Monterey BayThe bus slowly inched away from the curve and I heave a sigh of relief. I slowly unfolded my arm clutching the purse with every intention of spilling over to the empty seat beside me all the way to Monterey and Carmel. Then it halted. Another solo tourist came up the bus – a last minute addition. Shit. I betcha she’s gonna get the empty seat next to me.
The broad stopped beside me and waited for me to retreat to my space, plopped down her heavy ass and said Hi. I mumbled Hello in return. She was from New York. And in not so many words, she managed to tell me that she was planning to ditch the bus later and go all the way to Yosemite. Huh? Isnt that the other way? Smoothly closing the pleasantries aside I started to fiddle with my camera hoping she’ll take the hint and go about her own business. I am cruel. And probably biased. Had it been a good looking guy, I would have been panting like a dog in summer, and he would have been waving me away.
Going on a solo trip today wasn’t my idea – I had 2 tickets in my hand when I told Jeff I was crashing in his flat for the next 3 days while I was in San Francisco. But he wouldn’t budge from his schedule, said he had promised Henrik to help with a project that just came in for the printing press. So off I go as I always do – the lonesome tourist.
Not that I was fishing on this expedition – it was just a clean break after a hectic and stressful 3 months of tango at work. And hopping on a tour bus is perhaps just as useless as checking out the late night organic store down by the Alamo square. At 10PM, the hot guys are probably in bed with other girls, or down by the pub, checking out other girls. Besides, are there any hot, available straight guys in San Francisco? All taken, I tell ya. Your option is to fan out to the suburbs where the nerdy, but definitely sexed up techie guys, some with stock options, are probably lurking. And then again, they’re probably on craigslist checking out the bargains alongside the personals, or making the chat lines sizzle all the way to Asia. Yellow fever is alive and well in suburbia.
At any rate, a return trip to Carmel and Monterey after a 12 year hiatus somehow refreshes the palate. Jeff says he had his wild days in Santa Cruz, with a hip restaurant, a slew of friends deep into the 70’s trend of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and a house by the boardwalk. Meanwhile SCO-UNIX was probably percolating in some kid’s garage. Cool, I say. I would have joined if I wasn’t barely out of my nappies then.
It was a looong drive but the natural coastline, free from commercial exploits, stretching for miles, makes you appreciate the length at which Northern Californians go through to preserve and protect this environment. This rabid environmentalism, albeit too hippie for some, is perhaps why the gay capital and its environs continue to be saved from biblical wrath that puritans wish upon them. Responsible stewardship of the earth is a saving grace.
My seatmate did ditch the bus at Carmel By The Sea, where we had a final and lengthy stop. As I strolled by the galleries, rummaged the quaint shops, dipped into my cache for a French perfume, and fiddled with my digital camera for the perfect shot, I couldn’t help but flash back to past trips where I had a notebook and pen ready, sometimes a laptop. Always inspired, alone, yet not lonesome, tinkering or scribbling away, wherever it hit me. By the corner of a near empty airport, a bench by a train station, a tree trunk at a park, and lolling away at a nearby beach. At the Hog’s Breath, I was led to a tiny table with a great view of the sidewalk for early dinner. I reached out for the thick napkin, and fished out a pen from the bottom of my purse as I was served a glass of wine. A silent toast to Dirty Harry and I was lost in my own world while I waited for the prime rib to be served.
