I don’t know if you have ever been to Big Sur. It is a very special section of the Southern California coastline. It used to be called Big Surf, on account of the massive Pacific waves that bash up against the rocks all along the coastline. But as it came through Ellis Island, Surf was felt to be too difficult to pronounce, so it became simply Sur.
But this was long ago, in another century. Now Big Sur is home to many golf courses, inns, and absolutely no internet service. I am lucky enough to be staying at a very special place, the Ragged Point Inn at...Ragged Point. This is an establishment where, despite the lack of Internet service, you can use the Wi-Fi. Because it is 2019. However, upon check-in the nice receptionist informs us that the Wi-Fi is brought to us by satellite (what does this mean? Isn’t that true of all Wi-Fis?) so it is very spotty. Plus if there is more than one hotel patron using it, you are out of luck, because although it is broadband, it is a very very narrow sliver of broadband, just wide enough for one lucky Internet user to balance on.
Thus I found myself at my hotel with no access to my daughter, the Internet, or Facebook. Except for those brief periods of time when nobody else at the hotel was trying to balance on the narrowband. At these moments, ten texts would come in at once, I would rush to answer them, and one response would go through before I got roughly jostled off the band by the heavier person in room 7.
Luckily my good friend and roommate Connie is an AT&T subscriber. These folks get service here. All other losers, such as me with my $54/month Verizon bill, are out of luck. So I quickly gave Connie’s phone number to my daughter. Text me at this number if you need to, I told her. Connie will keep her phone with her.
Connie forgot her phone when we went to dinner. I had to walk back to our hotel room to get it. Then I asked her for the passcode. 1113, she said confidently. But there are six digits, I said. She looked confused. I can’t really remember it unless I’m typing it, she said. I pretended this was a foreign concept to me, that it was really dim-witted for someone to forget a code they type a hundred times a day. She took her phone from me and stared at the passcode screen. 1113 13, she said.
Later, when the screen had blanked again, I checked with her. 111 313, right? No, she said. 1113 13. This did not strike her as in any way odd.
Our room has one of those coffee makers with the small foil tubs of coffee that are directly causing the death of life on earth. Plus there is no half and half, only sachets of Coffee Mate powder, made by Nestle. I would really hate myself if I used a Nestle product just because I wanted a late-evening cup of coffee.
Overcoming my self-hatred with some bravery, I put the foil tub in the foil tub-shaped slot, poured a cupful of water in the water reservoir and pressed the flashing blue button to say that yes, I did want to destroy the planet. A tiny stream of coffee began to jet reassuringly into the waiting mug. Then, just when I was feeling that the joy of coffee was definitely going to outweigh the guilt of planet destruction, the foil tub slot shot open and the coffee stream stopped. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I gave a small scream when this happened. After a couple of attempts to close the foil tub slot, I noticed that if I held the slot closed manually the coffee continued to come, turning a muddy sort of grey as it mixed with Nestle’s life-affirming powder. Surely this is wrong, though? I shouldn’t be paying nearly $200 for a hotel room and then have to stand holding the coffee foil tub slot closed? While not going on Facebook? I make a mental note to write to my representatives in the morning. After the government shutdown resolves, this should be addressed.
The Ragged Point Inn property is a truly gorgeously beautiful one. There are many spots to sit and overlook the ocean and the crashing waves and the picture perfect sunset. There is also a curious wooden circle mounted on a pedestal and overlooking the cliffs with a little sign that says it is The Portal into Big Sur. I’m so relieved to have found it. Otherwise, I could have been just driving aimlessly up and down the Southern California coast for days.
Like its Northern California counterpart, the Mendocino Coast, Big Sur is a nebulous stretch of Highway 1 without clear beginning or end. No signs to tell you you are entering or leaving the bigness of it. The road is narrow, twisty, and hugs the cliff edges at places. Considering I am going to be biking it on the Climate Ride in June I tried not to look too closely at how very narrow, not to say nonexistent, the shoulder was in many places. They will probably widen it before June, I’m thinking.
Meanwhile, when I woke this morning I was staring directly out a large picture window at the ocean and the cypress trees and the dawn stealing up the sky from the horizon. I watched the colors deepening, the whole show, it just got better and better and I hadn’t even bought a ticket. Down on the beach, waves kept coming in, just like the old day only newer. You could call them relentless; or patient. Mutely responsive to the gravitational force of the moon, whose tidal forces are twice as strong as the Sun’s, even though the Sun’s gravity on earth is so much stronger. I like this show of strength from our moon, it reminds me that bigger is not always stronger. The sky pinked down and got pale yellowish blue. Confident that the day had fully arrived, I let the quiet of being offline and the barely discernible whisper of the ocean rock me back to sleep.
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