Monterey & Carmel

Clint Eastwood is the lone cowboy left in America.

A barely breathing relic.

So. To his hometown we went for the weekend of the Fourth.

 

Maybe you didn’t know. That silverfox of the silverscreen, that liberty-loving, 2^nd Amendment patriot was also the former mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea.  

 

And he still lives there.  

Which of course my dad knew. Because he knows everything. 

 

But, back to our story.

Carmel- if you’ve never been- is other worldly.

A one-square-mile fairy tale village tucked away by jagged wave-worn cliffs and azure blue seas.

All thatched roof multi-millionaire villas on the Monterey peninsula.

 

Basically the humble brag of housing.

Think Hansel and Gretel meets Hollywood.

A collection of seaside, storybook realestate that makes you feel like an impoverished voyeur.

And we did.

 

Just minutes after parking, we were tripping over Rolls Royces.

Tripping.

Caid voiced what we were all thinking. “I feel so poor.”

 

Carmel is a village of unicorns. 

Straight men in pastels. White pants. Green pants. Pink pants. With their wives. 

Astonishing. And it's not even Charleston. 

 

And we truly loved Carmel. 

Despite the shame it made us feel about our very middle class lives.

Our middle class clothing.

And even our middle class furniture.

Which wasn’t even there with us.

But, felt shameful nonethless.  

Gosh, if they knew about my Tupperware, they’d escort us out.

 

And the food.

Demetra, the most charming Jordanian chef coupled with the the most whimsical atmosphere and most delicious Greek food we’ve enjoyed since Athens. There, literally, we danced the night away. Me. My children. The other guests. Opa!

Greeks have the most fun.

They should form a fraternity or something.

 

Now, we love our children. Who doesn’t?  (The Kardashians. Maybe.)

But, if you can, leave them at home. In the car. At the curb. Wherever. Kidding.  

...Since Carmel is best enjoyed in adult company and with loads of discretionary funds.  

Dolla’ bills y’all.

 

Anecdote:

I strolled into a pen store.

Probably called something pretentious like “Stylograph & Quill.”

Anyhow, the pens were selling for a cool $500+.  *insert eye-roll*  

The aloof proprietor coolly assessed me as though I could not afford a pen worth

5 Benjamins.

Which I could not.

The cheek of this man.

So, I left, head-high, with my borrowed pen from D.C.’s Filomena Ristorante. Which does have an exclusive flashlight tip. So, there.

Mic drop.

 

If you enjoy shopping, culinary delights, wine tasting along with pastel attired populations, then Carmel is for you.

 

While on the peninsula, (hunting for Clint) we did hike throughout the region.

That baba ghanoush won’t burn itself off.  

So, hike we did.

Asilomar State Beach in Pacific Grove was particularly lovely, though blustery. Serpentine trails weaved through the sand dunes affording stunning oceanic views.

 

Most thrilling, though, was the dead whale on the beach.

 

When we found the dead whale. Correction.

When we smelled the dead whale, I knew we were off the hook for the aquarium.

 

Nothing trumps a dead whale for two boys. Nothing.

 

And this was thrilling for me.

The Monterey Aquarium admission is ten thousand dollars. (*not exact cost)

The dead whale was free.

Point Lobos Natural Reserve also offered myriad trails hugging rugged cliffs which zigzagged down to tide pools near moaning otters.

Also a fan favorite.

Also, blustery and freezing. Come on, California. It’s July.

Yes, we were underdressed.

But yes, we still hiked. (Ranger training)

 

The Dennis the Menace Park in Monterey impressed everyone in my playground-loving entourage.  So, Jason, obvi.  

 

Cannery Row, of Steinback fame in downtown Monterey still holds that je nais sais quoi.  Yet,  I highly doubt the Depression era sardine canning industry is reflected in the Crépes cafe and boutiques that currently line the “row.”

Capitalism.

It makes it so you hardly know a place, huh?

It’s the worst. *wink* 

Finally, 17 Mile Drive (to Discontent)

If you were feeling good about your 2020 Sienna or your recently paved patio, travel this turtorous two-lane 17 mile scenic drive to feel like absolute junk.

 

It’s basically a One-Percenter’s Safari.

 

You drive along in your middle class family vehicle oggling multi-million dollar properties that overlook the Pacific.

 

Follow the course of the world renown exclusive Pebble Beach Golf Links…that you can’t afford to step foot on.

Hate your life a little more by the time you reach the end.

Just kidding. It was fabulous.

We were truly grateful for God’s blessings by mile 16.

I felt totally confident in my goldfish-littered family SUV.

 

My kids: (mouths agape, staring at Pebble Beach estates)

What do these people even do?

 

Us:

They love Jesus.

They read. All. The. Time. They read so much. They are reading right now.

They practice their piano.

Oh. And small government. They lovveeee them some small government.  

 

We never met Clint. *sigh*

 

My grandmother Olivette had a wee crush on him. Did I mention?

I had hoped to tell him when we met.

 

And you know..

Go ahead and make his day.

 

I guess I’ll just have to come back again.

By myself. No Kids.  Maybe with Jason. In white pants. And the Rolls. Duh.