On California One, California One
And the road a-winding goes
From golden gate to roaring cliff-side
And the light is softly low
As our hearts become sweetly untied
Beneath the sun of California One<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
Colin sings to me and I get all seduced and lose my head. Next thing I know, I\u2019ve booked flights for my whole family into San Francisco, out from Los Angeles and a \u201cFord or similar\u201d to drive the highway in between. This is madness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAll right,\u201d I say. \u201cSo it\u2019s not a Ford. What is it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDunno. It says XT4 on the side.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI dunno. It\u2019s a big, dumb car built for idiots.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cCan you drive it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I get the divorce-stare again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo do we take it back and ask for a Ford, or whatever else they have?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We both sit for a minute and contemplate a repeat of the morning in reverse. Driving back into the third floor parking lot. Dragging the kids off their devices and out of the back seat. Digging out our luggage from the boot. Lugging our suitcases back to the rental office\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We ease out into the San Francisco streets. It\u2019s ten-thirty on a Wednesday morning, and even the tourist areas are quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Travel is never as romantic as the vision you have of it. It\u2019s jetlag and streets that smell, dirty clothes, cold food eaten off paper. Travel is cranky kids and big dumb cars for idiots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s not driving on the right that\u2019s the hard bit, I tell my husband for the thousandth time. You just follow the bum-end of the car in front of you. It\u2019s turning a corner and remembering to stay on the right that\u2019s hard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But there are few corners and lots of bum-ends of cars to follow. We slow down for pedestrians and people on bicycles, scooters. The sun is shining, it\u2019s spring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I see what Jon means about a big dumb car for idiots. There\u2019s a button for everything, clearly marked with little pictures in case words are too hard. Lights are automatic. There\u2019s a reversing screen and an alarm in case anything gets too close. It\u2019s much fancier than our car at home. We\u2019re a bit jealous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We reach the highways and decline two dozen invitations to go to San Jose. There\u2019s a long, smooth stretch of polite disbelief, then the highway suddenly reaches the coast and there it is, the Pacific Ocean, shining as deep and blue as it must have done for the first settlers to reach the West Coast. It\u2019s spectacular.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIsn\u2019t this the same Pacific Ocean we saw around Alcatraz?\u201d asks my eldest son, briefly looking up. \u201cAnd that we saw from the Golden Gate Bridge? In fact, don\u2019t we have the Pacific Ocean at home?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo you want to hear Colin Meloy again?\u201d I threaten from the front seat. He retreats to his screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I know it\u2019s the same ocean, but it\u2019s magical somehow. After the long miles of cities and freeways, canyons and plains (most of which we haven\u2019t travelled), the sudden appearance of the sea is shocking, dazzling. We swing around to the south.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first stop is A\u00f1o Nuevo, a marine park with elephant seals. We have to imagine them though, because the seals are out on a rock you can almost see with binoculars after a mile and a half hike. But there\u2019s a beach full of perfectly striped rocks which fascinate the kids, and a sea otter pelt in the store.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We stop for lunch and Starbucks, and the dubious privilege of paying the equivalent of thirteen Australian dollars for a drink with more cream and sugar than coffee in it. I turn my mobile onto roaming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the list of wifi hotspots, I can see Starbucks, the phone shop, and somebody\u2019s car. It\u2019s named MyCadillac 686.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey kids!\u201d I say. \u201cSome wanker in this car park has a Cadillac with its own wifi!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We look around eagerly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat does a Cadillac look like?\u201d asks my youngest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. I think they have fins on them,\u201d says Jon. \u201cLike a shark.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis car has a fin,\u201d I say. \u201cI think it\u2019s just an American thing. It doesn\u2019t mean anything.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Soon after we hit the highway again, I notice MyCadillac 686 is still in my list of wifi hotspots. I tell the kids the wanker must have followed us, but scanning the highway, we still can\u2019t recognise anything Cadillacy. We let it go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Santa Cruz is unexpectedly enchanting. The boardwalk is closed for the night and we wander the empty rides, the wide beach behind us. A tiny shopfront sells frozen mango bubble tea, and the kids are delighted. The houses are a mix of beach shacks, spanish archways and wooden chalets, oddly in keeping with the steep mountains rising above.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next day we climb the mountains to seek out the giant redwood forest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s the point? The trees in our backyard are taller,\u201d says my eldest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know, but these trees are special. Because they\u2019re\u2026\u201d Redder? Older? Fatter? \u201cFatter,\u201d I say with confidence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The kids frown, unsold on the special fatness of the trees. I should have gone with older, I realise in a few minutes. Our mountain ash are young upstarts compared to the redwoods, lasting only 600 years or so. These trees were three thousand years old when the Roman Empire was born.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Monterey sparkles in the sun. Big Sur is closed so the Big Sur marathon has detoured down Alvarado Street. We wander in the evening twilight, surfing the waves of cheerful runners beneath twinkling lights in the trees.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We see the Lone Cypress on 17-mile drive, contemplate serene jellyfish and sea otters at the aquarium. Carmel is full of surprisingly homely beach houses, surrounding a street of unaffordable shops. The eldest wants paddle boats on the lake. Our giant duck spins in slow circles until we accept the littlest\u2019s legs don\u2019t reach the pedals and switch him out with Dad. He howls beside me. It\u2019s mid-afternoon and giant geese-like birds bob on the surface with us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The little one has gone full tourist. His sweater says San Francisco, his cap says Monterey, and he waves a three-dollar flag we picked up at a supermarket. \u201cThat\u2019s my flag!\u201d he proclaims whenever we pass another American flag. He says it a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t know,\u201d we tell the hotel receptionist who asks for the make and model of our car in return for a parking pass. \u201cIt only says XT4.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s a Cadillac model,\u201d she says agreeably.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She comes out from behind her desk to check for us. Our rental car is indeed a Cadillac XT4. We stand, gawping, at the silver car we\u2019ve littered with muesli bar wrappers and coffee cups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The detour around Big Sur takes us through miles and miles of strawberry fields. The towns we pass through roll off my tongue, Paso Robles, Soledad, San Miguel. We pass spectacular vineyards and find Highway One again in Cambria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I see the Pacific Ocean again, I know I\u2019m lost. Travel is never as romantic as the vision you have of it. I don\u2019t know how this happened. I play Colin Meloy, over and over, until my family beg for mercy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Annabelle lies, sleeps with quiet eyes I warble along. The mountains rise up sharply on our left, so close I could reach out the car window and touch them. The beach moves along our right, the white sands sometimes spilling over the road. And the highway, balanced perfectly between them, skimming the edge where the mountains drop into the sea, stretching for day after day. I am completely seduced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In Morro Bay, there\u2019s a rock. Nobody offers any explanation. It\u2019s just an enormous rock, sitting in the bay. The sun is forced to set around it, huge gulls nestling to sleep, perched on pristine white yachts. There\u2019s a place that sells only saltwater taffy in six dozen flavours. It\u2019s just too American, I refuse my kids\u2019 pleading faces. But we find a burger place that makes ahi, seared raw tuna, and cod tacos. My son snaps excited pictures of his food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Somebody has tied a kite to a balcony railing. It flies itself on the harbour breeze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We visit Ostrichland to find not only ostriches, but emus. We stare at each other with amazed antipodean eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We picnic in Solvang, where the main street is full of quaint Danish architecture but the streets behind are pure American, making the town feel like a stage set. My kids gleefully entice squirrels with corn chips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We climb up to Ojai, a high valley crammed full of orange blossoms, surrounded by towering mountains in all directions. Our mouths and hands are glued together from the bag of gently melting saltwater taffy in six dozen flavours. The red sun lingers on us like it\u2019s held in a giant stone hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the last day we move through mile after mile of Malibu, to find the Santa Monica boardwalk. Acrobats and breakdancers move through the crowd. California One ends here. For us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I take my youngest on the ferris wheel. I\u2019m not the best with heights, and I didn\u2019t account for the wind; our cage rocks and creaks alarmingly at the top. I hang on for dear life. My son screams with delight. Below us, a surfer crashes through the waves. Through streaming eyes I can see Highway One winding back behind us, a bright ribbon balanced on the edge between ocean and mountain, shining in a sea-drift sun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy are you crying?\u201d he wants to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On this sea-drift sun
What can you do<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
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