Somewhere along the way, we find the Peace Mobile. Our stops never coincide, and so the best I can manage are a couple of well-timed honks and flashes of the universal peace sign. I would like to tell him thank you, hug him, encourage him to keep going. FollowYourHeartActionNetwork.I fully expect patches of newly surfaced road, given the inevitable erosion by weather and time. But somewhere halfway through the climb, there appear two traffic lights, miles apart, where the cliffs have eroded to a single lane. AND, a sudden proliferation of man and machine of giant proportions - where a bridge-building is taking place on the sheer rock adjacent to the ocean. Wow.
Soon we are in Big Sur. I have by now been fully absorbed by the landscape. Relaxing completely at the start of the ascent, I have climbed the rock face - one handhold, one foothold at a time. Slowly, with purpose, but with the rock. I round a dark curve. There is a Henry Miller library? But how wonderful!! And for how long? My family wishes to push on. We pass Nepenths, sitting atop the cliffs inviting the ocean to make the climb. "On the way back," I promise myself, continuing on. Esalen pops up on the left - the long private drive down toward the ocean still, even today, feels mysterious. Ventana comes and goes on the right. It is different here. I don't recall the presence of structures at the road fork. We pass through a series of very small towns, and through three hours of time. We stop to fill the car in a quaint preamble to Carmel - a teeny, old-fashioned gas station and general store.
The Carmel Valley unrolls to the east. The loud presence of civilization is again jarring, but I am comforted knowing that the sea and shops are nestled just to the west. And so we head to the sea. It has been some thirty years, and the influx of people has busted the little town at its seams. Still, it feels somehow intact. We park in a quiet lot and venture northwest into town. The shops are hundreds, but we are hungry. Lunch at Nico proves to be an adventure in perfection, as with every other meal on this trip. It is a small Italian caffe, and it feels just that far away for me. A plate of luscious mediterranean cheeses, locally grown artichokes, and kalamata olives. Fresh baked focaccia - airy and light - with a paste of olive oil, garlic, and fresh & sundried tomatoes. Gorgeous. A single glass of a local pinot noir. Glorious. Fresh baked thin crust pizzas - margerita and vegetarian, and cold, bottled water. We are nourished.
We wander past the stores, delighting in the windows. The shops give way to Inns, beckoning and quaint, which in turn give way to beautiful houses - the beach neighborhood. We snap pictures of homes, gardens, streets. For the first time in years of travel, my husband agrees with me. "I could live here." he says. Yes, so could I. We perch ourselves atop a high narrow dune of the most perfect soft white sand. Isabella rolls down the hill, befriending a passing dog - a most handsome black hound by the name of Eddie. We find this uproariously funny - all three of us.
Too soon, it is time to head south - to navigate the Pacific back to Cambria. We stop at the Mission to snap a few pictures. It really is breathtakingly beautiful - the simple structures and the wild gardens.
The drive south is quiet, and the three hours pass too quickly. We listen to Gilberto Gil - somehow perfect for the scenery. This time, I stop at Nepenthe, and we meander through the Phoenix bookstore. Finally pulling my family back through its doors, we climb the stairs to the restaurant, stare out at the sea, and contemplate a snack perched atop the world. Honestly, we are still full from lunch, and so we bid Nepenthe goodbye and press on, Buena Vista Social Club crooning in the background, home to Moonstone Beach.
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