Summer Sunset
‘And this was really the way that my whole road experience began, and the things that were to come are too fantastic not to tell’.
Jack Kerouac, On The Road
We’ve driven miles across California in the last few months. And it dawned on me, that I hadn’t collected my thoughts on the last 8 weeks of summer and all the West Coast spots we’ve stumbled upon.
Sometime in May, my husband and I threw caution and common sense to the wind, and headed down to The Post Ranch Inn at Big Sur. It really was all that. We stumbled on Nepanthe for lunch — a beautiful coastal restaurant with spectacular views and the best bottle of Bandol in town.
Big Sur is nothing but undeveloped land and beautiful coastline as far as the eye can see, all under perfect shimmering sunshine. With the kids ensconced firmly with the Grandfolk, we lazed by the pool with only the mighty waves of the Pacific for entertainment. As I settled into the sun-lounger, we got chatting to a newly wed couple. They were agents from LA (of course), and staying as a gift from their boss. Crikey, the only boons from past CEO’s of mine consist of cheap platitudes and heavy hangovers.
Free love, frugality and voluntary poverty
We swung past the Henry Miller library, described by Lonely Planet as a: ‘nonprofit alternative space (which) hosts a bohemian carnival of live-music concerts, author readings, open-mic nights and indie film screenings’. I’ve been to many places in the world that exude what they call a ‘bohemian’ air. Christiania in Copenhagen and Anjuna Market in India, come to mind. All of these places smell of nag champa and serve only to remind me of Totnes, where I grew up. Except we had Conker shoes (just to be clear, I never wore these — I think they’d go down pretty well at the Henry Miller library).
After a couple of days of full repose, we sauntered to the Esalen Institute — a heavily spiritual place pioneering ‘deep change in self and society’. Perched high on the cliffs, I had the best massage of my life. We listened to the waves crashing against the rocks and fell into a deep slumber — one where you’re so rested, you wake up with pools of dribble collecting nicely in the corners. We naked-bathed in the hot springs and strolled the gardens, just to take the air and make sure we adequately re-traced Don Draper’s steps in the final episode of Mad Men. Deep spiritual intensity.
Not spending time in LA
In stark contrast, a road trip to the City of Angels was so uninspiring, nobody wanted to leave the wagon. We stayed in West Hollywood at Charlie Chaplin’s old place, which had a certain ‘run down’ charm; which is more than can be said for the cheerless staff. I couldn’t even entice the family out at the Chinese Theatre and Stars of Fame. We checked out Venice Beach — described as a ‘haven for artists and free speech’ (another bohemian label), but all I saw was a huge homeless issue. Malibu fell short too — with a feeling of being over-developed and unloved — but to be fair we weren’t in either place long enough to make such damning judgements.
Santa Barbara though, was a significant step up. We stayed at the vibey Canary Hotel, with a perfect rooftop pool overlooking the Spanish red tile roofs, and staff who fed the kids ice cream and made us all feel wonderful. We didn’t want to leave.
Whale watching in Monterey was one of those once-in-a-lifetime encounters:
Even with a serious hangover, encountering a rare pod of Orcas miles out to sea was a completely ethereal experience. The boys were in awe. We saw humpbacks, dolphins and a tiny bird made a bid for life by joining us on the boat to come back to shore. We felt like we’d saved the little thing from certain doom.
Sleepover in Sonoma
Nick’s Cove in Point Reyes has become a firm favourite. Featured in the film Bandits, with Cate Blanchette and Bruce Willis, there’s something weird about watching a good film on your travels and then seeing the exact same scene replicated in your cabin. There’s a hidey-holey boat shack at the end of the pier, with a log fire and sound system. You can grab a beer and sit on the water’s edge looking out to Hog Island. We had our very first taste of s’mores here — a campfire sandwich of marshmallows, chocolate and crackers. There’s an old piano too, so we usually have a tinkle and drink some ale. Life’s luxuries.
Late summer, we were invited to a beautiful house blessing on a family farm in Mendocino. We were stunned at the beauty of the land and sheer hard work that goes into running such a smallholding. We took part in the blessing and a Chinese tea ceremony, stuffed our faces with a wonderful family style supper and welcomed everyone’s friendly embrace with grace.
On the way home, we took the kids on the Skunk Train, travelling deep into the Redwood forest with the train musician for entertainment.
The secret retreat
And just last week, my husband and I found the perfect place to unwind and just breathe. In fact, he was so happy with the surprise, he’s rated it №1 place we’ve ever stayed — and we’ve stayed at a fair few in this good world. A small pier, an uninterrupted view of the sea and a crackling log fire was all we needed to celebrate our wedding anniversary in style…with kids.
So as we prepare for Autumn mists and the three-act American traditions of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, I look back on a magical summer — realise we’re actually living in California — and wonder if we can do it all again next year?
Books
Live at the Brixton Academy, by Simon Parkes
Wonderful book that I read in one sitting. If you’ve been into music at any point since 1970, I urge you to read this crazy tale. Simon Parkes, the guy that bought the Academy for £1, delves into deep-rooted musical genres (and their associated gang cultures), from Rastafari and the Twelve Tribes of Israel, to Rave Culture, Brit Pop and beyond. His encounter of meeting Margaret Thatcher could teach start-up business kids a thing or two. Loved it.
The New Yorker
OK — a magazine, not a book; but so good to read well researched, long form copy, that takes a week to chew over. Some of the articles are brilliant, like this one on Ursula K. Le Guin.
Music
I’ve been in the need for monophonic unaccompanied song of late — so hitting Gregorian chants LOUD in the wagon. Ever since visiting the Basilique Ste-Madeleine (Vezelay Abbey in France — where my Dad lived for many years) and watching a group of tourists break into Gregorian chanting, I’ve been a fan. The Basilica is on one of the oldest pilgrimage routes in the world — the Santiago de Compostela — and has mind-blowing acoustics (a moving experience for me, not quite conveyed in the video below with accompanying sniffing bloke). Whenever I visit, I try and make Vespers, just to hear the chants.
