far away from...anything

By the time my family arrived in “San Fran-stupid-cisco” when I was 8, I was tired and irritated, especially with my dad who had decided to stop at every roadside turnoff to take yet another photograph of yet another rock in the same ocean. This time, however, I was the one with the Nikon…and the keys to the car…and the rocks and “vista points” and pictures were mine for the taking, with no one to tell me otherwise, as were the 330 miles of winding, cliff-side roads that stood between me and a much-needed few days off. I’d spent less than an hour in Los Angeles the day before, and I already knew that I preemptively needed to get the hell away.

Carmel is about as far away as I could have imagined. By the time I rolled into town, after having been on the road since 7:45am (making stops in every quaint little beachside town and crazy tourist castle along the way, mind you…), it was already dark, and I don’t use that expression lightly. The sun had set an hour and a half earlier, and those ninety minutes were filled with some of the most dangerous and un-lit, winding roads that I never thought I’d have to drive, but was half-glad to have done in the dark (the first time, at least) because I was less aware of the eminent danger and potential death just feet away from every guard rail. The city of Carmel, upon my arrival, was lit only by closed shop windows and moving headlights, for there is not a single sign or lamp to be found. There are also no street numbers, so my iPhone was having a conniption, and walking around town in a sweater, gazing at storefronts and bustling restaurants, I had the faint feeling that somewhere between L.A. and Carmel I had driven off our continent, too, and landed somewhere in Europe…or back in time.

The couple sitting across from me at dinner had either never seen a “kindle” before, or were trying to figure out the back story of this young, well-dressed, less than heterosexual man and why he was reading some Star Trek device alone in the middle of a tiny crowded Greek restaurant in a romantic retreat village for newly-weds and anniversary vacationers. I didn’t have an answer for them, but then again they never asked. I guess the finally realized it was, indeed, a kindle, and forgot about their other questions when they got their baklava.

The next day I woke up before the shops did, and thought it appropriate to start my day off with a brisk walk to the beach, during which I learned that I was merely one of the entire visiting population who had this same idea. It was gorgeous, nonetheless…people, sand, dogs, and all. The rest of the day was spent in and out of my car, walking along cliffs with my Nikon and my tripod, in and out of state parks, a cliff bar and a bottle of water in my backpack, and a rapidly decreasing number of shots left on my memory card. Lunch came to me like a oasis in the form of a café at Nepenth; a restaurant at which the view from your table spans at least twenty miles of foggy coastline, from an overpriced glass of Chardonnay all the way down to the rocks at Big Sur.

In what seemed to be a race against time, I finally made it down a two-mile off-the-beaten-road kind of road, down to a hidden beach, for what I was hoping would be a surprisingly brilliant sunset, viewed from the stunning hideaway of the rocky shoreline and crashing waves of Pfeiffer Beach. It turned out, to my great surprise, to be a magnificent sunset, one that I got to share with a fellow photographer, Tiffany from Salt Lake City, who played the “don’t get hit by that oncoming wave” game with me as we both tried to capture the perfect shot while remaining dry, with our tripods and our giddy creative jitters. I haven’t even looked at half the photos yet.

The ride home was a long one, but not in the least arduous. Only once did I actually think to myself “who the hell thought it was a good idea to put a road here?!” The rest of the six hours was spent dividing my time between looking at the road and at the scenery, counting the number of times I saw a sign that showed the “dangerous, winding road” arrow, and wondering just how far one has to travel to “get away.”