I've always admired California even though I grew up with a severely skewed perception of what it was in reality.  With much of the American entertainment industry located in the state, it's easy for many people who've never visited California to conjure up images of palm trees, beaches and buffed tanned blond people surfing their way through life.  The Baywatch, LA Law and assorted other productions merely reinforce many of the misconceptions and stereotypes.

I first visited California in 1989, right after the October earthquake that hit San Francisco.  I stayed in  Monterey with side trips to San Francisco and San Simeon (Hearst Castle) and was blown away by the natural surroundings . . .  the mountains meeting the ocean, the vastness and greenery and the temperate climate in late November.   (Note: the Monterey Bay Aquarium is a required stop.)  Maybe it's the Native eye or simply the curiosity of the traveler, but I notice the difference in vegetation when I wander to new and distant places.  The leaves of the trees, the indigenous wild plants or the variety of flowers all seem to be noticeable.  I was captivated by a small ground flower . . .  an ice plant . . . which looks like a cross between a crocus and and aloe.   Cypress trees, palm trees . . . they all were new and strange to this Upstate New Yorker.

For those who live in areas where natural phenomena such as earthquakes are barely considered, a trip to California brings a tinge of uneasiness.  Not that I ever felt I was in any more danger of loss of life than on a typical New York highway, but the specter of the earth moving about under the structure I happened to be in is a strange feeling.  They say you get used to it and it's a price that's paid for living in a highly desirable area.   That may be true, but all I can say is, after a blizzard my house is left standing, albeit semi-buried in snow.  Winter weather is a nuisance; earthquakes are something else and my heart goes out to those who're affected by this threat every minute of their lives.

The second trip to California was in 1993 and would turn out to be an almost religious experience.  Flying into San Francisco, I rented a car (with only one of its four speakers working) and drove the Pacific Coast Highway up to Otter Rock Oregon to meet up with friends who were at a timeshare at the Inn at Otter Crest for New Years.  I'd left a few days for the trip up along the coast before meeting with the friends on New Year's Eve and spent the night in between in Eureka.

I did the tourist gig in San Francisco, Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf, Ghirardelli Square, Alcatraz, the Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Twin Peaks and some city travels.   The first time I was in San Francisco I had the extreme pleasure of eating a crabmeat sandwich on sourdough and this was the first stop after leaving the airport the second time.  San Francisco and the Bay Area is a truly remarkable place.  Busy, but not frenetic.  Strangely quiet, but not subdued or solemn.  Extremely distinct and staid, yet open and welcoming.  High art and earthy undertones.   It's a great place.

The grandeur and the majestic scenery of the drive north of San Francisco is something beyond description.  After the road climbs over Mt. Tamalpais and down to Muir Breach, the Pacific Coast Highway comes upon the long and narrow Tomales Bay.  It's somewhat chilling to realize the opposite side of the bay is moving north . . .  this the terminus of the San Andreas Fault before it disappears beneath the ocean.  The Bodega Bay of Hitchcock's The Birds is right up the road.

I traveled the road late in December and weather aside, it turned out to be a good time to escape what would obviously be a tourist trail during other months.  Traffic was light and accommodations were reasonable.  The rain was more of a constant drizzle but not in any way annoying.   I suspect it may have been overshadowed by the thrill of the trek.

The redwoods are more than just big trees; their size is almost overshadowed by their age.  Rhododendrons which are so carefully bought in garden stores in New York, are mere sickly dwarfs when compared to the size and abundance growing wild in the forests of Northern California.  The early winter rains combined with a raw ocean breeze made outdoor trekking a soggy proposition, but clambering around on the rocks of a tidal pool was something not to be missed.

After ringing in 1993, the group decided to make a trip over to Mt. Bachelor for some skiing.  It had been years since I'd skied, but I was eager to see new sights and was happy for the opportunity.  The rental car had front-wheel drive and all-season radials which is about standard for winter driving in New York.  Upon arriving at a chain-up spot where drivers are strongly urged to slap some chains on the tires, we shrugged and drove on (didn't have any chains anyway).  The road, although mountainous, was good and posed no more challenges than the typical roads in Upstate New York in January.  Snow it seems, strikes white-knuckled fear in the hearts of many drivers unaccustomed to slogging through slush and Black Ice.

Frankly, the depth of the powder on Mt. Bachelor was like falling onto a four-foot deep pile of goose down.  I'm proud to admit I didn't embarrass myself too much that day and managed not to run into any fellow skiers or ski lifts.

The last time I traveled to California was in 1994 to attend an AISES conference in San Jose.  Since it was a company-sponsored trip, my wandering was limited to a quick trip down to Monterey and a full circle tour of the Bay Area.  However, there was one diversion which became indelibly imprinted upon my memory.

Half Moon Bay Road and Skyline Boulevard.  I imagine in every trip there's a point where one stops and thinks to themselves, "This is what traveling's all about" and the drive along these roads was another spiritually uplifting event.  At a point above Redwood City on Skyline Boulevard, I pulled over and walked a short distance up to a  point where the Bay and its localities spread out in front of me.  Evidently I'd stumbled on 'A Spot' judging by the well-worn path.

The best was yet to come.  The Half Moon Bay Road is perhaps five miles long and drops over 2000 feet in elevation from the Cahill Ridge, part of a coastal mountain range and empties out at the Cabrillo Highway in the small community of Half Moon Bay.  The road is fairly steep in places and while it was certainly more than adequate, it was no wide parkway.  The ravines along the road are steep and filled with a lushness that brings new meaning to the colour green.  Mosses, vibrant and draping over fallen trees, the cushioned stillness of vegetation broken by a distance call of a bird . . . it was unlike any place I've seen.   I was both astounded and grateful to see only two other cars during my descent.

As a final surprise, the last few hundred yards of road as it levels off at the base of the mountain showed a dramatic and rapid change in vegetation.   The beach plants and those which prefer a drier environment begin to take over from the verdant foliage of just a few hundred feet up the road.  And of course, the close proximity of shady trees opens to the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean.  I swore at that point the next time I'm in California, regardless of distance, I'll make that trek down the Half Moon Bay Road again.

I haven't traveled any further south than San Simeon (Big Sur and Hearst Castle are must-sees) and the next visit will be definitely to Southern California.  Los Angeles, despite many opinions, is something I want to see for myself.  The first trip I had a plane change at LAX and the view as we crested the San Gabriel Mountains on the approach was astonishing at night.  San Diego is another city which intrigues me.  The entire state is enormous and varied and I believe I'd explore the natural features in greater depth on my next venture.

For those who've never been to California,  by all means go if you can.  If the traditional tourist jaunt isn't your thing, go and check out the off-the-beaten-path sites . . .  and there are plenty.  I'd very much like to explore the Native communities on my next trip and would gladly accept recommendations on places that shouldn't be missed. 

Here are some resources which might be of assistance and/or interest.

Los Angeles

San Francisco

San Diego

Avalon

Roxy Music : Avalon