Vacation from the Friends and Family
We took a break from the Friends and Family tour to do a bit of California Coast Car Camping. It would be a travesty to take Steph to California without showing off the nature that makes this place so special. Also, it’s exhausting to constantly be around new people, to be “on”, to meet and greet, tell the same story – which is part and parcel of the friends and family tour.
We packed up TheVanBun (The Sienna minivan) with gear; a mix of Dad’s stuff, Patrick’s old camping supplies and random items we found in the house. I was able to snag a last minute campsite at Salt Point State park, a few hours north of San Francisco right on highway 1, on the remote California Coast.
The trip was a re-creation of dozens of experiences I’ve had over the years. Visiting wine country with friends. Swimming in the Russian river. Car camping in a California state park. As we saw each place, I regaled Steph with stories from Patrick’s past; and relived them as well. She was thrilled to see all the spots I love, amazed by the giant redwood trees and the pristine coastal landscapes.
The car camping was nostalgia overload. It was how I remembered it: towering trees, misty fog, lush vegetation, giant campsite, privacy, tucked in the woods, an easy walk to the ocean. It was quintessential California, something that simply doesn’t exist elsewhere. We slept in the van. It was cozy, but we were used to it. I realized that this is where it all began – the Sienna. TheVanBun. This is the original genesis of this blog, the precursor to the Spain adventure which turned into a new life. It was now coming full circle; I plucked this random woman out of her own European sabbatical adventure, and we created a new portal of a life in Spain. I was now bringing her back, traveling through time to experience the pre-Spain Patrick in a van life that started it all. Life is circular like that. The days were spent enjoying nature, doing the classic camp activities such as preparing oatmeal, drinking coffee, roasting marshmallows, reading in the woods.
On the second full day, we took a trip within the Car Camping Vacation within the North American Tour. We went for a little Camino down to the coast.
We left the campground, bags packed and carrying more snacks and supplies than we needed; but one wants to be comfortable, right? Layers, sunscreen, water.
The trail that led us to the ocean was vibrant, lush and deep. An entire world of life, colors, details, structures, lines. We spotted a small fawn eating in the bush. We made it to the clearing, the vast meadow of grassland that leads to the rocky cliffs over the shore. The crashing of the waves. The rock formations. The lines of the rocks that were carved over millions of years.
We found safety in the picnic table and isolated section to the right. It was walking distance from the road, but most people don’t come that way. We make our home on the picnic table and the surrounding area. Patrick, the Marine Layer, the bright colors. Feeling the breeze. The coldness of the ocean. Sinks into your bones. Moving your body to stay warm. Frolicking in the meadow. Dancing.
The erosion and the layers from forest to grassland, to sea. Layers drop into the sea. Investigating. My feet are the vehicle. They are powerful. Your hands are powerful, your legs are powerful. The dichotomy of male and female. The tone difference of our skin. Our bones are different – his thick and masculine, hers thin and attuned to fine movements.
Fixated on my shoes, the feet. The connection to the ground.
The music of lindy hop. The music moves me. I am a divining rod simply converted into the wavelengths of the rhythm.
What is this? Who am I? What does it mean? The words are impossible. There are no words. There is nothing to define it. Labels are meaningless. How can you distill this experience down to words? It’s impossible. Like trying to write with no pen, no hands. Why even try? Why try to put some description, to categorize this thing? It’s impossibly complex. Every detail, every viewpoint, is an entire world. The birds fly by! There are multiple visions of the birds, all colors of the rainbow. The falcons swoop, the ravens fly. The starfish in the ocean. The forests of Kelp on the rocks get splashed.
The hunters with their weapons and hats, scour the beach, vigilant! They’re setting up a tarp! Lots of cars! Swarming! What is going on? Doesn’t matter – they’re over there. They’re gone in a flash. They don’t care about us. Just two hippies frolicking in a field, on a picnic table, holding on for dear life. Trying to make sense of the world. Trying to put a label on what is, one what they’re experiencing, but realizing there exists no words or no art to capture it. Is that the goal of the artist?
Strong winds. Cold. Time to move? There’s no one at the road. Coast is clear. On to explore new lands!
Arrive at the other side, my god it’s beautiful. A patchwork of green, a jungle, the trees being blown, gyrating in the wind. Growing at an angle. Down the trail, over the creek, through the trees. An african savannah. There’s bambi! Hiding in the woods, having a snack. She sees us, we see her.
New rock outcropping. We settle on the rocks. The warmth. The sun! Less wind. Steph draws. The vision of the cliff. With lines it arises. It evolves. Squiggly lines mean something. You’ll see it!
Exploring new lands, seeing ocean cove campground. Vast open meadow. The wind, the golden hour light, the tiny specs on the horizon. Time to go back to camp.
Watching the fire at the campsite. Still lingering. Still bright. Coming down to earth. Burn all the wood! Talk about life. Deep things.
