Day Two: Hearst Castle

Our day started off with a breakfast of vegetable frittata and olallieberry granola French toast (drizzled with olallieberry syrup) plus fresh fruit with olallieberry yogurt. Our host informed us that olallieberry is 1/3 raspberry and 2/3 blackberry. According to Merriam-Webster, it is “a blackish berry that is a hybrid of a loganberry and youngberry, resembles an elongated blackberry, and is grown chiefly along the western United States coast.” I would classify it as 100% delicious.

As we stepped into the crisp morning air, we noticed tiny pinecones on the ground. Turns out they were from the enormous Sequoia sempervirens (a.k.a. Coast Redwood) growing in front of the Olallieberry Inn. Planted in 1885, it towered over all the other trees and homes nearby. It’s amazing how something so tiny can produce something so impressive and beautiful. It just takes time.

A short drive up the coast led to the gates of Hearst Castle. Before our tour, we watched “Hearst Castle: Building the Dream,” a beautifully-filmed documentary at the visitor’s center. The film chronicled William Randolph Hearst’s childhood along the Central California Coast (his family owned a huge chunk of California at the time) and many trips around the world with his mother, which inspired Hearst (along with architect Julia Morgan) to put sticks of dynamite in the side of a hill near San Simeon and level out enough ground to build an expansive estate. The estate, known today as Hearst Castle, consists of verdant gardens, a towering main house, and several luxurious guest houses (oh, and let’s not forget the swimming pools), all of which were constructed from a patchwork of architectural elements “collected” from around the world…obelisks from Egypt, a wooden ceiling from the Moors, brilliant azulejos from Spain, intricate statues from Italy…truly a home befitting of the term “castle.”

Some have argued that these historical treasures should be returned to the lands and people from which they came. Doing so would involve dismantling Hearst Castle and reducing it to rubble. I believe these artifacts should be regarded as objects in a museum; after all, how can we truly appreciate and develop a respect for other cultures and peoples if we do not have the opportunity to first experience them from within the comfort of our own familiar communities? Such exploration propels us forward, into the world, where we seek to learn even more. It’s why I watch so many foreign films…to experience the world and better understand the varied perspectives and life events of individuals other than myself. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that the cost of a movie ticket at a film festival is less than the cost of a plane ticket and lodging halfway around the world. And that the cost of a digital, 360º visit to some of the Hearst Castle highlights is only a mouse-click away (make sure you have your speakers turned up):

http://www.regal360.com/clients/hearst/hearstcastle/index.html

Our first tour of the day took us through the esplanade and gardens, Casa Del Sol guesthouse, Neptune and Roman Pools, and the first floor of Casa Grande (including the assembly room, refectory, morning room, billiard room, and theater). On our drive back down, we failed to see any of the zebras still roaming the grounds even after the rest of the zoo animals (yes, there was once a zoo on-site) have since moved on.

Prior to our second tour, Mom and I stopped for lunch at Sebastian’s General Store, just down the road from the castle. Mom had a BLT and I had a Southwest Turkey Stack: turkey, pepper jack cheese, cheddar cheese, Ortega chiles, pepperoncini, avocado, lettuce, red onion, tomato, pickle, and chipotle sauce. My hand could barely wrap itself around it. It was the thickest, most delicious sandwich I have ever eaten (yes, that includes you, Potbelly’s), and Mom rather enjoyed hers as well.

After lunch, it was back up the hill for tour number two. Highlights included the Doge suite, “The Cloisters,” the library, Gothic suite, kitchen, and Hearst’s private suite, library, and study. I think that one of my most favorite elements of the castle are the imported ceilings. I guess I’d never really thought of a ceiling as having potential to be anything other than painted a shade lighter than the walls. The fanciest ceiling I’ve ever had was the one in my childhood bedroom, across from the hall in the house on Mignon. It had the texture of cottage cheese with little sparkly plastic things mixed in (in lieu of pineapple, I guess). When I was little, I would sometimes close my eyes and throw my shoes up against said ceiling in an attempt to send down a shower of shimmering “magic dust” (a.k.a. little pieces of the aforementioned iridescent plastic). Sadly, when I opened my eyes, the only magical changes were a dirty shoe-mark on the ceiling and the presence of a bunch of powdery, white stuff I needed to vacuum up. That, and a healthy dose of asbestos.

With the sun drifting slowly toward the horizon, Mom and I headed back down the coast to Piedras Blancas to visit the elephant seals, followed by a walk along Moonstone Beach. It’s amazing how different beaches can be. Oak Street Beach in Chicago is a man-made fixture stretching alongside skyscrapers and multimillion-dollar condos near the Magnificent Mile, with lighly lapping “waves” from Lake Michigan. Playa Flamenco in Culebra, Puerto Rico (see March 2008 blog for photos) is a tropical paradise with soft, pristine sand, warm, clear water that slowly changes from clear to aqua to indigo and coral reefs perfect for snorkeling off-shore. Moonstone Beach features crashing waves, ruddy cliffs, monstrous beached kelp (home to an army of sand flies powerful enough to pick you up and carry you across the Pacific), and some interesting rocks that Mrs. Behling thought would be perfect for her second-grade science class.

By the time the sun went down, the temperature dropped below 65ºF (brr!) and we needed our jackets for the walk down the street to Indigo Moon. A cheese plate of Midnight Moon, Cotswald Cheddar, and I-can’t- remember-the-name Gouda was followed by mac-n-cheese with manchego and white cheddar for Mom and lobster bisque and cauliflower horseradish gratin for me. I. Love. Cheese. So. Much.

Day One: Orange County to Santa Barbara to Cambria

Before we begin our journey, let me start with a simple warning: Don’t buy a car from Stockton to Malone Honda. No, my car did not explode. It did not burst into flame. It worked just fine. Yet the hassles, endless phone calls, missing paperwork, excess fees, and questionable sales tactics (all attributed to the aforementioned car dealership) were left behind today as Mom and I hit the Pacific Coast Highway for a weekend getaway to the central California coast.

Why is Southern California traffic so dense? Hey you guys, it’s super nice outside almost all the time. Maybe we should walk, or ride bikes. Would a solid public transportation system help? Ahh…yes. They tell me that having a car is simply a must in Southern California. Also a must, apparently, is going somewhere at 1pm on a Thursday. Fortunately, once we hit Ventura, the Pacific Ocean was to our left, the sun shining above us, and the traffic behind us.

We lunched at The Endless Summer Café in Santa Barbara, a tasty spot named after the entertaining 1960s surfing documentary. Mom noshed on a Shrimp Louie Salad and I laid into a Cajun Seared Tuna Sandwich as we sat surrounded by surfboards of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Surfboards are tinier than you might think, especially considering that they’re all you have out among the crashing waves. I think that if I were to go surfing, I would want a giant, house-sized surfboard to keep me safe. I will call my creation “boat.”

Next stop was Mission Santa Barbara, known as the “Crown Jewel” of the Spanish Franciscan Missions. They were in the process of filming a new movie for their visitor’s center (which is a good thing, because the current one was like those Church filmstrips from back in the day where you got really excited if you were the one picked to turn the reel when the tape went “beep”). It was a very beautiful and peaceful place that had an awesome “old” smell. I like the smell of old things. Well, not all old things. Books and buildings, yes. Food and people, no.

The sun was low in the sky as we continued up the coast, crashing waves and rolling mountains flanking our path. As we rolled past Cayucos, the last of the day’s light mingled with the ocean mist to create an ominous scene ripe for the opening chapter of a mystery novel. After checking in to the Olallieberry Inn in Cambria, we walked down the street to Linn’s Restaurant. I got the Hearst Burger with smoked gouda and sweet potato fries. Score? 1 on presentation, 9 on taste. Mom had the Very Berry Chicken (which should be renamed Has Some Berries But Not a Lot of Them Chicken). We finished off our meal (and our day) with Olallie Cream Cake. The cake and berry part were okay, but the frosting left a lardy film on one’s gullet. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

Alaska, Day Six: The Tip of the Iceberg

I woke up every 30 minutes from 11:00pm until 4:00am in a last-ditch effort to see an aurora. I may have seen a greenish haze at around 3:30am, but I’m not sure if I dreamed it up as I was in a bit of a fog by that point. Before leaving town, I headed to the University of Alaska Museum of the North to soak up a generous portion of natural history, social history, and art. My favorite part was “The Place Where You Go To Listen.” The lights and sounds in “The Place” were all linked to naturally-occurring phenomenon like earthquakes and the aurora borealis. Being in the room was like stepping into what I imagine a sliver of God’s experience must be…acute awareness of the slightest tremor or shift, yet when all comes together it is as a symphony. Truth be told, it brought me to tears. Although the video below doesn’t do it justice, I had to capture it as best I could so I might share it with you (make sure you’ve got the volume up).

The Place Where You Go To Listen

Highlights from the Museum of The North

On my way back to Anchorage, I stopped briefly in Nenana to visit St. Mark’s Episcopal Church and grab a bite to eat. As the clouds had parted and the sun was out, my return drive through part of Denali National Park and Preserve was breathtaking. At one point, I did find myself wondering “Where is Mt. McKinley? Shouldn’t there be some sort of sign with an arrow that says ‘Hey, look, it’s the highest point in North America! Check it out!’ to keep people from missing it?” In sum, I may or may not have seen Mt. McKinley.

St. Mark's Episcopal Church

Denali and the Alaskan Range

Although things started off somewhat crummy, I’m really glad I went on this trip. I get the sense that unless you’re an avid arctic outdoorsman, Alaska may be best experienced in the summer, as the majority of the tourist attractions seem to be shut down or greatly reduced during the colder months. Still, had I come in the summer, I would not have been able to partake of dog mushing or the contrast between hot springs and frigid air. As it stands, Alaska and I have unfinished business when it comes to the aurora borealis, the Alaskan Railroad, flightseeing to Mt. McKinley, climbing on a glacier, and much more. Land of the Midnight Sun, I shall return.

Alaska, Day Five: Mush!

Some Alaskan hotels have an aurora wake-up service where they will knock on your door or call your room when the aurorae come out. Having requested this service at Chena Hot Springs Resort, I woke up at 4:30 this morning thinking, “Oh! Oh! Did I hear a knock?” To be sure, I suited up, grabbed my camera and tripod, and hiked over to the aurora viewing area. At one point, I thought I might have seen some green wisps in the sky, but on second thought decided that my eyes were playing tricks on me. At any rate, it wasn’t what I expected from all the photos and descriptions of the aurora. Back to bed!

After a few hours’ nap, I got up to soak in the hot springs one last time. On my way, I peeked at the thermometer stuck to the outside of the building, which held constant at its lowest possible reading, -20 ºF. That was poor planning on their part, no? It gets to -60 ºF and below out here. Regardless, the walk from the changing rooms to the lake was particularly icy, and when I say icy, I’m referring to when my hair became frosty and firm in a matter of seconds. Once I was in the water, I noticed that some little “ice feathers” had formed on the rocks overnight. Curious.

Morning at Chena Hot Springs

Ice Feathers

My drive from Chena to Fairbanks was filled with visions of sourdough pancakes and two eggs, over easy, with fresh cracked pepper and a dash of salt. Imagine my sadness when I pulled into the parking lot for the Sourdough Café to find that it had been destroyed in a fire a couple of weeks ago. I settled for some tasty pad thai from Lemongrass Thai Restaurant before meeting up with my dog mushing school instructor, John Hoegberg. After he took the dogs out of their pens (it was a bit like clowns coming out of a tiny car as one dog after another emerged from the back of the truck), we hitched them to the side of the truck in preparation for the ride. One dog, Spotty, was so excited he just kept barking and leaping around. He calmed right down, though, when you gave him a scratch behind the ears.

John and the Dogs

Dog mushing isn’t as hard as you think it would be, yet it is also harder than you think it would be. Basically, you stick your ice hook in the ground, tie a secondary rope to something stable, stretch out the gangline, harness the dogs, connect them to the gangline starting from the front and working your way back, stand on your brake, pull the rope loose, pull the ice hook loose, slowly ease off your brake and onto your drag, and then ease off the drag as you move to the runners. Although the dogs generally poop while running, some like to stop and squat, which can cause a crash, so be ready to step on your brake and secure your ice hook in the ground so you can untangle everybody. But be careful, because sometimes the team is so excited to get going that they could rip the ice hook out of the ground and take off without you, so be ready to grab the sled and jump aboard at any moment. Speaking of which, be careful of the side you get off of, because the ice hook may come around and grab you by the leg. “Gee” means go right and “Haw” means go left. Got it?

John started out by letting me ride in the basket while he mushed for a while, then had me take over the 10-dog team for the remainder of the 9-mile journey down the frozen Tanana River. We then split into two sleds, him with eight dogs and me with six, and headed out for the same route. I only biffed it once when I was going around a turn. Fortunately, my team was following his, and I was able to get back on the sled before the teams took off again. As the end of my solo trip grew closer, Apple, one of the new dogs, kept looking back at me as if to say, “Time to stop!” But she stayed on and Spotty did a great job as one of my lead dogs. And even though I smelled like dog at the end, I’m so glad I was able to take part in this unique adventure.

Leader of the Pack

My Team Is Ready To Go

On the Tanana

After helping John get the teams dismantled and everything put back into the truck, I drove up to Grand View Bed & Breakfast to settle in for my last night in Alaska. My lunch at Lemongrass was so spectacular that I decided to return for round two, which took the form of panang curry with chicken and a chaser of Hot Licks Alaskan Blueberry ice cream. On my way back up the driveway to Grand View, I got stuck in the driveway and had to ask the owners for help. Unfortunately, my stuck car got their truck stuck. It’s all part of the joys of Alaskan living, I suppose.

Grand View Bed & Breakfast

The Grand View from My Room

Alaska, Day Four: Hot and Cold

I got up in the middle of the night to pee, and since I was lodging in the cabin out back, I had to get dressed and cross the yard to the main house to do so. On my way back, I stared up longingly at the sky, and I saw a single, sweeping white band of light across the sky, signifying either the aurora or a movie opening. In the end, I decided that it was a movie opening…it seemed too artificial and rhythmic.

The 7+ hour drive north from Talkeetna to Chena Hot Springs was lengthy and a bit white-knuckled given the snow and clouds that pervaded the scene. Toward the end of my journey, I stopped off in North Pole to see the world’s largest Santa Claus. I also attempted to gain entry into the nearby Santa Claus House, but…you guessed it…it was closed. I was, however, able to visit a Taco Bell situated in a strip mall…the first I’d seen of its kind. Fascinating.

Greetings from the World’s Largest Santa Claus

About an hour later, I rolled into Chena Hot Springs Resort, an isolated destination run on geothermal power. Although I think the term “resort” is a bit of a stretch, it’s pretty chill (pun intended).

The Entrance to Chena Hot Springs Resort

Rock Lake at Chena Hot Springs Resort

After checking in at the front desk, my first stop was the Aurora Ice Museum, the largest year-round ice structure in the world. One of the coolest (I’m on a roll here) components of the museum is a section with beds and an outhouse…all carved from ice, of course. For a pretty penny, guests can stay overnight in the museum, although I’m guessing it’s not nearly as great of an adventure as that enjoyed by Claudia and Jamie in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ten points for whoever can pick up that cultural reference.

Dinner at the resort’s restaurant (a salmon burger with tomato and lettuce grown in the resort’s greenhouse) provided an excellent appetizer for the main course…Lost. I know I’m on vacation, but come on…this is the best season ever. Dessert consisted of a two-hour soak in Rock Lake. It was a very otherworldly experience, soaking in burning hot water (which can reach as high as 140 ºF) that smelled of sulphur while the stars shone above, interrupted only by a few multicolored spotlights illuminating the steam as it diffused into the frigid black night.