It was neat to connect with with "S" and "J" over lunch (grilled chicken breast on focaccia, with brie, caramelized onions, local apple, garlic dill aioli.)
A short walk back to the car, and northward bound I was again.
After holding steady in the mid to high 80s, the temperature started shooting up past the mid 90s, and was nearly into the triple digits when I pulled into the rest stop a little over an hour later. But, I didn't worry much, because I was confident that the temperature would rapidly drop soon. It did, and the winds picked up as well.
As I neared Salinas, it was barely at 70 degrees.
I swung by Salinas all because of John Steinbeck. Years ago, I was in Monterey, which Steinbeck made familiar to us even in India through Cannery Row. Later, living in Bakersfield meant that I was right there in the locale described in The Grapes of Wrath. I have read a few short stories of his also.
A couple of years ago, I noticed on the first day of classes that a female student had the last name of Steinbeck. As students introduced themselves one after another, when it came to her turn, I remember asking her after her self-intro, "are you related to the Steinbeck?" She excitedly said yes. I asked her if she gets asked this question all the time. Her repose shocked me: in her couple of years in college, that was the first time ever that she was asked that question. Naturally, I took a couple of minutes to engage the class about Steinbeck, and it was even more depressing that very few of the students had ever read anything at all by Steinbeck. Apparently none of his works are good enough for a high school English literature canon?
So, of course, I wanted to swing by Salinas and check out the place where he was born and also visit the National Steinbeck Center.
Even before the exit, and while driving into town, I couldn't help thinking that it looked like a run down place. As I drove through the town via John Street, I was shocked at how economically poor the town seemed.
The more I drove in town, the more I felt I was not enjoying this. I had assumed--yes, my mistake--that with all the Steinbeck heritage, and its proximity to Silicon Valley, that the town will be, well, very different from what I experienced. It was as if somebody played a joke on me--inviting me to a party, but intentionally giving me the incorrect address!
I decided to skip the Steinbeck Center, and simply get the heck back on the freeway. But, perhaps coffee first?
I parked. I took out my camera, but decided against using it. It says a lot when don't feel like clicking especially when I had so much planned on coming here. I walked a few paces to see if there might be a good coffee place.
View Larger Mapa
There were a few interesting pastry items on the shelf. One read "apricot raspberry," which sounded like an unusual combination.
"I'll have a cup of coffee and one of these apricot-raspberry things" I told the young fellow, who was engaged in a non-stop conversation with a young woman, also an employee, behind the counter.
With a light chuckle, he said "that will be a great combination. But, those two are different. We are out of the apricot ones, and only raspberry is available."
After a pause, he added, "actually, raspberry is the better one."
"Sounds good to me" I said.
I paid, grabbed the plate and coffee and a napkin and sat outside. The town looked even bleaker. The shortbread-ish raspberry-jam-topped snack and coffee was a delicious combination though.
I walked in with the empty plate, and asked where the restroom was. Coffee in and non-potable water out is how the system works, and increasingly so as I age.
The young woman said it was all the way in the back. "You need this token to get in" she said as she handed me a tiny coin. When a cafe's customers have to be given a coin for restroom access, it is not a good place to hang out!
I followed the young man's instructions to get back to the freeway. Oddly, in contrast to all my expectations, it felt great to leave Salinas. How sad!
Showing posts with label LA2012. Show all posts
Showing posts with label LA2012. Show all posts
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Stop and smell the ... forest fires?
The morning could not have started any better--a cool 59 degrees, and two cups of good coffee. I intentionally delayed having breakfast because I wanted to have it at Granzella's, which I hoped to reach after an hour and a half of driving.
The long and winding drive was absolutely scenic, initially through the wine country, and then on the leeward side of the mountains. All of a sudden, I smelled smoke. Momentarily I panicked that the engine had overheated. But, to my immense relief, the gauge reported normal conditions. No smoke behind me either.
That meant only one thing--there was some serious fire and I was driving towards it.
On the mountain stretch, it was not like I had any alternative routes to consider either. My only hassle was mundane--I hadn't had breakfast, and my stomach was making noises!
A couple of miles later, a digital message board said a delay of 30 minutes to two hours was possible because of fires. So, there was the confirmation.
Soon, I had visual proof of the fires, and it was not a pleasant landscape anymore. I pulled over to take in the scenery, and to take photographs as well.
It was like a gray winter landscape on a warm summer day. Surreal. And that smoky smell.
I got into the car, and heard a helicopter approaching. So, I was off the vehicle again, and watched the chopper fly over the area, and proceed towards where the fire was being fought, I guessed.
Quite a few fire engines suddenly came from around the bend, and raced on. I wondered how large the fire was, and how long the eventual road block would last for.
I drove, but barely for a few minutes and stopped, again, when I passed what seemed to a staging area for firefighters.
A couple more miles--the traffic had been stopped. It was obvious that one of the two lanes had been reserved for the emergency vehicles, and the regular vehicles in both directions will have to alternatively use the other lane. The line became longer and longer and longer.
More emergency vehicles rushed past us. As always, people were polite and even friendly and engaged in chit-chat while waiting out. After about half an hour, the long convoy of vehicles started showing up from the other direction, led by a highway patrol escort. Soon, that flow ebbed to nil, and it was our turn, with the highway patrol car as our leader.
As we slowly drove, I took photos of the smoke that got more intense on the side.
Flames were visible in some areas even through the thick smoke, though the flame is barely a speck in the photo below.
One of the first things I did after reaching home was to look for update on this fire. Apparently more than 300 firefighters are involved in this effort, which is significantly under control, and more than 7000 acres have been burnt.
This is merely one of the fires during the heat wave. I thank the firefighters, and wish them well.
The long and winding drive was absolutely scenic, initially through the wine country, and then on the leeward side of the mountains. All of a sudden, I smelled smoke. Momentarily I panicked that the engine had overheated. But, to my immense relief, the gauge reported normal conditions. No smoke behind me either.
That meant only one thing--there was some serious fire and I was driving towards it.
On the mountain stretch, it was not like I had any alternative routes to consider either. My only hassle was mundane--I hadn't had breakfast, and my stomach was making noises!
A couple of miles later, a digital message board said a delay of 30 minutes to two hours was possible because of fires. So, there was the confirmation.
Soon, I had visual proof of the fires, and it was not a pleasant landscape anymore. I pulled over to take in the scenery, and to take photographs as well.
It was like a gray winter landscape on a warm summer day. Surreal. And that smoky smell.
I got into the car, and heard a helicopter approaching. So, I was off the vehicle again, and watched the chopper fly over the area, and proceed towards where the fire was being fought, I guessed.
Quite a few fire engines suddenly came from around the bend, and raced on. I wondered how large the fire was, and how long the eventual road block would last for.
I drove, but barely for a few minutes and stopped, again, when I passed what seemed to a staging area for firefighters.
A couple more miles--the traffic had been stopped. It was obvious that one of the two lanes had been reserved for the emergency vehicles, and the regular vehicles in both directions will have to alternatively use the other lane. The line became longer and longer and longer.
More emergency vehicles rushed past us. As always, people were polite and even friendly and engaged in chit-chat while waiting out. After about half an hour, the long convoy of vehicles started showing up from the other direction, led by a highway patrol escort. Soon, that flow ebbed to nil, and it was our turn, with the highway patrol car as our leader.
As we slowly drove, I took photos of the smoke that got more intense on the side.
Flames were visible in some areas even through the thick smoke, though the flame is barely a speck in the photo below.
One of the first things I did after reaching home was to look for update on this fire. Apparently more than 300 firefighters are involved in this effort, which is significantly under control, and more than 7000 acres have been burnt.
This is merely one of the fires during the heat wave. I thank the firefighters, and wish them well.
Cool it, Sriram, cool it!
Time to head back home. As if to prove that all the proverbial roads lead to the same place, I am taking a different route back, for at least part of the way.
And it makes all the difference, it seems like.
At least with respect to the temperature--no 104 degrees. Not yet!
As I drove along the wonderfully scenic Pacific Coast, I glanced up to the rear-view mirror to make sure that the traffic was ok for me to pull over, when I noticed the temperature display. So, even as I was driving, I fished out my phone, and recorded the temperature:
The waves of the Pacific + Sun + 64 + a light breeze = Sriram pulling over to stop for a few minutes. Life is so unpredictable that if I didn't grab this, and what if I don't get such a chance again?
I got out of the car and inhaled the salty air. I felt so lightened of all my worries and tensions and stresses. No wonder an old advice was to take the ill to the seaside--a wonderful natural therapy it is. I wonder whether Obamacare will allow for trips to Tahiti as valid treatment protocols :)
I turned to scan the horizon and noticed a bird cautiously watching me. I got my camera out. It was, as I sensed, the man and the machine to capture the moment the bird would decide it had to get away from the human. I clicked, it turns out, at an opportune moment:
I lingered on for a while. Everything was too perfect to walk away. But, life is a lot more than a day at the beach. I got back on the road.
Every few miles, I checked on the temperature display. It eventually reached uncomfortable temperatures. But, this was not any moment in life where I could turn back.
The unbearable temperatures were only for a little while. Soon, it was in the bearable range. And then as the sun started descending, the temperature also went down--even faster. The walk after dinner confirmed that night time is the right time.
Tomorrow is another day!
And it makes all the difference, it seems like.
At least with respect to the temperature--no 104 degrees. Not yet!
As I drove along the wonderfully scenic Pacific Coast, I glanced up to the rear-view mirror to make sure that the traffic was ok for me to pull over, when I noticed the temperature display. So, even as I was driving, I fished out my phone, and recorded the temperature:
The waves of the Pacific + Sun + 64 + a light breeze = Sriram pulling over to stop for a few minutes. Life is so unpredictable that if I didn't grab this, and what if I don't get such a chance again?
I got out of the car and inhaled the salty air. I felt so lightened of all my worries and tensions and stresses. No wonder an old advice was to take the ill to the seaside--a wonderful natural therapy it is. I wonder whether Obamacare will allow for trips to Tahiti as valid treatment protocols :)
I turned to scan the horizon and noticed a bird cautiously watching me. I got my camera out. It was, as I sensed, the man and the machine to capture the moment the bird would decide it had to get away from the human. I clicked, it turns out, at an opportune moment:
I lingered on for a while. Everything was too perfect to walk away. But, life is a lot more than a day at the beach. I got back on the road.
Every few miles, I checked on the temperature display. It eventually reached uncomfortable temperatures. But, this was not any moment in life where I could turn back.
The unbearable temperatures were only for a little while. Soon, it was in the bearable range. And then as the sun started descending, the temperature also went down--even faster. The walk after dinner confirmed that night time is the right time.
Tomorrow is another day!
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Thirukkural in a Russian restaurant run by Georgians!
When "S" suggested dinner at a Russian restaurant, my immediate response was, "Russian? Bland food?" But, I was assured that it is not really Russian, but the food is Georgian, and that I would love the two dishes that are "S"'s favorites.
A woman in a summery dress was straightening the outdoor tables as we walked in. True to the old stereotypes of smoking and drinking Russians, she had with her a pack of cigarettes as well. The eatery had to be authentic then!
We sat at a table, adjacent to a couple. Two tables away was a lone young man who looked like he could be from one of the Central Asian "Stan" countries. At a far table was a group of three older men. I imagined that they were immigrants who had gotten together for their weekly conversations about the old country, and perhaps tell the same stories all over again, in their deep and gruff tones.
The walls were filled with handwritten notes in various languages. I scanned them, and I spotted a Thirukkural couplet. A wonderful couplet that will be meaningful in any culture:
The couplet roughly translates to:
The food was awesome. Borscht and a chicken dish that is described in the menu as:
"Are all you folks from Russia and Georgia?" I asked her.
"We are from all over the old Soviet Union" she replied. "I am from Belarus."
"No kidding!"
"We have had people here from Latvia, Lithuania, and many of the old Soviet republics. We all talk Russian."
I so wanted to joke with her that I thought the Latvians and Lithuanians hated the Russians, but I didn't. Leave them Russians alone; they have caused enough troubles already!
A woman in a summery dress was straightening the outdoor tables as we walked in. True to the old stereotypes of smoking and drinking Russians, she had with her a pack of cigarettes as well. The eatery had to be authentic then!
We sat at a table, adjacent to a couple. Two tables away was a lone young man who looked like he could be from one of the Central Asian "Stan" countries. At a far table was a group of three older men. I imagined that they were immigrants who had gotten together for their weekly conversations about the old country, and perhaps tell the same stories all over again, in their deep and gruff tones.
The walls were filled with handwritten notes in various languages. I scanned them, and I spotted a Thirukkural couplet. A wonderful couplet that will be meaningful in any culture:
The couplet roughly translates to:
When one harms you, shame them by doing them good.To the right of the couplet was a vase/cup and spoon that was so much like the ones that Srikumar, my high school friend, had gifted me back in the days when he was a student in the USSR. I still have that at home:
The food was awesome. Borscht and a chicken dish that is described in the menu as:
Shashlik: This hunter's joy on a skewer is grilled Thursdays through Sundays; please allow 25 minutes. It is said that this dish saved the Yalta Accords between Stalin, Churchill and Roosevelt in 1944.As we exited the restaurant, I noticed the summery-dress woman sitting outside.
"Are all you folks from Russia and Georgia?" I asked her.
"We are from all over the old Soviet Union" she replied. "I am from Belarus."
"No kidding!"
"We have had people here from Latvia, Lithuania, and many of the old Soviet republics. We all talk Russian."
I so wanted to joke with her that I thought the Latvians and Lithuanians hated the Russians, but I didn't. Leave them Russians alone; they have caused enough troubles already!
Far and away from Oregon
No, it is not yet another post on how hot it has been. (If you need to know, well, the highest number I have spotted in my car's temperature display this trip: 104!)
Naturally, places with temperature conditions vastly different from where home is (if you need to know, well, the high there is a pleasant 82**!) have very different vegetation as well. That is, if there is any vegetation; Oregon has certainly spoilt me with a cool evergreen landscape that I miss already.
I went for a walk around Lake Miramar. Shocking it was that it was already 71 when I parked there at 7:15. With very little of trees to speak of in a dry and semi-desert environment, I wondered whether it was advisable to step off the road on to the dirt after reading a posted sign alerting people about rattlesnakes in the area.
But, stupid is as stupid does, and I did step off the road. Saw a couple of wild rabbits darting across. One stopped and looked at me, and I looked at him. Stupid me forgot that I had the phone-camera in my hand!
And then I saw this cactus:
That beautiful cactus alone made it worth all the exposure in the insane heat.
** Update: Apparently home temperature was also high: 95 today :(
Naturally, places with temperature conditions vastly different from where home is (if you need to know, well, the high there is a pleasant 82**!) have very different vegetation as well. That is, if there is any vegetation; Oregon has certainly spoilt me with a cool evergreen landscape that I miss already.
I went for a walk around Lake Miramar. Shocking it was that it was already 71 when I parked there at 7:15. With very little of trees to speak of in a dry and semi-desert environment, I wondered whether it was advisable to step off the road on to the dirt after reading a posted sign alerting people about rattlesnakes in the area.
But, stupid is as stupid does, and I did step off the road. Saw a couple of wild rabbits darting across. One stopped and looked at me, and I looked at him. Stupid me forgot that I had the phone-camera in my hand!
And then I saw this cactus:
That beautiful cactus alone made it worth all the exposure in the insane heat.
** Update: Apparently home temperature was also high: 95 today :(
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
Is this better than Weed? No comparison!
After I got back on to the freeway, resuming my drive to LA, I turned the radio on in order to listen to NPR. It has been only a day and I already miss NPR in the background. Visits to India get immensely more complicated than this because I can't ever listen to my buds Steve, Michelle, Melissa, Bob, Scott, and, of course, Will Schortz!
The news said something about Tropical Storm Ernesto. Strangely, it was not the news that a tropical storm was on its way to making landfall that piqued my interest. It was the name "Ernesto."
Because, the dinner last night was at "Ernesto's!"
"B" picked me up from the motel, and asked me whether I was ok with Mexican food.
"Sure. Any food is ok, because the prime thing for me is your company, and not the food itself" I told him. "But, that does not include McDonald's" I added.
We entered the restaurant, and "B" wanted to know whether I preferred outdoor seating or inside. After a long drive in 98 degree heat, there was no way I was going to sit outside.
It was the end of happy hour, and there sure were some happy customers, talking away in a jet-plane-engine-decibel level.
The Quesadilla in the menu looked tempting. I was curious about the "Colorado" and "Navajo" chicken options. I asked the middle-aged waiter for explanations, which he gave me with one of the best smiles I have seen recently. But, I didn't understand a single word he said. Often, a pleasant demeanor more than makes up for communication issues.
"I will try the Navajo chicken, please" I said without having a clue about how it is prepared and how it differed from the other option. "B" placed his order. His was with a glass of beer, and it was lemonade for me.
We talked and ate. I cleaned up my plate. "B" asked me with a smile, "so, was this better than the Mexican food you had at Weed" That Indian-Chinese-Mexican thing?" I was so delighted that he remembered this from a year ago.
This was many, many times better. Muy bueno!
The bump on the road knocked me off the recollection mode, and into the present. Steve Inskeep had moved on to some other topic. I looked up at the temperature display. 68! The utter fear of temperatures in the high 90s, or even 100+, made me do something that I rarely do: speed at almost ten miles over the speed limit. The funny thing is that even then I was the slow vehicle. Welcome to California!
The news said something about Tropical Storm Ernesto. Strangely, it was not the news that a tropical storm was on its way to making landfall that piqued my interest. It was the name "Ernesto."
Because, the dinner last night was at "Ernesto's!"
"B" picked me up from the motel, and asked me whether I was ok with Mexican food.
"Sure. Any food is ok, because the prime thing for me is your company, and not the food itself" I told him. "But, that does not include McDonald's" I added.
It was the end of happy hour, and there sure were some happy customers, talking away in a jet-plane-engine-decibel level.
The Quesadilla in the menu looked tempting. I was curious about the "Colorado" and "Navajo" chicken options. I asked the middle-aged waiter for explanations, which he gave me with one of the best smiles I have seen recently. But, I didn't understand a single word he said. Often, a pleasant demeanor more than makes up for communication issues.
"I will try the Navajo chicken, please" I said without having a clue about how it is prepared and how it differed from the other option. "B" placed his order. His was with a glass of beer, and it was lemonade for me.
We talked and ate. I cleaned up my plate. "B" asked me with a smile, "so, was this better than the Mexican food you had at Weed" That Indian-Chinese-Mexican thing?" I was so delighted that he remembered this from a year ago.
This was many, many times better. Muy bueno!
The bump on the road knocked me off the recollection mode, and into the present. Steve Inskeep had moved on to some other topic. I looked up at the temperature display. 68! The utter fear of temperatures in the high 90s, or even 100+, made me do something that I rarely do: speed at almost ten miles over the speed limit. The funny thing is that even then I was the slow vehicle. Welcome to California!
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
The temperature rises fast, but not my temper!
The temperature gauge reported a pleasant 60 degrees when I left home soon after eight in the morning. With the sun struggling to break through the clouds, it was the best driving conditions I could have asked for.
Through the first two hours, the temperature slightly fluctuated--between 58 and 61--and I enjoyed the cool air rushing in through the vents.. But, when I saw the beginnings of a blue sky at a distance, I was not thrilled. Sure enough, quickly it was up to 71, and when I reached Ashland, about three hours from home, it was a bright and sunny midday at 81.
There is nothing we can do about the weather, how much ever we might complain about it. So, I did the best possible attitude adjustment I could, when I resumed the long drive to Southern California after a pleasant lunch break at the park. Lunch prepared at home, thank you ;)
Over the mountain stretch, I wanted a break from driving in the 87-degree heat, and swung all the way over from the fast lane to the exit to Dunsmuir.
Dunsmuir?
I drove through the main drag. It seemed like even the locals did not want to venture out in the blistering heat. A couple of tourists were dragging themselves to a cafe.
Similar to how life is full of unexpected twists and turns, even my exiting at Dunsmuir was an unplanned one.
More was to come--I turned on to a side street, which led to the rail depot. With plenty of trees on the side that provided wonderful shade. I was certain that the vehicle would appreciate being in the shade for a while; if only my car could talk to me when I drive!
As is typical of most small towns in the US, here too the rail depot had the red, white and blue all over the place. It is amazing how true the stereotypical representation of small-town America is, with the fluttering flags, pies at cafes, and with a charm about them.
The rail engineers were walking up and down the locomotives, which made me think that perhaps the freight train would leave soon. There was no way I was going to miss out on that--this was a golden intersection of my fascination for trains and my fascination for small towns.
And then it happened.
The train tooted twice, and I hurriedly got my camera into the video recording mode. Initially, it seemed like the train barely moved at all. It did. And a little bit more. The pace picked up slowly. I noticed there were three locomotives in tandem, and I was sure this would be a mighty long freight train. I started counting the wagons, and soon lost count. I put away the camera and delighted at the sights and sounds of a mile-plus long freight train going past me in a strange small town in the Siskiyous.
I didn't care much about the temperature after that, even though for most of the rest of the trip it hovered at between 98 and 100! Further, as Scarlett O'Hara said, "tomorrow is another day!"
Through the first two hours, the temperature slightly fluctuated--between 58 and 61--and I enjoyed the cool air rushing in through the vents.. But, when I saw the beginnings of a blue sky at a distance, I was not thrilled. Sure enough, quickly it was up to 71, and when I reached Ashland, about three hours from home, it was a bright and sunny midday at 81.
There is nothing we can do about the weather, how much ever we might complain about it. So, I did the best possible attitude adjustment I could, when I resumed the long drive to Southern California after a pleasant lunch break at the park. Lunch prepared at home, thank you ;)
Over the mountain stretch, I wanted a break from driving in the 87-degree heat, and swung all the way over from the fast lane to the exit to Dunsmuir.
I drove through the main drag. It seemed like even the locals did not want to venture out in the blistering heat. A couple of tourists were dragging themselves to a cafe.
Similar to how life is full of unexpected twists and turns, even my exiting at Dunsmuir was an unplanned one.
More was to come--I turned on to a side street, which led to the rail depot. With plenty of trees on the side that provided wonderful shade. I was certain that the vehicle would appreciate being in the shade for a while; if only my car could talk to me when I drive!
As is typical of most small towns in the US, here too the rail depot had the red, white and blue all over the place. It is amazing how true the stereotypical representation of small-town America is, with the fluttering flags, pies at cafes, and with a charm about them.
The rail engineers were walking up and down the locomotives, which made me think that perhaps the freight train would leave soon. There was no way I was going to miss out on that--this was a golden intersection of my fascination for trains and my fascination for small towns.
And then it happened.
The train tooted twice, and I hurriedly got my camera into the video recording mode. Initially, it seemed like the train barely moved at all. It did. And a little bit more. The pace picked up slowly. I noticed there were three locomotives in tandem, and I was sure this would be a mighty long freight train. I started counting the wagons, and soon lost count. I put away the camera and delighted at the sights and sounds of a mile-plus long freight train going past me in a strange small town in the Siskiyous.
I didn't care much about the temperature after that, even though for most of the rest of the trip it hovered at between 98 and 100! Further, as Scarlett O'Hara said, "tomorrow is another day!"
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