End of the Road

I am done!

Yesterday I finished up researching around Seattle. When there was one stop left to go, I lingered in Pioneer Square with a panino and a gelato. I've been reading Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier, and it was quite relaxing to open it while I half-people-watched and enjoyed my lunch. The only thing not relaxing about the situation was that I only had 11 minutes left on my Park-and-Pay ticket. Seattle doesn't have meters - you have to put money in at a little station, print a ticket with a time of return on it, and stick in on your window. That way it's more of a pain to add extra minutes, since you can't just refill a meter. I wished I didn't have that persistent sense of time ticking away as I took a break before my last stop.

But my stracciatella gelato was enough to make me forget. Stracciatella is translated to "chocolate chip" at most places, but it's so much more than chocolate chip. The chocolate is drizzled over the vanilla icecream and freezes on top, so when it is scooped out it breaks into bits. It has been my favorite flavor ever since the summer of 2006, which I spent kicking back in Venice and singing in Siena. Pioneer Square wasn't exactly San Marco, but I had my stracciatella so I could pretend.

The last place I checked out was called Mae Phim's, a little Thai restaurant tucked in below an on-ramp to I-5. The hostess answered my questions about hours and prices with a bored look, finally shrugging and handing me a to-go menu so I could investigate things for myself. It was an anti-climactic end, but as I crossed Coloumbia St. and climbed into the Focus, I felt a definite sense of accomplishment. Now I just had to type all that research up!

I have been staying with my parents' friend from Germany, when they lived there the first time before any of us kids were born. She is an outgoing, welcoming woman and has been absolutely wonderful to me. It is such a nice feeling to stay in a home after all those motels. Two nights ago we went to dinner in Alki, a beach peninsula in West Seattle. The view is of Seattle, and since it was a clear day we could see everything:

See the Space Needle, just off center? It was a nice juxtoposition to have the beach, with volleyball nets and umbrellas, with the city in the distance. We ate on the upper deck of a restaurant right on the water, enjoying our salmon as the sun set:
Last night we went out to dinner again, this time in Renton, the suburb in which she lives. It's right on Lake Washington, so we had a nice waterfront walk after dinner. When we arrived at the restaurant, there was a band playing rocked out Irish music and people dancing just outside. The scene was the epitome of a small-town summer evening, and I was glad to be a part of it for that time. Here are some shots of Lake Washington:

So that's it! I am catching a plane at 2pm back to Los Angeles for my next (albeit, far less avidly documented) adventure. I am not looking forward to returning my little red Focus - it seems only yesterday I put its meter over 300 miles. I've added over 3000 pacific coast miles in the past month. I bet that Focus had never seen anything as lovely as the views from the ridges I parked it along when I hopped out to take pictures. It's going to be strange driving another car (when this blog went to print, the exact car was yet to be determined) and not having my whole life stashed in the trunk.

Thanks, West Coast - it's been a ride!

Days 25-26

I made it to Seattle! I feel quite accomplished, as I've just changed my flight so that I'll be arriving back in Los Angeles on Thursday afternoon. The past couple of days I've been so under the weather that I haven't felt like getting out of bed - it's been very disheartening. Although my stomach has been lurching with every turn in the road, the views along the Washington coast have not disappointed:There is so much driftwood on these beaches!
I pulled over to photograph this lake and was immediately accosted by men who were fishing, apparently illegally. They begged me not to take pictures of them and their misdeeds. Confused, I told them it didn't bother me a bit if they fished in that lake - I was just a tourist! Then they relaxed and offered me a burger, which I declined. My mystery illness had rendered me almost too weak even to stumble across the road to take pictures, let alone to keep down a hamburger grilled by rogue fishermen.

The weather in Seattle is absolutely beautiful and is cheering me up immensely. Today I explored the city, from the famous Experience Music Project to the University neighborhood. Seattle reminds me of Boston a lot, especially because of all the bikers. But when I shared my thoughts with the manager at the Moore Hotel, where I stayed last night, he shook his head and laughed. "Everyone in Seattle is much more... casual," he assured me.

I said I hoped he wasn't implying that I was UP-TIGHT or anything like THAT simply because I was from BOS-ton. JEEZ.

I enjoyed a delicious bowl of oatmeal and a side of people-watching at Pike's Place this morning. It's right on the water, where all types of vendors and stores are clustered along one strip. Bustling places like that really appeal to me, and I found it relaxing to blend into the crowd. I am interested in settling in Seattle later, at least for a bit. I realize it's not usually this sunny, but it seems generally cozy and welcoming, even more so than San Francisco and its treacherous hills. So far, Seattles roads have not tried to kill me.

Days 23-24

The past two days have been a little depressing, since I still feel sick. My body seems confused as to whether it needs to be fed or would prefer to reject food all together... I've been eating bland things like crackers and bread so as not to offend my cranky stomach.

But yesterday was Independence Day, so I tried to stay cheery. In the morning I researched the town of Cannon Beach. After the first stop, Stella got confused and thought a side street connected to Route 101, when really it led to a big "Dead End" sign. Frustrated, I turned Stella off and decided to try to find my own way. I realized I was in trouble when I had to slam on the brakes to avoid running over a small child whose face was painted like an American flag. The child was scampering back to the bed of a truck that had been decorated in all kinds of horrendous red, white, and blue streamers and paints, resulting in quite the patriotic monstrosity. It was one of many similar trucks... it was a float.

It was a parade.

Panicking, I tried to back up but realized, to my horror, that I was surrounded. Children dashed by, seemingly amock, as their stressed-out mothers tried to organize everyone into a procession of some kind. I rolled down my window and asked a kind-looking old woman how to get back to Route 101. She laughed, "It looks like you're going to be in the parade!"

No, I certainly was not going to be in the parade. I couldn't prevent the fleeting idea that -well - the Focus was red, so at least I would fit into the whole theme if worse came to worst. Shaking the thought, I painstakingly maneuvered the car through the throng, feeling horribly rude and unpatriotic as the townspeople's smiling, confused faces filled me with guilt. A good half-hour later, I emerged onto Route 101 and continued to Seaside.

Seaside was having a festival of its own, but thankfully not one through which I had to drive. I stayed in a hostel right downtown, and after typing up my research from the morning, I headed down to the water to check out the party. I bought an ice cream to help myself get in the mood, but as I wandered through the crowd, I couldn't help feeling overwhelmingly lonely. Everyone knows you don't want to spend Christmas alone, but nobody really thinks about the 4th of July. I had no one with whom to watch the band of middle-aged would-have-beens as they rocked out 80s-style on the stage. I didn't bother buying fried dough, because I knew I wouldn't be able to eat the whole thing and I had no one with whom to share it, laughing as we got powdered sugar down the fronts of our shirts. I ordered a burger for dinner and it was delicious, but I wished it had been grilled by my dad out on our deck.

There were fireworks at 10pm, but I didn't stay downtown for them because I didn't want to have to walk back to the hostel alone in the dark. I got into bed at about 9:45pm, and was the only person in the dorm room besides a cranky, elderly woman with whom I had had an altercation earlier in the night. She had come in at about 8:30 and asked if I would mind turning off the light, since she had to wake up early to go to work. Of course I told her it would be no problem, but she felt compelled to share a tidbit of wisdom before turning in.
She pointed at me and said, "Us poor people have to work for a living!" I nodded, and smiled kindly. She continued, "Listen up, little missy. As a woman, you've got two choices: be poor, or put up with a man!"
I was so taken aback by the ridiculousness of this idea that I laughed aloud. "Well, I'm going to make my own fortune, and then a man will have to put up with me!" I retorted.
Her jaw dropped and she glared at me before shaking her head and getting into bed.

Now I tried to fall asleep as she snored across the room. I heard the first boom of the fireworks and reached for my earplugs. As I sat up in bed, I saw explosions of color in the black sky outside, and realized I had a front row seat to the fireworks! I sat on the bunkbed, watching the whole show out the window of the dorm room, until the finale. This was more like the 4th of July.

Today I made it to Washington! As soon as I crossed the border, it started to rain, confirming the prejudice I held against Washington state. But it was beautiful rain, accentuating the lush greenness of the foliage. It was the type of rain that made me want to be inside the cottage my family has in Plymouth, watching it fall on the pond from behind a screened window. Instead I watched it fall on the Columbia River and the marshes that seemed to border every mile of highway.

It was the first day it's rained on this trip, and although it was lovely, I realized how much I've taken the sunshine for granted. As I arrived at each location to research, I suffered an internal struggle between the side of me that wants to get work done and the side of me that hates getting the bottoms of my jeans wet and fears pneumonia. The dedicated-to-my-job side always won, so by the time I got to the town of Aberdeen, where I'm staying, I was soaked to the skin and the inside of the car was starting to smell musty.

So all in all, my first impression of Washington was a little disappointing (much like that of the settlers who named Cape Disappointment, I suppose), but don't worry, Washington! Tomorrow is a brand new day.

Days 21-22

Last night I stayed in the most wonderful hotel in the whole world. I remember having dreams when I was a little girl in which I was exploring a big house, and each room had some new kind of Candyland-esque adventure behind the door waiting for me. Well, that's what the Sylvia Beach Hotel in Newport, Oregon is like, only it satisfied not my inner 7-year-old with fluffy clouds and cotton candy mountains, but my current, nerdy English-major self: each room is themed like a famous author. Because I told her I was writing for a travel guide, the proprietress let me explore the other rooms that were uninhabited at the moment. I went on a spree through all four floors of the house, opening each door and marveling at its creative, unique decorations. Here are a few of the best.

The Tennessee Williams Room:The Tennessee Williams room had its own little glass menagerie, which tugged on the heartstrings in the little corner of my heart reserved for my senior thesis:
The Shakespeare room:
Complete with this fantastic little joke:
The sign above the sink says, "Out! Out damned spot!" so you can pretend to be murderess-turned-nutcase Lady MacBeth as you wash your hands! Fun for all ages. Here's the Emily Bronte Room:
My room was the Tolkien Room, and even though it was one of the less expensive because it doesn't have beach views, I think it's the coolest. This is what the door to the room looks like: Here's what it looks like behind the door:
And the whole room is very detailed, like the sink decorations:
And what I think is a map of Middle Earth sketched on the wall (forgive me, Lord of the Rings fanatics, for not knowing what this is for sure):One of my favorites was the Agatha Christie Room:

One room that I didn't get to go inside was the Edgar Allen Poe Room. It was closed because someone was staying there, news that suprised me. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink in a room that's decorated with a raven "perched upon a bust of Pallas," a huge blade precariously dangling over the bed, and a false doorway that's been boarded up with bricks. I shared my feelings with the proprietress and she laughed and said, "Well, you turn the lights out to go to sleep, so you can't see all those things!"
...maybe. But I would still know that raven was there, looking at me, and quothing "Nevermore" at me.

Today I had a bit of a meltdown, as my allergies kicked in and my right eye started running and itching. Yuck. I also got a terrible headache as I drove, so I didn't even enjoy the cheese samples in Tillamook. When I arrived at the Old Wheeler Hotel in Wheeler, Oregon, I was in a terrible mood and just felt like passing out.

But then I entered the Bed and Breakfast, and my day changed. Maren and Winston, the proprietors, are absolutely adorable and so energetic about their little town. My room is just darling, and it has a bathtub. They hung a sign outside the door that says, "Welcome, Meghan!" That made me smile. I decided to get some more researching done, so I drove a mile down the road to the Nehalem Bay Winery. The woman there was friendly, and gave me a free tasting of sweet whites. I commented on how tasty the Riesling was, and she exclaimed, "Oh! Well, here, take a bottle!" I couldn't believe it. Now I have a 3-step plan for the rest of the afternoon:

1) Draw a bath.
2) Pour myself of glass of my free Riesling.

3) Take a bath and drink the Riesling.

There might be another step involved, such as watch one of the DVDs they have here, or curl up with a book. I haven't yet decided.

Day 20

Today I got to Oregon! I drove through the rest of the Redwood Forests, through extreme fog, this morning. I felt very earthy-crunchy as I snacked on the fruit-and-nuts granola mix I'd purchased for breakfast, weaving between the huge trees. The last restaurant I had to research in California was a little dive called the Palm Diner in Orick. Outside the diner I saw this lovely sign:That put me in a fantastic mood. "Bye, California!" I said. "Thanks for the blessing!" Then I hopped in my little car and sped off (not to worry, California, I'm coming back in 2 weeks). Oregon always has been one of those random places that I'll never go. Well, I'm here. And I was welcomed into the state by this breathtaking view:
Here I am, once again posing in nature. Check out that awesome estuary behind me!
I arrived in the tiny town of Bandon-by-the-Sea around dinnertime, and checked into the "hotel" in which I'm sitting right now. Yes, the room only costs $25 for the night. But no, it does not have any more amenities than your average jail cell at a state prison. There is one bunkbed and about ten square feet of space that is not occupied by said bunkbed. The man at the front desk kindly told me that he would not put anyone else in this little cell with me for the night. That made me relax a little bit, because sharing a room this size with another person would be quite awkward. I do, however, share the bathroom with a 60-year-old man named Bob who is a caddy by profession and lives in the little cell next door all summer. He seems like a pretty friendly guy, but I am for some reason terrified of bumping into him in the bathroom. To avoid any such situation, I brushed my teeth after dinner in the bathroom at the restaurant, ignoring the stares of the other patrons who probably thought I was homeless.

After dinner, tragedy struck. I returned to my car to deposit my carry-out box (filled with lunch for tomorrow, of course) in the trunk. Then I went for a walk along the pier and called Latina Lova to complain about how I don't yet have a job in LA. She convinced me that it's normal to be unemployed when you're just out of college, and calmed me down a bit. Then I returned to my car to get my overnight bag and realized... I didn't have my keys.

No.

Were they in the restaurant where I had eaten? I ran back to check, but the friendly waitstaff apologetically told me they hadn't seen any keys. I retraced my steps along the pier, tears welling up in my eyes as I contemplated having to call the rental car agency to ask for a duplicate key, and the costs that would no doubt imply. I didn't realize the gravity of my situation until I looked up and saw this in the window of a store:

Those are fake little cats and dogs, and the sign in the corner says, "We actually breathe!" Horrified, I backed away - was I really going to be stuck in a town that allowed those things to exist within it?! I called AAA, hoping that I had locked the keys in the trunk when I dropped off my carry-out box from dinner.

An hour later, Clyde from Clyde and Slide towing showed up, ready to jimmy my lock. Well, once we got the car open, Clyde and I discovered that there was no way to open the trunk from within the car. He didn't have the equipment to drill the lock out of the trunk, and reported that to get the equipment would take waiting for another guy to show up. Desperate, I noticed a little handle on the side of the backseat and tugged on it - voila! The backseat came foward and I could see into the trunk.

Clyde stood by as I crawled into the trunk from the inside of the car, rummaging around through all my possessions. I thanked my lucky stars that Clyde was not a crazy person who would slam the seat back up while I was inside, locking me in the trunk in the dark (inconveniently, the trunk light is not triggered when you enter from the other end). Finally, my fingers closed around the car keys, and I cried with joy. I would not be stuck in Bandon-by-the-Sea, with the horrible little fake breathing animals! I would continue on my way.

Day 19

Today I was driving from Mendocino along the coast, before I hit the Redwood Forests. As the road bent around the side of a cliff, I slammed on the brakes in order to avoid hitting this guy: and his two friends, who were socializing in the middle of the road. I was afraid that they would head-butt me or something if I tried to get out to take a picture, so I decided to stay safely in the car! Soon into my drive, I realized I was close to empty on gas. That was dangerous because I doubted there would be anywhere to fill up in the next 50 miles or so. But just as I was getting nervous that I was going to have to hitch a ride on the back of my new bovine friend, I saw a gas station up ahead... with the worst prices I have seen yet:
I was so shocked that as I pumped, I said aloud to the man at the next pump, "Can you believe it? This is outrageous?" He glared at me, and that's when I realized he was filling up a Suburban, eyeing my tiny little Focus (which gets up to 35 miles per gallon on the freeway!) resentfully. I swallowed loudly and concentrated on gripping the gas pump.

Once I entered the Redwood Forests, I realized that the low-hanging fog that had been surrounding me throughout my drive so far was turning black. How strange, I thought. Then I saw the sign up ahead next to the road, with flashing letters that read, "FIRE AHEAD."
Hm.
What was I supposed to do with that information? I'd just been traveling for almost 2 hours along a winding road that was so reminiscent of a certain Mind Eraser rollercoaster that I was beginning to feel nauseated. The sign didn't say, "TURN BACK!" and there were no road blocks, so I continued on, more cautiously. I pulled over for a bathroom break at one of the many roadside turn-offs marked by creepy painted bears carved out of Redwood trees, and found this little gem:
That saying happens to be one of TWO PHRASES that I know how to say in German. The first phrase is: "Ich spreche kein Deutsch." (That means: I speak no German." The second phrase is: "Jeder muss an etwas glauben. Ich glaube, ich habe noch ein Bier." (See picture about for translation.) It's not random that I know that phrase - my dad, who kind of speaks German, taught it to me at a young age. I don't know why, but I remembered it. I marvel at the idea that, in the past 2 days, I have encountered 2 very random phrases that have reminded me of each of my parents.

As I drove on through the Redwood Forests, I decided it was time for another photo shoot. Here I am posing next to one of the biggest trees I've ever seen:

P.S. The answer to the pressing question that is no doubt bothering you is: YES, I looked like an absolute fool pressing the self-timer button on my camera and then sprinting that long distance to stand in front of the tree.

Days 17 and 18

I just had an hour-long conversation with Sangria Stalker about whether the anatomy of a Ninja Turtle would validate or hinder the obvious sexual tension between Rafael and April. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's probably because you haven't lost your mind.

I lost mine today when my third audio book finished. This one was Ken Follet's World Without End, and it was 14 hours long on 12 CDs, read by the wonderful John Lee. It finished while I was driving along the coast, and I felt like I had lost a friend. Not a dear friend like Stella, of course, but John Lee's voice had become soothing to me, like the presence of another person in the car... a person who, admittedly, only wanted to tell me the story of the prosperous town of Kingsbridge, set in 14th-century England.

My first idea as to how to ameliorate the newfound silence within my little car was to turn on the radio... but, silly me, radio waves don't reach the middle of nowhere. For the first time, I experienced the feeling of utter bewilderment that comes from pressing "scan" and watching the digital numbers race by, never stopping, for minutes on end. So, to pass the time, I had conversations with Stella about where we were going. She, too, was not very entertaining, since there were no turns coming up.

It wasn't always like this. In fact, just yesterday I was touring wineries in Napa! What a blast. I had chosen some good ones from my research, and one even gave me a free tasting. I've never been able to understand how people can talk so seriously about something as inconsequential as wine, but the landscape was so beautiful that even I got a bit caught up in the whole culture of it. Here's a picture of some of the vines at the Robert Mondavi winery:

After that, it was all wilderness. My next stop was Point Reyes Station, which is a natural reserve that juts out into the Pacific. The hostel where I stayed was six miles away from "civilization," if the tiny town of Point Reyes counts as such. But, as usual, the views were spectacular:
Here I am coexisiting with nature quite peaceably:
I really loved this hostel. Unlike most of the other hostels I've stayed at, which have been populated by international students, here the guests were of all different ages and just seemed to be outdoorsy types. This bumper sticker caught my eye:In case you don't have superhero eyes, it says: "It will be a great day when our schools get all the money they need and the air force has to hold a bake sale to buy a bomber." My mom has a T-shirt with that same message on it from the early 80s when we lived in Germany and she worked at a school on an air force base! I wonder if the owners of this minivan lived at that base, or if merchandise with this message is now in mass production? Anyway, sleeping in a bunkbed in the wilderness, I was reminded of the good ole days at Camp Calumet Lutheran, and really got into the whole middle-of-the-woods mood.

I woke up early this morning because I knew I had a lot of driving to do to get to Mendocino (where I am now). Here's the coast just north of Point Reyes at 7:30am:
Once I got to Mendocino, I was able to buy another audio book (thank GOODNESS!), so I am all set for the drive to Eureka tomorrow. I might try to get all the way to the Redwood Forest, because I am so excited about exploring it. And no, not just because it's referenced in "This Land is My Land."

Day 16

Last night was heaven - or should I say Nirvana? The bed at the Zen Center was one of the most comfortable I have slept in EVER, and I slept wonderfully. I needed to relax after running around like crazy, researching nightlife in San Francisco.
The 2nd-best moment of the night was when I had to ask the scantily clad madame/bartender at the transgender bar called "Divas" to sign a form confirming that the establishment was, in fact, GLBT-friendly. He/she stared at me blankly, taking in my prim up-do, Banana Republic sundress, and pearl earrings. I shrugged and was about to make an excuse for my extraordinarily obvious inability to blend in, but he/she cracked up laughing and grabbed the form to sign, saying, "Honey, you need a drink."
The 1st-best moment of the night was crawling into bed and snuggling up with my book before dozing off. Here's what my Zen room looked like:

This morning was a little less heavenly. I was awakened by the morning meditation bell... at 5am. I was in no mood to meditate or do anything besides roll over and fall right back asleep, so I didn't get up until 7:15am for breakfast. I sauntered into the kitchen, right into the middle of all the Zen students and monks getting ready to chant for mealtime. I froze and began to back out, but one of the men took my arm and said, "No, it's okay! Look, the words to the chant are posted up there," and he pointed to the wall. So I awkwardly squeezed in between him and the next guy in long black robes, bowing my head as they began their monotone chant.
After waiting in line for some oatmeal and quiche, I grabbed a table to myself in the big dining area. I opened my book and tried to read, but I was distracted by the behavior of the center's inhabitants. They would press their palms together and bow slightly in greeting to each other, then bow again before eating, then bow when they got up... there was just an exorbitant amount of bowing going on. I had to stifle a laugh when a student dropped his bowl on the table with a clatter, then freaked out, bowing frantically to everyone at the table and to his bowl of oatmeal in rapid-fire succession.
I noticed someone with a cup of coffee and made a beeline for the door through which she had come, hoping to get some for myself. I greedily filled a mug, then looked around for some sweetener. I cleared my throat and asked the man standing next to me at the counter. "Oh, sure, here you go!" He said in a friendly way, handing me a tin of... something. I read the label: "Organic Evaporated Sugarcane Juice."
...?
Whatever, I needed caffeine, so I experiemented with this Zen version of sugar. Then I spent the rest of the day braving the hills of San Francisco yet again. I discovered a fortune cookie factory, where you can order special "adult" fortunes. How fantastic!

Now I'm in Napa, and tomorrow I'll explore six different wineries. I'm pretty excited since the only time I've been to a real winery (aside from the warehouse in northern Massachusetts that we went on as a senior field trip last month) was in Tuscany when I was still too young to sample the wine. I'm writing this section of the guide from scratch, so it should be a ton of fun - I'll really get to fulfill the writer part of my researcher/writer job title.

Days 14 and 15

I'm absolutely exhausted. I've reached the 2-week mark and I can feel myself getting burned out. So! I decided to spend the night at the San Francisco Zen Center. It's as awesome as it sounds: people live there, and get up at 5am to meditate. When I checked in, the woman at the desk told me that I would be called to meals by a bell, and that I needed to be absolutely quiet after 9pm. That's fine with me - it means I'll get all my research of the gay bars done early! I don't like staying out late researching anyway.

I spent the day researching beautiful Palo Alto yesterday, then passed through San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge, into the Marin Headlands, Sausalito, and beyond. I had to drive about 15 miles along the most spectacular coastline yet to reach the tiny village of Bolinas. Its residents clearly don't want to be found - there are no roadsigns indicating which turns to take, and if it hadn't been for Stella I never would have been able to stalk them out. Here are some pictures from the drive to Bolinas:

And here's how I felt about it:
Hooray! The wind was not making friends with my bangs, so I had to do an entire photo shoot to get a picture in which my face was not entirely obscured. That was fun. Another picture, for good measure:

Now, the reason I need the Zen Center so desperately is because after that scenic drive, I spent all day yesterday and today having brushes with death. They come in the form of redlights on the hills of San Francisco. Every street in the downtown area seems to be either on an impossibly steep hill or running perpendicular to one. That means that I encountered a stop sign or redlight at every block as I plowed upward in my trusty Focus. But after the first stop-and-go experience, I realized that Forus is not so trusty after all. Waiting at the redlight, I felt like I was chugging up the first hill on a rollercoaster - that's how precarious the angle of the street was. When the light turned green, I took a deep breath and slammed my foot on the gas. In the millisecond it took for me to move my foot from the brake to the gas, the car slid backward about a foot, nearly ramming into the huge SUV behind me. The wheels squealed like tortured cats, and I swear I left tire marks as I jerked forward... one block. Then I encountered yet another redlight, and the process repeated.
By the time I reached the San Remo hotel, my nerves were entirely shot. But there is one thing worse than driving up the hills of San Francisco: parking on them. I ended up parallel parking by making a 9-point turn, and each time I changed direction I thought my heart would stop. It didn't help that everyone else seems to know exactly how to do it, and had no patience for my sub-par maneuvering.

But it was all worth it when I entered the San Remo! It was the nicest place I've stayed so far. It's a guesthouse, not a hotel, so the bathrooms are shared, but they are classy. And the rooms are small but super cozy. The bed was cushy and comfortable, and there were massage chairs in the hallway, so before bed I sat in one for about 10 minutes. I needed it terribly - my whole body seemed frozen in the position I had assumed while hunching over the wheel, certain that death was upon me as soon as the light turned green. Here's the hallway of the San Remo. There's a skylight in the ceiling:

Now I'm going to park the car somewhere else (my 3 hours has almost run out), and plan my research of gay nightlife for the evening until the Zen people ring the dinner bell.

Day 14

The last 24 hours have been extremely mysterious. The end.
...
Okay, fine, I'll fill you in. Last night I checked out the Mystery Spot, a warped cabin deep in the woods of Santa Cruz where trees grow crookedly and the laws of nature don't apply. Because I was doing research for a guide, they let me in for free, and I ran to catch up to a tour that had just left. The tour guide bothered me at first because he spoke in that typical lilting, obviously rehearsed voice that so many tour guides adopt. He also freaked me out because he was very tall and lanky with a narrow face, and he seemed disconcertingly at home at the Mystery Spot. First, he showed us a plank that looked like it was higher at one end... but rolled a ball UP the plank, from the lower end to the higher one!
No way. I needed to see more. So he took us inside the cabin, which looked like this:The cabin was absolutely nuts. Because of its angle on the side of a hill, it was impossible to stand upright... except in the strangest places, like this table:
I am having the time of my life in that picture. Especially because I love asking strangers, "Could you take a picture of me?" and ignoring their pitying looks as they realize that not only am I traveling by myself... I am traveling by myself to the Mystery Spot.
The worst part about the Mystery Spot was that Lanky Tour Guide never told us what was up. He spouted some bogus explanations about aliens and a nearby lava bed, but I want to return to the Mystery Spot with a physicist and just say, "What... the hell. Really. This spot is so mysterious, now tell me why."

I spent the night in a hostel in Santa Cruz, then woke up super early to start researching at 7:30am... but nothing opened until at least 9am. Hostels are weird because you can't just sleep in as late as you want. Once people around you start waking up, so do you. Since I was up and useless, I decided to check out the Boardwalk. Here's a shot of it from the nearby wharf:

Notice from the picture: Boardwalks are creepy in the early morning light, partly because they are shut down and littered with crushed popcorn boxes and old ticket stubs from the previous night. Walking around the Boardwalk, I became aware of the distinct sensation that I was being watched by a vampire. The vampire part is key: my hypothetical stalker wasn't just some homeless beach bum. I became convinced that the vampire was lurking somewhere near the old wooden rollercoaster, behind one of the arcade games. How did I know this? Once I had safely escaped the Boardwalk area, I pondered the source of my fright.

Then it hit me, and I was transported back in time about 3 years to my friend Gizmo's couch, where we watched a young, undead Kiefer Sutherland lead a gang of vampires as they wrecked havoc on a California beach town in the 1987 classic The Lost Boys. After doing some research (i.e. looking it up on Wikipedia) I discovered that The Lost Boys had been filmed at the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz. The very same Boardwalk that gave me the chills early this morning. There's one mystery solved.

But I was about to encounter another. It came in the form of the Winchester Mystery House, a gigantic Victorian Mansion owned by Sarah Winchester. She was the heiress to the Winchester rifle fortune. After her husband and baby died, a psychic told her that in order to escape the spirits of those killed by Winchester rifles, Sarah needed to move west and begin the never-ending construction of a mansion. So she did (duh, the psychic said to). Construction continued on her house 24 hours a day for 38 years straight. It's a crazy maze of rooms with a staircase that leads straight to the ceiling:

and doors that lead to nowhere, in order to confuse the spirits. Here's part of the house from the 4th-floor balcony:
Was Sarah Winchester a nutcase, or was she really communing with threatening spirits?

It's a mystery. Surprise!

Day 13

I have been camped out at Coffeetopia in Santa Cruz for about 3 hours, since the hostel at which I'm staying apparently doesn't open its doors until 5pm. It's okay though because I got to finish up and email in my 3rd copy batch - I'm moving right along!

Today was a fantastic day. It didn't start out that way, though. I researched Monterey in the morning, after enjoying a continental breakfast at the motel. THANK YOU, Sea Breeze Lodge, for providing an actual continental breakfast. For future reference, all other motels, a basket of 3 stale muffins jammed in behind an empty coffee pot does not constitute a breakfast. I enjoyed a delicious slice of banana bread, a glass of orange juice, and took a coffee to drink in the car on the way into town.

When I arrived at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, I was feeling a little tired but otherwise happy until I stepped out of the car to put money in the meter. I became aware of two middle-aged men standing nearby, staring at me. Leering would be a more accurate description, in fact. I turned to them and said, "Good morning." "Good morning," they responded, not taking their eyes from my breasts. "Are you serious?!" I snapped, obviously pissed off. "You are staring." They looked up, shocked. One of them said, "You - uh- have something..." and then they pretty much ran away. I looked down and - to my horror - realized I had spilled my coffee all down the front of my sweater as I drove from the motel. How could I not have noticed? The cup must have been leaky. I was humiliated, especially because I had rudely yelled at the men who were just taken aback that I would prance around in a sweater covered with coffee.

That put a damper on my morning for a while, but I got over it and looked around Monterey, a beautiful residential town. The whole town is obsessed with Steinbeck, since he wrote Cannery Row about the main strip downtown. I had to drive through Castroville on my way to Santa Cruz, and that's when my day got awesome.

Castroville is the least special of any town in the world except for one thing: it is the artichoke capital of the world.

I LOVE ARTICHOKES.

They are my lifeblood. My mother prepares steamed artichokes for my birthday dinner every year. I just cannot say enough good things about artichokes. I had to research the Giant Artichoke Restaurant, which sounded promising especially given my tastes, so I decided to eat lunch there. Here's how I felt about it:
It was better than I could ever have imagined. Outside of the restaurant, there is a giant statue of an artichoke:

Yes. That exists.

I ordered a steamed artichoke with melted butter (they wanted to dump all kinds of other nonsense on it, like sour cream and cheese, but I told them NO WAY) and enjoyed it immensely.

Now I'm about to go research "The Mystery Spot" here in Santa Cruz. I don't know what it is.... seriously. It's a mystery.

Day 12

What. a. day. I'm finally in an adorable little motel near Monterey, but it took forever to get here! Today I planned to research Big Sur. Big Sur is not really a town, more like a region below Monterey with lots of camping and outdoorsy things to do. The drive there was absolutely breathtaking:Driving along, I saw signs for a sea lion view point. I figured it meant that you could pull over, scan the waves, and perhaps catch a glimpse of the backside of a sea lion as it dove under the water. But I pulled over anyway, and here's what I saw:
Look at all of them! They were absolutely hilarious, waving their flippers and scooting along in the sand. Although they are probably the least graceful beings on earth, they love to cuddle, so I can relate to them. But some of them looked revolting, like they had leprosy or something. After reading the information on the little posted signs, I realized they probably were molting. Still gross. I continued along the coast, and with every turn I gasped at how spectacular the scenery was. I kept pulling over to take pictures, but they don't capture the way it felt to be so immersed in the most beautiful wilderness:
Here's the road I was driving on, as it wraps around the mountain ahead of me:
All of a sudden, I saw cars stopped up ahead. This woman dressed in fireman(firewoman?)'s clothing, holding a walkie-talkie, was telling everyone to pull over and get out of their cars so she could explain what was going on. I said, "I just want to get to Big Sur."
She looked at me. "You can't. It's on fire."
...?
How can an entire region be on fire? My blank stare must have indicated she should explain further, because she continued: "There are wildfires that are totally out of control in this area, and there's been a landslide, too, so the road's closed. You all have to turn around and go back."
She described a detour I could take, through a military base, that would still lead north. Getting back in the car, I began to drive back the way I had come for about 15 miles, before turning off up a precariously steep mountain road.
This road had no guardrails. At times it was only wide enough for one car. My heart was in my throat as I clutched the steering wheel, leaning forward in my seat as far as I could and praying out loud. At one point I pulled over because I thought I was going to have a panic attack right there in the car. I gazed over the impossibly precarious ravine before me to the mountains beyond and, being entirely alone and unlikely to offend anyone, started singing The Sound of Music. The hills really did feel alive, although I knew that if I misjudged a tight corner I no longer would be.
Singing made me feel considerably better:

After tempting death for another 40 minutes, I finally reached another backed up line of cars, this time at a military check point. Apparently, there is a military base high in the mountains near Big Sur - shh! I watched the guard as he checked licenses and registrations of each car pulling up to the checkpoint - he was sweating from the oppressive heat and seemed pissed off that he had to direct randoms through his base as a detour. I pulled up and smiled at him as I rolled down the window. He gruffly inspected my license and rental car agreement forms, then caught my eye as he handed them back and smiled, too. "You have beautiful eyes!" He exclaimed. "You just made my day!"

I laughed aloud. How fantastic that my eyes could make his day! Random kindness seems to be a trend as I encounter more people in this state, and it makes me glad to be moving here. His compliment made my day, and I drove the remaining 70 miles to Carmel-by-the-Sea in a good mood.

Carmel-by-the-Sea is a very silly place. The buildings don't have numbers! So in the guide it will say, "On Ocean St. between 4th and 5th" or something... and you have to wander the whole block peering in windows to find the right place. Other than its inconceivable silliness, Carmel is a quaint little town full of rich people spending money in art galleries. I decided to stay overnight in Monterey, where the prices are a little less over my budget.

Days 10 and 11

Thank goodness for Motel 6, or I would be sleeping on the beach tonight. That wouldn't be too too bad, since the beach in Cambria looks like this:
Unfortunately, while I didn't foresee being in Cambria tonight, everyone else and their whole family did, so there were no vacancies in town. Thank goodness for Stella, who recommended the nearby Motel 6. It's actually one of the nicest motels I've stayed in so far, so I can't complain. Cambria is a darling little town feels like a mountain village even though it's right near the beach. It's too bad I was so exhausted when I got here that all I wanted to do was research very quickly, eat a delicious quesadilla, and come back here to pass out.

This morning I interviewed for Teach California Charter Schools, which feeds into the charter school system here. I slept at Chief's house last night which meant I felt very loved, but didn't get much sleep. When she and two of her friends who lived with her when she was abroad in Rome decided to go out to a bar in Manhattan Beach, I opted to go to bed so I could wake up at 7am and be ready to interview.

I was awakened at 3:00 am by whooping and hollering right outside the bedroom window, and soon realized that a game of beer pong was ensuing in the backyard. I also realized that I was soaked in sweat because it was about 1000 degrees in Chief's house. Not that I wasn't accustomed to sleeping in the sweltering heat... but now I was wide awake. I felt conflicted: although I was annoyed at being roused in the middle of the night, I knew Chief and the girls were drunk, and I also really appreciated Chief letting me crash in her bed. I was debating moving into a bedroom farther from the backyard when the door opened and Chief popped her head in.
She saw me sitting up in a pool of my own sweat and smiled: "Oh good! You're awake. I made you something, come on out in the kitchen!"
Three delicious taquitos and about 30 minutes of incoherent conversation later, food coma set in and I returned to bed.

The interview this morning went quite well. The part that had scared me the most was the model lesson that all the interviewees had to prepare. Mine was a middle school music theory lesson about using notation to make a measure of 4 beats. It went smoothly (I had practiced on Chief and Co. the night before), as did the discussion group, the writing sample, and the individual interview. My mother has been warning me that teaching is much more trying and time-consuming than I would expect - this is disconcerting since she is a teacher herself. But it's something I feel like I need to try. I don't plan to make a career out of it, but in the interim between graduation and grad school it seems like a good option.