We left town on Friday and drove to out to meet Molly and Andrew at a magic Marin County campsite beneath some friendly redwoods. Did you know in California state parks you're not supposed to collect kindling from off the ground? We didn't, but our ranger-buddy did, and let us know after we had ignited a mountain of nice wood in our fire pit. The redwoods need fire to reproduce, he told us. Apparently, the heat makes the pinecones explode and scatter seeds.
The Bay does festival posters right, am I right?
The next day we headed to the Good Festival in Fairfax. The Festival was held in the rich-hippie town's center park and we were fed bowl after bowl of free rice and beans while an intrepid Pakistani band encouraged us to break out the Bollywood spirit fingers. We drank the blackberry-plum sangria we'd made to share and Molly won an hour-long tarot session in the raffle while the curious brand of big-eyed, blonde Rainbow Gathering progeny so prevalent in Marin County frolicked around the picnic blankets.
Sunday we got hilariously lost in West Oakland on the way to making a boatload of new friend's at Camilo's birthday party. Oakland is nice because they have backyards there, and excellent Latin revolutionary-rockers like Camilo.
Here I am admiring the birthday boy's sunglasses. Check out the essential backyard refrigerator in the background. How sick is Allen's fish eye lens?
As the sun set over the grilled tilapia, broccolini and birthday cake, it was time for Erik and I to head home. Back to the foggy city, back to Craig's List, no more of this East Bay wandering woman, get to work! Kind of. See, Allen D., my dear friend from Santa Cruz needed a ride home. And I love Santa Cruz, and well heck, Erik hadn't been there yet. Was there a reason why we had to be home on Monday? Well no, no there wasn't.
So we rocked the accomplished Alero down to Santa Cruz, which is, for the uninitiated, one of my favorite places in California. I used to hang here on jailbreaks from Connecticut in my college days when Anna was at UC Santa Cruz (home of the Fighting Banana Slugs) and it's particular blend of foggy days, bitchin' party waves and organic groceries really floats my boat.
And here we be! Job hunting in Caffee Pergolesi by morn, crusing the boardwalk on local's night (every Monday 75 cent cotton candy and roller coaster rides!), taking in jazz at sleepy little clubs, utilizing all of Allen's VW van's river-tripping and bedroom-providing capabilities. Wearing the same two outfits in rotation, livin' the dream. You can take the backpacker out of the backpack, but not the other way around. (Does that work? I thought of that one myself)
Can't stop ramblin'- what would happen to my travel blog?
Sending you the 'Cruz vibes because I wish you were here,
CD
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