Alex.
That sunset. We made it to Big Sur. Henry Miller Library. Drove around a bunch trying to find the elusive Willow creek, which we never actually found. We did, however, find Eden and her brother, and proceed to camp at a place comparable to Eden: Plaskett Creek. Basking in the sun here turned into basking in the wind as we soaked in the sunset with new friends from Quebec and beyond. We eventually found ourselves in the hot springs in Esalen soaking in the hot spring fumes and reviving night air. Magic happened.
The next day involved cruising up the coast. We scoped the Gorge in Big Sur Pfiefer State. We fell in the creek Kerouac style. The water was cold enough to bring up the subconscious, and it was ever so worth it. We met the ever-so-friendly campfire wine queen. Turns out we fluently can converse in Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese.
Post canyon shivers. We drove up the Palo Colorado Canyon to visit Country Flat (aka home). It was great to see the farm and family.
The next day found us in the ocean at Andrew Molera State park. Windy and Sunny yet again. More Henry Miller Library. We wound around til Cayucos. Swing.
SLO. Again. Sillyness saved my life.
Laiken.
Still smiling, met the Quebecers at the campsite and reaffirmed my opinion that they are the most fun/least serious people on this planet. They lead us to the ocean cliffs for a sunset that will forever be carbon-copied into my memories. The best moments are like that.
The next day was my favorite. The morning was sluggish and i stumbled back to the cliff. Breeze from the Pacific and words from my best friend lead me to epiphany. From there we went to the Henry Miller Library, hidden in the redwoods in the shadows of time. We stayed for a while and indulged on coffee and pseudo-intellectual literature like Kundera and Nabokov. Henry Miller was the man. From there we went hiking up a cold creek, bottle of red wine, crackers, cheese and sausage in hand. Hopped from rock to rock with impeccable balance, gettin' our Japhy on between swigs of laughter and mishap. Kerouac meets Hemingway. Hah!
In the words of Henry: "The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware"
That sunset. We made it to Big Sur. Henry Miller Library. Drove around a bunch trying to find the elusive Willow creek, which we never actually found. We did, however, find Eden and her brother, and proceed to camp at a place comparable to Eden: Plaskett Creek. Basking in the sun here turned into basking in the wind as we soaked in the sunset with new friends from Quebec and beyond. We eventually found ourselves in the hot springs in Esalen soaking in the hot spring fumes and reviving night air. Magic happened.
The next day involved cruising up the coast. We scoped the Gorge in Big Sur Pfiefer State. We fell in the creek Kerouac style. The water was cold enough to bring up the subconscious, and it was ever so worth it. We met the ever-so-friendly campfire wine queen. Turns out we fluently can converse in Italian, French, Spanish, and Portuguese.
Post canyon shivers. We drove up the Palo Colorado Canyon to visit Country Flat (aka home). It was great to see the farm and family.
The next day found us in the ocean at Andrew Molera State park. Windy and Sunny yet again. More Henry Miller Library. We wound around til Cayucos. Swing.
SLO. Again. Sillyness saved my life.
Laiken.
Still smiling, met the Quebecers at the campsite and reaffirmed my opinion that they are the most fun/least serious people on this planet. They lead us to the ocean cliffs for a sunset that will forever be carbon-copied into my memories. The best moments are like that.
The next day was my favorite. The morning was sluggish and i stumbled back to the cliff. Breeze from the Pacific and words from my best friend lead me to epiphany. From there we went to the Henry Miller Library, hidden in the redwoods in the shadows of time. We stayed for a while and indulged on coffee and pseudo-intellectual literature like Kundera and Nabokov. Henry Miller was the man. From there we went hiking up a cold creek, bottle of red wine, crackers, cheese and sausage in hand. Hopped from rock to rock with impeccable balance, gettin' our Japhy on between swigs of laughter and mishap. Kerouac meets Hemingway. Hah!
In the words of Henry: "The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware"
