a different kind of dating

When I met my husband four and half years ago, I was confident that I would never go on a date again.  I was wrong.  What I didn't consider then was that I would most likely have to date for the rest of my life.  I'm not talking about romantic dating; instead, I'm referring to dating to make friends.

I moved to South Carolina a year and nine months ago without knowing anyone.  It was the first time in my life that I moved somewhere and didn't already have friends to call up to go shopping with, get dinner with or to just come over to hang out.  I went to college with friends I knew from high school and I moved cross country and lived with friends I knew from college.  Each new place I had moved, there was already a network of people that knew me and who I had a previous relationship with.  This move was different.

It became apparent to me very quickly that is is tough to make friends.  Sure I can sit down next to someone and introduce myself, "Hi! I'm Rachel!" Which I have proclaimed often paired with a big toothy grin.  There might be an ensuing conversation about where we are from, what we do for work and what side of town we live on.  The small talk gets really good when dogs come up - I've learned they are like children, people can talk about them for hours (including me).  After the commonalities and chitter chatter die down... then what?! I've run into this several times.  Do I get her number? 


Okay so the first meeting went great, we exchanged phone numbers and leave asking myself: did I just make a new friend? Just like romantic dating, the phone number is a tricky game.  Caution should be taken not to appear over-eager or quite frankly, desperate.  It's also important not to abuse a phone number, there's such a thing as too much contact.  Nowadays, there is less pressure with the prominent use of text messaging.  This way, there doesn't need to be awkward conversations or long silent pauses.  A simple text will suffice to set up a "second date".

The second meeting is in my opinion, more challenging.  Having covered all the basics and background information, this is where the friendship either starts or fizzles to an end.  Yep, as early as the second date.  I've been caught several times sitting across from my "date" in an awkward silence, both of us scrounging for a question to ask or something to say.  Even worse is when the awkward stare happens, you know when you both blankly look at each other as if silently saying "I got nothin to say..."

In several instances my husband and I have even dated together - yep, couples dating.  One time after meeting another couple I was sure we would have commonalities with and similar interests, I instead went home disappointed.  "I don't think we'll hang out with them again," I lamented to hubby.  "Did you notice they didn't ask us anything!"  In another couples first date we left the restaurant where we met for drinks elated and quite giddy.  "They were great! So much fun! I hope they want to get together again!"  Yes, it's true, couples dating is real and just as tricky as one-on-one friend dating.

In all seriousness, I've met some great people in my time living in this new town.  It has taken effort, time and an open attitude.  Sure, they don't know my quirks and eccentricities off the bat, but they will with time.  In no way can I replace all the wonderful and dear friends that I have in my life from my past, but I have high hopes that wherever life takes me, I'm sure I'll make some life-long friends and look back and laugh about our "first date".

"The only way to have a friend is to be one."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

13.1

I rounded the bend and looked up at the white sign with the large black number 8 displayed across it.  Below the sign there were people cheering words of encouragement and praise to the perfect strangers running by.  There were several thoughts going through my head as I listened amongst the noise to my slightly labored breathing.  I was a bit surprised it wasn't a harsher and deeper heaving at this point, but the fact that it wasn't produced some confidence that I could do this, that I was going to finish and complete my goal.  My arms swung by my side in tandem with my feet as they hit the pavement in calculated and even movements.  I looked up from beneath the shade of the visor I was wearing, to my horror, there was another hill ahead.  With a deep breath, I murmured some words of encouragement to myself, pursed my lips together, narrowed my eyes, and resolved to just keep running. I had 5.1 miles to go.

Running a half marathon has always been a goal of mine.  It was one of the things on my "list".  You know, the list you have full of things you want to accomplish in life.  Things that are out of the ordinary and that provide sheer joy when you know you can put a check next to the item - the feeling of wow, I actually did that.  The half marathon was one of those things for me.  I've never really been a strong runner, I would consider myself more of a recreational runner.  I took up jogging in college mostly because our gym at school was usually too crowded and I figured if I lived on the beach I would be doing a disservice not to figure out how to exercise and enjoy the beautiful outdoors.  Three to five mile runs became my sweet spot, it was a perfect stress reliever and way to clear my mind, no equipment needed.  I could lace up my shoes and head out the front door and run for as long or short as I wanted.  A half marathon is 13.1 miles, about three to four times as far as I typically run.  Completing one would no doubt be a challenge for me, which is why I wanted to do it so bad.

When my best friend informed me there was a half marathon in Nashville, Tennessee, and that it was a Country Music half marathon, we both knew that it was our calling to sign up for the race.  My mom and husband signed up as well and in the months before the race we offered each other encouragement to keep training and kept a buzz of excitement that we would be traveling to Nashville to run with 30,000 people in a marathon/half marathon race.  I started training on longer distance runs about three months before the race, but to be honest, was quite terrified for the impending event.

On race day we all woke up excited and a bit nervous.  At least I know that had nerves welling up inside of me... my biggest enemy in training was myself.  I tend to talk myself out of the ability to run long distances, complaining that the weather is too hot, I'm overheated; some days it was my shoes which were cramping my toes, producing blisters that made the run that much more difficult.  Other days it was just flat out me convincing myself that nine miles (or whatever distance we were running) was way too far for me to humanly run (I can be quite dramatic...).  When race day came, the most miles I had run at one time in training was 10.  I had to add 3.1 to that to finish the race.  As we entered the coral together, waiting for the announcer to signal our official start, I gave myself a silent pep talk.  You can do this, I thought in my head.  No excuses, this is your chance to just do it.  The Nike slogan took on a new, more important meaning.

The four of us stretched together and jumped up and down to warm our blood as we waited to begin.  Finally it was our turn to, crossing the start line was invigorating, exciting and a bit daunting.  Only 13.1 miles to go! The four of us quickly split up from each other as we each ran different paces.  So it was me left with my thoughts to run the long and hilly course.  The only races I have run in the past are a few 5k races and one 10k race.  This one was entirely different.  Being a music half marathon, there were bands positioned throughout the course playing pump up music to motivate us to just keep running.  I absolutely loved the camaraderie of running a race like the one we did.  Amongst 30,000 people there is a sort of team spirit, that we were all running together towards the same finish line (well I was running towards the 1/2 marathon finish, those poor marathon runners had a much longer road).  I was delighted at how many people were on the sidelines throughout the course.  Granted many were there to cheer on a loved one as they trotted by, but those people would also cheer for perfect strangers.  It was motivating and wonderful to have people encouraging and supporting one another.

As I ran I had fleeting moments of serenity (in between the sheer pain of running up hill after hill), there is something quite therapeutic at taking in the moments when you are experiencing something new, something challenging and something that has pushed you further as a person.  When a guy dressed up in a full spider man costume ran by me, I couldn't help but laugh.  Here I was, fretting nervously about whether I was going to be able to finish the race or not, when some people chose to take the situation more lightly.  As the group of racers I was running alongside rounded mile twelve, an eerie quiet ensued.  All I could hear was the sound of rubber soles on the pavement and the breathing in and out of runners.  The last mile was perhaps the toughest, not only because at least half of it was uphill, but because at that point it took whatever energy I had left to push through to the end.  When I saw the finish line, I picked up my feet and ran as fast as my body would let me to the finish.

I felt exuberant, energized, and proud.  I had finished running 13.1 miles, I had forced myself not to stop and had completed my goal.  The experience made me really think about setting goals, and working towards something you want.  Ironically, when I got home from the trip, the official rejection letter from grad school was waiting for me in the mail.  I didn't feel frustrated or sad this time, instead, I just felt a weight lifted off.   I had just set a goal that was entirely up to me and completed it; to me the letter coming right after completing my challenge was "you win some, you lose some" played out in real life.  I initially thought the half marathon would be my first and last; but after such a gratifying experience, I might re-think that notion after all.

The Masters: A non-golfer's experience

The Masters: it's synonymous with the great names in golf, perfectly groomed and maintained grass, the Masters green color, Augusta Georgia.  A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend one of the practice rounds.  I wasn't sure what to expect before going.  For one, I am not a golfer; in fact, I've never golfed before or even been to a driving range.  There are a lot of people who would probably cringe and scoff that I had the audacity to attend part of the Masters and didn't instead relinquish my ticket to a more worthy tournament goer.  No way! I wanted to see what all the hooplah was about.

I attended with my my husband, my dad and my father-in-law.  All three of them are golfers, so there I was, the uneducated rookie with a miniscule amount of knowledge in golf terminology.  There were only a select few golf words that I dared utter.  "Why did he put his tee there?" (yes I knew what that white peg in the ground was).  "Hmmm, they don't yell FORE! when then drive the ball down the green? (good thing I whispered this one, I don't think the pros ever use that term...)  While at the tournament I learned that the few words I knew are only the tip of the iceberg in golf lingo.  Words like fade are used meaning the ball goes to the right down the green and draw when the ball curves to the left.  There's a whole slew of other terms specific to the game to describe what's happening.  I'm not sure I understand why golf has to have a language all of its own.  Seems to me it would be easier to simply say the ball went left or right.  Maybe I just feel that way since I'm not a golfer...

I have to say, walking the Augusta National course was an experience to remember.  The weather was sunny and beautiful, perfectly highlighting the bright pink azalea bushes that kissed the edges of each perfectly manicured green.  The trees seemed as if they were plucked from perfection and planted in exact spots where they would provide the right contrast between the blue of the sky and the green of the course.  The course itself was something to marvel at, it seemed the perfect grass was an exact hue; I'm sure there are specialists whose only job it is to make sure it is always pristine.

The phenomenal natural setting was not the only thing to notice at the Masters, the people in attendance provided entertainment as well.  They came in all shapes and sizes wearing all types of outfits and getups.  When a man walked by with the most outrageous shorts on I couldn't hold my laughter in and definitely lost it when I noticed he was alongside a woman with matching ensemble.  I wondered, did he set that ensemble aside to specifically wear to this event? I would have to assume most definitely, he did.  The Masters was a circus of people, all there to show face and experience one of the greatest tournaments in golf.

On the other side of the white rope were the pro golfers on stage.  As we were at the practice rounds, it was a more relaxed and laid back atmosphere.  Many of the pros would engage with the crowd, take multiple shots on a green and even play around with the game, performing trick shots only further highlighting their talent to place that tiny ball wherever they wanted.

There's one more thing I can't avoid mentioning about the Masters.  At a tournament where the first place prize is a cool $1.4 million dollars and even 15th place gets a prize of $128,000, you can buy a beer in a souvenir cup for $3 and a sandwich for $1.50.  Now here's one sporting event that has it right.  There isn't any professional sporting event I can think of that keep their prices so modest and reasonable for the fans.  Last time I was at Yankee Stadium in New York I'm pretty sure I spent $9 for a bottle of Bud Light and $7 for a mediocre hot dog.  At the Masters, I happily sipped my ice cold beer and munched on my pimiento cheese sandwich for a total of $4.50.

For those that don't know what pimento cheese is, I would urge you to seek it out and try it.  Here in the South it's served as an appetizer that you dip chips in, on sandwiches as a spread and even atop burgers.  It's a blend of cheddar cheese, pimentos, mayonnaise, salt and pepper and sometimes other ingredients depending on who is making it - in short, it's a really bad for you delicious treat.  That's enough of my food digression, the point is, the Masters didn't make me think about the hole burning in my pocket, but instead allowed me to indulge and happily spectate the pros on the course with a full belly.

I loved my first Masters experience; but in all honesty, I will probably relinquish my ticket next time so a true golf fan can enjoy the fantastic event.  In the meantime, maybe I'll head out to the driving range and take a crack at swinging that shiny stick at that tiny white ball.

Dog Days

Four hours, a 5 pound bag of food, a leash, a collar, pee pads, two chew toys, pepper spray for the furniture and a 25 pound golden fur ball later - we were dog owners.  I'll admit, at first my excitement at having a new puppy faded in and out, often times morphing into a tinge of shock and even disbelief that we actually went through with adopting a dog.  It's one thing to say it over and over again - I would love to have a dog, I wish we could get a dog -  it's an entirely different feeling to actually do it.  The first night I felt like oh crap, no turning back now.  Maybe I felt that way as an effect of cleaning his poop up off the floor, or shoving him off the bed in the middle of the night when he tried to commandeer all the covers.  There's no doubt that owning a dog is a big commitment and not to mention a lot of work; and me being the overly rational person that I am, had a tough time making the plunge.

It was a Thursday afternoon that we decided to go look at dogs at the adoption center.  It wasn't the first time we had done that, in fact we had stopped by the previous day even and something drew us back to look again and little more seriously.  With no exageration, we spent four hours looking at different dogs, taking many of them out to play with, trying to find the one that seemed like a good fit. Picking out a dog is unlike any other process I can think of.  Picking out a dog at an adoption place creates an even greater challenge characterized with uncertainty.  How do you know what the dog will be like in a different environment? How can you really tell their age or who its parents are?  There are so many wonderful dogs that are in need of a home so how do you decide?  Should we get a puppy or a full grown dog?

Then we found Gunner.  We had noticed him in the first few minutes as we circled through the cages filled with puppies and dogs of all shapes and sizes.  I had fixated on an Australian shepherd puppy with dewey eyes and a spunky personality.  We took her out to play and were instantly exposed to her limitless energy and apparent athleticism.  The adoption counselor shied me away from the dog saying she really needed a big yard with lots of space - not a good fit for our apartment dwelling lifestyle.  We spent the next three hours looking at a few older, full grown dogs and a sheltie mix puppy who was anything but interested in figuring out who we were.

Just as we had resigned to leave, deciding that perhaps our dog just wasn't there that day, we went around one more time to look at Gunner.  His fur is smooth and golden, ears flop over framing his almond shaped eyes.  His tail flips up and is dipped in white, matching his four white paws.  We picked him up and took him for a walk.  He trotted alongside us and when we stopped, flipped over so we could rub his belly before rolling onto his stomach and stretching his legs out behind him.  No doubt this dog was a mutt made up of undecided breeds.  After short deliberation, we decided that he was the one.

So Gunner came home with us and it has been two weeks of learning to live life outside a kennel.   I often look at him and wonder what he is thinking.  The first five months of his life were spent in cold and damp pens or cages, most likely minimal human contact and probably not enough exercise.  One day these two people grab him up and take him into their world.  He's scared at new sounds, noises, buildings and experiences but is slowly coming to realize that we are here to help him and give him a good home.   Unsurprisingly, he has taken quickly to the lounging lifestyle of carpeted floor, air conditioning and lots of love and attention.  It's fun and rewarding to watch Gunner look at things for the first time.  When he rolls in the tall grass, wags his tail with delight while vigorously gnawing on a bone, or trots up to me and lays his head in my lap I feel pure joy and happiness that we brought him home that Thursday afternoon.  I'm sure there will be trials and tribulations to go through with Gunner, but we'll take it one dog day at a time.

a disappointing moment turned beautiful

Disappointment can have many different faces.  It has been evoked in me because of another person's actions; like when a promise was broken or a pact was not kept.  I have felt it internally when a personal goal was not met, when something I was striving to reach faded into the distance.  And I have felt it towards other people; when someone I was counting on was not truthful, let me down or mislead me.  Through these experiences I have learned that disappointment is an emotion that prompts reflection, questioning and a search for reason.

I most recently felt the pangs of disappointment when I found out that I would not be accepted into the MFA in Creative Writing masters degree program I applied to.  The rejection didn't come as a formal letter in the mail, (at least it hasn't yet) instead, I received a premature email correspondence from the head of the program.  I'm not sure which outlet to break the news would have stung more.  In the email, words were used such as "you are unlikely to wind up with an offer of admission", "I am very sorry to deliver the bad news" and "I'm telling you unofficially so you can plan accordingly".  It was explained that there was simply a very large number of applicants to fill only a few spots and due to the program being fully funded and the school not having a whole lot of the funding to give out they could not offer up more spaces.  

My first emotion when reading the email was disappointment. What happened next I can only describe as a sinking feeling that washed over me followed by a small pit forming in middle of my stomach as if my body were demanding a physical manifestation of the blow.  I honestly didn't expect to receive an email like the one I got back; but then again, I'm not sure what kind of email I was expecting to receive.  The natural thoughts that arise in the wake of rejection came flooding to me: could I have submitted a stronger application? did they hate my writing? how many other people really applied? Perhaps what is most frustrating about rejection is not having the answers to any of those questions.

To help myself reason and find solace with this rejection, I thought of other instances it could compare to like the ending of a relationship.  How often times one person is left confused and unable to make sense of the break up. Unable to figure out why the problems became too great and what could have been done to achieve a different outcome. I also thought about the process of applying for a job that you don't get hired for.  When the news is delivered that the company will be hiring someone else over you the same types of doubts and disappointing feelings come up.  This is most like applying to school - it's a matter of who you are up against and how badly they want you in one of those coveted spots.

I realize this isn't the first time I've been disappointed or faced rejection and I know that it will certainly not be the last time.  I feel disillusioned and I still wonder what if the outcome would have been different and I would have gotten the acceptance letter in the mail and been thrilled with fulfillment at my accomplishment.  But that was not my path, and instead of wallowing in the faces of disappointment, it is my decision to look forward.  

There is an artist named Brian Andreas (http://www.storypeople.com/storypeople/Home.do) that I really enjoy.  Browsing through his pieces I came across one that seemed fitting to share.  I realize that this might have seemed like a more somber blog and I just want to state for the record that yes, I was disappointed (if you couldn't tell by now), but like Andreas' piece points out in a more artistic way - there are so many beautiful moments and memories in life to concentrate on and take notice to.  I know there are such moments that I have experienced already and moments that have yet to come for me.  I think that it is necessary to experience the sad, disappointing and rejecting moments in life to fully realize and appreciate the beautiful ones.

California Dreaming (Part 2)

Looking out my window, the scenery had dramatically changed.  The last part of our trip seemed almost a dichotomy to the first.  We left the more rugged and unadulterated terrain where all that separated us from the ocean was the narrow two lane road we traveled on, and we entered the more populated and inhabited bay area via the 101 - a five lane highway packed with cars and trucks in a hurry to get wherever it was they were going.  We met my grandparents at Oakland Airport where we returned our fabulous white Kia Rio rental car.  I'm disappointed now that I didn't think to take a picture of the go-cart that carried us up the coastline.  There wasn't anything automatic about the car, not even automatic locks - I still catch slack that I never did pass the test to reach over and open the drivers side door (oops!).

They took us to the small waterside town of Benicia, a quaint and charming place that was actually the State Capitol for 13 months from 1853-1854.  Many of the old buildings are preserved and walking down the street it's hard not to imagine what this little town was like when it was the capitol of such a great big state.  After lunching at a little cafe, we were lucky enough to visit my grandmother's art studio.  Her space is in a warehouse building that previously housed artillery.  I always love going there and am amazed at her talent in putting paint on canvas producing a beautiful symphony that only she could create.

We left the charm of Benecia and journeyed on to Walnut Creek, where my grandparents live.  It had been several years since I had been to visit and I was amazed at how much the town continues to explode with new shops, restaurants, arts and recreation.  With only a fifty minute BART ride into the city it's no wonder the town wasn't kept a secret longer.

After a great visit in Walnut Creek, I was excited and had a lot of anticipation about our last stop in our road trip adventure: San Francisco. I hadn't really spent much time getting to know the city in the past, even though I grew up in California.  We drove in over the Bay Bridge which, much like Manhattan's bridges, drops you right into the pulse of the city.  We wound through the city streets while my grandfather pointed out the many highlights to each area we drove through.  For me, the peak of the tour was a stop at an overlook with sweeping views of the city below.  I felt a sense of awe looking out across the city; it was a unique view and perspective that not many places can offer.  The city stretches 46.7 miles and is the second most densely populated city in the United States - and there I was staring down over all of it.

When traveling to any city, what I love best is exploring it on foot.  And that's exactly what we did.  From Union Square we walked through China Town, a very unique area of the city with market after market dotting the sidewalks and crowds of people milling about their daily tasks, unbothered by us tourists walking through the streets.  On one block we heard school children singing from an open window above and I thought about how much I was enjoying seeing the city and new things while all these people around me were just going about their daily routines.  We walked on through Fisherman's Warf, and then up through the marina area.  I was taken aback at how steep the city is, literally.  No need for stair-master or a gym, all you need to do in SF is walk.  There were many times I found myself at a 90 degree angle, bent over in attempt to make the steep climb a bit easier.  As we continued on meandering through the streets, one thing that stands out in San Francisco are the houses.  The architecture is beautiful and often times breathtaking with Victorian houses lining the streets, tall and reminiscent of an earlier time period that is preserved in the buildings.

Now one thing I was on the hunt for during our visit to SF was a great bowl of Cioppino.  For those that don't know Cioppino is a fish stew, it was made famous in San Francisco and as I am a HUGE sea food lover, I knew I had to go on the quest for a great big bowl of it.  We found a place at Fisherman's wharf, ordered a beer and glass of wine respectively and waited for the bowl of deliciousness.  The waitress brought it out and let me tell you, it was all I thought it would be and more.  I probably sound a bit silly with how passionate I was about this bowl of food.  But really, I love food and this was something I was really looking forward to.  It arrived and it was massive complete with an entire crab that had been stewed in a savory tomato based broth.  We sat for a good hour cracking the crab and relishing in the wonderful flavors. It was a great San Francisco moment, delicious and perfect.

A last highlight of our time in San Francisco was our bike ride over the golden gate bridge and into Sausalito.  From our starting point at Fisherman's Wharf, we biked up the very steep hill to the start of the bridge.  It was a crowded ride but beautiful no less.  The bridge is grand and impressive, definitely assuming prominence in the bay over any other structure.  On the other side we descended another very steep and winding hill into the small waterside town of Sausalito.  From there we decided (actually I decided) that I wasn't up for pedaling back up the huge hill we rode down so took the ferry back over to the city.  As we passed by the Golden Gate bridge for a different view of the structure, I had to inhale a deep breath and smile at the beauty and charm of this great bayside city.  Lucky for us the boat took a small detour and passed us right by Alcatraz Island which I have to say looked quite ominous even in the setting of a bright and sunny day.

When it was time to depart from San Francisco, it was a bittersweet goodbye.  As I said in the last post, I did have a sort of love affair with the city; with it's delicious culinary offerings, the quaint areas with steep and narrow streets lined with Victorian homes, with the sweeping scenic portraits that points of the city offers to the many views of the bay that can be seen from all over the city.  I felt that we were leaving on a high point which is always a great way to leave - to feel like we saw so much, did so much and loved every bit of the vacation.  I know that we'll be back to California many times again but this trip will forever be a very special one which is why from time to time I'll be dreaming of California.

California Dreaming (Part 1)

I held my breath as our car hugged every curve. Not because I was scared but because I was anticipating what lay ahead. Each turn yielded a new exceptional view of the coastline.  I wondered how the road we were driving on was still in tact and hadn't fallen into parts of the Pacific with the ocean's waves below crashed unforgivingly into the side of the cliff asserting its dominance as part of the natural and beautiful world we live in.

Our trip had a simple goal: to drive up the California coast from Los Angeles to San Francisco spending as much of the drive as possible on Hwy 1, a highway that hugs the coastline boasting dramatic and picturesque views of the Pacific.  I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this drive.  I had heard that it was beautiful, that it was well worth the extra time it takes to use this route rather than the major interstate to travel north.  But what I found was that it far surpassed any of my expectations.

Our first stop on the trip was Santa Barbara; a place that holds a special meaning for me since I spent four years there getting my Undergraduate degree.  I felt nostalgic walking around the downtown area, admiring the Spanish architecture of the buildings and the hillside dotted with houses that faced sweeping views of the ocean.  As we stood on the pier and admired the sinking sun that was slipping behind the hills casting pink and orange rays through the silhouettes of palm trees, I thought about my time in the town and admitted to myself that I probably took the beautiful setting I studied in for granted - if even just a little.

As we traveled on up the coast, I couldn't help but think about how "new" California is.  It was only established as a state in 1850 as part of The Compromise of 1850.  Compared to South Carolina which declared its independence from Britain and set up its own government in 1776 or New York which was admitted to the United States in 1787 or Illinois which became a state in 1818, California has a much younger history as a U.S. state.  I thought about what early settlers must have thought of the coastline.  You can look out across the Pacific for as far as the eye can see and it's hard not to wonder what's going on across the ocean, or what lies beneath the surface for that matter.  I expected Hwy 1 to be littered with beach town after beach town - who wouldn't want to live in such a picturesque place? But this was not the case.  Much of the drive consisted of our car flanked by countryside and ocean - vast unadulterated scenery.

Next stop was a small town called Cambria.  A person could easily fall in love with the charming town and gorgeous coastline.  Seals are abundant here hanging out in the waters near the shoreline, bobbing up and down with the ebb and flow of the tide and waves that encompassed them.  We left Cambria to head further up the coast in search of a famed Elephant Seal beach.  We were lucky with the time of year we were visiting since the seals had just given birth and had migrated to the protected shores to raise their pups before braving the dangers and threats of the ocean waters.  We arrived at the beach to find hundreds of them sprawled out across the sand and sometimes across each other.  These creatures are quite phenomenal with females weighing in at 1,500 lbs and males topping the scales at 5,000 lbs.  They throw their weight forward just to gain an inch or two across the sand simultaneously putting out strange noises.  I couldn't tell if they were languishing in frustration or if it was some kind of strange mating call they were serenading to each other.  Either way, they were a sight to see and seemed blissfully unbothered by the crowd of people that were staring, gawking and taking their photograph.

We finally pried ourselves away from watching the animals in their natural habitat and ventured further north en route to Big Sur.  This was perhaps the most scenic portion of the drive.  The highway made hairpin turns as we climbed up and then sped down the carved out road in the mountains and we marveled as we passed over several bridges built in the 1930s.  The land seemed as if it remains untouched with cows grazing fields that extend from the road to where they kiss the edge of the water.  (These cows don't have a clue they have the best views for miles around).  Once in and around Big Sur, the scenery changed slightly to where I realized I was now in Northern California.  There are beautiful big Redwood Trees that create forests and provide an aesthetically appealing contrast to the blue of the ocean.

It was bittersweet leaving the Big Sur area.  In part because that meant we were halfway done with our adventure up the coast.  The next stop was to be Carmel; before arriving in the quaint town that was for a brief time the state capitol and also has claim to fame because Clint Eastwood served as mayor of the town.  This is also the place where the famed Pebble Beach Golf Course makes its home.  To me, the most exciting leg of this trip was a visit to Point Lobos state reserve.  In one short hike we witnessed a group of four gray whales right off the coast, passing by as part of their migratory route they travel each year.  We were also lucky enough to see seals and sealions playing in the coves and an otter snacking on what we think was a crab.  There's something quite serene and even magical about seeing animals in their natural environment. Instead of viewing them in cages, eating hand fed fish or playing on artificial rocks their playground is the expansive blue waters of the ocean that are often times rough and choppy, cold and salty but beautiful and immeasurable.

The last two legs of our trip were a stop in Walnut Creek, in the bay area and to round out the adventure, a stay in San Francisco.  I had my own love affair with San Francisco and it's hilly streets, delicious food and victorian style homes.  But that is for a different story.  For now I just want to relish in the beautiful Hwy 1 drive, the scenic views, the seemingly untouched territory, the quiet calm and steady breeze of falling asleep to the crashing of waves.

To be continued...