I’ve struggled to write in the past few days. We had our Christmas party at home, so there was the madness surrounding party prep. My husband and I have traveled to California for a week surrounding the holiday, so there was the madness surrounding travel prep. Now, here I am with the first quiet morning without pressing matters I need to address.
I’ve deliberately given myself permission to go “off-book” in regards to Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way through December. I’m planning a restart with an in-person cluster in January, so I’m not abandoning the effort by any means. I’m just giving myself a little grace, and I’m happy that I can return to the pages as life begins to slow down a bit again.
Yesterday, we traveled from Kansas City to Oakland via Southwest Airlines. The new KCI terminal building is such an improvement over the previous cloverleaf buildings, which I dearly loved. They were designed for a different time, though. I remember being able to go into the building when we dropped my grandparents off for a trip and press my face against the glass, watching planes take off while my parents and grandparents visited in what is now a very secure area, without having so much as a ticket, much less a body scan. The whole place was designed with the idea that you could be dropped off curbside and walk right up to your gate. It was outdated almost immediately as the security theater began gently in the 80s and then militaristically after the 2001 terrorist attacks.
KCI had been stuffed to the gills with security apparatus and gates that had never been considered in its original, thin and round design. The new terminal is absolutely spacious, comfortable, and designed to purpose. It has room to accommodate whatever logistical challenges may be thrown its way in the coming decades. To those who haven’t suffered through waning days of the old KCI airport, it may seem odd to have feelings about a new terminal, but it is such a relief and a much better first impression to travelers visiting the city I love so much.
Secretly, though, I’ve enjoyed the fact that tourists rarely came to my beloved city. I like to joke with my friends that I am in a one-sided, bitter rivalry with the KC Convention and Visitors Bureau, because I disagree with their mission to pollute my beautiful home with tourists. In all my travels, the one thing I abhor is the fact that all these wonderful places I visit are teaming with tourists. Yuck. It’s been a private gem for so long, and as the city grows and develops, more and more unfamiliar faces. Of course, we’re welcoming to them, but some of my favorite memories of my city were quiet mornings downtown noticing that I was the only one on the street as I approached my office. I don’t think that those moments are available to many people in medium to large downtown areas.
Today, though, I’m waking up at a hostel for the first time. Many years ago, my husband and I visited this place – Pigeon Point Lighthouse – on a road trip down the Pacific Coast Highway, and noticed the availability of the hostel. My husband wanted to stay so bad, but we had reservations several hours to the south. He quietly added it to his secret bucket list, and here we are again, nearly a decade later.
We have never stayed at a hostel before. I’m still processing the experience, realizing that only one night is not enough to give it a fair review. There is certainly a community element to the experience that we have not participated in, for many reasons. One, we are introverts (surprise! An introverted writer!). Two, we were still on Central time and exhausted from a long, bumpy flight. Third, we locked ourselves up in our private room (thank God there were private rooms available – I could never do bunk-style lodging) watching the finale of Survivor Season 45. Junk TV is important to us sometimes, and Survivor is one of our favorites.
The facilities are fine, though nothing like a hotel. You check in as you would other accommodations and they direct you to your bungalow, where your bed has a pack of clean laundry for you to make up the bed yourself. We had one of two private bedrooms, but there was a bunk room a the end of the hall. There was a private bathroom with only a sink and a toilet, shared with the hostel-mates, and a large shower room, also shared. The place includes a spacious kitchen with two refrigerators half-filled with other people’s food, a small dining area, and a living room with three couches and a piano.
While we were tucked away rotting our brains with Jeff Probst via a wifi connection healthy enough to stream television, the others were bonding over a particularly strong smelling dinner and a game of scrabble. Our reclusive nature kept our door shut, only to crack it open to check for people in the hallway before darting out for a potty break.
The point of the whole place is the view, which I cannot write about accurately or impressively enough, so I shall not try. I’ll be sure to put in a couple pictures before posting this ramble.
In basic text – we’re on a small isthmus with an aging lighthouse, overlooking cliffs and rocky shores. Upon arrival, we sat on a deck, watching the sunset on the Pacific, which, on this particular evening, was not at all pacific. The waves looked surf-able, if it weren’t for the cliffs. They were huge and loud. We watched some seals bobbing around in the foam between rocks, bobbing up and down, with their bodies occasionally being tossed up to the surface. It looked like difficult work, but I suppose they are used to it. Heck, it may have even been fun for them.
We had reserved a hot tub visit (more on that in a bit) at 7:30, so once the sun went down, we hit the Cabrillo Highway south aways to the nicest KOA (Santa Cruz KOA) I’ve ever seen and dined at The Cascade Restaurant – the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever seen at a KOA.
I had a delightfully nontraditional clam chowder that included unexpected ingredients, such as eucalyptus, that made me question the decision to order it, but it turned out being a solid choice. Unfortunately, it was only available in a bowl, so by the time my overly generous shrimp skillet arrived, I could barely make a dent. This worked out in my favor, as the shrimp, though deliciously prepared and perfectly cooked, was spicier than I would prefer. I overstuffed myself and later regretted that decision in the shared bathroom. I love seafood so much, and it doesn’t agree with me. Neither does spicy food, so the evening was destined to be rocky, at best. My husband had an equally non-traditional version of a traditional favorite soup: French onion, which was served with the cheese and bread on top of the bowl, instead of in it. He reported the the flavors were perfect. His impression of the pappardelle was mixed: The meat was amazing and the pasta was not good.
Back up at the hostel, we arrived back in time for a decent nap before our hot tub appointment. The experience is decidedly different than a hotel experience of a hot tub. First, the tub is tiny, fitting two people comfortably, but a third would be a crowd, which is why reservations were necessary. There was also a charge for the reservation. And the towel rental.
Hostel stays are affordable, so I forgive them what others may call nickel-and-diming. Also, this hot tub was unique, because of its view of the tumultuous waves on the rocky shore under a dark skies firmament interrupted only by a bright moon and the occasional flash from the Pigeon Point Light House. The 30-minute soak with a view was worth every nickel and dime. Probably more.
We slept well through the night, with a window open to make up for my forgetting a travel fan. I’m one of THOSE people. I felt bad for stirring in the night into the shared restroom for bladder relief, but I marveled at how perfectly dark the place was.
Which brings us to this morning. I was the first one up and out, and the clacking of the keyboard has given me a bubble of privacy while the women who are also staying here gather and share breakfast in the kitchen. It’s friendly and quaint. I could see the appeal, but I’d need a few days to truly warm up to the experience and be comfortable around strangers like this.
Maybe I’ll try it again sometime.