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.

Days 8 and 9

I am sitting in my hotel room in San Luis Obispo, completely naked and with all the lights off. No, I have not decided to jump on the homemade porn bandwagon that has become so prevalent in southern California. It is simply 110 degrees here, and since my ample budget won’t allow for a decent hotel, I am suffering in this $55/night hell hole, taking breaks from typing up copy every so often to stick my head in the freezer (though air conditioning was apparently too much of a luxury for the Los Padres Inn, at least the half-sandwich that I’m saving from lunch is cooling in the refrigerator/freezer).

However, San Luis Obispo has led me to a very important realization: I am too old to wear Abercrombie and Fitch clothes. Oh, I know it seems I should have reached this conclusion long ago (say, twelve years ago when I went through puberty) but I never really thought about it until I was dragging my sweaty body along the burning streets of this city, desperately searching for Woodstock’s Pizza Parlor to confirm whether it does indeed serve all-you-can-eat pizza and bottomless soda for $8 (it does).
All of a sudden, my overheated, blurry consciousness became aware of offensively loud pop music and that unmistakable scent of Abercrombie cologne, both wafting from the doors of the store to my right along with – most importantly – blessed air conditioning. I took refuge, ducking inside the cool interior of a shop in which I thought I’d never again set foot. Once I had had a taste of the air conditioning I became greedy, and decided to browse so as to prolong my stay indoors. I asked one of the devastatingly attractive sales boys if they had any dresses, and he led me to a rack of… dresses? They couldn’t be. But he assured me they were, and even led me to a dressing room with two of these “dresses” draped over his arm. I shimmied into the nearly sheer, $55 piece of tiny cloth and turned to look in the mirror. My breasts looked like I had given birth to four children, all of whom would have been irreparably scarred by the sight of my rear-end, of which this “dress” exposed more than a peek.
I checked the tag: XL.
I tore off the offending item and ran out of the heavenly air conditioning, the impossibly loud music following me like a taunt. The heat outside surrounded me like a blanket, but I was pleased to see Woodstock’s Pizza Parlor directly across the street. I trotted off, content with the realization that I have reached that age at which Abercrombie and Fitch is no longer appropriate attire. For this new knowledge I say: “Thank you, missionaries who could not be bothered to spend the extra two minutes it would have taken to realize it is NOT a good idea to build a city in the middle of the desert.”

That one horrifying experience aside, today and yesterday have been filled mostly with pleasant driving. I traveled from Ventura to Santa Barbara, then along mountain passes to this city of heat. Santa Barbara, of course, is absolutely breathtaking. Here is a picture I took of the sailboats from the pier:After finishing my research yesterday, I spent an hour or so sitting on a bench in the shade of State Street, the main drag, reading and people watching.

Today, on the way to San Luis Obispo, I stopped in Solvang, which looks like it is straight out of Disney World’s It’s a Small World ride. The Danes who settled here did not want to let any part of their culture go, so they created a little world of their own. The result is a mix of charm and something out of Are You Afraid of the Dark? For example, windmills like this:
coexist with unbelievable manifestations of creepiness, like this:

That's all for today. If you will excuse me, I have to go bathe in my own sweat.

Days 6 and 7

I wrote this post yesterday, but then the internet got spotty so I had to wait until today to post it:

It's not really late enough to be blogging for the day, but there is no internet access at my motel (another endearingly creepy little place), and I don't plan to hang out at Starbucks all day. I'm in Ventura, an adorable town that seems to wish it were in the Old West. The town center certainly is adorable and bustling, but I am staying a bit out of town where there is nothing to do except have frightening premonitions about my imminent death-by-stalker-hiding-in-the-shower.
Today was just a lot of driving and researching along the scenic Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu. I bought The Nanny Diaries on audio book at Border's yesterday, and am having a blast listening to it as I drive. I wanted to save money and take some audio books out of the library, but unfortunately to get a library card in Santa Monica I needed to have proof of my permanent residence... which I am lacking. Oh, well.

Last night was an absolutely blast! The plan was to stay with Klondike, just like SPRING BREAK '08!!! so I went to her house in Santa Monica in the early afternoon when I finished researching around Venice. I loved researching Venice because now I feel like I have a sense of the place where I'm going to live in just a month! Klondike was babysitting and didn't get home for a couple hours, so I sat on her roofdeck and read. It was very relaxing, and nice and cool because of the breeze from the ocean.

We drove into Beverly Hills for dinner at an adorable Italian place called La Scala (I figured I could splurge on dinner since I wasn't paying for a hotel), then headed into Hollywood to see our friend, Speedy, in an improv show. Speedy was roommates with Moody Moon at Harvard, and is equally nuts, but in a different way. His girlfriend, Anchor, is so cute and friendly. We all went over to a new bar on Santa Monica Blvd. after the show and shared a couple pitchers of Sangria. I'm so bummed that Klondike isn't going to be around in the fall (she's going to get her Masters in education). The highlight of the night was definitely when a well-meaning homeless man walked by our patio table and offered to sing for us. He said, "If you don't like the song, you don't have to pay me and I'll be on my way."
But we loved the song! He sang that song, "Ain't Too Proud to Beg" - I think it's called that anyway. He knew all the lyrics to all the verses, and started stamping his feet in a little dance, clapping and snapping. Here's a picture of Speedy with him:
And here's one of us all together:

Days 4 and 5

Today I ran around researching Hollywood and West Hollywood - what fun! I called Scarlett just to leave a message saying, "Oh, I'm just strolling around Hollywood, no big deal." But I certainly was not strolling, it was more like speed walking, since I had to finish up and meet Klondike and Eel for lunch at The Griddle. Mmmm, The Griddle. I'm not just talking about the food - the waitstaff at that place is, without exception, absolutely gorgeous. Klondike says it's because they're all actors, and The Griddle happens to be really flexible about taking time off for auditions. Luckily, it's included in Let's Go, so I had an excuse to sit down and enjoy some french toast, eggs, and bacon. YUM.

Eel had to go to a softball game (he's in a league here... I find that hilarious. You would, too, if you saw him running around in his Sox cap and getting all anxious that his teammates won't show up to practice!), so I decided to go back to his apartment and type up my research for the day. When I tried the keys in the front door, however, they didn't work. I called Eel, and he guessed that he must have given me the wrong keys.
Hm.
I wandered around the side of the building, and saw that the french doors leading from the balcony into Eel's bedroom on the second floor were open. But how to climb up there? After rummaging around in the garage, I found a ladder, and dragged it over to the balcony. It was not high enough. Another trip to the garage yielded a very dusty folding table, on which I propped the ladder and prepared to die by falling and breaking my neck. As I was attempting to stabilize the ladder (which was disconcertingly rickety), one of Eel's neighbors came out of her apartment. Instead of freaking out and calling the police, she offered to help me by holding the base of the ladder. That made me feel much safer, and I proceeded to slowly climb up to the top of the ladder, leap to the balcony, and, gripping the wrought-iron railing for dear life, swing my legs over to the other side. My fear of heights was not helped by the neighbor's incessant warnings of, "Oops! You're going to fall." I did not fall, and soon I was standing on the balcony, covered in dust and sweat, and very triumphant. Here's a picture of the table-ladder:

Yesterday morning I had to get up super early to take the CBEST. That's the test all teachers in California have to take and pass. I was a little bit nervous that it would have difficult-ish math questions... even SAT math would be tricky for me now, since I haven't used more than basic math skills in about three years. But I have been so busy that I had no time to prepare! It was such a familiar feeling of nervousness as I waited to be handed a test booklet and listened to the unnecessary directions read by the proctor. But then I opened the test... and was insulted, literally. And saddened. Insulted because the hardest math question on the test was something along the lines of: "If Sally received these 5 test scores: 90, 75, 83, 92, 100, what is her average?" I kid you not. I almost laughed at the idea that I would have studied for this thing. But I was saddened because was this really the standard to which teachers are held in California? Are they so desperate for teachers that they devise a test to merely screen for those applicants who never finished grade school? It strengthened my will to become a teacher, at least for a little bit. Apparently, they need me! Unless I score below a 100% on that test, in which case I will jump off a cliff and sadly never become a teacher.

I decided to take the rest of yesterday off and hang out with my friends in the area. They all had the day off work (obvi, it was Saturday) and it would be lonely and silly to take my designated day off, Monday, and just sit in Eel's apartment by myself. Moody Moon was having a barbeque, so Eel and I went over there in the afternoon. Klondike was there! I was so excited to see her because we had a lot of catching up to do. The barbeque was fun, aside from there being no food. Everyone was supposed to bring their own, so Eel and I stopped to buy some sausages. I don't like sausages, but I assumed there would be some sharing going on... I was wrong. So I just stuffed my face with potato salad (surprise!) and the cupcakes that Klondike had brought. Delicious! I even got to practice my Italian, since one of Moody Moon's roommates is from southern Italy. He tried to seduce me in Italian, but it didn't work because I was too focused on drinking margaritas. Just had to ask Eel how to spell "margaritas," and he thought it had a "u" in it. Sheesh. Here are some pictures from the barbeque:
Klondike is especially attractive right after I accidentally spit on her.

Tonight I have to go out again and research some nightlife, which should be awesome but tiring. I'm especially looking forward to the fabulous gay bars in West Hollywood, which I've noticed are hopping even during the day.

Day 3

I woke up early this morning to take pictures of Laguna Beach. Here are some of the best ones:
This one is out the car window at a red light as I passed through Newport Beach again... I got an annoyed look from the person in the SUV next to me, who apparently thought it was crazier to snap a photo out your car window at a red light than to drive around in the Titanic giving a big middle finger to the environment.Then I drove on to Huntington Beach. Huntington Beach is like a scene out of a movie... it's insane. Surfers bop around out on the waves like seagulls, and the whole town seems like the inspiration to a Beach Boys song. Maybe it was, I forget.
Oops! I must have stumbled into the alternate universe of Saved By the Bell during that season in which they are all inexplicably transported to work at Stacy's beach club. Here's a shot from the end of the pier - I had to walk all the way to the end to research Ruby's, a chain restaurant that somehow got the absoulte best location in town, with panoramic views of the ocean.

Anyway, after Huntington Beach I moved right along to Los Angeles! I saw a flat-rate parking lot and decided to park there, find a Starbucks, and do some map research using Google maps and the reference maps I've picked up from various locations. So I reached into my purse to ask Stella where the nearest Starbucks was... and pulled out HER EMPTY CASE. My heart stopped. Not only would my dad teleport across the country and kill me if anything happened to Stella (she was a birthday gift, thanks Daddy!), I would quit Let's Go right now because there's no way I could do this research without her. I booked it back to the parking lot, past the sketchy-looking parking lot attendants (okay... they weren't particularly sketchy, they were just chilling there), bleeping the little car-unlocky thing as I ran, and threw open the car door. There was Stella, hiding beneath a binder full of receipts. STELLA! Never do that to me again.

I got ahead in my research, but not too ahead because of the horrible traffic! Traffic is hard for me to deal with, because I am always tempted to do something else while I sit in it. I figure, I might as well try to be productive. But I soon learned that multi-tasking while one of the tasks is monitering the movement of the traffic in which you are sitting is never a good idea. About six almost-accidents later, I had parked my car in West Hollywood at Eel's house and was safely typing up the day's research at an adorable cafe called Marco's.

Eel took me to dinner at Taylor's Steakhouse, and I got a delicious, juicy steak. Mmmm. After three days of graham crackers and whatever free breakfast the hotels provide, steak was quite a treat! Tomorrow is going to be busy, but kind of a day off. I have to wake up so early to take the CBEST, the California Basic Education Standardized Test, or basically a test that makes sure you can do elementary-level math and reading comprehension so you can get certified to teach in this state. The test starts in six hours... good night!

Day 2

Today I am a little bummed, since I spent almost double my stipend... I guess I should have figured out that there were no budget accomodations in Laguna Beach. But since I'm staying with Eel in Los Angeles for the next three nights, I should be able to make up for the expense. It's strange writing down every single thing I spend money on - $1.50 on meters today! - but maybe I should get in the habit of doing it every day, even when I'm no longer on a daily stipend. It really makes me think about purchasing anything extra.

I woke up this morning (alive, not murdered in my sleep, thank goodness) and was disappointed to discover that the coffee machine at the hotel was broken. That meant I could justify buying breakfast at The Longboarder, one of the restaurants I had to research in Oceanside. "I need coffee!" I told Stella, who clearly disapproved and almost refused to guide me to the right address. "... and oatmeal, and fresh fruit to put in the oatmeal." It was delicious.

Next up was Mission San Juan Capistrano, which is on the way to Laguna Beach. They gave me free admission when I flashed my badass press pass, but I wish I had had more time to wander around the mission. I always am fascinated by really old places. I think about all the people whose feet have packed down the dirt on the paths long before mine. I said a prayer in the Serra Chapel (named after Father Serra, who founded the mission in 1776) and thought up some wonderfully flowery adjectives to describe the picturesque courtyard, then figured I'd better keep moving.

Now, unlike most kids of my generation, I never watched Laguna Beach. So I didn't know what to expect from this (in?)famous town. Driving north along the PCH, I crested a hill and saw before me the most magnificent cliff dropping off to a white-sand beach and huge, crashing waves. It was so breathtakingly beautiful! And the town itself is adorable; Ocean and Forest Blvds., which make up the hub of activity, have the feel of downtown Chatham (leave it to me to make a Cape reference). But the people here are much more laid back, since they know they have more than just two or three short months in which to enjoy the beautiful weather.

When I finished researching in Laguna Beach, I decided to move ahead to Newport Beach. Driving down Balboa Peninsula, I was in awe that people actually live there year-round. They live on the beach! Where do they work? Assuming they do work, how do they bring themselves to sit in an office at all? If I lived there, I would have more than a little trouble convincing myself I wasn't on vacation every day.

Then Stella tried to kill me. I asked her how to get back to the mainland and she said, "In 0.2 miles, turn right on Palm Street." So, in 0.2 miles, I turned right on Palm Street... and found myself face-to-face with the ocean (if the ocean had a face), with only a rickety-looking wooden fence protecting me from death-by-drowning-in-a-car. I looked at Stella, stricken at this betrayal. Then she said, "Board ferry." Aha, there was a ferry station nearby. But I was not about to pay whatever exorbitant fee they charged to get to the mainland when I could easily drive there myself. I thought Stella had my back.
We are still having trust issues, that's all I'll say.

Day 1

I'm a sad sight to see: sitting cross-legged on the bed of a Motel 6, eating a sandwich and watching That 70s Show. Only now I've finished the sandwich and I'm blogging, so... I guess it's a little less sad. Anyway, I realized something important today: I am going to move through this roadtrip a lot more quickly than I had thought. I have one person to thank, and her name is Stella.

Stella is my GPS. Kitty, with whom I was talking on the phone this evening, told me I should name my GPS to make it seem like someone is in the car with me, and perhaps to feel less silly as I inevitably respond to its directions with, "Okay, taking a left." Now I can say, "Okay, Stella! Thanks, Stella!" Stella means "star" in Italian, and it seems appropriate since my GPS is like my North Star (in that I never get lost as long as I have faith in it). Thank you, Daddy, for giving me Stella for my birthday! Best gift ever.

Last night, I was that loser in the hostel that nobody meets. I really wanted to be social and sit outside on the deck drinking and talking with the other guests, but I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I crawled into bed in my clothes at 9:17pm, and was asleep on-and-off for the next ten hours. I woke up before any of the other girls, got all my stuff together, and went into the kitchen for some free coffee and toast. There I encountered a Frenchman who spoke impeccable English, and who was so enticing and cute that I ended up putting off leaving for an hour and a half as we enjoyed cup after cup of coffee around the table. When I finally told him I ought to go start working, he asked me to write down my name, so he could look me up on Facebook. That made me smile.

Researching, as I said before, went very quickly. I love driving the little Ford Focus, but I need some CDs or something. I'm tired of listening to Spanish talk radio. I think I'll take out a bunch of music at the library in LA, and then return them once I move there! Books on tape would be nice, too... I hope they have a good selection.

I have to admit that even though I feel extremely independent and awesome running around entirely on my own, I am a little scared. While I was showering an hour ago, I thought I saw a shadow on the other side of the shower curtain, and frantically looked around me for something with which to defend myself against a crazy murderer... but could come up with nothing better than my razor, which - conveniently for shaving my underarms, but inconveniently for inflicting bodily harm upon an attacker - has a safety guard. And right before showering, as I was getting my laptop set up, I nearly had a heart attack when I observed in my peripheral vision a dark shadow crossing in front of the window. Of course, it was only the maid with her cart full of cleaning supplies.

Oh, fantastic. On CNN, which I have been watching in the background to make me feel less alone, this just in: "Breaking News: 2 young girls brutally murdered and left in a ditch. Cold-blooded killer may be walking the street tonight!"
That is a direct quote. Sweet dreams to everyone who will not be up all night imagining scenes from Psycho. I'm going to change the channel to watch Jeopardy!

Day 0

I am sitting in a hilariously cliché international hostel with equally cliché backpacker/surfer people. Next to me is an Irish surfer smoking a cigarette, his blonde curls escaping from the front of his hoodie as he gazes off into nothing. Across from me is a somewhat awkward guy in a shirt and tie, who wants to know all about Harvard. No, Klondike and Scarlett, I did not prance in and say, “Hello! I’m Megz and I went to Harvard” (wistful emphasis on the “went”...). I was just stupid enough to wear a Harvard zip-up (it’s surprisingly chilly here in San Diego!). I’ve never slept in a hostel before, and am hoping that I will be exhausted enough to pass out even if I’m surrounded by creepers and/or snorers. I only got about two hours of sleep last night, since my flight left so early this morning. I suppose I slept a bit on the plane, but I was so excited and nervous that it was rather fitful (and there was turbulence for a lot of the flight). I wanted to get a good last look at Boston as the plane took off, but unfortunately, my window was facing away from the skyline. Instead, I saw the clouds draw nearer and nearer to my face, then I was in their midst, and eventually they became a pillowly barrier between me and my former life. How poetic, I thought.

As soon as I departed the plane, I went to the ladies room. I was washing my hands next to a trashy-looking forty-something who wanted desperately to be a twenty-something, and I was judging her bleached hair and acrylic nails harshly. But then she reached over to the paper towels and offered me a handful first, before taking some for herself. This tiny gesture of politeness left an important impression on me: what a warm welcome to the state of California! Maybe everyone will be as kind. Maybe I should judge people less.

I arrived to a whole bunch of rental car drama that eventually got sorted out. Not only did it get sorted out, but the Avis agent with whom I was negotiating waived the under-25 rental fee, which would have added up to almost $800 extra. Thank you, Roberto from Avis. My second human interaction in California was even more positive than my first, and I was in a stellar mood. To make matters better, my rental car is an adorable red Ford Focus, not a scary old Pontiac or similar, as I had been fearing.

After checking in at my hostel, I decided to drive into downtown San Diego to have a look around, since I won’t be researching this city. I browsed through the current Let’s Go guide to find a good restaurant, and settled on The Cadillac Diner, because I felt like a burger (and because it had a thumbpick). I entered the 50s throw-back carnival a bit cautiously, since I’m not one of those self-assured people who feels entirely comfortable announcing, “Just one, please.” I was seated at a booth right next to the DJ who was happily spinning 50s tunes and rambling aimlessly into his old radio-style microphone. Then my waiter came over and threw straws in my face. I kid you not – fistfuls of straws. I looked up, perplexed, and he yelled, “Hi! I’m Biff!”
No, he was not.
“You mean like the obnoxious nemesis in Back to the Future?”
He nodded. “Yup! Only less obnoxious.”
Hm. That was debatable.

But he did make me an absolutely delicious chocolate milkshake, so I forgave him and left him a generous tip. Then I went outside and wandered around some more, feeling a little silly. Eventually, after having purchased some graham crackers for the road tomorrow, I returned to my car (which had been valet parked, quite unnecessarily and against my wishes). The valet approached me and asked, “Did you find a bar where you can watch the Celtics game?” Bewildered for a moment, I shook my head before realizing he was making assumptions based on my Harvard zip-up.
That’s the first time that’s ever happened, of course.
But we struck up a conversation about Boston teams (he was from Rhode Island, a state which I have come to think of as a sad glom-on to Boston’s fan base), and eventually he waved me away without accepting my parking fee. How friendly! This has been a lovely first day, but of course, I haven’t done any research yet. Day One, tomorrow, might be a different story.