Northern California
On our last night, we went to Outback, a Schroeder favorite, with Dad Schroeder to enjoy one last good salad and steak before heading out on the road. After dinner we stayed up as late as possible, enjoying our company. Eventually we headed out to the sailboat for the night, swallowing the difficult void of missing Morgan.
We arrived in LA the next day after a 5 hour flight and started our drive straight up Hwy 5 to Sonoma – wine country! Sonoma is quaint and more manageable than neighboring Napa. The vineyards are picturesque, even after the harvest season – Tall Californian farm homes with adjacent barns, sitting behind wooden fences, on top of a hill at the end of a long dirt path and in the center of their wine vineyards. The vineyard manicured in perfect rows sparkles like a golden ocean, a foiled paper marking the vines. Downtown was a perfect square; covered in white lights, cottage, colonial and modern styles merged into one. Our hotel was quaint, in our price range and much nicer than we had anticipated. A local recommended the restaurant “Girl and a Fig” and we decided to give it a try since we had only one night in Sonoma – we wouldn’t have time for any tours in Napa or Sonoma, just a chance to decide that we would return one day.
We treated ourselves with a sampling of some local wines and the small dishes that we ordered were the most flavorful we had ever had. The bartender suggested some local wines and a nut and cheese plate. We had never experienced so many perfect flavors of fine cheese, nuts, fig cake and fruit. The combinations made us savor each and every bite as though it would be our last. Warm pear slices, fine goat cheese, toasted walnuts on arugula greens and topped with an amazing dressing for me. Chris chose a toasted baguette with fine warmed cheese, pear slices and proscuitto. We met a successful local artist and shared stories. One night in Sonoma was enough to recognize the locals’ passion for great wine, food and art.
The following cold morning, we woke up and headed to San Francisco. On our way, we stopped at the Muir Woods Park to get a glimpse of the enormous red wood trees. The drive was beautiful and the trees were majestic and wise. The red woods were a reminder of our past and our country’s natural beauty prior to strip malls housing Target, Ross, TJ Max and one of the 2 chain linen or one of the 3 chain book stores.
As we neared San Francisco we stopped at Battery Park. The winding drive was steep and had breathtaking views of the Golden Gate Bridge. After several shots of the bridge, we headed into the gorgeous city and stumbled onto Lombard St. – an infamous curved street with a view of the bay. We were impressed. San Fran was a clean and hilly city, surrounded by water and divided into various cultural districts. We passed cable cars, the infamous architecture and ate lunch after wandering around Chinatown.
After lunch, we decided to search for a hostel so we could relax and explore more. We settled on the HI hostel, a dollar more, but in a great location downtown with high standards. After a night of walking the city streets and watching the hustle around us we went back to our bunks, had a chat with our Australian and British roommates and passed out. On our way out of town, we picked up the 49 mile scenic drive. We followed the signs around the bay, through parks and stumbled on the Legion of Honor Museum. After a morning in the museum looking at Rodin sculptures, specifically The Thinker and impressionist paintings, we headed to the coast. Our biggest surprise in California was the amount of farmland along the coast. Small towns are scattered here and there, but the land is mainly covered in farms – farms with happy cows that live ocean front and graze freely with a view of cliffs that drop into the pacific. The drive was long, but perfect.
We reached Santa Cruz, a town with a strange vibe. It was geared to the surfer, the tacky tourist and the eccentric college student all at once. The main beach street was reminiscent of Daytona – touristy surf shops and a carnival feel complete with roller coasters lining the sand. The downtown was hippie chic complete with artsy restaurants, boutiques and clans of angst ridden students wearing all of their emotions in the form of ripped stockings, slashed clothing, mismatched layers and statement hair styles. You can find a tattoo shop if you need one and about everyone is skateboarding and grabbing an organic health drink after putting out their hourly cigarette. It was cliché, but we liked the style and the granola college professors riding their bikes to work, passing independent theaters. The downtown was small and bursting at the seams with those trying to out- create and out-originate one another. The cliffs were different. At a break called Steamer Lane surfers with full suits waited to catch a right hand point break off the cliffs. Sea lions that drifted from their pack bobbed and floated upside down next to them. Nearby, the other sea lions were barking on the rocks. People took an afternoon stroll or jog; everyone was outside to see the sunset and smell the roses. At night we headed to a local downtown eatery for comedy night. Poetry night ran over and we sat, eating and listening to a variety of talented poets and irritating spotlight feigns; most young but one who lived through Vietnam and valiantly sobbed through his first performance. Another poem so moving that we asked for a copy of his poem and he took the time to type and email it to us. The entire coast had been cold and we both packed 1 long sleeve and 1 pair of jeans. We hustled through the cold in our daily uniform and back to our hotel.
The longest day of driving was the most beautiful. We headed out of Santa Cruz and drove along the coast, winding in and out of small beach towns and checking out infamous surf breaks. So far, the swell was minimal but we still wanted to see them. We hit Pleasure Point and Capitola, a tiny beach town – quaint, artsy (common themes) and young. Next we drove through Monterey and Pebble Beach’s 17 mile scenic drive along the coast. The infamous golf course was nestled in between old money mansions and summer cottages of the rich and famous. We were positive that the 2 founders of Google had a home here. The course wound in and out near the ocean, with golfers putting 3 feet from grazing deer. Along the way we saw sea lions and mass Asian tour buses. The drive ended after feeling we saw an accurate glimpse of the American dream – a dream that we were sure was filled with the same issues of loss, loneliness, broken hearts, deception and disappointment that everyone encounters, but covered with an extravagant façade.
Just south of the area is the stunning town of Carmel-by-the-Sea, adequately named like an expensive dessert. Clint Eastwood was the mayor of Carmel by the Sea, if that is any indication of its exclusivity. The homes are highly stylized and all different. They line perfect streets and perfect beaches and perfect shops. After gawking at real estate fliers, we said goodbye to the town – practically a retirement oasis – and headed south to Big Sur. The Pacific Coast Highway or Hwy 1 through the Big Sur region is mainly deserted and consists of farm land and national parks, but is terribly scenic. The drive is reminiscent of Mexico, only drier and less tropical. Hwy 1 teeters on the edge of rocky cliffs that drop steep into the ocean. Eventually we entered Big Sur the town, and realized that we wouldn’t be staying. As beautiful as it was, the only affordable place to stay was in a non-heated tent cabin in the national park and it was far too cold. The drive was long, but well worth the view and breathtaking sunset. We decided we would try to make it to Paso Robles for the night, another wine region in the Central part of the state about 25 miles inland.
We were surprised to find in Paso Robles that even the grimiest of hotels were a little over our price range. We arrived too late at night to search for a hostel, so we picked a super budget hotel. We were exhausted and forgot to look at the room before we bought. After turning the key and entering our room, we worked hard at not touching anything. It was the type of room where people overdosed or had prostitutes. We lied looking at the ceiling, falling asleep fully clothed because the heater didn’t work so well. The next day, however, made up for it. Half of our day was spent going to tour our favorite wine’s vineyard. The winery is Novella, but when we arrived we found out that the vineyard was EOS, Chris’ mother’s initials. The harvest season had just passed, so the vineyards were dry and brown, but still beautiful. After a tour and a tasting, we were members. With only time to visit one, we chose the one that had the most meaning for us.
Tags: Travel
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