Rick and Yvonne’s 30th Anniversary Magical Mystery Tour

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Saturday, June 12th 7:37 a.m. (Santa Cruz, California) – Yesterday we took off on a rainy, relatively chilly morning out of Cleveland after a 40 minute delay described by our captain as “waiting for the plane to be re-aired”…something like that. All I know is we sat in a hot as hell airplane “being patient”. This frustration was surpassed at the Hertz Rental counter in San Francisco. It took 70 minutes to wrangle into a contract for a Mustang convertible… which at first glance looked like a Scarlet and Gray Buckeyemobile. Fortunately, in the daylight it turned out to be red with a tan top… whew. I look too much like a stereotypical tourist as it is.

Driving down the coast was the usual treat. Yet we were way too tired to stop to eat or put the top down. After finally arriving in Santa Cruz we stopped and got a bite to eat… dropped the top… and drove a whole 2 blocks to Margaret’s abode.

Saturday, June 12th 10:41 a.m. Margaret made a wonderful vegetarian dinner for us last evening. Afterwards we decided to take a drive in the ‘Stang with the top down… despite the fact that it is much, much cooler in Northern Californian than Ohio. We saw the sites of Santa Cruz on an early Friday night and stopped at a funky little lounge called The Red Room. And red it was… and unfortunately one of the few places that looks away when it comes to this state’s non-smoking policy. But not that many people were indulging and the overdone Naugahyde décor was truly enchanting. Yvonne and I got into the spirit of the place by drinking glasses of Big House Red…a charming wine made here locally at the Bonny Doon Vineyard. http://www.bonnydoonvineyard.com/ We drink this at home quite often and have successfully overcome our prejudice towards wine in bottles with a screw top. Bonny Doon Vineyards has conquered technological advances and have produced a quality drink circumventing the “cork controversy” of the present day wine industry. I’ll tell you… a screw top that works certainly beats sucker punching yourself while trying to open a bottle of vino with one of those new “plastic” corks!

Saturday June 12th 5:03 p.m. I just got up from a little nappy poo. Craig and Margaret are still ZZZZZZZing. I didn’t sleep too badly last night. But I had a weird dream about finding the home of a lost dog. I believe I am experiencing separation anxiety from our pooch Henri. A 52 year old man who misses his dog. Jeez. And I guess I’m still a bit jet lagged.

Meanwhile Ms. “I Can’t Take a Nap” Yvonne spent the time reading the 3rd Harry Potter book that she insists on finishing before seeing the new movie.
Anyway… the four of us spent a nice afternoon walking around Santa Cruz and visiting the beach boardwalk. We even rode a few of the rides… at least as many as I could talk everyone into riding… including a sweet little coaster called the Giant Dipper which is celebrating it’s 80th year of operation. http://www.beachboardwalk.com/02_giant_dipper.html And we got to observe “Laughing Sal” in the flesh… er… I mean… in the wood. Sal is an antique animated mannequin. She tilts her head back and laughs…and laughs…and laughs. The piece used to be in San Francisco and has been in mothballs since 1972. She has been restored and the Santa Cruz Boardwalk is her new home. Apparently locals here find her charming. I thought she was macabre. She creeped me out as much as the talking ventriloquist’s dummy in a “Twilight Zone” episode I watched as a boy. If you’re interested you can read more at http://www.santacruzsentinel.com/archive/2004/May/04/local/stories/02local.htm

Monday, June 14th 9:47 a.m. (Monterey) Saturday night we all went to a place called Moe’s Alley http://www.moesalley.com/ to see the classic British blues band Savoy Brown. http://www.savoybrown.com The club was a wonderful little place… smoke free… with a patio for smokers and a nice stage area. Although Savoy Brown has gone through numerous lineup changes, the lead guitarist Kim Simmonds has fronted the group for decades. They were fantastic. And it was certainly great to hear the old British blues sound reminiscent of bands like Fleetwood Mac… before they became a chick pop band of course.

Yesterday we drove down to Monterey (where Margaret pointed out Dennis the Menace Park, named after the comic book kid created by Monterey’s own Hank Ketchum), dropped off the red Mustang and after hopping into Margaret and Craig’s new Honda C-RV; we cruised down to Big Sur. The landscape/seascape is nothing short of breathtaking. There we stopped at a restaurant called Nepenthe to buy them lunch for so graciously hosting us the past two nights. http://www.nepenthebigsur.com/ To make a long story short…after being told by an incredibly smirky hostess it would be a 20 minute wait for a table with the best view of Big Sur… what began as lunch turned into an all afternoon affair. Finally we gave up on the view and ate at the next available table. The food was good so all was not lost…even though it took almost three hours to satisfy our hunger pains.

Craig and Margaret returned us to the Marriott in Monterey and we said our goodbyes…at least until they meet us in Frisco Friday. We got settled in… walked around Fisherman’s Wharf (there seems to be one in every seaside community here) and ate a glorious Italian dinner at a wonderful restaurant called Cibo. http://www.cibo.com/ This was Italian food at it’s best…and we’ve been to Italy… twice. As an added treat we were serenaded by a delightful jazz duo named Dizzy Bennett with a guy on guitar and a woman on upright bass. http://www.dizzyburnett.com/ Quite a few people… including a charming couple with their kids… danced the night away to Dizzy Bennett’s classic yet distinguished sound.

Wednesday, June 16th 3:33 p.m. (San Francisco) Monday afternoon Yvonne and I took a walk down to the aquarium by Cannery Row. Now I’m not big on zoos, aquariums and the like. I have very mixed feelings about capturing, caging and gawking. But it was supposed to be a good one and I guess it is in some ways educational. The experience, however, certainly did not enhance my attitude about humankind… especially children. The place was crawling with kids… loud yelling kids. This in itself doesn’t bother me. But when a boy around the age of 11 or 12… after being gently reprimanded by his mother turned to her and said, “FUCK!” (“Kids… I dunno what’s wrong with these fuckin’ kids today!” could be a line in an updated Bye, Bye Birdie) I thought perhaps one reason Yvonne and I have stayed together is because we never had any rug rats. The fish and undersea creatures… vegetation… etc… was intriguing to look at. There was even a picture of a sea sunfish! I guess these things are too huge to put in an aquarium because the picture was all there was. One big, big observation I made – all the fish… every one of them… was NAKED!

We then stomped around Cannery Row a bit… which made Fisherman’s Wharf look a lot less commercial because of its blatant cheesiness. We couldn’t even find a souvenir Christmas ornament worthy of purchasing… sigh.

Undaunted, we decided to drive down the coast a little to a winery called Chateau Julien. I was surprisingly impressed with the tasting there. Unfortunately, all the wines were specialties and can’t be found in Ohio… nor a lot of other places for that matter. So we bought a bottle for my brother and his wife as a gift for taking care of our pooch… and an amazingly complex port made there from a blend of their homegrown grapes and imported ones from Portugal.

With the noise of the aquarium long forgotten thanks to our recently attained gentle buzz, we made our way to Carmel by the Sea (by the beautiful sea). There we discovered (in much the same way Columbus did America) a wonderful, charming beach village with great architecture and…for the most part…quaint shops with local art and a plethora of tiny eateries. After sauntering around for an hour or so we settled into a place called Flaherty’s http://www.carmelsbest.com/flahertys/ where we ordered a few different sea urchin treats. The place may have been small but the food was very big indeed. I had a bowl of Manhattan clam chowder that could possibly be the best I’ve ever eaten! I’m betting even native New Yorkers would rave about this chowder. (With the exception of Yankee fans who know virtually nothing outside of Bud Light and cursing.)

Tuesday had been set a side for a long drive down the coast to the Hearst Castle on CA Hwy. 1. The scenery is so amazing that words… and pictures… really can’t do it justice. The relentless beauty was only tempered by my fear of heights… amplified by the twisting, turning… and at times absence of guardrails between our red ‘Stang (affectionately nicknamed Arnold) and the deep blue crashing Pacific. I get excitedly awestruck… and nervous… reminiscing about the scene. Make sure you have plenty of gas if you plan on taking this drive. Stations are scarce and at $3.49 per gallon you’ll have to salve the pain in your pocketbook by reminding yourself they are gracious enough to pump it for you.

The Hearst Castle (and it is for all intents and purposes a real castle) http://www.hearstcastle.org was impressive in its’ command of everyone’s attention and is set high on a hill in the midst of an enormous ranch. To the west… the mighty ocean… while surrounding mountains cradle the magnificent architectural gem that could very well be labeled a palace. Randolph Hearst took charge of the estate’s elegance only after his mother died… as she had planned. The grounds, gardens, and pools reminded me of the splendor of the castles of Europe. And inside was the distinctly American influence of mismatched art, furniture and accoutrements of extreme leisure from significantly different eras… cultures… and styles all hodgepodged into a glorious feast for the eyes. In an hour and a half our tour group witnessed… according to the immensely knowledgeable guide… about 20 percent of the building. And this main “house” is one of several others on the ranch… albeit one that dwarfs the others severely.

We took the inland route back to Monterey… one I wanted to think would be shorter than the three-hour trip there. I was wrong. The drive north did, however, require much less concentration and my hands removed themselves much more easily from the wheel once back in Monterey.

I do have to mention our dinner that evening. We ate a place called Montrio Bistro http://www.montrio.com/ and had yet another extraordinary feast. (We shared some wonderful calamari… looked at squid earlier… ate it later… hmmm.) The historic old firehouse is decorated with a semi-funky, post modern, not-so-sparse casual elegance. The menu might be described with many of the same adjectives. This European/American je nes cest qua is enhanced with only the freshest vegetables, free-range meats and the best seafood imaginable. Monterey is not a large place… but is certainly has more than it’s share of excellent restaurants.

Thursday, June 17th 9:34 a.m. – The drive up to San Francisco yesterday was a truly California driving experience. By that I mean traffic, traffic, traffic. Concrete freeway bridges spanning three levels rose above us on occasion. The saving grace… and a lot of you probably are not going to buy this… drivers… for the most part… here are more civil than back east. I usually cruise about 4 MPH over the posted speed limit. In Ohio drivers ride my ass… pass indignantly on the left AND right… but not so much here. So even with the traffic, the trip wasn’t so tense.

Once we dropped off the car we were rocketed into the city by a shuttle bus driver who seemed to fear nothing… including death. It wasn’t particularly frightening because the guy was so adept at maneuvering. Once in the downtown area his recklessness became almost poetic… leaning out his window to direct local buses… or shouting at cab drivers. He appeared to know every cabbie in town by name.

So now we’re at the Marriott close to the Theater District… but more by the convention area. There are plenty of nerdy out of towners proudly displaying their convention badges on their chests like newly awarded Scout Merit Badges. We made our way down to what was billed as a deli/sports bar. There really is no such thing and The Fourth Street Bar and Deli should have been called “Enigma Lunch”. Customers have to walk up to the bar…order their food and drinks… return to their tables to wait… and pick up their orders at the bar when called by name. I’m surprised we didn’t have to bus our own table and wash our glasses in the bar sink. Had the food been unique in any respect I wouldn’t carp about the work involved. But sadly… it was mediocre at best. Maybe by now I’m just spoiled.

Last night we were pampered at mealtime once again. San Francisco is crammed with elegant… funky… sometimes chicly run down… small hotels. The Andrews Hotel is a delightful little Victorian place near Union Square with a terrific Italian eatery called Fino Restaurante. http://www.andrewshotel.com/fino.html Suffice it to say that this trip has yielded the best meals…and Italian ones in particular… since the last time Yvonne and I ventured to Italy. Our waitperson was congenial to the point of seeming like a friend by the time we left. The atmosphere grand… and the food! Mmmm! Mmmm!! Delectable might not cover it! I’m beginning to think our appetites have taken the helm of our vacation. No complaints about that here.

Sunday, June 20th 7:37 p.m. Columbus, Ohio I had the best intentions of finishing this travelogue while still on the road. It wasn’t meant to be.

Thursday afternoon Yvonne and I made our way to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. After having a pretty nice lunch at the museum café we began wandering around the vast collections of art we merely pretend to understand. Both of us had already seen the permanent collection so we reacquainted ourselves quickly and moved on to the special exhibits. Presently there is a great pop art exhibit with works from such luminaries as Andy Warhol, Ray Lichtenstein, Jasper Johns and many others. Also on display is Larry Sultan’s The Valley, a photography exhibit in which the artist explores the world of pornography. And although some of his shots are relatively explicit his focus is more on production, setting, and environment. Sultan drives home the point that porn… at its essence… can be as mundane as anything in everyday life. http://www.sfmoma.org/

Unfortunately for me I began feeling lousy. At first my eyeballs itched as if I had gotten lotion in them. So I ignored the symptom as best I could. Then I became a bit dizzy. And after we left the museum, the afternoon sun caused my eyes to water and I literally could not open them. So Yvonne led me back to our hotel. I fancied myself Ray Charles visiting San Francisco being shown the sites. Actually this entire trip I thought of Mr. Charles every time I saw a flag at half-mast. I figured I might as well pretend the country was mourning the more genuine of the two American icons that passed away early in June.

I took a nap and dreamed I was a volcano erupting during an earthquake.

That evening Yvonne and I walked to a vegan, all organic gourmet restaurant called Millennium. We had several hors d’oeuvres that were pretty good… not fabulous… but we did had a wonderful organic pinot noir the name of which escapes me. http://www.millenniumrestaurant.com

That night I had a fever… except when I got up to go to the bathroom when I got chills. I’m not accustomed to getting sick on vacation. I try to make sure I get sick on a workday so I can get paid for my illness. Still, I tried to maintain a decent attitude because I didn’t want to spend my final day in California lying in a hotel room. I slept about 3 hours… ten minutes at a time. I had a heavy comforter on. I was burning up and worried that I might actually burst into flames. I was sweating like there was no tomorrow. The ordeal made me think of one of those old westerns where one of the kids traveling across the lawless prairies with his family gets piles of blankets dumped on him so eventually “the fever breaks”. Miraculously it worked. About 5 a.m. I felt my fever “break”. I hummed what I remembered of “Sweet Betsy from Pike” in my head until Yvonne woke up. I have to add that this woman takes good care of me… whether I’m sick or not. So it wasn’t just the blanket.

Monday, June 21st 9:44 p.m. Feeling much, much better Friday morning the two of us just cooled our heels while we waited for Margaret and Craig to show up for a day of fun in Frisco. After their arrival around 1:00 we strolled leisurely… aimlessly… through the city streets. The best thing about good friends… especially those who have been around for decades… is that the sheer joy of their company can make the lack of itinerary irrelevant. We took in a local art gallery… meandered through Chinatown… and eventually found our way to Sam’s Grill in the business district for a late lunch. http://www.posthoc.com/sams.htm Sam’s is the oldest bar/restaurant in San Francisco and its history is obvious. The food is predominantly seafood at its old school best.

From there we wandered over to the park adjacent to the Museum of Modern art where we chatted while lounging in the sunlit grass. Being lazy is what vacations are all about.

After a quick happy hour at The View on the 39th floor of the Marriott Hotel, the four of us walked to SBC Ballpark to watch the Giants host the Boston Red Sox. This was the first time these two teams have played since early in the 20th Century. So, I guess that made the game historic.

We had standing room only tickets and ended up past the home run fence along the right field line. Seated in the sections close by were an astounding number of Boston fans. Consequently this made for interesting conversation back and forth between Giants’ loyalists and those for the Red Sox. All too many of these people brought a new dynamic to the adjective “drunken”. I figured there would be some altercations before the final out of the game. (It is a game people.)

All too soon a particularly inebriated spectator began the tired litany of “Boston sucks” behind us. Inspired…he moved on to calling the Boston faithful everything from “cocksuckers” to “motherfuckers”. What team spirit! (I wondered if this guy was related to the foul-mouthed kid in the Monterey Aquarium.) But he wasn’t finished. Oh no. He then launched into a diatribe about how they all better be from Boston ‘cause any Bay Area resident who rooted for the Red Sox was nothing more than a “fucking piece of shit”. As opposed to the ordinary “piece of shit” I suppose. Then a woman who was obviously a season ticket holder… a Giants fan… turned to this debauched fool and said, “They’re from Boston.” I’m sure she figured this might shut this loud, obnoxious guy up. Not a chance. He started calling her… a fellow Giants rooter… everything from “a stupid cunt” to “big nosed bitch”. I couldn’t believe the guy’s consistency. Evidently everyone on the planet is on a lower plane than he is.

As he started to walk away, one of his friends… who was equally juiced… announced to the section, “Don’t mind him. He’s just a hardcore Giants’ fan”. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. And I was stunned everyone else managed to. But out of my mouth came, “No. He’s a hardcore ASSHOLE!”

Then the fun began.

This guy walks up behind me and says, “That was RUDE!” At first I thought he might actually be kidding. He wasn’t. I laughed at him anyway… which prompted him to wag his finger at me and slur, “I’m not laughing and I’ll be back!” I knew he was merely blowing smoke out of his drunken ass. Six or seven steps away from me I doubt he even remembered. Since I didn’t care who won the game I guess this was the pinnacle of excitement for my last evening in San Francisco. The Red Sox ended up winning a home run derby of a contest. Yvonne and I left in the 8th inning since we had an early flight to catch in the morning. Once again, there may have been a baseball game going on but the real fun was spending time with Craig and Margaret. We don’t get a chance to see them very often and I’m not one who usually relishes the idea of visiting people on what’s supposed to be a vacation. But I’ll always make an exception for these two… especially when I’m with my partner in crime of 30 years plus.

Soon enough Yvonne and I were back in Olmsted Falls reunited with our pooch and telling my brother and his wife exactly what I’ve chronicled for you here. I finished weeding our vegetable garden here at home in Columbus about an hour ago. And if that isn’t evidence the 30th Anniversary Magical Mystery Tour is over, I’m sure the sore muscles from said weed pulling will be.