04212005 its 902pm
Yosemite got to be getting full just as we darted out of there. We snapped the last tourist pictures and bid goodbye, just as, at the entrance station to the park, a line of 50 or so cars waited to get in for the quick weekend in Yosemite, the first real campable weekend of the spring.
We were heading back to familiar territory, the Bay Area, where my brother and a few friends I know are stationed, and where I had spent a few weekends over the winter showing up to play shows in little cafes. We had vowed to do the tourist thing though, North Beach and Chinatown, maybe even Fisherman's Wharf, snapping pictures gleefully the whole time and compiling footage for our great road trip movie.
The heart of San Francisco is so vagrant and eclectic, it is impossible to sum it up in a few descriptions. North Beach is such a genuine if touristy neighborhood proud of its Italian heritage and beatnik heyday. And Chinatown is its own universe of swirling colors and neighborhood type ancient Asian men leaning over vegetables as little kids wind their way around.
It was brilliant, but we kind of hit a shrill note when we realized that staying at my brother's apartment in the Mission District of the city was not as easy as letting him know we were in town and ok, great, here is a place to stay. We decided not to burden him with our young roadtrip and headed out of the city south, determined to find camping along the coast, between SF and Santa Cruz.
We were optimistic, but the evening shadows grew longer, and our plans got less and less ambitious, the first two (and only on the map) campgrounds were packed full of the weekenders, and there was not a single site to be had. We sat on the hood of the truck in the now darkening sky and discusses our options, and decided to push East to one last option, which turned out to be the only, a county park also nearly full and compensating for any empty spaces by the amount of rowdy partying going on around us, all night. The highlight of the campground was pulling into our site, and promptly witnessing the neighboring campers attempting to get their fire going by pouring white gas on their smoldering coals. Of course the line of gas lit up in the drunk young man's hands, and in fear he threw the can onto the ground. They then attempted to put the fire out with water, and by hovering around the now ready to blow gas can. I kind of grabbed my blanket from the truck in a reluctant haze and walked quickly over.
"Smother it, you've got to smother it." I said, frustrated. I threw the blanket over it and walked away. "You can bring it back to me in a while. DON'T lift it off anytime soon" I was very tired, it had been a long day. 7.5 hours of driving. 10 hours on the road.
***
The plan for a place to stay the next day was clear, and we were exc ited, for we would be staying in a friend's house, and friend's houses have showers (and of course, dear friends).
Our luck had kind of faltered with the whole of the evening before, but we were determined, in our sleeplessness, to make the day a full one.
Santa Cruz was familiar territory for me, I spent my formative college years there, grand and crazy, busy and alive. I had left it with sour memories of a relationship gone south, but I had let go of that by the time we rolled into town, and as we cruised past all my old houses and dorm rooms on the tour of my past I kind of felt a nonchalant detachment from it all, which was refreshing. I just knew where the streets went, and the cool places to get coffee, and where to sit and watch the sunset.
We spent the afternoon taking in a concert by friends of friends which happened to take place in the UCSC hall that I had played many concerts before. It was interesting, very interesting in fact to see that quite a few of my former classmates were there at the concert, still hanging out. Its very easy to do that in Santa Cruz, and its a good life there, which, though its hard to explain, is why I had to leave there in the first place. Seeing all these people in the same place made me feel at peace about the whole thing, no matter which path you take in life, perhaps its just happiness that should be the guide. I was glad to say that I had lived a different life, in Europe, Portland and Mendocino, and that coming back was like coming back to a new world again.
Our idealistic visions of the extended bathing sessions were kind of smashed by the reality of college roommates partying with 24 packs of Pabst (ah college) and blasting punk rock from the paper thin walls right by our temporary bed. The encore was drunken audible sex , extended showers and lights left on, windows left open. Again, we were nearly sleepless.
In the morning, with the Santa Cruz light streaming through the window, we groaned out of bed and packed resolutely and quickly, out the door in less than ten minutes, off to greener pastures, on with the adventure.
We zoomed down Highway 1 to Monterey, towards the Aquarium there, which we had been planning to see and talking about going to for months. We finally made it, and shelled out $20 bucks to wander around the sharks and jellyfish in a meditative state broken up by the throngs of children, even more captivated then we were.
In the early afternoon we grabbed the compulsory tourist Clam Chowder from the bustling fisherman's wharf, and then headed south, looking for the perfect campsite to call home for the night.
