The day begins as planned at Sam´s Diner and we are very full for the next six hours. Although nobody dares to take French toast, which on the day before was poured with an eighth liter of liquid butter, the pancakes or the cheese omelette with mashed potatoes are heavy stuff too.
Then we are out there early and quickly from San Francisco but the way towards Monterey stretches. The fog is with us as well as thousands of sunday drivers and both remain till Monterey to my dismay. 17 Mile drive and big sur were the sites that I've desired to see most and now threaten to be weighed both in the fog. My mood is getting as grey as the landscape all around.
We drive along the 17-mile drive (almost twice as the Navi has guided us to the wrong input), to see the probably beautiful coastline, plenty of magnificent villas and golf courses and much fog. Inside in the pine forests a price tag with 1,599.000 $ for a modest bungalow appeared. With direct sea view the villas are often four to eight times bigger including a small park and private booths for the servants. Multiplying the price by ten may not be sufficient for a weekend domicile which is obviously not even regularly used by many on a Sunday.
But the rich here cannot stay among themselves: each lot Plebeians like we populate the streets and adjust the view on the golf course. Of course not today, because you see at the tee probably no longer where the ball is going.
We drive further to Carmel - a quite charming narrow gauge variant of the previously seen. The houses are no longer pompous but pretty; the gardens small, but looking at same ocean and has even its own beach. And on which seems a little blue sky out. The color of hope is known blue.
Where Big Sur - the Strip coast since reading in Henry Miller's book I always wanted to see for more than 30 years - starts can not clearly be defined. Perhaps where the sun slowly won defeating the fog (short-term). The coast is certainly spectacular (even though my wife thinks Brittany was as beautiful) and the day reconciled me or vice versa.
Again I imagine how it must have been in the 40s and 50s without tourists, without electricity, and with a House every five Kilometers, when Henry Miller spent about ten years of his life here. Repeatedly in the holidays I phantasize of somewhere to live in a wonderful spot as a teleworker. The conditions are certainly ideal as a writer, but I must me make myself quickly clear then, that in my job direct communication with other people is essential and cannot be replaced by Internet and phone.
But then after retiring - then I make up for all. Probably like many others who move gradually substantial parts of their lives to the pension and try to "start living properly", only to find that they expect especially crisis of meaning and boredom.
The landscape is slowly getting lovelier and smoother than Big Sur and we must leave the mythical Highway No. 1 too. We still contact the SAL Luis Obispo mission church, but less attractive than those in Carmel and especially less beautiful than later the one in Santa Barbara.
As a conclusion, we would like to take still Hearst Castle, the monument of the manic newspaper Tsar, but at 5 p.m., there is no guided tour anymore and everything which is possible, would be to climb up the hill from the visitor ´s Center, within a short time before the final close to visit the site from outside and all for $96 fee. Thank you - we do not.
It is a monster stage anyway and we still must go to Santa Maria. This is unfortunately no longer on the sea and the hotel although belonging to the Marriott chain, was built more or less in a commercial area. You are finally on the Pacific Coast after two and a half weeks and then they set one 30 kilometres one between auto parts dealers and truck parking inland. The hotel is ok and breakfast on disposable plates with disposable cutlery and appropriate meal plan also no longer shocked us.
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