Why Vacations Are Important, Part Two

VENTURING OUT:

Mill Valley, California

We hiked down to the ocean. The fog clung to the ground like it was icing on a cake.

(Steep Ravine trail, California)

I wanted to see the famous cabins at Steep Ravine...and there they were, clustered on the edge of a rocky bluff overlooking the ocean. Built in the 1930's by a rich industrialist and originally leased to privileged families craving an escape from the clamor of San Francisco, these days they rent for an egalitarian $100/night (and are booked seven months in advance).

(Steep Ravine Camp, Rocky Point, California)

Primitive they were and primitive they remain: even today, there is no electricity or running water (although an outdoor faucet with spring water is steps away). Vacationing here is an interlude in Emersonian simplicity. Bring beeswax candles, firewood, a journal/book/art project and a nice bottle of vintage Port.

Dorothea Lange slept here. In fact, she and her family rented the above cottage for almost a decade. So inspired was she by the sense of liberation she felt at Steep Ravine that she published a book of photographs about it (available HERE).

"I began to wonder what it was that made us all feel,

the minute we went over the brow of that hill,

a sense of -- not peace, particularly, or enjoyment -- freedom."

~Dorothea Lange (1895-1965), about Steep Ravine

* * * * *

To become warm after I've been cold is, to me, one of life's greatest joys.

(Pelican Inn, Muir Beach, California)

And to undergo this transformation in a tavern that's the spitting image of one from a Charles Dickens novel makes me pretty much delirious.

(Pelican Inn, Muir Beach, California)

Of course we ordered pints of Guinness all 'round. Hello. For strength, obviously.

I pinky swear that was Mr. Pickwick sitting next to me -- he just dashed off to pee with a degree of speed and urgency highly inconsistent with the gravity of his demeanor.

(Pelican Inn, Muir Beach, California)

Awash in the convivial charms of the Pelican Inn, I bought this book later that afternoon.

Why "Humphrey Clinker", you ask?

Well, my friend, I'll tell you why...

One.

Because Dickens always cited Tobias Smollett as one of his biggest childhood influences.

Two.

Because Thackaray's blurb on the back cover hails it as "the most laughable story that has ever been written since the goodly art of novel-writing began."

And three.

Because who with even a token interest in human nature could pass up a gossipy romp around England and Scotland with characters like "a gouty country squire", "a husband hunter" and "an illiterate but racy lady's maid"? Not me.

Editor's Note: "Clinker" is going straight to Pole Position Four on my 32-book reading stack, outranked only by Amor Towles "Rules of Civility", "Ignore Everybody" by Hugh McLeod and Patti Smith's "Just Kids".

* * * * *

There is a mental "gathering" that happens the last day of a vacation. You know what I mean by this.

(Stinson Beach, California)

Oh sure, you carry down your navy-and-canvas LL Bean tote heaving with books, old magazine articles, and a day planner stuffed with obligations.

(Stinson Beach, California)

But the books don't get cracked, the magazine articles don't get read and the planner stays unorganized. No. You just lie there, body immobile in the sand, eyes closed, preparing your mind for "re-entry."

(Stinson Beach, California)

"Be calm" is what the approaching tide whispers. "As it is now, so can it be again."

(Stinson Beach, California)

Really? Do you promise? Because I want to bottle this feeling and take it back home with me to Hollywood. I'm at peace here, on this strange beach, just watching the waves roll slowly in, one after the other, with endless consistency. They just keep going, don't they, those waves. They stick to the plan. They're patient. They persevere. They have conviction. And isn't conviction just another word for "hopefulness"? Kinda makes you think, right?

(Stinson Beach, California)

And that is why vacations are important.

(All photographs taken August 2011 by Lisa Borgnes Giramonti.)