Embracing The Savage - Part 11
As the New Year looms, I continue down the coast and find a rare motel late at night. The reason why there's a motel here becomes clear in the morning. This is Fort Bragg, California also known as Glass Beach. Decades of trash such as appliances and even vehicles dumped into the ocean in the 20th century has been transformed by it's currents into tiny, smooth fragments of sea glass today.
The rest of the day is spent loitering on the beach. And after a long time, in the presence of other humans. I still manage to find an isolated strip of coastline where a middle-aged women has been sleeping with her few belongings that include a blanket for the cold night.
Moving on from Fort Bragg, I find a housing colony on a cliff. Bungalows perched at the edge with deer roaming free ignoring the "No Trespassing" signs. Who are the people living here?
The Pacific Coast Highway takes you from cliffs to coasts in constantly alternating manner. I find myself in a cove in the company of a dog who is enjoying this cool, sunny day as much as I am. He's playing fetch with his human.
What gives life to this coastline is the aforementioned Redwood Forest and countless other trees that dot the shore. Each unique in it's size, direction and bark.
As I get closer to more populous parts of the coast, increasing signs of humanity start to appear. A make-shift pier. A man fishing in his kayak. There is a perceptible shift in how I feel through these changes. It's clear why people would choose to live in the remoteness. It's a yoga through the surroundings. Yoga Chitta Vritti Nirodha. Stilling of mental modifications.
By night-time, I'm heading towards San Francisco and can see the Golden Gate bridge in the distance as I approach.
It's New Years eve and I rock up at a hostel a few hours before midnight. A couple of Dutch girls befriend me and invite me along to parade. They're carrying beers with them. I take a sip and don't like it. After the experience of the last few months, the entire celebration is underwhelming just as it was in Vegas. How do people find all this enjoyable?
San Francisco outside of such festivities has something to offer. An Australian couple are staying in the same dorm as me and we explore the city together. Tales is of Brazilian descent and is stereotypically happy-go-lucky, but has a lot of respect for his partner, Georgia. I contemplate what life would be like with someone, but I've probably crossed the rubicon to where a relationship like the one they have would be possible.
Of course, all this doesn't mean that I can't enjoy the company of women. I josh with an American girl who's studying in China and spend a day with Marte, one of the Dutch girls from New Years. She's an attractive blonde and we flirt a little. She sends some signals about spending the day in my dorm, but I drag her to a Google office to play in a ball pit. Go figure.
There are enough interesting people to hang out for a couple of days. Another stereotypical French couple that are devoting their life to Ayahuasca under the guidance of a shaman in Peru. A Colombian girl trying to make money to travel by looking into trimming in the legal marijuana farms of North California. An Egyptian PHD working at Tesla who was surprised to learn that Elon Musk doesn't really have a lot of technical knowledge.
A parking ticket that I'll never pay reminds me that it's time to move. So, I head south to Santa Cruz known for it's surf culture and being home to a university.
After spending a night at a picturesque hostel with white picket fences, I enter the final stretch of this journey. And it's that word that gives me the strength to go where other's don't. Or can't. Like the scenic 17 mile drive in Monterrey peninsula which is home to the famous Pebble Beach golf-course. It's usually a restricted or pay-for-use road, but the security guard takes one look at my face, hears me say a couple of words and waves me through. The cypress trees and visiting birds make for a stunning vista.
Visiting old acquaintances in the midst of all this continues to be jarring. This time, it's a friend at San Luis Obispo, who like everyone else I know, is going in the opposite direction to me. He's packing up his life in this university town to move in with his partner (whom he met on MuzMatch) in Los Angeles. The jarring sensation is because although you've known people for decades, it's really only the faces and names that are familiar. And maybe some nostalgic details. Otherwise, it looks like I'm taking a road no one else is travelling. Even if this particular one has inched to a close.
Part 12 - Afterword