If you're going to San Francisco arrive by sea

So I’m holed up in my room in Susan’s place on Nob Hill, San Fran, escaping Callie the friendly cat. I’m not a cat person. While Susan was here, I pretended I’d ‘make nice’ with Callie. Now that’s she’s gone – to cat sit a bunch of sick cats (lord, I hope this sick cat owner lives in a house and not an apartment!), Callie is out. Callie is brooding in the hallway, plotting how she’s going to pee in my suitcase the one day that I forget to close the door behind me. Callie is a likeable kind of cat – don’t get me wrong, I’m just not a cat person. Callie is some weird special cat – with a fat tail and six claws on each foot – Susan did tell me, but again, I’m not a cat person, so in one ear and out the other. I can never tell Susan that I have a blog – she’ll find out the truth, that cats and I don’t mix. Sorry Clear, you have all the cats you want. Just don’t ask me to cat sit or pat ‘em.

Apart from Callie the cat – and I knew Callie lived here when I signed up to stay – Susan’s place is nice. It’s an old apartment in Nob Hill and because it’s not a real B’n’B or anything it was a bit to get used to initially. The shower is interesting – as foreign showers always are. Lonely Planet needs a guidebook on foreign showers, everywhere you go they’re different with their own special quirks – don’t get me started on English ‘electric’ showers with dials! CRAP!

It’s been a long day ‘on the road’ pardon the pun. A day of ‘closed’ stuff, which has been a bit disappointing. Last night I went to the Arthur Miller library in Big Sur to a comedy music and Improv night which was great. It was outside in the yard of the library amongst the Redwoods. With twinkly fairy lights in the trees and travelers and locals milled around a little stage drinking free tea and coffe or harder stuff they’d brought themselves. The comedy singer was mildly amusing – but the improv guys were great. Hilarious, politically incorrect and just really damn talented. I could only stay for the first set as I had to head back to the lodge before it got really dark as the goat-track of a road was hairy enough to navigate in the light, let alone in the pitch black of the Big Sur night.

After my lame attempt at an open fire in the cabin overnight, I set off a little later this morning straight back to the Arthur Miller library to soak it all up properly, and the apparently free Wi-Fi. As I rounded the bend I was surprised not to see any cars – til I saw the sign – Closed. Sigh. If I had of known it would be closed on a Saturday I would have spent more time last night. Ah, back ‘on the road’ then. Disappointing.

I stopped in a little way past the lodge to use the free wi-fi at Redwoods. I’ve starting to become adept at scanning roadside signs for the words ‘free wi-fi’. And uploaded the first batch of blog entries and pics before heading back out on the winding road to Carmel.

Carmel is a kind of designer cute seaside town, and as the Concours D’elegance in on this weekend at Pebble Beach just up the road, the streets were lined with luxury sports cars. Guys , seriously this was drool worthy. I parked the Pony beside three Masarati’s all in a row! I almost took a flyer off the windscreen of a powder blue ‘56 model Porsche for sale for just $20K. I spent a few moments seriously thinking through the logistics of getting the cash together, freighting it over etc, etc, ‘til I of course realized, the steering wheel would be on the wrong side. Hmmmm. Plus, I don’t really need a powder blue vintage Porsche, do I? This is where you’re all supposed to reassure me that the Honda is a great and practical car. Practical. Humph.

I had a great counter lunch in Carmel which I’ll write about in more detail – hilarious. Carmel today attracted an even more designer crowd than usual. It was like all the worst stereotypical elements of Main Beach on Tedder Avenue, times a million. Lots of men with facelifts in Ferrari jackets, just in case we didn’t realize they owned the cars they were driving. Lots of women who marry men for their Ferraris and the wallets that buy them. Hilarious! I took lots of photos of the cars. In hindsight I should have snapped off a few shots of the owners, that would have been far more entertaining.

From Carmel it was off to Monterey, and Cannery Row, which was a disappointing line of t-shirt shops and souvenir joints. I did two laps in the car and didn’t even bother getting out. I had to press on to Salinas to the Steinbeck Center and then onto San Fran by 4pm to get the car back. I was pressed for time.

I haven’t read Tortilla Flat but I’m assuming it’s a reference to the farming lands of Salinas. Desert hills bound a series of fields that stretch out in every direction growing corn, berries, garlic and more. At least 60 years on, you can see the hard working heart of the place is unchanged. And the landscape too, save for the automalls and strip malls – the curse of the modern American landscape.
The people of Salinas look hardworking and it’s hard to spot anyone who isn’t Hispanic.

I roll towards the Steinbeck Center, the shiniest, newest, modern looking building in town. The only real drawcard on an otherwise pointless detour from Highway 101. I park the Pony and am overwhelmed by carloads of well dressed locals in their party gear, gents in shiny suits, ladies in their best dresses with curled hair and lots of little girls in leftover first communion dresses. Looks like it must be a wedding. They all ride down in the elevator with me from the carpark and we walk in the same direction towards the Steinbeck Center. Except they walk inside to the wedding reception as I take in the bad news. “Sorry folks, the whole center is closed today from 2pm for a private function”. Huh? On a Saturday? An American man ahead of me starts mouthing off at the absurdity of the situation – that he’s come such a long way to see the place. Not as far as me pal!

I’m really disappointed. I stand outside the front doors a bit dazed really. The Pony goes back tonight. No more car. No way of coming back another day. My one and only chance, if I had have known I could have come before 2pm. Again, disappointed.

Some more people approach the front door as I announce that it’s closed. They look around and ask if I’ve come a long way – from Australia I say. They commiserate for me, surprised that Steinbeck is popular in Australia too. It’s funny how Americans perceive us. The majority of them are so insular they just assume we are too.

I walked away from the center a bit choked up that I’d come all this way to find out more about one of my favourite authors only to be so disappointed. On Shane’s advice I was planning on buying a copy of the The Pearl from the gift shop and everything. Perhaps next time I’m 100 miles south of San Francisco I’ll call ahead to check they’re open and pop in.

I called in at an automall to buy an American phone since I couldn’t figure out how to use the payphone and called ahead to tell Susan and Dollar car rentals that I’d be late.

Driving into San Fran to drop the car off downtown is like arriving in Paris by train. You start to wonder how the legends of the beautiful city could possibly be true as all you see in every direction is poverty and the mean, grim streets they wish they could pack away from tourists. I got so concerned at one point, that I tried to put the hood up at the intersection, only for the lights to change quickly resulting in me driving a block with the hood half up, half down.

Everywhere I looked people sitting in doorways, pushing shopping trolleys of their possessions around. I’m talking 20 or more people on each side of every street. It was like the worst scenes of hard luck from the movies. It makes Redfern and Brixton look like genteel suburbs. It’s freaked me out a little.

I have a rough guide from Nicole of places to check out while I’m in San Fran, but I’m not really well prepared.

After the big day of driving, and my unfortunate entrée into San Fran I’m really in no mood to go exploring the local ‘hood for dinner. So I’ve eated an apricot flan thingy that Susan made for me and a cup of tea. Tomorrow I’ll get up bright and early, swallow a teaspoon of cement and tackle San Fran worts and all. Tonight I’m just a little scaredy cat – holed up in my room, avoiding Callie. Night night.