Mendocino

From Sacramento, we returned to California’s north coast and stayed in a small bungalow, one of eleven on the grounds of a mini-hotel. Each cabin is decorated and furnished according to a theme: “Play”, “Travel”, “Create”, “Read” and so on. Ours was “Write”, complete with quotes from the biographies of great (mostly American) writers, a framed page from a thesaurus, a magnetic board with a random assortment of words to be arranged into more or less coherent sentences, and shelves packed with books.
On the table stood a mechanical Royal typewriter and a couple of sheets of paper.

Sacramento

We set off from San Francisco towards Sacramento—and frankly, we probably shouldn’t have.

ℹ️ Note

A brief lyrical aside/disclaimer. This text—like all others in this series, along with the accompanying photographs—is a reflection of my personal experience, shaped by specific temporal, weather-related, socio-cultural, political and other conditions. It is entirely subjective, and therefore completely truthful. This is not a recommendation, nor an attempt to compile a ranking or travel guide. If something didn’t appeal to me, it doesn’t mean you should avoid it too. Your mileage may vary.

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San Francisco

On the first morning, still all over the place with jet lag, we woke up at a very un-us 6 a.m., had a bite to eat, and made straight for the Golden Gate – San Francisco’s best-known landmark.
How do you know a landmark’s really famous? It gets clobbered by a meteor / washed away by a tsunami / blown to smithereens by aliens in a disaster flick.

As if to drive the point home, in the first three minutes a flotilla of boats with black sails slid under the bridge, followed by a squadron of enormous pelicans, and then – also under the bridge – a helicopter for good measure.