Written last night.
For the first time in what feels like years, but is actually only a few months, my nose is cold.
This is fantastically exciting.
We left Los Gatos at 7 am, dropped D’s electronics off at the technician in San Francisco at 8:15 am (with only one wrong turn), and then proceeded on through The City up to the Golden Gate Bridge, also found with only one simple wrong turn, easily rectified by taking the next left. I confess that after driving in Los Angeles for a year, Bay Area, even San Francisco driving, is a walk in the park. A slightly dodgy park, one where you need to keep your eyes out for Odd Things, but nonetheless a park. We both geeked out completely upon seeing streetcars, and chatted happily about what part of San Francisco we’d like to live in, in our ideal world.

Intersection of 19th and …something

A Muni streetcar

hilly city
Though we both grew up in the Bay Area, our childhood vacations were spent in different stomping grounds. One thing I was particularly pleased to learn was that D holds this tunnel in the same nostalgic regard as I do.

the rainbow tunnel!
The rainbow painting is only on the south side of the tunnel, I believe. Most of my memories of it involve looking back through the car’s rear window, as a child, to see it receding into the distance; I would thus realize that the vacation was truly over. To see it as an adult, representing the beginning of such a fantastic getaway, was thrilling.
On the other side of the tunnel lies adventure, the unknown. In other words, Marin.

the hills of Marin
best beloved
We turned off 101 onto a smaller country road that connects 101 and Highway 1. I was surprised to find that I’d been on the street before, for the Two Rock Bicycle ride back in 2001. Learning this also explained why our search for palatable coffee felt so familiar: I’d done the same thing years before, in fact before the particular shopping center we did find was even built.

fields and oaks
corporate coffee fix
strawberry patches

cyclist
Driving west to the ocean is just as good as driving north, in my opinion. The air slowly got colder, the colors greener, and the scent of the ocean drifted its way into our nostrils.
fog descending
the path ahead
After passing at least a dozen little state beaches, we turned off into Portuguese State Beach so that we could take proper pictures of the coastline. D, sitting in the passenger seat with the camera, wasn’t exactly ideally placed to view the west side of the car.

misty coast

steps to beach

victory!

found: shoes
Following the little state beaches, the road began to climb. We drove this road three years ago, the evening after our wedding, and I kept trying to figure out exactly which rock formation was the one behind which the hindquarters of a cow jutted out at us suddenly in the darkness, or which turnout was where I’d been pulled over by a policeman who thought I was drunk. (I wasn’t; it was just 11 pm, we’d been driving for seven hours, and we had no idea where this mythical hotel was. He told me severely, “Ma’am, you’ve been weaving quite a bit for the past twenty miles. Have you had anything to drink this evening?” I said, “A milkshake…” and told him we had been married that morning, had no idea where Point Arena was, and demonstrated quite effectively that I was on the verge of tears. In short, he let me go with no ticket, and we found the inn. Eventually.)

the path behind
Around 1pm my stomach decided to start eating itself, so we pulled over at a restaurant that had big “OPEN” signs all over it. It was closed, but I got a nice picture of the rocks out front.

They recommended a place further up the road, so we went there, had a few sandwiches and enjoyed the view, and were told that Point Arena was another hour north. It was fantastic to drive all this in the daytime and get to see the ocean and the cedars and the eucalyptuses (eucalyptii?), and SMELL it. Have I gone on about the smell yet? I will, plenty. It’s fresh, it’s raw. Imagine the taste of sushi compared with canned tuna; that’s what the California coast smells like, compared with normal air. Not even compared with Los Angeles air; that’s like sushi versus four-day-old fish. The newness of it is shocking at first, and there’s a funny softness to it, despite the wild and raw quality.

view from lunch

Salt Point Lodge
We arrived around 2pm, and fortunately our room was ready, as check-in is normally three. D promptly fell asleep, I promptly took a bath and several more photos.
Tomorrow: Ocean Pictures! Champagne! Anniversary Fish and Chips!