Honest to God, folks, there is NO WAY I can keep up with this trip. I think it is like what Hemingwaysaid: you can only write about Paris when you are in New York, and you can only write about New York when you are in Paris, or something like that. So, while I am in California, I am too busy LIVING IT!
But I will not complain. I will endeavour to catch up with myself, which is absolutely impossible, because I am so ALIVE with it right now. (And I confess, I did have one really good cucumber and Tabasco martini served by the incredible Karen Seeley….)
our host Karen Seeley at the Santa Maria Inn
Here is an in-the-moment rendition of my roadtrip today, taken from my notebook:
Went to Self-Realization Fellowship Meditation Garden, at the advice of Claudia who I will tell you about in a separate blog because she deserves it 
. We were coming from just above San Diego travelling North, hoping to hit just above LA. In our handy-dandy TomTom GPS, I entered our goal: Ventura, CA. Street: Anywhere….
On the way…
- steve the morning of
Marine corps practices in the desert, rescue helicopter, hovering above ground the size of a tank. Several tanks line the ground against the brown dirt, smokey air hanging over clouds.
Mexican music popping, tuba players sounding through the air…
5 N to LA N
Close eyes and feel and smell…
cool still
smokey dusty
mexican fire
& pigs
like cuba
tank trucks going by
yellow
forearms cool
hair whipping behind
my wrap against
the back of my head
rumbling under the car wheels
“Spanish polka!” steve says
slapping his thigh
rolling by…
hazy sage green
ocean hanging
under cloud.
a hawk finding
prey & freed soar
up ahead.
“yo amigo”
San Diego goodbye, though we never met
met your blood (Claudia)
and grew warmer.
“Adios”, he said.
“Hasta luego!” I called back.
“Vaya con Dios” she said.
I will. Thank You God.
I Am.
Where to stop?
1. Ventura? Coastal. Lots of swanky shops. Gorgeous. Nah, let’s keep going.
2. Monecito? hills, hidden little spanish villas in lushly lined laneways.. Nah, we need a wireless connection. Nearest? McDonald’s.
3. Santa Barbara! Aha! a bit rougher than New Orlean’s. lush but run down, busy coastal waterfront, hidden dusty alleyways, with junkyards. No thanks. What?? No McDonald’s?? Outta here.
4. Funny little Goleta. Maybe… no…. maybe. Energy too stagnant. Not enough going on. Not even still in a good way. Just small. ON we go.
5, 6, 7? Found McDonald’s wireless pod.. Aaaah.. Barefoot into the bathroom, run back to the car. Top down. Found a place: How about:
Santa Maria… a little place just north east of here. Close to Luis Obisbo. Close your eyes. Throw a dart. Santa Maria Historic Inn for 89.
YES!
We are at the AMAZING Santa Maria Historic Inn at… you guessed it, Santa Maria, CA. This is what happens when you let go of “the plan” and just ARRIVE….
[slideshow]
Highway road into the hills and ranches of Central Californ-I-A. Wineries on a hilltop. Horses grazing nearby. The POP of life going on inside the car.
Life breezing by.
Here’s me in the car. Who needs sunglasses and a floppy hat in the side country.
Let the Woman Drive.
Day Who Knows…. We drive the coast. Steve takes me into the not-so-foothills of the Pacific Highway 1, rounding about and entering into tree-lined lanes that smell like Eucalyptus. We stop at Morro Bay and take in the big rock, the clam chowder and the sea salty air. The air is damp and hovers, not hot, for most of the ride, leaving a film on your hair. Until you reach the desert stretches and true foothills of mid-CA…
We stop at Harmony for a wine tour, population 18, the red Zinfadel peppery and great; the white not so much but the label says it all.
By the time we tire, we are just below San Fran, and make it only as far as Monterrey. Gambling with Priceline, we find a Marriott at half price, and get upgraded with kindness to an Executive suite. Perfect.
Why plan when you can just Land?
Self-realization fellowship meditation garden (ie., zen wahoo!)
Here is the actual quote, though different than I remember:
If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.
Ernest Hemingway
I imagine it is the same with California.
TO BE CONTINUED.
