the Big Sur retreat offering solitude and a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean?The joke was on Marc and Carol. This is the panorama we awoke to on our first morning in Big Sur. The solitude we had, however. We were not quite off the grid, but pretty close. We had electricity, heat and plumbing in our comfortable apartment a thousand feet above the ocean waves; but little contact with the outside world - no cell phone signal, no newspaper, no internet, no television.
Our Big Sur hideaway was two point seven miles up a narrow mountain road. The first two point four miles was paved and wound its way through a forested canyon so dark that sunlight struggles, with little success, to penetrate. It was damp here, perhaps perma-damp. Tired, unpainted wooden hideaways dot the canyon, built precariously into the mountainside. There was a surprising amount of traffic, and each encounter with another vehicle required one of the vehicles to pull to the side of the narrow road and stop to allow the other to pass.
Precise mileage notation was important. At mile 2.4 next to a row of mailboxes, Eli, the owner's son, waited in his red 4Runner to guide us the final point three miles up, up, up to our home for the next two days. We had to call ahead from the tiny scraggly cluster of gift shops, cafés, campgrounds, cabins and gas station that makes up the village of Big Sur to establish our rendez-vous point. There is no way we could have found it on our own.
The dirt road, advertised as "well-maintained," made us wish for a four-wheel drive, high clearance vehicle of our own. Moving at the pace of a brisk walk, we brought our rental Hyundai home without any damage done.
Eli
is a friendly young man, maybe my son's age, with broad shoulders, thick unruly black hair, a small squared goatee that is favored by young men these days, a ready smile and a knowledge of local wines, restaurants and hikes that he was eager to share with us. He works in the restaurant industry, as he called it, and lives farther up the mountainside with his girlfriend.
Eli showed us around, told us about some good places for wine tasting, talked hiking with me for a while and even found the missing coffee maker for our apartment. He didn't offer much about local restaurants, but I think that was because there wasn't much to be said for them. You can get a burger and some Mexican for not too much, unless you want it with a view.
Our first morning yielded the view above. After a while, if you stared long enough, you could imagine the geometrically precise line of the horizon that separated the gray sea from the gray sky. It wasn't much of a day for hiking, so we planned to drive to Carmel Valley to sample local wines. Chardonnay, cabernet and some pinot noir are the local offerings. Eli warned me that the pinot, a favorite of mine, wouldn't compare well with the pinots of the Willamette Valley. He was right, although we tasted some very nice chardonnays.
On our way into the Big Sur, before we even made our rendez-vous with Eli, we took our first hike up into the hills overlooking the Pacific. We followed a stream called Garrapata Creek. We figured it was named after some Spanish explorer, probably Father Garrapata. We learned the next day that "garrapata" is Spanish for "tick," and our experience left us no doubt about the source of the name.
The second morning of our stay delivered the promised view.
Our Big Sur hideaway was two point seven miles up a narrow mountain road. The first two point four miles was paved and wound its way through a forested canyon so dark that sunlight struggles, with little success, to penetrate. It was damp here, perhaps perma-damp. Tired, unpainted wooden hideaways dot the canyon, built precariously into the mountainside. There was a surprising amount of traffic, and each encounter with another vehicle required one of the vehicles to pull to the side of the narrow road and stop to allow the other to pass.Precise mileage notation was important. At mile 2.4 next to a row of mailboxes, Eli, the owner's son, waited in his red 4Runner to guide us the final point three miles up, up, up to our home for the next two days. We had to call ahead from the tiny scraggly cluster of gift shops, cafés, campgrounds, cabins and gas station that makes up the village of Big Sur to establish our rendez-vous point. There is no way we could have found it on our own.
The dirt road, advertised as "well-maintained," made us wish for a four-wheel drive, high clearance vehicle of our own. Moving at the pace of a brisk walk, we brought our rental Hyundai home without any damage done.
Eli
is a friendly young man, maybe my son's age, with broad shoulders, thick unruly black hair, a small squared goatee that is favored by young men these days, a ready smile and a knowledge of local wines, restaurants and hikes that he was eager to share with us. He works in the restaurant industry, as he called it, and lives farther up the mountainside with his girlfriend.Eli showed us around, told us about some good places for wine tasting, talked hiking with me for a while and even found the missing coffee maker for our apartment. He didn't offer much about local restaurants, but I think that was because there wasn't much to be said for them. You can get a burger and some Mexican for not too much, unless you want it with a view.
Our first morning yielded the view above. After a while, if you stared long enough, you could imagine the geometrically precise line of the horizon that separated the gray sea from the gray sky. It wasn't much of a day for hiking, so we planned to drive to Carmel Valley to sample local wines. Chardonnay, cabernet and some pinot noir are the local offerings. Eli warned me that the pinot, a favorite of mine, wouldn't compare well with the pinots of the Willamette Valley. He was right, although we tasted some very nice chardonnays.
On our way into the Big Sur, before we even made our rendez-vous with Eli, we took our first hike up into the hills overlooking the Pacific. We followed a stream called Garrapata Creek. We figured it was named after some Spanish explorer, probably Father Garrapata. We learned the next day that "garrapata" is Spanish for "tick," and our experience left us no doubt about the source of the name.
The second morning of our stay delivered the promised view.The skies cleared on our second day, and we hit the road early, packing in as much sightseeing as we could before heading north to Carmel. We hiked up to almost three thousand feet above the Pacific, where we encountered patches of snow in shady nooks, and then headed for the coast. It was a day of great sights.
High above the Pacific, the air was clear and cool.
Pfeiffer Beach revealed the spectacular beauty of the Pacific coast up close.
The views all along Route 1 were stunning.
The view from Nepenthe, where a sunset glass of wine is not to be missed.
Historic Bixby Bridge
High above the Pacific, the air was clear and cool.
Pfeiffer Beach revealed the spectacular beauty of the Pacific coast up close.
The views all along Route 1 were stunning.
The view from Nepenthe, where a sunset glass of wine is not to be missed.
Historic Bixby BridgeBixby Bridge is one of many bridges built in the early '30s by the WPA. If the bold yellow sign isn't enough to keep people back from the precipice, the smaller one perhaps will appeal to one's sense of civic responsibility. If you double click on the photo, you may be able to see that it urges visitors to "Keep our beaches clean." No bodies littering the white sands, please.
At the end of day two, we headed for Carmel, my next installment.
At the end of day two, we headed for Carmel, my next installment.
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