Monterey Blues

When you have a run of good luck, it invariably ends. Sadly, when you have a run of bad luck it doesn’t.

Our luck didn’t improve – we decided to try and book in at ridiculously short notice on the Elkhorn Slough cruise in the hopes of seeing sea otters bobbing about entangled in strands of kelp (and hopefully, still breathing). Naturally the cruise was fully booked, but there were spots available at 1:00pm tomorrow. Given that was the day we were planning on driving Highway 1, we went for it, committed to a non-refundable $130-odd dollars in exchange for puttering around a river on a pontoon for two hours, and headed out for Monterey Aquarium at the end of Cannery Row.

Cannery Row, made famous by John Steinbeck, does everything possible in its collective power to constantly remind you it’s Cannery Row, made famous by John Steinbeck – it’s almost impossible to travel a few steps without some Steinbeckian reference or other. In a way it’s a bit of a pity, as there’s no need for such desperation – it’s attractive enough in its own right that it doesn’t need to trade relentlessly on the talents of its long-expired favourite son. Having said that, Cannery Row doesn’t actually have a lot of stuff to see and do, to be honest – it’s basically a string of refurbished warehouses and canneries converted into factory outlets and dinky souvenir shops. For my mind, the entire reason to visit is to find a park and head to Monterey Bay Aquarium.

The Aquarium claims to be world famous, as does almost everything in the US (see previous posts) but in this case it’s entirely appropriate, justified and, probably, true. First impressions deceive - when you walk into the building you’re faced with what resembles a concrete mall with most aquarium tanks clustered at either end, making the experience feel more like you’ve walked into a museum, or a contemporary art gallery. Then as you start exploring in more detail, it’s apparent that it really is vast, with a massive number of exhibits worthy of more than a passing look, and able to account for a full day. It also manages to straddle the fine line in being educational without being boring, condescending or giving you the feeling it’s ramming things in your face, and achieves the possibly even more outstanding task of not boring the crap out of 5 and 6 year olds. We trawled (to use a probably inappropriate bit of fishing terminology) through everything, literally from end to end, taking in tidal pools, million gallon tanks full of fish and the occasional oceanographer, rays, jellies, sea otters, giant octopi, and seahorses (including my favorite, the leafy sea dragon, which gave me a little pang of nostalgia when I saw the map showing its distribution as, basically, home). There was also a well done, decidedly unpreachy but still disturbing bit on the impact of global warming upon various animals from penguins and polar bears through to “hot pink flamingoes”. In short, if you can tear yourself away from Fisherman’s Wharf and outlet shopping, visit – to my mind, any organization providing a box jellyfish able to kill Will Smith is worth a look.

With a couple of hours left in the day to burn, we decided to do the famous Pebble Beach/Carmel 17 Mile Drive, home to a cluster of world-class golf courses, the iconic Lone Cypress, and a number of evidently obscenely wealthy individuals. 17 Mile Drive is also, as far as I’m aware, the only public road which charges you for the privilege of driving it. I’d be curious to know who maintains the roads, but given the charge I’d sure as hell hope it’s not the US Government. When I last visited 11 years ago I was horrified at the prospect (“What? $6.50 to drive a stretch of road? They can get stuffed”), but evidently my more socialist streak has faded with time and I shelled out the now $9.50 in exchange for a map studded with attractions, some meritorious, others less so and seemingly included to make the route seem like you were getting a whole bunch of really cool stuff, when in reality most people just go to check out the golf courses and Lone Cypress, arguably the most famous tree on earth. We did both, naturally, staggered at the ridiculously daring placement of greens on small rocky outcrops jutting into the raging sea, the smell of crisp $100 bills in the air, and the sheer awesome spectacle of arguably some of the most awesome natural coastal scenery on earth, certainly in the US. Golfers would collapse weeping, either in delight or horror at the no doubt completely mental course fees.

Lone Cypress is one of those places you go to, hoping it looks exactly the way it does in photos, only to be slightly disappointed it looks exactly the way it does in photos. Well, almost exactly. Regretfully, the base of the tree and the peninsula it crouches on is now buttressed with stone walls, designed, according to the helpful signboard nearby, to ensure Lone Cypress continues to survive for another 50 years. I photographed it enthusiastically, as did the others who drifted into and out of the pull-out, but part of me thought maybe when Lone Cypress decides it’s had enough and falls into the sea, nothing should stop it from happening. It’s life – not a museum piece which should be shielded from the elements. I’m fine with wanting to do everything possible to ensure some numbskull doesn’t attempt to vandalize it or chop it down, but think it should be let alone to be what it is, and what it ultimately becomes, not to keep it as it was - a snapshot in time. Still, in its tenacious, tenuous grip on the side of a cliff, just metres from falling into oblivion below, it really is achingly beautiful…

We headed back through a seemingly random winding route to Monterey, wanting to cover every square centimeter of 17 mile drive to get our damn money’s worth, then swung by an excellent restaurant for dinner (track down Café Mexicali if you’re in the neighborhood – it’s great, especially the margarita’s), and called it a day.

The damn otters had better be there tomorrow.