Saturday, July 28, 2012

Four years ago: California honeymoon

When Ron and I first started to think about our honeymoon, we tossed around going to Bermuda or to San Francisco and Northern California.  We almost picked Bermuda but ultimately decided against it to due hurricane season and the fact that we're not really beach people.  I don't know what drew us to California, but I felt so surprised at how exotic it felt: In my head, I was completely shocked that I hadn't used my passport to get there.  I didn't realize what a straight-laced, uptight East Coaster I really was until I spent a solid week around millions of West Coasters.

I took hundreds of pictures that week ... here are just 32. (Well, sixteen today and sixteen tomorrow.)

Italian Bakery on Columbus Ave

Waiting in line for the Alcatraz ferry ... Standing in line, I've never heard so many foreign languages spoken at once in all my life.  Clearly, the tourists are not flocking to Philly.

Ron is not pleased that we missed the ferry.
Ah, yes: That fateful morning when Ron tried too hard to rush me when I was getting ready, so I purposely took too long on my hair just because I could.  And then we missed the last Sausalito ferry, which I completely did not intend to do.  We watched the damn thing pull away, taking our plans for most of the day with it.  So what did we do? We decided to walk there and purposely planned our trip to cross the Golden Gate Bridge.  (If you look at a map, this is the only way to get there on foot.) We saw so much by walking ... but it took us about three hours to get there.

Three hours.


Most of the steel for the bridge was forged near Philly in Bethlehem, PA.  For some reason, that surprised us.  How the hell did they get the bridge from PA to CA a hundred years ago?  I'm guessing they piled all the pieces on a train.



When we finally escaped the misty fog that defines San Francisco, we stumbled upon what appeared to be the Italian coast.  It certainly felt like we had walked 6,000 miles to the Italian coast, but really we had finally arrived in Sausalito.  Sausalito is probably one of the wealthiest spots on the planet--it has to be. The real estate is completely unbelievable, and there are hundreds of boats lining the marina in town.  HUGE boats.  I've never felt so poor as I did walking through this tiny town, but I still really loved it.

We took the ferry back to the city later that day.  It took about 15 minutes.

Ferry Terminal Market: You can buy everything from olive trees to gourmet pastries to caviar here.

Let me explain the look on Ron's face here.  On day three or four of our trip (I think it was our last day in SF before we were leaving for Carmel), I broke my camera.  I had brought my DSLR on the trip which, by the way, was ONLY 2.5 years old at the time.  While I was sitting in the hotel lobby that morning, the camera slipped off my lap, slid down my leg and barely bumped the floor. I scooped it up, threw it onto my shoulder and we headed out for the day.  We had wandered ten minutes away from the hotel when I went to take my first shot ... and the shutter wouldn't release.  At first I was thinking, "Oh come on.  What I am doing wrong here? Just take the damn shot."  But in 15 seconds I concluded, "Oh. My. God. It's. Broken. It's. BROKEN.  IT'S BROKEN.  I'M ON MY HONEYMOON AND I BROKE MY $700 CAMERA. IT'S BROKEN. AND I DON'T HAVE ANOTHER CAMERA!!!!"

I literally melted down on the street like a sugared-up, over-tired four year old.  Ron began alternating between, "Calm down: It's ok!!" and "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT???"

We sprinted back to the hotel, waited 20 minutes for the public computer in the lobby to open up, and searched for a local camera store.  Then, we sprinted in the opposite direction to the business district to what was probably a Ritz Camera.  My camera was declared DOA two minutes after the nice man behind the counter started to help us.  You know what's sad? He told me that I should have been GLAD that my camera (TWO AND  HALF YEARS OLD at the time) lasted as long as it did.  How stupidly ridiculous is that?  A tiny little spring that controls the shutter had snapped, and he was like, "You wouldn't believe how much it's going to cost to fix that. It's not worth it.  This camera is obsolete anyway. I wouldn't feel bad about it."

Stab me in the heart, why don't you?

Twenty minutes later, I plodded out of the store after dropping three figures on a tiny point and shoot camera.  I felt utterly devastated and completely convinced that all of my yet-to-be-taken-pix would be crap.  Fortunately, I turned out to be wrong: That little camera did a fabulous job.

So anyway: That shot of Ron. That was the first picture I took with the little camera. It always makes me laugh because I know those eyes are saying, "Oh thank God she finally stopped crying. And yelling really loud in public."

Mission Dolores--easily one of the most beautiful churches I've ever seen. Love the turquoise, blue, and stoney grey-white here.

St. Frank in the Mission's cemetery.
Carmel beach
Let me tell you something about Carmel beach:


Have you ever smelled a "beach scented" candle?  You probably have.  Carmel beach smells JUST LIKE THAT CANDLE.  Here's the thing: I live two hours from the beach ... in Jersey.  I love the Jersey Shore.

But.

Jersey don't smell like no Yankee Candle.

It just doesn't.


Me: "RON!!! THIS BEACH SMELLS LIKE A YANKEE CANDLE!!! OH MY GOD! DO YOU SMELL THAT?? TAKE A DEEP BREATH!!! IT SMELLS JUST LIKE A CANDLE!!!"

Ron: "I have no idea what you're talking about. It smells like a beach--not a candle."

Me: "EXACTLY. MY POINT EXACTLY!!"

*  *  *
Next up, the rest of Carmel and Napa/Sonoma.

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