Rocinante...

The movers gone and a new camera in hand, I spent some time at the Point Mugu beach on Friday morning, intending to capture the blue skies over Laguna Peak and Mugu Rock.  Instead, I got inspired by the bird club shooting photos of the local avian fauna. Yes, Naval Air Station Point Mugu doubles as a bird sanctuary; its lagoon and wetlands are protected areas.  Was I looking for anything special, anything endangered?  Nay, I liked the common seagull who, like me, can be found near any seashore.  On the left, the SoCal variety.  Mugu lacked any solid entertainment, though...so off I went to visit Kat in Monterey.

U.S. Route 101 traces the California coast north from Ventura, around Santa Barbara rather than through, and then cuts inland at Vandenberg Air Force Base.  California's Route 154, the Chumash Highway, goes into the hills, past Lake Cachuma, and through the Santa Ynez valley before rejoining the 101 north of Vandenberg.  It's one of the prettiest drives in the area, winding up the sides of the mountains and providing spectacular vistas like this one, overlooking Santa Barbara and the Pacific Ocean.  On a clear day at sea the Channel Islands are visible....today the marine layer clung to any peaks and hid the horizon in a slight haze.

Traveling via the Chumash Highway allowed me to hit Santa Barbara's wine country: Santa Ynez and Los Olivos.  Here, Gainey Vineyard, one of my favorites, with its winter vines stretching towards the not-so-distant mountains.

I wanted to get to Salinas in the early afternoon, though...so no further stops until...

Salinas!  A slightly run-down downtown, but I love the brick buildings from the early 1900s that still line the downtown area.  Central to Old Salinas is the much more modern National Steinbeck Center, which places the area's native son in the context of the places he lived and wrote  through the 1940s.

Rocinante, John Steinbeck's custom pick-up truck-cum-trailer, in which he and his "gentleman French poodle" Charley traveled across the country, named after Don Quixote's horse.  I can't imagine living in such a small space...though I suppose it would encourage me, like Steinbeck, to see the country through the diners, small-town Main Streets, and churches (on Sunday).  Once back on the trusty mechanical horse, what to do except pull out a pen and pad to write?



My car is no Rocinante.  My luggage will fill the trunk and back seat and the added weight will make the car struggle to climb any steep hills.  I won't have the room to sleep, though if I pull my laptop out, I may be able to spend part of a drive channeling my inner Steinbeck writing about our native land.

Mentioned in this post:
Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck

Slipping out of your shoes...

Trazzler

I love this site.  I love that it's offering me a trip to Tonga in March if I win a "Smart Travel" writing contest.  I love the piece I entered.  (I just wish I knew if I won!)

The day I went to the Grand Mosque in Bahrain, the CODs were broken.  Maybe they had just gotten fixed and were hauling some critical parts to repair the boat and its aircraft.  Nevertheless, there were dozens of passengers waiting for a seat on one of just two flights per day, each of which would start loading gear and briefing passengers before sunrise, take off as the desert started to reflect the sun's heat, stop at an Omani air base to refuel, and fly out over the Gulf of Oman, the pilots trusting that the carrier was close to where it was the day before and that their instruments would pick up the ship's signal in time for them to make it to the starboard delta and recover.  A mere hour and a half later, after the mad dash to safely off-load one group of passengers and their baggage and on-load another, they'd take off for the return trip to Bahrain.  That day, we were not on the passenger manifest.

Instead, we decided to go exploring.  Our group consisted of me, a Naval Flight Officer on my way to my very first fleet squadron; Rachel, a Surface Warfare Officer en route to her second ship, the USS Mobile Bay; and DCC, a Chief Damage Controlman, and another Chief, both of whom were returning to their posts aboard the Lincoln after some time ashore.  I believe one had been on emergency leave and the other had been working in Bahrain to facilitate acceptance of people and parts.

I had taken Arabic and Comparative Religion classes in college, making me the most knowledgable about our destination, the Grand Mosque, or at least its cultural and religious context.  The Chiefs were invaluable, despite their cluelessness.  We all existed in a culture where it was acceptable to call anything Arab "dirka" or "hadji," e.g. dirka money (dinars, dirhams, riyals, or any of several other Middle Eastern currencies whose names could not be remembered, especially when drunk).  I didn't expect them to be particularly sensitive to cultural differences, and frankly, I was a bit surprised they wanted to go.  However, their respectful questions about the types of services held in the mosque, the doctrine of the religion, and the style of female dress showed me the very best part of travel: the breaking down of cultural barriers through simple exposure to another's culture.  As Mark Twain said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness."

And then we went to Bennigan's for drinks.  America, **** yeah!

We recovered from that slip by finding an Arabic restaurant for dinner (staffed by non-Arabs, much like the Mexicans staff Chinese restaurants in Southern California), eating experimentally, and chatting/smoking shisha with the Saudis who, to our surprise, paid for our dinner.  A perfect end to our day of cultural education, even if we never found the shwarma we wanted.


Referenced in this post:
The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain
Team America (film)

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step...

I have lived in California since October 2008...my possessions since that July.  I was on deployment for those few months, using my passport and the mighty power of a nuclear aircraft carrier to gain entry to the tiny and sandy Kingdom of Bahrain, the ostentatious United Arab Emirates, the gritty streets of Thailand, and the first sight of home soil: Hawaii.  Since then, I've travelled mostly home to New England, though occasionally to Key West, Alaska, and the high desert of Nevada on the Navy's dime.

It hasn't been enough.  My literary tastes run towards what I crave, and exotic escape it seems to be.  I've read about Morocco, South Africa, and Siberia, as well as the slightly more mundane Italy and small-town USA.  So, orders and passport in hand, I'm about to "slip the surly bonds" of California and make my way across the country and beyond.

Books and poem referenced in this post:
The Caliph's House: A Year in Casablanca by Tahir Shah
Invictus: Nelson Mandela and the Game that Changed a Nation by John Carlin
In Siberia by Colin Thubron
La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language by Dianne Hales
The Lost Continent: Travels in Small-Town America by Bill Bryson
High Flight by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.