Pismo Beach to Monterey

Pismo Beach to Monterey

We’re now two weeks into the trip and settling in.  We slept in until about 8:30 and got ourselves moving in time to catch the free contintental breakfast at the Cottage Inn that ended at 9:30.  On the way by the front desk the night before, I had inquired about local telephone charges, since we always hook up onto AOL through a local connection, and in this hotel there was no particular card explaining all the calling charges and surcharges.  The night before, we’d left the computer signed online when we went to dinner, and when I thought to inquire just in case, I was slightly dismayed to find out they charge more than ANY hotel we’ve been to in two years—50 cents per minute for a local call.  When the clerk checked our bill thus far, we’d rung up the sum of $68.00 in local phone charges.  Fortunately, the guy sympathized with me, and when I explained that if they’re going to charge that, there should be some indication of that outrageous charge in the room.  He showed me the card that was “supposed” be visible in the room, and when I told him no such card existed in our room, he lopped off all but $3.00 of the phone charges and sent me on my contented way.

This morning the fog had burned off completely, so we took about a 45 minute walk on the beach to the pier and back, and examined a few of the deep caves at the bottom of the cliff just under the Cottage Inn. 

Our drive this day was to take us up the coast from Pismo Beach to the Highlands Inn and Carmel along some of the most beautiful coastline I know of in the world.  The fog was visible, but now miles off the coastline, so it formed a pretty layer of depth right over the Pacific.  We had blue and emerald ocean, dark rocky cliffs with whitewater banging up against them, some beach, that layer of fog, and mountainous terrain to our right alternating from brown to green, with cypress-like trees. 

The drive was even more gorgeous than last year’s trek up the PCH, since there was no fog on the coast and not a cloud in the sky.  Turn after turn created a new vista from which I felt the pull to snap digital photographs.  At one point, we met up with a ’39 Lincoln towing an old trailer, driven by Jeff from Pennsylvania.  I asked him for his Email address so I could send him the cool shots I had just taken of his car against the Pacific.  He was three weeks into his journey, and beamed when he heard we came from further away than he did.

Along the way, I couldn’t help but point out to the boys the particular spots I remember using as pull-off and pull-outs when last year’s urination frenzy hit me as a result of the short term Vivarin binge I needed to get us up the coast.  Funny, but somehow I recognized where I left my marks.

Our 118 mile drive took the better part of 4 and half hours.  It was 4 o’clock when we arrived at a place I’d been looking forward to since the cold winter months of trip-planning, The Highlands Inn.  My brother and parents had noted to me that I’d love the place.  I was somehow able to procure a palatable rate, which seemed even better when I checked in and was told we’d have a high ocean-view two-story suite with full breakfast included.  Sam assisted us with check-in, and as we walked out to the front entrance and he asked me which of the cars I was driving, I pointed to the Touareg.  He responded “Oh, cool. The fun one”.  Sam directed us to the room and told us he’d meet us there, and proceeded to sprint up the hill in front of us.  I’d expected him to get into a golf cart.  Room 504 at the Highlands was breathtaking, both inside and out.  The first thing I checked was the view, which matched any view we’d seen on the way up the coast that day.  The upstairs featured a nice living room with working fireplace, kitchen and a bathroom, and downstairs was a bedroom with a cozy looking King size bed and a spacious bathroom cordoned off by three panels of sliding doors, which one could use for privacy or open up to the large Jacuzzi positioned as the focal point to the attractive mission style bathroom.  Absolutely perfect, this place.  And one could see it in Parker’s raised eyebrows, for sure.  Thoughts of a late check-out immediately came over me, so as to enjoy these wonderful accommodations as long as possible.

I fished out the long pants and the nicest shirts I could find from the kids’ duffel bags, in preparation for dinner in the Pacific’s Edge at the hotel.  We only brought one pair of long pants (which were required in the dining room) for each kid, and you can imagine the disappointment I felt when I saw that the water from the Jacuzzi I was taking managed to create a jet right up my back and onto the ledge where I had laid Austin’s pants.  They were sopped, and dinner was but an hour away.  After airing them out on the balcony rail in some of the best sun and air God* could muster (which I am sure the hotel management would have loved to see), and steaming out the last of the dampness with an iron, we were golden.

*If there was a God, this was surely a testament the best he can give us.

The maitre d’ attempted to seat us away from the window, which I rejected.  He grudgingly gave up one of the best booths in the house to this family of a man and his two children, and handed us the menus as we inched into our booth.  The menus read a little differently than most, and the boys indicated some confusion.  I looked and saw there some different levels of prix fixed dinners, starting at $48 per person and working up to $86.  Somehow my eyes found the one thing on the menu that indicated that these prices weren’t enough, for to order this particular entrée, there was a $10 surcharge.   With question marks emitting from my kids’ kaleidoscopic eyes, it didn’t take me long to think that we’d be better off in the California Market, just downstairs.  I somewhat sheepishly apologized to the maitre d’ for taking up his good table, but without embarrassment simply told him that the menu wouldn’t be appreciated by the kids as much as my wallet would like it to be. 

The maitre d’ escorted to the other restaurant on the premises himself, which impressed me.  We were treated to a superior view in the California Market restaurant, enjoying excellent fare for less than half of what our original plan was destined to set us back.  Somehow, after a long wait for entrees, they brought Austin the wrong one.  Now, Austin is not the fastest eater on the planet, so when they gave the usual “it’ll just be three minutes” to be back with the correct seafood pasta dish, I was more than skeptical.  Fifteen minutes later, the waitress appeared with his dish, exclaiming that dessert was on her.  We all had agreed among ourselves that of all times, this delay was just fine, since we were in no hurry whatsoever to leave the dining room and the spectacular view^th day of July, 2003.

it was providing us as the sun said goodbye for good to the contiguous 48 on this 10

When we left the dining room, we were hit with chilly coastal air, just perfect for firing up the logs in our fireplace, which lulled us all to a satisfied sleep, legs up and books fallen to our chests, only to wake up briefly, long enough to arrange the sleeping situations at about midnight, pulling the comfy covers over a picturesque day that will surely be with us in our dreams and memories for the rest of our lives.