Going south

While it wasn’t as extensive as planned, and the air was smoky from wildfires, I did get a little time breathing with some of the redwood trees of Northern California. Check that box but maybe only half, faintly.

The weekend sessions with the meditation teacher whose path of yoga I have followed since my very early twenties, were reassuring, insightful, and answered some questions for which I knew the answers but had buried in unknowing after so long embedded in this material and divisive dualistic world.

However the experience did leave me thinking that if I was going to be the 1% of non Indian persons in a crowd of 8000-10 000 Indian people, I might as well do it in India, as in my first two decades on this yogic path. Spending hours in a line of crawling vehicles just getting into and leaving the site was an unanticipated tedium which I had not factored into my planning. I had to drive myself. I had booked a hotel not served by the busses to the Petaluma center where the meetings were held. Uber/Lyft options which I explored were prohibitively expensive for someone on a tight budget.

One of the advantages of a bivouac in a Californian city was the food foraging options within easy walking distance of my motel. I found that chain which features international foodstuffs. It’s the UK not South African version of Marmite, but same parent company and same packaging of this childhood favorite sandwich spread. I purchased their entire stock - these two 125g jars. Move over miso, Marmite has come to town.

The less said the better about my navigation of the tangled spaghetti of highways through the greater San Francisco/Bay area urban sprawl trying to get to HWY 1 - the route of poets, dreamers, mystics and mermaids which hugs the California coast after the Bay Area.

Unfortunately I discovered that HWY 1 was closed near Big Sur after being badly damaged in wild storms this winter past. I had to plot an inland course south on HWY 101 and be satisfied with just a few miles on the coastal route as I neared Morro Bay and my next date with salt water paddling.

Morro Bay turned out to be another foggy and rather chilly experience.

I had been attracted to this area because of its status as an Audubon site, wildlife refuge and significant wetland for both year round and migratory birds.

There were birds in abundance but a dawn paddle from the Morro Bay state park launch was decidedly cold and muddy (low tide) with rather poor visibility.

Fog fuzziness was beginning to oppress me.

I have become acclimated to the high bright light of the desert, especially the enchanted light of dawn on the water. I was beginning to really miss sunrise. This California beach holiday plan was turning into my first experience, almost 25 years ago, of the low light of Seattle’s perpetual grey skies which were a shock after leaving South Africa’s high, blue sunny skies. Emigration leaves scars. The body never forgets.

I walked the short boardwalk trail through the wetlands where, in spite of several very big NO DOGS signs, someone was walking their dog, off leash, in vulnerable and protected wetlands in a National Wildlife Refuge. What would Christian Cooper do?

Crows shouted, strutted, swooped and then just shrugged it all off. Crows always know what to do.

It wasn’t all bad. I always enjoy shorelines and birds. Morro Bay is a good place to be for those.

Walking around the town of Morro Bay, flowers were everywhere blooming marvelous.

This is a climate where one can grow aloes outdoors year round.

Perhaps one of the biggest attractions for me to a California coastal life would be the gardening potential especially the range of South African flora which can be cultivated.

I walked miles to find a restaurant which online research had told me had vegan options on their menu and was on the boardwalk with a view of the famous Morro Rock. Above was my view from my outdoor table at said restaurant, after a parked vehicle had moved to allow me a peek-a-boo view, half obscured by a huge dumpster.

I call misleading advertising. The boardwalk is across a road and a parking lot. The generous vegan potato pancake (more like a potato and veggie pie) was absolutely heavenly though. What you lose on view, you gain on culinary delight here.

In the late afternoon I thought the fog might be burning off so I took the kayak to the somewhat scuzzy water of the harbor to paddle around (regrettably without camera - too nervous of my ability to maintain balance and keep a camera dry on rising and falling salt water after so long on flat water) amongst sailboats, barking seals, sea otters and of course birds.

My intent was to explore The Rock. Fog heard about this and doubled down, seeming to shroud just the rock, just to torment me.

Before this trip I had been second guessing my decision to settle myself in the harsh hot northern Chihauhauan desert, wondering if perhaps I didn’t really miss being near the salt water too much. I think I’m cured of that now.

Morro Bay has a great (albeit expensive) natural food store, unimaginably delicious vegan options in multiple restaurants (in fact all of California proved way more vegan friendly than I have become accustomed) and because of it’s birds, wetlands, state park and coastal wildlife refuge, and gardening possibilities, might be a coastal town I might have considered.

But it has fog. Way too much of the suffocating, dirty lens, clammy air. I left that behind me when I left the Pacific Northwest fifteen years ago.

And that’s before one considers the cost of living. In a laundromat I met a person who lives on a boat. They pay around $1000 a month for slip fees and regard this as a simple, low budget living option.

Honey you ain’t seen low budget until you live in a trailer park town in the Northern Chihauhauan desert.

I think I will stick with enchanted light. For now.

Or until Pondicherry makes an offer that cannot be refused.