Pigeon Point

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We left Monterrey after touring the customs house and the Pacific Museum and headed toward Pigeon Point Lighthouse, some 20 miles north of Santa Cruz on Highway 1. In Santa Cruz, we finally found a Safeway under its own proper name and stocked up. Not far beyond Santa Cruz, the beachscape became stark. We stopped to view windsurfers skimming over the waves in a stiff wind and brilliant sunshine.

Pigeon Point is a delightful place: intact though crumbling old lighthouse with adjoining Victorian house and lofty fog signal building, plus four or five bunkhouses for the hostel. We stayed in Bunkhouse Dolphin. From the kitchen you could see the setting sun to the West. From the rear bench, you could see seals' backs and whales' spouts. A tidepool is below the hostel to one side, plus a rocky promontory to the other.

New acquaintances included: a bearded elderly gentleman from San Francisco who had bicycled over the very steep Santa Cruz mountains to stay a few days at the hostel before being picked up by his daughter and grandchildren; a German couple from Bremen; a solitary Germany lady cyclist (recumbent bike) from Bielefeld, making her way from Vancouver to Los Angeles; a Minnesota family who lived up fully to the stereotype of dour and taciturn Upper Midwesterners; two girls traveling from Cleveland; and other assorted folk.

Willy and Denny played a bit with Peter (11 years) from Minnesota. We read a chapter in Willy's biography of John Adams. We even had Internet access in that remote place, through a satellite link that then fed a wireless network. Willy would have felt bored without it. He showed the German guests his magical world of Runescape.

We lingered outside to watch the setting sun.

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