Steinbeck Country.

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After reading so many of Steinbeck’s novels it is finally realized to me to be driving through the Salinas Valley. The clouds are low and giant towers—not skyscrapers, not complexes, but giant storage cylinders—disappear into them. The air smells sometimes of growing strawberries and sometimes of burning deadwood. Sunlight is diffused evenly over all the visible earth as if we are trapped in the outer fold of some giant paper lantern. The array of sand and sage and dead grass and sparse trees is comparable to Idaho’s foothills, but there is still a nearness to the ocean emanating from the flora that is palpable on the wind. And when we breach that final hill and see the water stretching to the end of the earth every observation of the land is lost to the vastness of the Pacific, at least for a moment. The architecture in Monterey is indescribable because all words are overused and carry their own connotations that can only mislead one from the beauty of actually seeing it. The beaches by Cannery Row are full of light hot sand, even when the breeze keeps a comfortable chill on my skin. There is beach glass smoothed by the tide in a variety of colors collected in the seaweed along with shells and weathered stones. It is incredible that Steinbeck spent so much time describing the Salinas Valley, because while the land is beautiful, one drive down California One from Monterey to Big Sur makes you almost forget about America, forget about buildings, forget about sex and alcohol and all the vices that carry people through the day. You remember the land only as you remember a stabbing leg-cramp; the foil that exists only to uphold the greatness of its counter-state. This may be the prettiest slice of country I’ve e’er seen. A range of cattle nestled between California One and the Pacific go about their grazing as if they were in a field surrounded by grey walls and lit by fluorescence. It’s curious how fascinated and hypnotized humans become with the beauty of countryside like this even as we continue to destroy it.

—Benjamin

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Photos

The beach just off Cannery Row.
In this giant sandbox I found a sleeping bag, backpack and empty 5 litre box of wine.

Banana.
Sam preparing to nail a street sign with a banana.

Failure.
Sam's attempt. You will notice the banana in midair by his hand in the bottom right with absolutely no street sign in sight. Weak.

Big Sur.
Description: indescribable.

I don't know why,
But I love this picture. I also took it. (Benjamin)

Tourists!
We tried our hardest to look like tourists—which, if I may clarify, we are not.

California One.
The entire drive was ridiculously gorgeous.

Cloud Front
Simply wow.

Accident
I was holding the camera up to the window snapping shots, and this came back. Astounding.

Comments

[Colleen]

blogrolled
good job finding and then appreciating Big Sur and surrounding environs. Some don't do either one. Poor them. Your visit was officially recorded, just so you know...... www.rosa-sinensis.blogspot.com

[Sharon Hanson]

Steinbeck Captures the Landscape
Steinbeck Country--Now you have to go back and read Cannery Row, East of Eden, Tortilla Flat, and his short stories: You will have a different appreciation for his work. I used to live in Pacific Grove and still return to the Peninsula about once a year. Happy travels!