Northern California

Before leaving the warmth of Southern California I was lucky enough to catch up with my old camp friend Ashley. While her choice of a blues bar wasn’t the best for conversation, it sure was good for blues (this is the time for my brothers to get jealous). Although it’s been a couple of years since we’ve seen each other, I’m always grateful for the chance to check in with old friends. She’s currently planning to move to New Zealand and I’m hoping she does, I could use a friend in New Zealand.

Heading north on US 101 en route to San Francisco we did what any sensible traveler would do, used the bathroom while stopping at a roadside attraction. In this case, however, the bathroom was the attraction. In San Luis Obispo, just off the highway, lies the Madonna Inn. Home to weary road warriors for years, the Madonna Inn houses guests in outrageously gaudy decor, each room with a different theme. There’s the pink flamingo room, the jungle room, and the famous Flintstone room, almost entirely built of stone. Unfortunately, we weren’t staying the night, just using the lobby bathroom which is exactly what we stopped for. While this may be ungentlemanly to describe, it’s just too awesome to leave out. In the men’s room there’s a waterfall urinal. That’s right, a waterfall urinal. Stepping up to the edge trips a motion sensor which activates a trickling cascade of water over a rock ledge protruding over a tile drainage area. It may have been the best bathroom break of my life.

We continued up the coast stopping in Pismo Beach for lunch. We strolled down the pier, vacationing college students making us feel like town elders. Standing at the railing we caught the sight of a sea otter bobbing in the waves side by side with dozens of surfers. Disregarding the chowder house with the waiting line snaking down the street, we opted for a truly regional treat: pulled pork sandwiches. I didn’t say what region. Stuffed to the gills with barbecue, corn bread, and honey butter, we got back on the road.

My senior year college roommate Andrew and his wife Bianca live in the Mission district of San Francisco, right in the thick of the city. Their apartment is in an old Victorian home and boasts their very own backyard garden. As we unloaded our stuff, they advised us to bring in every single personal item and anything else that would look appealing to car thieves. Ah, city life. After some catching up, we took a stroll through their neighborhood. The Mission is a diverse, colorful, and exciting neighborhood. Predominately Latino with taco stands and Salvadoran pupuserias on every corner, the Mission nevertheless has something for everyone. We eventually strolled to a Senegalese restaurant for dinner, a first for all of us. Tasty.

The next day, the last of our week off, we started by taking a brief tour of some city highlights on our way to the ocean. One was Alamo Square, made universally recognizable by the opening credits of Full House. You can see how excited we are. As we puttered our way through the city and around Golden Gate Park, I was reminded how much I like this city. Utterly urban, all-encompassing diversity, gritty, elegant, and surrounded by natural beauty--San Francisco is a wonder.

Our westward drive cut off by the Pacific, we hung a left and made our way down the coast. Stopping at a couple of beaches we enjoyed the rarity of a fogless coastline, basking in the sun even if we had to bundle against the ocean breeze. The second beach we stopped at had few other souls treading its sand and as we stood beneath the bluffs, my skin aching slightly from the sun and wind, I felt absent, free, nostalgic for the beach vacations from years past. The coming weeks could stay away forever, my current journey could end and I would be content. But I didn’t feel at home, just absent.

We headed to Chinatown to sample the diverse, urban fruits of the city. Surrounded by large Chinese families, I felt awkward eating my roast duck. Not because I lacked a sense of belonging, I’m used to that by now, nor because I’m white, but because I wasn’t sure I was eating it correctly. At least it was a relatively simple dish, I could have been stumbling over the sea cucumber with chives.

I’m now out of the Golden State, but I’m glad I got to spend a week trekking through. Good friends, good weather, good fun--three things you can never have enough of.