The abbreviation for San Luis Obispo County, California says it all: SLO. Forget frantic Los Angeles to the south and San Francisco to the north. This charmed and unspoiled section of the central California coast puts the dream in California Dreamin’. Time here does not march to the beat of a clock; it sways to the surge of the surf, wafts in the wind. It whispers an invitation: come put your life in idyll for a moment.
Highway 1, hugging—sometimes clinging to—the coast of California, is one of the great drives of the world. The three hundred and eighty miles between L.A. and S.F. constitute one long, breathtaking view. The innumerable signs declaiming, “Vista Point,” are redundant, like posting, “Food,” on the refrigerator. Along this enchanted ribbon you’ll find endless beaches where the mountains plummet to the sea, a dream castle, creatures of the deep, sea birds and–yes, golfers–birdies.
North to south, south to north–the direction you take matters not one whit on this route. For our journey, we’ll start from L.A.. Pick any dawn, point the needle north and get yourself out of the traffic. On your way to Santa Barbara, stop for a walk on the beach at Malibu and dream of a surfer’s life where the only ups and downs come with the tides. Or visit Ventura, the birthplace of Perry Mason (Erle Stanley Gardner lived here.). With its historic downtown and San Buenaventura Mission dating back to 1782, Ventura points out the central paradox of this place. The past is rich here, but sip a frothy concoction while your eyes drink in an eternity of azure ocean fronted by white sand, and only today matters.
“Where exactly is Big Sur? Like California itself, it is as much a state of mind as a place.”
A sunny, Mediterranean climate presides over this whole region, earning it the nickname, the American Riviera. Everything sparkles. Nowhere is this more evident than in Santa Barbara, all white adobe and red tile roofs. You’ll think you’re in a movie set here, and you won’t be far wrong. Circa 1919, this was the movie capital of the world–over 1200 films were made by the Flying A Studio on State Street. Stop, shop and dine–the choices are exhaustive. Loll on the beach, or take a side trip to the Channel Islands or the many local wineries. But don’t let the charms of this city ensnare you; there’s plenty left to see north of here.
“Such as..?” you ask. Well, sand. Lots of it. Turn west just north of Guadalupe on the Oso Flaco Road to discover the Guadalupe-Nipomo reserve–the highest beach dunes in the western U.S.. This eighteen-mile stretch of desert-like dunes was the ancient clamming grounds of the Chumash Indians, and the setting for Cecil B. DeMilles epic, The Ten Commandments. He left out the eleventh: thou shalt see them.
Care to see a town renowned for its friendliness and just plain livability? San Luis Obispo is your next stop. Then hit your left turn signal seven miles north of here. That’s where Highway 1 separates from Highway 101, and the rest of the world. The Embarcadero, in Morro Bay, is a good place to stop and chowder down–the fish you consume on the coast was likely swimming hours before.
Morro rock itself, an extinct volcano jutting from the bay is a preserve for rare Peregrine Falcons. Gain a birdseye view from the Museum of Natural History, perched on a bluff. A short walk from there takes you to one of California’s most important Heron rookeries.
“Care to see a town renowned for its friendliness and just plain livibility? San Luis Obispo is your next stop.”
A few miles north, Highway 1 regains its true nature, a two-lane highway. You can feel the road sigh with relief. This wide, rolling ranch country—with the sea to the west, the Santa Lucia mountains to the east—tends to pull you through, but don’t let its undertow yank you past the hamlet of Cambria. A haven for artists and big city refugees, this village first gave me the idea of rating towns by cappuccinos per capita. Cambria gets a three out of four. You will never lack for caffeine here, nor good, homestyle food. A farmer’s and artist’s market was in progress when I came through.
In 1919, William Randolph Hearst, heir to his father’s 250,000 acre ranch near San Simeon, called the famed architect Julia Morgan and uttered this portentous phrase: “Miss Morgan, we are tired of camping out at San Simeon and would like to build a little something…” Millions of dollars and decades later this “little something” had grown into a formidable estate of 165 rooms filled to overflowing with art, all set within 127 acres of gardens and pools. This is the Hearst Castle, now a California Historical Monument. Whether it is a monument to exquisite good taste, sheer excess or both, you must decide on one of the many tours offered. If this is your first time, take the Experience Tour, which combines the Gardens, the fantastic Roman and Neptune pools, the Casa del Sol guesthouse and five rooms of the Casa Grande. You will also see a National Geographic movie on the making of this palace. Be sure to make reservations (800) 444-4445.
Dazzled by opulence, you continue north, only to be stopped by a bunch of juvenile ruffians bellowing and badgering each other while their lady friends yawn in the sun. No, it’s not West Coast Story–these are the elephant seals of Piedras Blancas, at the southern terminus of their yearly migration. When I stopped to admire, I was delighted to find a dedicated docent from the Friends of the Elephant Seal standing on the bluff, eager to answer my every question. A few miles further on, you’ll find the Piedras Blancas Motel, which provides RV facilities. If Hearst Castle has taken most of your afternoon, you might want to stop here for the night and begin your journey through the Big Sur country in the dawn light.
“A sunny, Meditteranean climate presides over this whole region, earning it the nickname, the American Riviera.”
Morning light here often comes diffused through a coastal fog that snakes its long fingers up the hills and gullies of the Santa Lucia mountains, lending the land a mysterious feel. The wind and sun shred it into pennants by noon. Highway 1, as you ascend the Big Sur headlands, is narrow, vertiginous and curvy so put your best Captain at the tiller. After my fourth, “Slow to 20 mph” sign I awaited the one that said, “Get out and crawl around the next curve.” All kidding aside, the road is navigable by RV and this section is short. Vista point pullouts abound.
Where exactly is Big Sur? Like California itself, it is as much a state of mind as a place.
Sure, you’ll see a dot on the map that says Big Sur, but this is a wayside of cafes, lodges and cabins. Here the journey truly is the destination. The high hills above you are golden chaparral; the road itself often tunnels through redwood forests. To your west, the Santa Lucias tumble in cascading curtains straight into the surf.
Stop at Jade Cove to search for the elusive green stones. Take a walk stroll at Sand Dollar Cove. Or pull off at any path heading towards the coast and a short walk will plop you on a bluff overlooking the timeless Pacific. Here you can ask yourself the big questions, like, “How did those surfers get down there?” Blue and Humpback whales frequent this coast in summer, so bring your binoculars. Stop at Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park to discover an approachable microcosm of the whole region, including the history of the first pioneers. The Waterfall Overlook Trail whisks you to a high view above a tranquil cove where McWay Creek Falls spill directly into the sea at high tide, as well as to the ruins of the once magnificent Waterfall House.
If you’d like to bide awhile longer in Big Sur, Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park accommodates RVs up to 32 feet. [Reservations: (831) 667-2315] Drive a forty-footer? You might want to stay a night at the rustic Big Sur Lodge. [Reservations: (800) 424-4787] You’ll find plenty of havens for the hungry along the way, but I suggest you save your hunger for Nepenthe. Perched 800 feet above the blue, this terrace restaurant lives up to its name – “bannisher of sorrows.” While you’re there, stop in at the Phoenix Shop to browse local and international arts and crafts.
“Morning light here often comes diffused through a coastal fog that snakes its long fingers up the hills.”
The Point Sur Historic Park Light Station offers tours during the summer months. [Times and reservations: (831) 667-0528] This is the northern end of Big Sur, but far from the end of the scenery as rugged cove after cove leads you to Point Lobos. The watercolorist Francis McComas dubbed this promontory, “the greatest meeting of land and water in the world.” Take the Cypress Point trail to view the trees whose lifelong struggle with the wind yields a sinewy sculptural beauty. This area was the stomping grounds of American photography masters Edward Weston and Ansel Adams, as well as the poet, Robinson Jeffers. Bring your camera and your poetic soul.
Enchanting. Quaint. Picturesque. You must be in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Take the Rio Road exit to see the Carmel Mission, considered the most beautiful of all the California missions. Restaurants, cafes and specialty shops fill the village-like downtown. Afterwards there is only one way to exit this town–take the deservedly famous 17 Mile Drive north to Monterey where your jaw will drop first at the scenery and then at the castles erected here by millionaires. I probably don’t need to tell golfers that this is the home of Pebble Beach. In fact, there are so many golf courses on the Monterey peninsula that I’ll simply send you to a web directory: www.mty.com/golf.html.
On Independence Day, I lined up with the Monterey locals to watch their “small, hometown parade.” If you are travelling in July, try to land here on the fourth. What a hoot! From marching Mariachis to the Laurel and Hardy Piano Movers, I was mesmerized for hours. 250,000 watery creatures parade for you at the world famous Monterey Bay Aquarium. That’s a lot; allow three hours minimum for your visit. It’s worth every minute. Outside you’ll find historic Cannery Row, of Steinbechian fame. This once bustling fish cannery district turned shopping strip proves a basic law of nature–you can’t catch more fish than there are. But you can shop forever. Rent a surrey and pedal the coast path, stroll the Monterey Path of History or, if you want to return home with a whale of a tale, take a tour of Monterey Bay.
“Enchanting. Quaint. Picturesque. You must be in Carmel-by-the-Sea. Take the Rio Road exit to see the Carmel Mission, considered the most beautiful of all the California missions.”
As you head north you detect, around Moss Landing, an aroma that reminds you of your mother saying, “Eat your veggies.” That’s right, all the green horrors that once stood between you and dessert flourish here at the coastward end of the Salinas Valley. You’re back on the freeway now, destination Santa Cruz. Exactly what is this town? Southern California’s northernmost bastion? Northern California’s southernmost outpost? The last hippie stronghold? A culture, shopping and dining mecca? Playground for the young of all ages?
The answer is, yes. Santa Cruz serves up life with funk, spunk and sparkling elan. That, plus it garners my coveted four-cappuccino rating. Just stroll down Pacific Avenue to see what I mean. You’ll find unique boutiques, open air cafés galore, and street musicians that range from the guy with the guitar to string quartets. Hit the beach and Boardwalk to become a kid again by taking a ride on the Giant Dipper roller coaster. Built in 1924, this celebrated stomach stirrer is now a National Historic Landmark. Catch Shakespeare under the redwoods at the Festival Glen Theater. Or just drive picturesque West Cliff Drive from Lighthouse Point south to too-cute-to-be-true Capitola. Here you can cap the day with dinner and a walk on the Beach Esplanade. Come on September first and be beguiled by the annual Capitola Begonia Festival Nautical Parade of blossom-bedecked floats.
Here I’m going to drop you off. Time’s up for me but not for you, of course. You’re going to head north along the equally stunning stretch of Highway 1 between Santa Cruz and San Francisco. Long, inviting beaches, lighthouses, and ocean view restaurants await you. Then, if you’re hooked, if the California coast has sunk its golden talons into you, you might find yourself hankering to continue up the fabled ribbon between the mountains and the sea into the windswept headlands of the Mendocino coast. Ah, but that is another story. |
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