreat that has something for everyone. I walk the prayer wheel, sound the peace gong and hike to a two-story golden Buddha.

In the past, we’ve visited Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park, but our short visit didn’t allow us to return this time. The park features seven square miles of trails and is probably my favorite spot in this region for its pine needle lined paths and old growth redwoods.

It was one of those drive-by vacations where we barely scratched the surface. So much to see and do, we rush in and try to do it all. As usual, it just feels rushed.

Monsters in my midst

Monsters are lurking in my garden. They hide under broad sticky leaves and creep over the soft, moist dirt. Overnight they have doubled in size. There’s only one thing to do.

Cut them up into little pieces and bake them into bread. Slice them in half and grill them. Portion them into quarter-sized coins, bread them and bake them into chips. Dice them raw into salads. Layer them into lasagna.

Zucchini season has arrived in full force. Same with the jalapenos – one small plant revealing 15 spicy pods. Cucumbers, beets, tomatoes, bell peppers, basil all in full harvest. Cilantro has popped up, as have the carrot tops and cantelope. Our new peach tree is making a valiant effort, setting dozens of fruit. The neighbor’s raspberry plant creeps under the fence and sets up shop in our yard. Their grape vines hang heavily above and we eye the ripening clusters.

I go to a farmer’s market out of habit but just window shop. Why am I here when it’s all grown at home?

The summer sun is blasting, pushing our crops to the limit. I love-hate the heat that creates this season of plenty. Even as I hide away from the intense temperatures that come with living in inland California, I am grateful for this land of plenty.

Pacific Crest Trail

Altitude: Above 6,000 feet

Location: Near Truckee and Donner Pass

Goal: Hike part of Pacific Crest Trail

It’s a beautiful morning. Cloudless, deep blue sky, temperature in the 60s. We set off on a trailhead that puts us on the famous Pacific Crest Trail, a 2600-mile long path that stretches from Canada to Mexico. We’re not going that far. For today, we will journey just a fraction of the way.

Almost immediately we come upon a nameless lake, one of several we will encounter in this high Sierra country. It snows early and late here so snowmelt lakes abound in every depression in the landscape.

While there’s water, water everywhere, our dry rocky trail hints that rain hasn’t fallen in awhile. Nature doesn’t seem to mind. Wildflowers flourish, some springing tall between rock crevices and others hugging the dusty soil. This is the ultimate in drought-tolerant landscaping.

We scramble over granite boulders and walk along rock faces. The trail disappears and then reveals itself again. 

Quickly we pass Lake Azalea and then Lake Flora, secluded bodies of water in this quiet wilderness. I’m buzzed by a blue dragonfly and then it’s gone. There’s a stunning view of Donner Lake in the far distance, a cool blue splash in the green pines.

Lake Angela is our destination and we sink onto a granite ledge to eat our lunch. A surprising sight – a large white pelican paddles its way around the lake. A granite island rises from the water. There’s a steady roar as wind rushes through the trees. The world seems distant and unimportant from here. We talk about nothing.

The day has grown warm and it’s time to head back. Overhead summer sun at this altitude is wicked. I savor the journey, snapping pictures furiously so I can revisit this place from home.

Just hanging out with the birds

Yo-yos, temples and the Bay

The City by the Bay reminds me of an upended anthill, pushed up out of the water and crawling with activity. This particular anthill is paved over, its residents swarming at all hours. It’s exciting, enticing, exhausting.

Our tactic for the day: Get in, keep moving, get out.

Over the new Bay Bridge, fingers crossed that those controversial faulty materials won’t collapse today, down to the waterfront where artists have set up their weekly Saturday booths. Fused glass, seaglass, sunglasses. Fired clay, sculpted, painted and glazed. Photographs of someone else’s travels. A high school orchestra plays.

Farmers are there. Twisted cucumbers. Organic arugula. Whole rabbits, the dead kind, fur on the side.

We dive inside the Ferry Building seeking lunch, expecting heavy crowds. It’s worse than expected. Back outside, quickly, where we can breathe.

A morning spent in happy sunlight crosses into afternoon with clam chowder served in a sourdough round. We slurp it up, sitting at a park bench and gazing out over the water.

A 10-minute drive up and over this small hill, known as San Francisco, to the other side takes a half hour. Golden Gate Park is an elongated rectangle of green stretching down to the water. Inside are museums, ballfields, music halls, amphitheaters, forests, mini parks. We chance upon a parking spot and decide to walk wherever, no plan formed. It's the best way to attack this place where weekend parking is awarded to the lucky.

A trail leads us to a crowd of yo-yoers competing for a spot in the national contest. Far beyond walk-the-dog, this is double yo-yo spins, twists and throws set to blaring music. We wind our way past, narrowly avoiding hard twisting discs shot out like bullets by hopeful adolescents.

A red temple looms in the distance. I can’t resist a Japanese garden. $7 on Saturdays, but free on some weekdays. We learn why. Even at a price, this place draws crowds enough.

A little pricey for this small slice of garden, but we enjoy the bent maples, rock garden, koi pond and teahouse. Outside, the city is a messy chaos; inside, there is structure and peace. It's beautiful and we slow our pace and enjoy.

It's mid-afternoon and there's one thing on my mind. The same thing that all Bay Area people think about this time of day. Yeah. Traffic. As in, it's gonna get bad soon so get out. We head toward the car. There's a food truck just ahead and people move away carrying tasty looking frozen treats. Being San Francisco, these aren't ordinary treats. There's a strawberry mint sorbet lollipop dipped freshly in chocolate to each order. My pace slows. 10 more minutes can't hurt, right? 

Mmmmmm.