WEST COAST ADVENTURE - DAY 4 of 9

MODERN-DAY BEATNIKS – July 14

We awoke this morning to some lively mariachi music playing on our hotel alarm clock radio.  And we were off!  Aubrey may have preferred to stay behind in Chula Vista because not only did the sunburn on my face define a clear image of my sunglasses when I was not wearing them, but I’d chosen to don a blue Nike hat over clipped-back hair to protect my sun-seared part from further damage.  It is safe to say that Aubrey will be maintaining a wide distance between herself and her mother today, lest she is somehow associated with such a fashion disaster and forced to break one of her contract rules.

San Juan Capistrano Mission was the first stop on the agenda today.  It was beautifully landscaped with fountains, cactus and flowering plants tucked on every available surface around the old crumbling stone of the Mission. 

The audio tour was fascinating.  The mission’s great stone church was all but leveled by an 1812 earthquake. We were privileged to light a candle for a friend at Father Serra’s Church, the oldest building in California.  The 300 year old Baroque altar is from Spain. 

Though we were four months tardy for the return of the migrating swallows of Capistrano, we saw evidence of their mud nests awaiting their next return.  In one particular Mission garden, we were charmed by speedy hummingbirds zipping between flowers and citrus trees.  They moved too quickly for me to capture a photo.  There are less swallows returning to Capistrano every year.  They are now favoring less urbanized areas, like the San Bernardino Mountains. 

We headed north and drove a stretch on route 405, a highway made infamous by OJ Simpson during his pathetic attempt to flee from the law in his white SUV.  This highway was at points 7 lanes wide and too far from the coast to be any fun at all.  Jim was fairly white-knuckled behind the wheel, and not much rattles him when he is driving. In just two days, portions of route 405 will be closed for repair.  In Los Angeles, the media has started referring to this as “Carmageddon” and “The Carpocolypse.”  I’m glad we will be north of that mess by the 16^th.  I can’t imagine what they will do to reroute 7 lanes of speeding traffic.  It seems inconceivable that a traffic sign directing Santa Monica traffic to the “5 left lanes” is even factual.   

As we entered the Venice Beach area we were met by some crazy traffic.  And worse yet, we are beginning to believe we are a magnet for disturbing crime scenes.  When we stepped out of the car and onto the beach, we noticed a police helicopter flying pretty low.  Soon thereafter, a second police helicopter was sighted.  We realized that entire blocks, streets and alleys were sectioned off, staffed with officers carrying rather large guns.  Snipers were in position in several locations and by the time we left (quite a bit later) the loud announcement from the police chopper was saying things like, “We are searching for an armed perpetrator.  For your safety, please return to your homes and businesses.”  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

   

  

The actual beach portion of Venice Beach is not that much different than the Jersey shore at first glance.  But a few hundred feet from the movement of the waves on the shore, things are quite dissimilar.  There was a skate park and an area for organized graffiti.  I would have thought that was an oxymoron prior to my Venice Beach initiation.  Muscle beach also actually exists, where people pump iron in the sand.  But by far the most memorable section of Venice Beach is the street market running parallel with the beach.  Imagine “earthy-crunchy” meets “beach chic.”  Throw that into a pot with a paintbrush and some hemp.  If you add a side order of rollerblade and a large dash of attitude, you’ve got a pretty accurate picture of the dish being served. 

Several medical “Kush Doctors” were vying for the opportunity to diagnose passersby with a medical condition requiring marijuana therapy.

The scent of incense was hanging in the air.  I saw lots of dreadlocks and enough swirly patterns of tie-dye to make my eyes feel pretty psychedelic. 

My children have been amusing themselves by mercilessly teasing their parents. They have repeatedly made fun of Jim’s bag (or as they call it a man-purse, or “murse.”) Since I insisted on carrying mostly cash, he is not letting my little envelopes of green out of his sight, and for that I am thankful.  They also laughed at me when I was reading the travel literature and told them we might see some “modern day beatniks”, however~ we spotted many as promised. Isaac and Aubrey found it necessary to make fun of that term for the remainder of the trip.     

A ventriloquist doll tried to get Aubrey’s attention as we hurried by.  “Hey Redhead!”  Another interesting character tried to hand me his CD and when I wouldn’t take it, he accused me loudly.  “You’re judging me Mom!”  And to Jim, “You’re tripping me, Man!”  Aubrey must have appeared an easy target as she was approached by several unconventional personalities who tried to convince her that she needed to purchase their inventory.   

Huge umbrellas resting open against the sun provided fencing for the eclectic collection of sellers and their wares.  To a certain degree, it reminded me of the depravity of Bourbon Street. But most of the Venice Beach decadence was good (albeit ridiculous) fun.

Please note my unsightly hat above as I pose with the shark. (Even now Aubrey asks, "Are you sure you want to include that picture?!)

Leaving the area, we discovered a parking ticket on our window.  We were parked in a 2 hour spot and had been there only about 90 minutes.  Maybe they were trying to make a point with the tourists who refused to leave the crime scene area in a timely fashion.  I fear Jim will never follow through with a phone call to the LAPD to clear his name (or at least the name of our rental car.)

Ike and his very handy IPhone app (which saved us from several navigational debacles) found a restaurant which had been featured on Diners Drive-Ins and Dives.  We attempted to locate Don Chow’s Tacos only to discover that it is a food truck.  Alas, it had driven away before our late lunch arrival.  

We continued on to Santa Monica to attempt to have lunch at One Pico at the Shutters.  It was great in theory and we were hoping to do some star spotting but on arrival it was fairly apparent that without a quick run through Neiman Marcus for a makeover, we were distressingly underdressed for the occasion. We did not want to appear that we had just fallen off the turnip truck, so we chose not to stay.  (And it wasn’t just my hat.) Instead we found a Bubba Gump’s on Santa Monica Pier for our very late lunch. 

Pier highlights included unsuccessfully trying to coerce Aubrey to have her likeness depicted via caricature and purchasing a cheeseburger for a sweet homeless lady. 

Shameless ploy for cash above came with a surprisingly catchy rhythm on the drums.

And these guys made us feel, well, pretty flaccid in the muscle department. They attracted a lot of spectators, one of whom was watching with her very large pet gecko. 

We rented some bikes (or in Isaac’s case, a fun-cycle) and rode the bike path for an hour.  It was great to feel the cool ocean breeze while dodging pedestrians (who were not supposed to be utilizing the bike path….do I sound bitter?) while simultaneously staying erect on a bike which has skidded suddenly on the loose sand covering the path. 

Isaac took an entertaining little video while riding and I’m hoping I can insert that here.

This family is collecting freckles left and right.  We spent the night in Agoura Hills after some bumper to bumper traffic on 405 through Los Angeles.  Traffic was moving slowly enough that a woman in the lane to our right was reading a novel while driving. She probably endures this every day on her way home from work.  Aubrey passed the time playing paparazzi out the right rear window, aiming her camera at unsuspecting drivers in Jaguars (just in case they turned out to be someone famous.)  Isaac spent his time mocking his sister’s evil paparazzi laugh and singing tunes from one of his favorite movies of yesteryear, “Rockadoodle.”  We had no luck spotting the Hollywood Hills but we saw plenty of suicidal motorcyclists weaving between cars and trucks on all of the California highways.

Agoura Hills turned out to be a fabulous town, as was the Hampton Inn in which we stayed. It was one of our favorite hotels on this trip. We admired the mountains while soaking in the Jacuzzi. Watched Steven Colbert make fun of the impending 405 closure and discovered wonderful treats at a local Farmer’s Market for a late hotel room supper.  The full moon over the horizon in the Agoura Mountains was positively beautiful. 

  

WEST COAST ADVENTURE - DAY 3 of 9

JIM’S “SWIM”

We started our day at the Starbucks in Chula Vista and drove over the amazing San Diego-Coronado Bridge for our visit to Coronado Island. The bridge is five lanes, 200 feet, and just over two miles long. My old next door neighbor and childhood best friend Michelle lives somewhere on Coronado. Though I was given her phone number, I opted against bothering her on a Wednesday morning for tourist tips and a reunion.  It has, after all, been about 40 years since we made our last mud pie together.   The beach was really chilly and Aubrey tried to tie a bandana to her brother’s head to keep his long hair from whipping into his eyes. 

Jim is the heartiest of the beach walkers and while he and Aubrey continued up the freezing cold and windy beach, Isaac and I walked back to the street to find our way into town via a more civilized route. 

Civilized was what we expected, but not what we found. On our pleasant walk through this spectacular seaside town, we were stunned to come upon an actual crime scene.  A beautiful oceanfront mansion was completely sectioned off with police tape.  The property was teeming with over 20 law enforcement officers, walking back and forth, coming out with plastic evidence bags, and making notes.  Multiple police cars and SWAT vehicles were parked in front.  Within the next hour or so, news vans and helicopters from all the major networks were swarming the area.  People were snapping pictures and sitting on the rocks drawing charcoal scenes of the property. An Italian art dealer downtown told us he had never seen anything like this in his 12 years on the island.  Apparently a woman had been found dead around 6:30 that morning and the scene was suspicious.  A week later we saw an update on the incident in a national newspaper and it is still a bit of a mystery.  Link for news story is here. You may have to cut and paste if it doesn't open.

http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2011-07-19-deaths-boy-woman-hanging-coronado-california-mystery_n.htm

From the beach there were clear views to the coast of Mexico and to another island used for training Navy Seals. 

One of my favorite meals of the trip was our lunch on the patio of the historic Hotel Del Coronado (called the Hotel Del by locals.)  This property is a Victorian beachfront masterpiece and has been visited by many famous people.  Isaac caught a bit of the US women’s soccer finals from the beautiful hardwood bar area in the hotel.

A photo of Marilyn Monroe was taken in front of their gorgeous dragon tree, planted prior to the turn of the century.  (Note, that is not Marilyn in the picture below...)

We had just a little bit of trouble trying to position the umbrella above our patio table so that nobody was in the sun.  Isaac remarked, “The Gingers try to eat lunch on a sunny patio.”  Pitiful. 

   

Driving on to La Jolla cove, as we exited the car we were greeted by the sound of crashing surf and barking seals.

An entourage of pensive-looking pelicans and hopeful sea gulls surveyed the sand from their highly decorated rocky perch.

Sandstone made the perfect surface for walking and tide pool gazing.  Above the crashing waves, tiny caves and wave-hewn rocks framed the picturesque sunny cove. 

The occasional rogue wave tried to spoil our walk without success.  This was a wonderful seaside town. 

From the main cove in La Jolla, we drove to Windansea.  Coming down into the intersection at Nautilus and Neptuna, it looked for the world like we were driving our rental car (a wonderful Equinox SUV) directly into the Pacific.

We got out and I perched myself upon a rock and received some coral and sea glass from my daughter.  Isaac tested the waves because he and Jim thought they might “swim” in this treacherous area we had chosen for our little outing.  Soon Aubrey, trying to keep her dress dry, read some poetry from her new book by Billy Collins, including the poem “Quiet.”  Some of the lines he writes include, “out of a lifetime of running my mouth and leaning on the horn of ego, only a single afternoon of being truly quiet on a high cliff with the Pacific spread out below…”

Well, like the poem we were on a cliff by the Pacific. But not so much quiet was experienced.  Because you know the kind of belly laugh that causes complete strangers to stare and tears to roll unreserved down one’s cheeks?  I laughed like that this afternoon when Jim finally achieved his goal to “swim” in the Pacific.  Nine years ago, driving only as far south as Santa Clara, the ocean temperatures were far too chilly for our wetsuit-less skin.  So Jim determined he would not miss his chance THIS time.  With tenacity and optimism he ventured forth into the waves at Windansea.  But despite 6 months of vigorous P90x training, Jim was no match for the Pacific.  Most of the waves were about Jim’s size, but many were two or even three times his height. 

It was absolutely hilarious to watch him try to swim (or for that matter, remain vertical.)  One of the first such waves dunked him squarely and caused him to swallow roughly a pint of sea water.  The second took him under with the force of a ponytailed Sumo wrestler and tossed him toward the beach, complete with a fluorescent green shoulder garment of seaweed (which he was too disoriented to remove.)

As I tried to catch my breath between side-splitting guffaws, I watched my determined husband venture yet again toward the sea. 

The fourth or fifth wave resulted in a blender effect which successfully depleted Jim of any remaining sense of balance.  How this is considered fun for him, I have no idea…. Then, unbelievably opting to stagger yet again toward the surf, my crazy man too late felt the ocean suddenly sucking all of the water back to itself.  An ominous sign, as the next wave towered above him and neither diving into it nor running away from it were reasonable escapes.  The agony of defeat.  He finally gave up and stumbled toward the rocks upon which I sat, still laughing and wiping tears from my eyes. ( I am nothing if not supportive.) Implausibly, he managed to climb to me despite ears plugged with sand, seaweed in his shorts, and a body fully pummeled by the swim he so desired.

My eye-witness account of the assault was the best fun I had all day (and I’ve had a LOT of fun.)

After de-sanding at the hotel and noting that the part in my hair is now the color of a ripe heirloom tomato, we were off to Old City San Diego for the evening.  Never mind that my calf muscles have experienced more activity in the last 48 hours than they’ve seen in about the last year.  We’re on vacation! There will be no relaxing.

In Old Town San Diego, a mariachi band and cactus plants in every conceivable shape and size provided a wonderful backdrop for our experience.

It felt like we were in Mexico, the delicious scents of more Mexican restaurants than I can count were wafting through the pleasant evening air. 

The temperatures during our entire trip stayed somewhere between 75 and 80 degrees.  There was no bothersome humidity to ruin the feel of the refreshing breezes. (Though as the sun went down it became obvious we were all sunburned regardless of our best efforts and SPF 30.) Gingers.

After enjoying Old Town, we headed to the Gaslight District of downtown San Diego for some dinner.  I had arguably the best ice cream cone I’ve ever eaten at the San Diego Ghirardelli Ice Cream Shop on our way back to the parking garage. 

WEST COAST ADVENTURE - DAY (2 of 9)

WOKEN BY A DUCK – July 12

I was woken this morning by the implausible sound of a quacking duck. Isaac is taking the contract to heart and set his phone alarm to rouse himself via quack this morning. This, along with a lovely breakfast on the hotel terrace was a great way to start our day.

We drove to Crystal Cove State Park for our initial interaction with the rolling surf and the misty morning beach.  Our early California morning jaunts through the dunes often began with a cool salty fog which soon transformed into a sunny treasure-trove of marine and plant life to discover.  This transition would come to hallmark most of our beach ventures on this trip. 

The fleshy-leafed plants, coastal sage scrub and flowering succulents along the seaside pathways were plentiful.  I had no idea that beach life included a squirrel population until the first scraggy ground squirrels nearly tripped me by racing across my path and into their holes in the sand.  Some of the open spaces nearby are home to coyotes, mountain lions and roadrunners and though I have a sentimental attachment to the roadrunner made famous by the cartoon version (who in the face of repeated attempts was never defeated with Wylie Coyote’s Acme-manufactured dynamite), I was admittedly thankful that squirrels were the only mammals encountered on our first morning. As the daybreak mist lifted, beautiful views of the Pacific were evident. 

Troops of pelicans flying in formation soared above us and out over the water.  Tide pools filled with all manner of sea life were as common as puddles on a rainy day back home. 

Impressive seaweed clumps were attracting a few too many sand flies to the party, making sections of the sand bear an unsettling resemblance to a poppy seed roll.

Isaac attempted to rescue some black canvas shoes from a seaweed knot but after finally extricating them, they were blessedly too large for his feet.  I, for one, was thankful.  Aubrey’s acquisition of a recently deceased starfish on our last trip to the West Coast caused a smelly drive which I didn’t care to repeat for a pair of shipwrecked shoes.

We drove on to San Clemente and were thrilled to discover some tenacious surfers trying to tame the waves just off the pier.

One daredevil in horrendous dreadlocks immediately captivated my daughter with his stunts and his mane.

 After walking the length of the surprisingly long pier, we walked up the street into town and visited some shops, one of the best being San Clemente Chocolates, where Aubrey found a chocolate covered banana. 

Had lunch at Avila’s El Ranchito Mexican Restaurant and it was delicious but huge. 

We were back on the road and Isaac noted that “things were looking pretty Spanish.”  It was evident that this beautiful state was heavily influenced by both the Spanish colonial period and the Mexican periods in state history. And what became abundantly clear as we drove south on the Pacific Coast Highway, is that Jim should have paid more attention to Senora Moyer in high school.  (Let’s just say he spent an inordinate amount of time in the back row humming the Wicked Witch of the West tune from Wizard of Oz when he should have been conjugating his Spanish verbs and learning his vocabulary..) He was at a complete loss for correctly pronouncing the names of the towns, street names, and most of the other words on the signs. So in true Jim fashion, he totally made it up as he went along.  This amusing trend persisted for the entire trip up the coast. 

Our next stop was the San Diego Zoo.  We visited the adorable koala bears, the orangutans (my favorite) and the polar bears. 

We were entertained by the startle reflex of two monkeys innocently sipping water on the side of a man-made stream when the large rock (or in this case the pygmy hippo) lifted his shiny massive head to see what was causing the stir in the water.  The monkeys jumped as though shocked by electricity.  Some really impressive leaps.

We were nearly as shocked to run into Jim’s sister Nancy and brother-in-law Don by the capuchin monkey cages.  The probability of seeing them in California….in San Diego….at the zoo…and exactly in front of the monkey cages is just about nil.  They live about 20 miles from our house.  Much as I adore them both, when you consider that about 5 million people visit the San Diego Zoo each year and the chances of finding someone you are actually LOOKING for are pretty slim, it was a little creepy!   Photo is of Isaac and his Uncle Don. It really is a small world.

WEST COAST ADVENTURE - DAY 1 of 9

THE CONTRACT – July 11

Were an adept starry seamstress to stitch together the fragmented moments of sleep I actually acquired last night, the finished product would be woefully inadequate for the day before me. I stumbled out of bed at about 5:30 and headed in the general direction of the shower.  I was tired and I was cranky.  It didn’t help that my alarm clock was blinking bold red lies to me for half the night.  At some point during the night we lost electricity, giving new meaning and purpose to my pre-vacation tossing and turning. The sudden strange hum and unexpected pitch blackness brought Aubrey quickly to our room in the middle of the night.  Apparently she was sleeping as soundly as her mother.  So as I was stumbling to the shower, I told Jim (with only a sliver of sincerity) “It would be best for everyone concerned if you left me behind.”  My husband laughed gleefully in response.  He was fully dressed, improbably chipper, and folding polo shirts into his carry-on luggage.  He’d been up for all of about 5 minutes.  How does he do that?  He cheerfully reminded me, “The glass is half-full!”  Sure.  Throw “the contract” in my face when my weary body hasn’t yet managed full vertical.  The contract was my daughter’s idea. When she considered the notion of all four of us spending ten days together in such a confined space, she began writing the rules.  The signed and dated agreement per Aubrey contained the following guidelines. (Italics are mine.)

California Contract

Signers of this document are legally bound (sorta) to whatever they agree to…yep.  Consequence if agreement is broken, the result will be ostracization. (this word doesn’t actually exist- the word should be ostracism and is not meant to imply that one of us will suddenly become a cumbersome flightless and speedy bird, rather, that the rest of the group will shun or otherwise ignore the offender until reconciliation has been achieved.)  

Isaac had to agree that he would stay at a constant glycemic level (AKA if he turns into a Diva, he has to eat a Snickers bar or something.)  It was discovered long ago that my otherwise pleasant son can become enormously cantankerous when his blood sugar drops, requiring family members to shout “Feed him, feed him!”  He had to agree not to pick on his mother (which he can do tirelessly and efficiently while simultaneously making me laugh and making me furious, but Aubrey did allow that “a little picking on Mom” was fine, if not necessary for comic relief.) Mom (possibly in anticipation of being picked on) asked Aubrey to add that Isaac had to get out of bed at a reasonable hour.  And as Isaac’s final portion of the covenant, he was not allowed to whine about the backseat or about his overwhelming desire for the continual consumption of crab legs.  It should be mentioned that with only minor grievances, Isaac held up to his end of the bargain.

Jim’s restriction list included the following:  He was not allowed to eat loudly (to particularly include crunching and slurping) while in the car.  Aubrey is quite sensitive to the annoying sounds people make with their mouths and apparently the volume of Jim’s mouth tests at a higher decibel than the rest of the family… Jim was not permitted to flip out at other drivers or get testy if and when we became lost.  He was not allowed to get angry and he was not allowed to then become defensive when his family members asked WHY he was angry.  And he was forced to order a meal at restaurants or understand fully that if he did not, his family was prepared to order a meal FOR him. He has a longstanding tradition of allowing the entire family to place orders with the waitress, and then say “I don’t want anything.”  This scenario results in Jim watching us eat while all of us attempt to donate forkfuls of pasta, a corner of bread, a leaf of salad, or some such item to the poor hungry man at our table.  I know full well it is somehow based in his deep love to see his family well cared for and his inability to spend a dime on himself, and yet when he ends the meal by saying vexatious things like, “See? I didn’t have to order anything because you guys don’t eat all your food…..” it makes me want to pummel him.

For my part of the pact, I had to agree that I would not rush anyone.  I also had to remain in a positive “glass is half full” attitude.  And I was not to comment negatively about the persons in my family who chose to stay up late watching television in the hotel room when I was trying to fall asleep at a somewhat reasonable hour.

Aubrey was not permitted to “death stare” anyone.  (This is a look of disdain that comes over Aubrey’s face- in which if the offending person were liquid and Aubrey’s eyes had glacial capabilities, the wrongdoer would become frozen solid within seconds. The “death stare” is usually a result of someone in her family doing or saying something that might be in any way construed as embarrassing.  She gives the stare when she believes she will somehow be guilty by association with said embarrassment or if in a private moment at home she just cannot tolerate the idiocy of her family member for another second…)  Additionally, Aubrey was not allowed to give unsolicited fashion advice about the chosen attire of her parents.  (This was particularly difficult for her since she could also not give the death stare.) And adding insult to injury, Aubrey was not allowed to do the “heavy sigh.”  Obviously Jim and I “helped” Aubrey come up with HER terms since she would not have seen any of these things as problematic.

So with the contract in place, we headed to the airport for our painfully long day of flying.  You see, Jim was trying to find the best airfare bargains out there.  And he was successful.  And that meant that the first of our THREE PLANES for the day was a puddle-jumper.  The toy plane we rode from Allentown to Washington D.C. was just large enough to hold us and a few other daring passengers.  There was no carry-on luggage as there was no over-the-head rack.  Jim, thoroughly amused by the plane (and I’m using the term loosely) insisted upon making annoying toy propeller sounds in anticipation of lift-off.  (It should be noted that the sounds coming from Jim’s mouth were eerily accurate when compared to the droning wind-up sound we endured for our entire first flight.)

Aubrey (who was about as enthused as her mother) asked her father a probing question.  “Aren’t you going to feel bad when we die in a fiery crash?”  Jim’s response:  “Not for long.”  I hold firm to the theory that you shouldn’t be able to see the pilot on your plane and I could not only see him, but I took a picture of him and his controls from my seat.

Thankfully we didn’t dust any crops on our way to D.C. and we found Isaac waiting at the gate for our next flight.  It was the only plane (of six total) that we shared with Isaac. 

Coming out of the Santa Ana airport, we were beginning to believe we were on vacation.  Palm trees tend to have that effect on East Coast dwellers.  Our first hotel, the La Quinta Inn, was a lovely hacienda-style building with a beautiful pool area all lit up under the palm trees in the moonlight.

Starving, we ventured out for food but it was too late to find anything decent and we ended up having our worst meal of the entire trip.  It was our first (and last) trip to a Jack in the Box restaurant.  They are all over California and every time we drove by one for the next 9 days, we groaned. The disturbing photos of their mascot used to adorn the restaurant walls and most of their advertisements should have been warning enough.