From Long Beach to Morro Bay

Glad to have mastered the heavy traffic in the Los Angeles area we breathed a sigh of relief when we entered the parking lot beside the Queen Mary. The huge ship awaited our excited friends, rows upon rows of lit windows welcoming the travellers. For one of them at least this visit was a dream come true. We parted with the promise that we'd pick them up at the same spot at eleven the next morning. Thankfully dropping off and picking up visitors at the hotel parking lot was free, unless it took longer than 30 minutes; for anybody leaving their vehicle overnight the cost was $20.

With the help of our navigation system (by now named 'Susie' by the guys) we had no trouble finding our own accommodation, only fifteen minutes away in the industrial area close to the harbour. We had picked it online, as usual not knowing what would expect us. The wide, tree-lined street was quiet, with little traffic, and the hotel proved to be a place with character. “It's old, but it's clean,” said the tall black guy at the reception, and his words proved to be true. I loved the outside already, with its cast iron doors and big windows. Behind those doors a round tile mosaic caught the eye, the tile floor extending down a few steps of stairs to the hallway that contained our room while the reception area with plush sofas and a 'Greek' statue was a few steps up. Faded glory, maybe, but comfortable and definitely not of the chain hotel variety.

Our room, too, was tiled, a pleasant change from dingy motel carpets, and had an interesting design. Narrow, with just room enough to walk by the bed, it contained a chest of drawers and small table. At the 'far' end two steps led up to the 'utility' space with a very small sink and a cupboard, an old but clean gas stove with four burners, a small fridge and a microwave, with a shower stall and a tiny room with a toilet to the right. We had everything we needed, and more. As promised, everything was very clean, and the internet was among the fastest I've encountered anywhere.

We hadn't eaten since our hastily consumed meal in the wind corridor along I 10 and went out looking for a place to eat. The first thing we encountered was a police car with flashing lights at the next intersection. The policeman was talking to a homeless man, going through his belongings that were piled into a shopping cart. The dimly lit sidewalk was mostly deserted, but from the doors of a Mexican restaurant sounded loud voices and loud music. I didn't feel comfortable walking in this unfamiliar area at night. We gave up on our idea of finding a restaurant and just picked up a bag of chips at a corner store instead, quite content to not have to venture out further.

Our next destination was Morro Bay, its location by the ocean reason to very much look forward to it for me in particular. I had no idea, however, that I would fall in love with the area south of it, even though the sea was out of sight here. Incredibly green, rounded hills to both sides of the road were home to the most amazing trees. Of fair size, crowns spreading wide, forming a rounded canopy, gnarled limbs reaching far down towards the earth, sometimes almost touching it – what were these trees I had never encountered before? Yes – these were Coast Live Oaks, evergreen oaks that prefer the draws in the coastal hills and once grew here in forests stretching for miles and miles.

The fancy mansions closer to Los Angeles were now replaced by smaller, more modest, comfortable looking farm houses. Red and black Angus cows grazed the verdant hillsides, and life, like traffic, seemed to have lost the frantic pace we had encountered just a short while before. How could it have taken me so long to come to this beautiful area? Like at the BC coast I immediately felt at home here, and the fact that it rained, sometimes just a drizzle, sometimes a bit heavier, didn't diminish my delight. Once, we stopped at a view point, contemplated briefly to eat our lunch there, but the picnic benches were still too wet even though the rain had quit for the time being. We were more fortunate a bit further along at another view point, though rain was still not very far behind and caught up with us again by the time we reached Morro Bay. Not long, however, and the sky started to clear, a rainbow sealing the promise.

It was still early enough for a most necessary stretching of legs, and, not wanting to waste any time, we drove down to a parking lot across the highway close to the beach. The beach access led through dunes, roped off to discourage visitors from entering this fragile habitat, with particular emphasis on saving the breeding space for the western snowy plover, a small shorebird endangered by its loss of habitat.

At the end of the path the empty beach glittered in the late afternoon sun. The tide was just coming back, and walking was easy on the hard surface. Gulls shared space with snowy plovers and whimbrels who sank their long, pointed beaks into the sand as if drilling for water. It was far from warm, but how could I walk here and not feel the sand under my bare feet? My shoes were off immediately, pant legs rolled up, but the first wave washing over my feet quickly taught me to stay out of the water's reach: it was numbing cold.

For more than half an hour we walked towards the rock at the southern end of Morro Bay beach before the incoming tide urged us to turn around. We didn't want to have to walk across the fragile dunes in order to avoid the water. Enchanted as always I watched the sun's descent towards the sea that, all too quickly, swallowed it, leaving behind a golden path reaching across the water to where I stood, rooted, for a while, breathing in the good, clean scent of the sea – the end of a most wonderful day.