Alexandra Muses

I find that I don’t enjoy blogging, so I’m closing down. Look for my name in print, though, in real academic journals. That’s where I’ll be putting my prose efforts for the time being.

We left Los Angeles around 7am, and thought we were avoiding rush hour until at 7:30 on Hwy 10 East I realized that it was Labor Day and hence few people would be driving to work.

Our first disaster occurred thanks to Starbucks’ new plastic cold drink cups, made with 15% less material… which means that they buckle upon grippage, and spill all over both driver, passenger, and anything in between. We had to pull off the freeway somewhere in San Gabriel and spend about twenty minutes wiping up, getting the goop on pretty much everything either of us touched. The car smelled like chocolate mint for the next fifty miles, until I pulled over in Coachella and bought a scented spray, which actually smelled worse but didn’t smell like mint mocha chip frappuccino.

Though Google Maps wanted to send us on I-40 through Barstow, I’d noticed a lovely green patch a little south, and decided we’d drive through Joshua Tree National Park. So we did!

It was fantastic to turn off Hwy 10 onto the little park road that leads through it from the south; we slowed down, rolled down the windows, and watched lizards and kangaroo rats scuttle across the road. Though entry was $15, it was worth it for the untouched beauty and frankly alien-ness of some of the scenery. Plus, the air didn’t smell like a vacuum cleaner’s armpit, for the first time in a hundred miles!

a fuzzy plant, with rocky hills behind

the scope of the park: those mountains are part of it!

I forget the name of this cactus, but it’s apparently quite painful to touch. And unusually yellow. Don’t they look just like little aliens lined up across the desert?

Joshua trees! And a carpet of tiny yellow flowers!

Another Joshua tree! Apparently they can grow up to 40 feet tall. We only saw small ones on our route.

A close-up of the above tree.

These rock piles are all around the park; they’re caused by water eroding hills until the hills crumble on themselves.

The road through the park deposited us at Twentynine Palms, a resort town, which we avoided, instead turning right and heading across the desert. Unfortunately we put the camera away too soon, but imagine this for about an hour:

And then the road wound through more desert for another hour — slightly darker desert, with blackish plants instead of brownish green, and a little more traffic (mostly pickup trucks hauling boats, in fact). At one point we were parallel to the freight train tracks; graffiti on abandoned rail cars gave way to a slightly more natural kind.

And then we finally got to Arizona, where it was just about one more hour to Kingman through country that looked like it came straight out of Erin Brockovich (including the dubious industrial plants and mysterious chain-link fences). Then we started seeing buttes and mesas, the terminology of which I always confuse, so I shall go learn about them soon and get back to you on that.

The state line, with the Colorado River in the background.

The reason for the title of this post comes from my sensation, winding through those miles of desert, that I couldn’t possibly still be in the same state that has San Francisco and the little towns around Mendocino, as well as the San Joaquin Valley, Los Angeles, and the Navy in San Diego. In my childhood I became used to the diversity of Northern California, but thinking of the desert as part of California was never something I’d fully processed, until now — after I’ve spent hours driving through it.

And now, off to find dinner, possibly at a diner we noticed on our way in called “Calico’s.”

The cats always know when something’s up. Fenchurch, our older cat, seems to have the rhythm of things down better: there’s a night of off-pattern activity, of putting cloth things into those large boxes that are so nice to sit in, except then the humans close them and turn them upright, which makes no sense from a cat perspective. Then, the humans have a night of restless sleep (at least, one of them does). Finally, there’s a wonderfully early wake-up call, except that still the rhythm doesn’t feel right; there’s too much talking, too much gathering last-minute things out of drawers and taking stuff down to the car. And then, the silence. Far too silent. Not the silence of being left alone for the day, but the silence that presses in and stays when the humans are gone overnight and a strange human comes to provide food, water, and brushing.

Fenchurch has accepted that her people eventually come back. Frances, who is just over a year old, is more disturbed by our long absences. Week before last was the first time she’d been left alone by us for more than a few days, and she was terrified by it. My friend who was looking after the cats said Frances spent the first half of the week under the bed and wouldn’t come out except to gobble a few bites and then go back into hiding. Fenchurch, on the other hand, happily let herself be brushed by this strange human who smells of hedgehog (he has a hedgehog, an adorably prickly if stupid creature).

So, from the cat’s perspective, this early-morning commotion is unnerving: something’s not right, and it’s a bit scary, but it’ll be all right eventually.

From a human perspective, this early-morning commotion needs to speed up so we can get on the road and beat the Los Angeles traffic going east!

Today’s anticipated highlights include Joshua Tree National Park and lots of California desert.

We went for a drive on Wednesday, north up Highway 1. It’s an extremely winding road, usually set just a few feet from hundred-foot-high cliffs over the ocean. But it has some of the prettiest scenery in the state, in our opinion.

We weren’t the only ones taking pictures.

Both of us were sad to be leaving such a beautiful place, but now feel refreshed enough to take back on the slog of daily life.

At least, until the next trip, which starts September 1.

Tuesday (8/19) was our anniversary. It was wonderful to fall asleep Monday night (8/18) to the distant sound of the ocean and the faint barking of the sea lions, to know that the mist was curling in through the half-open door, to be snug under covers with cold air outside. We woke to a white sky and a half-visible pier below us.

After tidying the room a bit — force of habit — we went for breakfast. The hotel supplies breakfast: english muffins, Svenhardt’s danishes, juice-coffee-tea, and cereal, all laid out on tables in a small room. The TV was on when we entered; I turned it off and began to fetch some food for us. When the next couple came in, the TV stayed off, but they were Scottish. The next couple, though, were American, and promptly turned on the television. Needless to say, D and I left as quickly as we could, vowing to consume breakfast in private the next day.

We found both coffee and internet down at the Arena Cove house, a large building that serves multiple purposes: upstairs is a restaurant; downstairs houses a pizza and ice cream place, a coffee shop, a tourist-tshirts-information place, and some mysterious official business. Inside the coffee shop, where I sat to upload photos and check internet, one can find eclectic mugs, fishing bait, books and magazines (not for sale, it appears), and a community bulletin board.

“USED SURFBOARDS”

While waiting for the pictures from the previous post to upload, I went and took more pictures of the cove.

Narcissus

posts on the beach, probably remnants of a structure swept away by the big storms of 1983

the rusty remains of a ship

looking back at the Arena Cove building

nice use of an abalone shell… or not

the cove and cliff in some entirety

video: pan of the cove

a board explaining about the local albatross

view of the coastal cliff from the pier

We needed to do laundry, so we drove down to Anchor Bay to use a laundromat. I went and bought champagne and wine in anticipation of an evening celebration while D snoozed. Anchor Bay was small, occupying about a quarter-mile of Highway 1. The grocery store sold mostly organic products; the three restaurants looked fairly upscale, and even the dinky laundromat had high quality machines. However, using the laundromat with me was a teenaged mother with her small child and a friend, and they looked like they were barely scraping through. The northern California coast is full of contradictions. It’s also beautiful

a sweeping cove behind some wildflowers

The afternoon was spent quietly; we watched My Neighbor Totoro and gazed out at the fog rolling in.

bank of fog sitting off the coast

video: fog rolling in

the sunlight reflecting off the building at the top of the cliff

sunset beauty

Around dusk I went with D and bought a pizza down at the cove house to bring back. Pizza was consumed, plenty of wine and champagne were consumed, and I believe the rest of the evening should remain private. I will at least mention that I was well-inebriated and sat in the bathtub for at least an hour and a half before crawling into bed.

wine and champagne

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!

The best part of any vacation, in my opinion, is leaving behind what one has grown to loathe. In our case, it’s this city. Both of us grew up surrounded by fog and cloudy weather, and love nothing better than a rainy day. The near-eternal sunshine of the far-from-spotless Los Angeles is driving our minds batty. It certainly gave me a headache. Fortunately, we were able to shelter behind a building while we waited for our train.

And I tried my hand at a “geometric” sort of photo:

But at last the train pulled in, and we were able to board with minimal problems. The porter tried to get us to check our luggage, but as D is carrying some electronics that need to go to a specialist up in San Francisco, and I had my headphones in my suitcase, we declined the offer and pushed them up onto the bunk space in our sleeper car.

And finally, the train started rolling!

The Los Angeles River. Ugh.
D looks out at the train platform.

I am always filled with such happiness to be leaving Los Angeles behind. The bright yellowness of Los Angeles’ sunlight muted to a greener hue once we passed Santa Barbara. The scenery changed ever so slowly; small hill-creepers and eucalyptus trees took the place of planted palms and fertilized grass. The coastal hills appeared gloriously untouched and unspoiled, and the fog, curling its tendrils around the hills, was a blissful white.

The Coast Starlight, as befits its name, travels along the beach for a good portion of its route.

The train is a fantastic way to travel; no worries of traffic or filling the gas tank or wondering where to eat lunch. Food was included in the price of our sleeper car fare: a practice I now highly recommend, as the extra price of the sleeper is just a little higher than the cost of buying food on the train ourselves. We had lunch with an almost-retired couple from Tucson, Arizona (the diner car is small, so couples sit with other couples, and singles take any available seat).

The food was quite decent, better than airline fare I’d say, and the best part was the amazingly decadent dessert: a chocolate-peanut butter cake.

After lunch, we went back to our little room, and D climbed up onto the upper bunk to take a nap, while I settled down to take pictures of the passing scenery and finish watching My Neighbor Totoro. It’s a really good movie to watch on the train, especially if one has seen it before, because it’s fairly slow-paced, and you can pause it or look away without missing much plot (though you do miss the beautiful artwork). Here, Satsuki, with little sister Mei on her back, are waiting for their father at the bus stop when Totoro joins them in the rain.

But mostly I enjoyed the view, felt drowsily calm, and enjoyed my cup of chamomile tea. I brought my own teabags and went down to the “Parlour Car” for some hot water.

The sources of my diversion, apart from the scenery: laptop and moleskine.

The scattered clouds turn slowly into fog.

Spots of color in the local vegetation

A ranch house stands isolated on a hill.

D woke up around 5pm, and we sat and talked for a while, watching the light slowly change.

And then we went down the train for our dinner reservations. Dinner was also decent, though no photos were taken of it, and we were able to watch the sun set over Salinas and its fields of artichokes. We bought a bottle of wine and took it back to our room to get mildly inebriated.

I made several attempts to get a picture of the gloriously golden harvest moon that hovered just above the horizon, but alas, my camera skills are not so strong.

Upon arrival in San Jose, we waited for a while for my mother to pick us up. With the added influence of the wine, the sensation of being slightly cold, and smelling the green wind, we felt like we had finally arrived home.

Packing last night served as a perfect barometer for how desperately I need to get away. Normally, my suitcase is tidy, with everything rolled, folded, bagged, and sandwiched together like a tetris game. I’ve fit 70 pounds into a normal-sized suitcase, just with clothing and toiletries. When we moved back to the US from Europe, I spent at least 12 hours per suitcase. Look at the compactly rolled blankets in the black cello case. The flower-printed cloth is covering a fragile bamboo fruit bowl; I think I also rolled some delicate electronic things inside the blankets.

I usually take immense pride in the organization of my suitcase. A small accomplishment, but it has made me feel unique. And nearly cost me money once when the airline weighed my luggage.

For this trip, however, I threw things in like a normal person would.

(That’s Frances. She’s helping.)

I was so haphazard that D, who has become used to me as the Goddess of Packing, was quite shocked: He asked if I could pack his suitcase, as the palsy in his hands makes it hard for him to fold clothing, and I told him he’d probably do a better job than I would, as I would simply throw things in. I am extremely glad to be going on a relaxing vacation, into the foggy northern coast (let’s hope).

Today we take a ten-hour train ride up to my mother’s house, where we will spend a day with her before driving (in her car, yay) up into the wilds of Northern California.