I’m a little over 6 feet tall and my feet often stick out over the end of the bed. By morning they’re usually cold and I wake up a little earlier than I would normally. It’s a good time to read and I usually pick up a book, my glasses and a headlight that I keep on the floor next to me. Pulling the covers over my head I make a little tent; it’s a good way to keep warm and it feels like I’m in a small theatre, waiting for the characters in my book to take the stage. This time it’s John Ash in A Byzantine Journey, traveling through western and southern Turkey exploring ruins, stopping at churches and mosques, tracing the culture and history of Byzantium.
Beginning in Istanbul he visits the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. Under the covers the top sheet that forms the roof and walls of my tent is blue with a small geometric floral design. I imagine myself in the mosque, under the central dome surrounded by mosaics, thousands of ceramic tiles depicting tulips, trees and other native and imagined plants. As Ash leaves Istanbul to cross the Marmara Sea on his way to Bithynia, I put the book aside, brave the cold air and run downstairs to start the coffee. It’s time to get to work.
We had some water damage to our house, a leak in the roof that went unnoticed as the insulation soaked it up like a sponge. When we finally discovered the problem we had to rip out the plaster, lathing and insulation in two bathrooms and a closet. After pulling everything down and carting a dumpster full of material to the town dump, the walls were down to the original framing. It was nice though, old rough sawn dark wood, exposed studs, ceiling joists and siding. If we didn’t need to reinsulate and cover the electrical wires and plumbing we might have left it like that.
It wasn’t long ago that we were in a similar room; a cabin in Big Sur. Even then, just a few years ago, it seemed that we stepped into the past, a place that time had not let go of. Where else would we have met a National Park Ranger like Dwayne who prefaced his directions to a hidden stretch of beach with “Seek no further, you’ve arrived – all your questions will be answered and all your dreams will be realized.” We felt like we'd just gone down the rabbit hole. We knew we’d like it here.
Our cabin was one of a group built in the 1920’s as visitors began to explore the area. The walls were open and the ceiling and rafters exposed. A bathroom, it’s window looking out on the surrounding redwoods was in one corner, and a small kitchen with a few wooden shelves on either side of the stove and refrigerator in another. A braided rug, checked curtains and a table with chairs completed the living area and a back door opened on to a deck that sat above the Big Sur River. The only thing that would distinguish our stay from a visit in the 1920’s were the cars parked in front of each of the cabins.
The Santa Lucia Mountains encircle Big Sur to the east and then surrender it to the Pacific. As much as we loved the cabin we couldn't head home without sleeping on the beach. Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park has two campsites, a half mile hike from a parking lot; they would be worth a full day's walk. Sitting on top of a bluff they overlook the ocean on one side and an eighty foot waterfall that spills onto a sandy beach in a protected cove on the other. Sheltered by cypress trees and settled amongst the cliffs you seem miles away from anyone or anywhere. We set down our headlights and books and opened our tent’s door and window to settle in for the theatre that night.
Back home the sheetrock is up in the bathrooms and the closet and the wood is covered. I know the cabins, with their exposed walls, and the campsite on the ocean are still in Big Sur and I like to think that Dwayne is still there, smiling and giving directions to that hidden stretch of beach.
That place looks so cool.
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