One of the [few] things I love about moving is the discovery process (or, for my Type A’ers, re-discovery).  Restoring memories from old photos, reliving favorite stories from old books, playing CDs burned years before but never titled.  While unearthing some mystery music, one song in particular called out, “wouldn’t it be good if we could hop a flight to anywhere??”  And I thought, “why yes, it would.”

The next day, I woke up in California.

I have a special place in my heart for Cali, specifically Big Sur, a spot about 2.5 hours south of San Francisco.  The area is nestled near Carmel, known for whimsical, beachside cottages and boutique art galleries, and Monterey, made popular by Cannery Row and John Steinbeck.  While I thoroughly enjoy its neighbors, there’s something about Big Sur’s marriage of mountains and ocean that’s peacefully, perfectly addictive.  It is isolation at its best; a manifestation of freedom.

Morning is the perfect time for a drive down Route 1 along the California Coast and into the Big Sur mountains for breakfast.  My favorite spot is the Bakery, but unfortunately I arrived to find it closed until the end of December for “winter break.”  You might think that after traveling 3000 miles for a particular stack of pancakes and an incredibly good latte, I’d be pretty upset about such rejection.  But one really can’t be too annoyed.  This is exactly the kind of place that would take winter break for weeks.

Big Sur is a small, old school outpost; the epitome of “local.”  There are very few restaurants at all here, most attached to cozy inns.  It’s a homegrown, sparsely-populated, and densely-forested wilderness.  A former hippie haven, where wanderers still hitchhike, camping is plentiful, and people sneak down to the beach and draw peace signs in the sand.  Electricity wasn’t a staple until the ’50s (residents tell me it still goes out at least once a winter), and you can forget about getting cell phone reception.  Total getaway.  Total clarity.

So, I try to get away, get out there, regularly.  I balance out the fancy drinks at Pebble Beach with the delicious, rustic atmosphere of DeetJens.  I drive, a lot.  It brings me back to basics, forces me to check the status of simplicity in my life, and adjust.  Everyone should have a place — a park, a house of worship, a nearby B&B — where they can breathe a little bit easier.  And if that place also has great food, fantastic wine, thick forests, crashing waves, and an open road along a rugged coastline, so be it.

Open Skies, Open Road

California Coastline

Peace, Man

Sucker for Sunsets