This morning we left behind Lemoore and their tomato factory. (We drove past a big plant that was belching smoke - looked like it was some sort of heavy oil upgrader, but no, it was a tomato plant. Big trucks pulling in with lots of tomatoes in the back. Hello, ketchup! Funny thing was, a few miles down the road, there was a large red splotch in an intersection. Tomato accident. Tee hee! Lemoore, who knew you could be so exciting!)
So, we're heading for the west coast, driving through the Kettlemen Hills, which are dusty and yellow-grassed. After we pass over the hills, we're hitting wine country. Vineyard after vineyard, and even I recognize some of the labels.
We drive into Paso Robles, specifically to go to Walmart. Yes, we need to stock up on our Coke supplies - and it's cheaper to buy a box and bring it with us than it is to buy it a bottle at a time. There's a sign that says "El Paso de Robles", so Stephen tries to convince me that I've now been to El Paso, so I should stop complaining about the fact that he was too afraid to go to the real El Paso. Hah. As if that's going to happen.
After that little pit stop, we're headed towards San Simeon, where we're going to see if we can get tickets to tour Hearst Castle. The Rough Guide says that advance reservations are "virtually mandatory", so we may be out of luck. It's 10:30 a.m. when we arrive, and I have my fingers crossed as we pull into the parking lot; Stephen is naysaying, telling me that the parking lot is all we're going to get.
But, for once, the timing is in my favour: the next tour is the Grand Rooms, and it starts in 10 minutes. Sold! It's $50 for the two of us - Stephen is confused, and thinks it's $50 a ticket, which explains why he's glowering sullenly at me for the next three hours.
Anyway, we've got our tickets to take the bus that drives us up to the house. This is another one of those talking tour buses with the recorded monologue. Only this time, it's narrated by Alex Trebek. Seriously.
"I'm Alex Trebek," the bus tells me, "and welcome to the tour." I can't help it - I immediately yell back, "What is Hearst Castle?" But Alex-Trebek-the-bus doesn't want to play Jeopardy today - he keeps blathering on about the tour and what we're going to see. Snooty bastard - I remember before you were a bus, when you were just a humble TV game-show host! But I'm still puzzled as to how Alex Trebek came to be the narrator for Hearst Castle? This is a mystery I never unravel.
It's a long winding road up the hill - when we arrive at the house, the real live tour guide tells us that William Randolph Hearst never referred to this home as the castle (because apparently he had a real Norman castle somewhere in Europe that he called "the castle"), but it was always "the Ranch at San Simeon." I am now even more confused. If he never called it the castle, why is the tour now called Hearst Castle (narrated by Alex Trebek)? This is a day of many mysteries.
The property was and still is a working ranch where cattle are raised, but the house is spectacularly over the top. He was an avid art collector, and the place is stuffed with priceless antiques. The doors are from a monastery in Spain, I think, and the fireplace came from a castle in France, and there's sculptures from numerous artists, and a rare millefleur tapestry from France, and on and on. The patterned and carved ceilings are imported; everything costs a million billion dollars.
He started building in 1912, I think, and then continued for another 28 years or so. When he died, the family didn't know what to do with the estate, and eventually, they gave it to the state of California. Yes, they gave it away (because they're that rich). Apparently, they offered it to Berkeley University first, but Berkeley couldn't afford the upkeep; even California took three years to finally accept the offer and take ownership.
Our tour took us through several rooms: the main entrance hall, the formal dining hall, a breakfast room, the billiards room, and finally into a private movie theatre where they showed films of some of his visitors way back in the day (movie stars and politicians).
The gardens are gorgeous, with these pure white marble statues everywhere. And the Neptune Pool - wow! Absolutely gorgeous, especially out there under the sunny sky. So beautiful.
Then, under the tennis court, there was the indoor Roman Pool. Another wow. It's amazingly beautiful, with statues, blue tiled walls and floor, and even white marble ladders into the pool. There's a diving platform up high. I don't know which pool I like better.
I said it seemed too perfect a pool - you'd have to work on your dive, because you couldn't just cannonball into that water. One of the security guards piped up to disagree; he told us that Dan Aykroyd or Jim Belushi (he couldn't remember which one) had been at Hearst Castle for a special event, and he'd stripped nude and done a cannonball into the pool. Needless to say, he was not invited back. (But he'll always be able to say he did it - Dan or Jim, whoever it was. That's gotta be worth something.)
Then, back onto the bus and down the hill, and Alex Trebek is talking to us again, thanking us for coming. I notice that Alex Trebek asked if we could imagine what it was like to be a visitor at Hearst's estate; he didn't ask if we could imagine owning it. That's because we can't. We're too poor, all of us, and we have no idea what it's like to be that stinking rich. So stinking rich that we can have a fabulously priceless estate, and still afford to give it away.
:-)
Time to hit the road again! We're now driving on towards Big Sur. But we take a wrong turn on an Interstate somewhere and emerge in Transylvania. Yes, Transylvania. Land of endless gray fog and lurking vampire counts. Hey! Maybe I misread the sign on that last tourist stop. Maybe it wasn't Hearst Castle - maybe it was Dracula's Castle! No, can't be... it was far too sunny for that.
I guess maybe it is Big Sur. But it is seriously fogged in. It's not early morning, either - it's already going on to 1 p.m. their time. And I'm not talking about a little bit of a fog. I'm talking about giant fog banks of white, rolling in across the road, like something from the scene of... yes, a vampire movie! Or Silent Hill - it has that look, too. Everything shrouded in white. Nuclear winter? Could be. Go ahead and film your post-apocalyptic movie here - it's perfect.
Every time we drive past one of the viewpoints, I roll down the window and shout, "Scenic drive, my ass!"
We'd be driving over a bridge, and we couldn't see what was on the other side. Oh, look, it's a big hill! I start to doubt there's even an ocean down there - maybe it's just someone with a giant fog machine.
There are many viewpoints and turnouts along the road, but, as you'd expect, most of them are being very sparsely used. Sure, there are a few people taking pictures of the fog, but once you've got one or two photos... well, then you've got your fog pics. How many more do you need? "This was the white fog. This was the heavy white fog. Oh, and this was the gray billowing cloud." I'm sure you can't wait to see that slide show. (Yes, I am going to make you sit through it. If I had to suffer through it, so do you.)
Every now and again, there'd be a tiny sheltered little cove that showed a hint of beach and a hint of blue ocean. There were three of those spots on the whole 90-mile drive. You could tell where they were, because all of the tourists were huddled around the roadside and pointing their cameras - "Look! I can see a little bit of something! There's something there!" (Of course they were all private beaches, so you couldn't go down.)
Supposedly, driving along Big Sur is a very spectacular drive on non-foggy days. But today was not that day. It was a very persistent fog; never lifted at all. Guess it's just the way the wind was blowing.
What are you going to do? You win some; you lose some.
We drove into Monterey and headed for the Aquarium, which is one of the things on Stephen's to-do list; it's supposed to be the best aquarium in California, so it's $30 to see the fishies. Hmph. I do, however, really like the jellyfish and the sea horse exhibits. Jellyfish are freaky, especially when you think of all those stingers, but when they're safely behind glass, they are quite beautiful.
They did have a bat ray that you could pet, so I did. Hello, slimy fella! I wasn't so struck on handling the star fish, though - they always look like they'll grab hold of you and won't let go, so I passed on that one. (Felt very smug when I saw several tourists trying to pry the starfish off their arms, yelling, "get it off, get it off!" Should've known better.)
Monterey is a tourist town, meaning it's on the expensive side, so we're heading on over to Santa Clara instead.
Movie geek quote for ya: "One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach...all the damn vampires." :-D
Whaddaya think? The name is close enough... I think I'll hang the garlic in the motel doorway night, just in case.
So, we're heading for the west coast, driving through the Kettlemen Hills, which are dusty and yellow-grassed. After we pass over the hills, we're hitting wine country. Vineyard after vineyard, and even I recognize some of the labels.
We drive into Paso Robles, specifically to go to Walmart. Yes, we need to stock up on our Coke supplies - and it's cheaper to buy a box and bring it with us than it is to buy it a bottle at a time. There's a sign that says "El Paso de Robles", so Stephen tries to convince me that I've now been to El Paso, so I should stop complaining about the fact that he was too afraid to go to the real El Paso. Hah. As if that's going to happen.
After that little pit stop, we're headed towards San Simeon, where we're going to see if we can get tickets to tour Hearst Castle. The Rough Guide says that advance reservations are "virtually mandatory", so we may be out of luck. It's 10:30 a.m. when we arrive, and I have my fingers crossed as we pull into the parking lot; Stephen is naysaying, telling me that the parking lot is all we're going to get.
But, for once, the timing is in my favour: the next tour is the Grand Rooms, and it starts in 10 minutes. Sold! It's $50 for the two of us - Stephen is confused, and thinks it's $50 a ticket, which explains why he's glowering sullenly at me for the next three hours.
Anyway, we've got our tickets to take the bus that drives us up to the house. This is another one of those talking tour buses with the recorded monologue. Only this time, it's narrated by Alex Trebek. Seriously.
"I'm Alex Trebek," the bus tells me, "and welcome to the tour." I can't help it - I immediately yell back, "What is Hearst Castle?" But Alex-Trebek-the-bus doesn't want to play Jeopardy today - he keeps blathering on about the tour and what we're going to see. Snooty bastard - I remember before you were a bus, when you were just a humble TV game-show host! But I'm still puzzled as to how Alex Trebek came to be the narrator for Hearst Castle? This is a mystery I never unravel.
It's a long winding road up the hill - when we arrive at the house, the real live tour guide tells us that William Randolph Hearst never referred to this home as the castle (because apparently he had a real Norman castle somewhere in Europe that he called "the castle"), but it was always "the Ranch at San Simeon." I am now even more confused. If he never called it the castle, why is the tour now called Hearst Castle (narrated by Alex Trebek)? This is a day of many mysteries.
The property was and still is a working ranch where cattle are raised, but the house is spectacularly over the top. He was an avid art collector, and the place is stuffed with priceless antiques. The doors are from a monastery in Spain, I think, and the fireplace came from a castle in France, and there's sculptures from numerous artists, and a rare millefleur tapestry from France, and on and on. The patterned and carved ceilings are imported; everything costs a million billion dollars.
He started building in 1912, I think, and then continued for another 28 years or so. When he died, the family didn't know what to do with the estate, and eventually, they gave it to the state of California. Yes, they gave it away (because they're that rich). Apparently, they offered it to Berkeley University first, but Berkeley couldn't afford the upkeep; even California took three years to finally accept the offer and take ownership.
Our tour took us through several rooms: the main entrance hall, the formal dining hall, a breakfast room, the billiards room, and finally into a private movie theatre where they showed films of some of his visitors way back in the day (movie stars and politicians).
 |
| Neptune Pool |
 |
| Roman Pool |
I said it seemed too perfect a pool - you'd have to work on your dive, because you couldn't just cannonball into that water. One of the security guards piped up to disagree; he told us that Dan Aykroyd or Jim Belushi (he couldn't remember which one) had been at Hearst Castle for a special event, and he'd stripped nude and done a cannonball into the pool. Needless to say, he was not invited back. (But he'll always be able to say he did it - Dan or Jim, whoever it was. That's gotta be worth something.)
Then, back onto the bus and down the hill, and Alex Trebek is talking to us again, thanking us for coming. I notice that Alex Trebek asked if we could imagine what it was like to be a visitor at Hearst's estate; he didn't ask if we could imagine owning it. That's because we can't. We're too poor, all of us, and we have no idea what it's like to be that stinking rich. So stinking rich that we can have a fabulously priceless estate, and still afford to give it away.
:-)
Time to hit the road again! We're now driving on towards Big Sur. But we take a wrong turn on an Interstate somewhere and emerge in Transylvania. Yes, Transylvania. Land of endless gray fog and lurking vampire counts. Hey! Maybe I misread the sign on that last tourist stop. Maybe it wasn't Hearst Castle - maybe it was Dracula's Castle! No, can't be... it was far too sunny for that.
 |
| My favourite picture of Big Sur. It's a wee bit foggy. |
Every time we drive past one of the viewpoints, I roll down the window and shout, "Scenic drive, my ass!"
We'd be driving over a bridge, and we couldn't see what was on the other side. Oh, look, it's a big hill! I start to doubt there's even an ocean down there - maybe it's just someone with a giant fog machine.
There are many viewpoints and turnouts along the road, but, as you'd expect, most of them are being very sparsely used. Sure, there are a few people taking pictures of the fog, but once you've got one or two photos... well, then you've got your fog pics. How many more do you need? "This was the white fog. This was the heavy white fog. Oh, and this was the gray billowing cloud." I'm sure you can't wait to see that slide show. (Yes, I am going to make you sit through it. If I had to suffer through it, so do you.)
Every now and again, there'd be a tiny sheltered little cove that showed a hint of beach and a hint of blue ocean. There were three of those spots on the whole 90-mile drive. You could tell where they were, because all of the tourists were huddled around the roadside and pointing their cameras - "Look! I can see a little bit of something! There's something there!" (Of course they were all private beaches, so you couldn't go down.)
Supposedly, driving along Big Sur is a very spectacular drive on non-foggy days. But today was not that day. It was a very persistent fog; never lifted at all. Guess it's just the way the wind was blowing.
What are you going to do? You win some; you lose some.
We drove into Monterey and headed for the Aquarium, which is one of the things on Stephen's to-do list; it's supposed to be the best aquarium in California, so it's $30 to see the fishies. Hmph. I do, however, really like the jellyfish and the sea horse exhibits. Jellyfish are freaky, especially when you think of all those stingers, but when they're safely behind glass, they are quite beautiful.
They did have a bat ray that you could pet, so I did. Hello, slimy fella! I wasn't so struck on handling the star fish, though - they always look like they'll grab hold of you and won't let go, so I passed on that one. (Felt very smug when I saw several tourists trying to pry the starfish off their arms, yelling, "get it off, get it off!" Should've known better.)
Monterey is a tourist town, meaning it's on the expensive side, so we're heading on over to Santa Clara instead.
Movie geek quote for ya: "One thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach...all the damn vampires." :-D
Whaddaya think? The name is close enough... I think I'll hang the garlic in the motel doorway night, just in case.
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