Travels with Mr. Coe: Carmel-By-The-Sea

Have you ever visited a place so ridiculously over-the-top fancy that it doesn't seem like real life? A place where nobody seems to work and everybody drives really, really slowly in expensive cars, and buys exorbitantly over-priced foodstuffs just because they can? A place where you ask for "inexpensive lunch options" and are recommended a Michelin-starred restaurant that only has a three-course prix fixes menu? Welcome to Carmel-By-The-Sea, a "seaside village" that operates in its own dimension of reality.

Source

I had a couple of errands to run down in the Monterey area this weekend, so I decided to bring Mr. Coe along and make a real outing of it. Part of Carmel's charm -- and what makes it so attractive to me, at least -- is that it's outrageously dog-friendly. Dogs are allowed at most restaurants/cafés/wineries with outdoor seating, the Carmel Valley hosts a couple of awesome dog-friendly hiking/outdoor recreation spots, and Carmel Beach is dog-friendly as well. Off-leash dog-friendly. You have to deal with ridiculous WASP-y rich people in sweater sets and khaki shorts and that horrible feeling that everybody's secretly judging your junky old Toyota Tercel and half-feral dog, but you know what? SO WHAT. Off-leash dog-friendly.

Excitable labradoodle, Carmel Highlands in the background.

It was a beautiful day down on the shore, as you can see. Carmel's beach really is breathtaking; you come out of the pine grove and are met with beautiful white sands and turquoise surf. Can you imagine what it must have been like for Junipero de la Serra to sail into this shallow little bay in the mid 1700s? It's no wonder the Jesuits established one of the first California missions here; the site is gorgeous.*

Asilomar State Park at the point, über-fancy Pebble Beach golf course further inland.

The beach was jam-packed with families. Roscoe and I must been a weird and wonderful sight to behold; Roscoe whining and crying and running in circles out of sheer ecstasy, me tromping with my beach chair (from REI! super light-weight, with a shoulder strap! I keep it in the trunk of my car!), wearing my big white sun hat and my finest "weekend wear"**, jacket and long pants. Everybody was wearing bathing suits; the only parts of my body getting sun were my feet and wrists. VICTORIAN CHIC. We sat alone and I read a book and Roscoe guarded me. The only other person I spied who wasn't part of a group or (human) couple was this shirtless dude wandering around the beach with a poofy lap-dog in his arms, drinking a bottled beer and singing to himself. I wish I'd taken a picture, what a weirdo.

Roscoe asking me "CAN I GO. CAN I GO CHASE THE DOGS. CAN I GO." and me responding
"WHAT HAVE I BEEN TELLING YOU TO GO AHEAD AND DO FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS.
GO AND LET ME READ MY PERIOD PIECE MURDER MYSTERY/POLITICAL INTRIGUE
AND CRIME THRILLER PLEASE."

After hanging out down at the beach, Roscoe and I walked around the downtown shopping district for a bit. Let me tell you: Roscoe was the BELLE BEAU OF THE BALL of downtown Carmel that afternoon. Everybody commented on how pretty handsome he was, and how well behaved he was, and how cute he was, and how all-around super great he was. And it was true, he was wonderful. He heeled as we walked along the sidewalks and sat at every intersection before we crossed. He was very polite with the old rich people who stopped to pet and talk to him, and didn't even freak when a baby grabbed his tail (I did stink eye the parent, though). 

Roscoe really does feel right at home in Carmel. He's most comfortable in either wild and desolate landscapes or laps of luxury and comfort. Go figure. 

* Though I have a heart-felt love and appreciation for the California missions and their history, I respect and honor that these are also sites of mourning for the indigenous peoples of California, representative of centuries of enslavement, suffering, trauma, and (arguably) genocide. A subject of interest for another blog post, another day.

** Yes, I'm self-conscious when I go to Carmel. Yes, I was wearing my best "casual" clothes. Yes, I applied makeup before leaving the house. Yes, it all ran down my face once sunscreen got in my eyes at the beach.

Found: Golden State Speller

A couple of weeks ago, while unpacking one of the last boxes of books and miscellany left in my parents' garage, I came across this old grade school spelling primer I bought when I was still a college student living in Santa Cruz. I remember buying this on a whim, for super cheap, at a weird old used and antique books store in Moss Landing. In the back, there were boxes full of old text books that had been used by area public schools. I only bought the one; I probably picked it because I liked the cover. I regret not picking up a couple others, especially now that the bookstore's gone. 

This one little artifact is pretty neat, though. I love the Viola Swamp/Big Brother tone of the notice stamped on the inside front cover. Also, note that this particular book was only in use for four years. WHAT.  Those were the good old days, I guess, when the state was somehow flush with cash devoted to education funding. In the middle of the Great Depression. It actually makes me really sad to think about how priorities have changed in this state and the country as a whole. 

How super neat is this? I'm assuming that the "Laurel School" is now the Louden Nelson Community Center in downtown Santa Cruz.

Here's a nice peek at what fourth graders in California public schools were given in order to learn how to spell: 

Trying to come to terms with the fact that people once used the plural of beef -- beeves -- in any way, shape, or form is kind of breaking my brain. 

Similarly, thinking of teaching children vocabulary useful for serving, specifically, good foods really tickles me.

My favorite part about the book, by far, is that it came with a couple pages of notes that a school teacher had written up hidden in the very back. He or she (she? ladies handwriting, or did everybody have lovely penmanship in the '30s?) must have been preparing their lesson plan at the last minute. I WOULD KNOW. 

They look like notes for an American history or regional studies lesson. I'm especially curious about the "demographic" groups listed on the sheet on the left -- antebellum society of the rural South? How many large plantations survived the American civil war? I WILL NOT LET THIS BECOME A NEW PROCRASTINATION INVESTIGATION.

Brontë weather.

Misty San Lorenzo Valley, taken from my side yard during a lull in the storm.

After an extended Indian Summer - that even made a reappearance halfway through January, it seriously just didn’t want to go - we’re finally experiencing some winter in Santa Cruz. It’s been raining and storming on and off for weeks now, making everything soupy and misty, sometimes snowy and hail-y, windy and sleet-y, but generally damp and chilly, for a couple of months now. The snow in the mountains rarely sticks (though it did hang out on top of Loma Prieta for a couple of days at the beginning of the month), but the wind gusts and driving rain on their own can be pretty impressive.

Some people hate it, it gives others the S.A.D.s, but I find it thrilling in a beautiful, kind of crazy way. I call it Brontë Weather: beautiful but dangerous, sublime (as characterized by both Burke and Kant), and generally louder and more awesome than you. I think it’s the perfect weather for enjoying the local geography. Picture it: redwoods swaying in the fog, churning seas, craggy, foam-topped shorelines. Brontë weather makes the best beach outings (the beaches are awesomely scary! and devoid of sunbathers! just you and a bunch of other people with dogs!), and, when you’re home, baking and soup making, and candle-lit (you never know when the power’s going to go out and stay out) fire building. Though it sometimes feels spooky and sinister, it’s arrival is my favorite time of year here in the Monterey Bay. Who am I kidding, I love spooky and sinister. When I think of California Gothic, I think of the Monterey Bay under these kinds of weather conditions. I wonder if Steinbeck did so as well. Denis Johnson certainly did (well, not true, his Already Dead was set in Mendocino. whatever, close enough, I digress). 

I originally called it Wuthering Heights Weather, but I’m trying to make an effort to be a bit more inclusive, especially now that Jane Eyre is getting the Hollywood treatment. Wuthering Heights is still my favorite Brontë novel (and Emily my favorite Brontë) but I’m warming up more and more to Charlotte and certain aspects of her Jane Eyre and I’m curious as to how this new film will interpret the original text (I also love director Cary Fukunaga’s other film Sin nombre [2009], so I admit to having high hopes). More on all that to come. 

Anyways. I’m off to nurse this cold with some tea and netflix.