Thirteen

For me, there is just mile and mile of road beyond, most of the time stuck behind some American afraid of the many curves. That, of course, leaves some time to enjoy the landscape. Down here it is incredibly colorful. There is the grays, reds, and yellows of the stones. There are more shades of green than one could invent names for in two and a quarter lifetimes. Several browns are added by the branches. The missing blues and pinks and whites are thrown in by various blossoms. Yes, there are even different shades of white.

I try to take a picture, but at the most spectacular spots it is impossible to stop. I finally manage to jump out of the queue at a somewhat decent place, dispersing a huge cloud of dust while coming to a screetching stop. The resulting picture of course fails miserably to catch the whole experience. It takes a much better photographer than me and probably a bit more time spent in the process to make that work.

Somewhere north of a very small place called Big Sur a fire has started on top of a hill just west of the road. The local fire department, police, highway patrol, and three planes seem to have it under control. It seems to be customary in America, though, to stop immediately as soon as a sirened car can be heard. Which in practice causes a lot more problems for the fire truck as if cars would keep going to a suitable place and turn out there instead.

By the end of the day I reach the oceanside town of Monterey. It turns out to be a major destination for people from the Bay Area. Subsequently, finding a motel room is a bit of a problem. The only one that still seems to be left is 180 bucks which, well, no. The map reveals Salinas to be twenty miles inland which sounds like a good alternative. First, though, I have to make a phone call. I have arranged to meet the brother of a friend and his wife for dinner once I am back in San Francisco. They need to be told about my ETA which now is detailed down as far as ‘tomorrow.’

My usual crazy navigation takes me to the parking lot of the local community hospital. Which is just as well since I also am in the need of a bathroom. The hospital turns out to be a huge, very modern building surrounded by a lot of park. A lot better than what I have seen anywhere else so far. This probably means that Monterey is a somewhat wealthy community. The building has been designed in such a way that the only thing you can find is the souvenir shop. For everything else including the bathrooms you have to ask for directions.

Back from my trip into seriously modern healt care, I return to the car to make my phone call. Which involves getting out the laptop to find the number in my emails. Good that I keep them on the laptop and don’t have to find Internet access first. The call, of course, ends up on the machine.

I drive the half an hour to Salinas, manage to find the motels. I turn into the local establishment of a nation-wide chain. There is a huge crowed in the office all of whom seem to be trying to change their room. While I am waiting more people come in and try to do the same. After ten minutes I loose patience and try somewhere else. Full. Next one: Full. Attempt number four: Finally success.