California Dreamin'

Dispatches from a family trip to the Golden State, July 2024.

Having just started my Substack account a few weeks before heading off on this trip, I had best intentions of documenting the journey by posting up daily snapshots following each place I'd visited. Such lofty ambitions were always folly and as it turned out, it’s taken me four months to complete. I have nearly binned the piece several times, as the usual writers’ self doubt took hold. In the end, I resolved to finish it for no other reason than to document what turned out to be the trip of a lifetime. And to remind myself that Whoa! This actually happened…

____________

Earlier this year my family and I took the wild decision to go on a California road trip this Summer. Never in my dreams did I ever really expect to go there. I have always held a desire to someday drive along the Pacific Coast Highway, and I had been holding vague aspirations to maybe try to and do that for my 50th birthday in a few years time. However, circumstances came together this year which meant this Summer I was able to tick off that particular bucket list, and then some. Flying into San Francisco we would spend five days there, before travelling down the coast taking in the Big Sur before heading down to Santa Barbara, through Malibu and finally into Los Angeles. 

Quick backstory: last year Mum went on a musical history tour to Atlanta, New Orleans and Memphis taking in such landmarks as Graceland and Nashville. The trip was a huge success with her, and lit a burning desire to return to America for another trip of a lifetime sooner rather than later. In February of this year Mum saw that The Rolling Stones were embarking on a US tour and, being a lifelong fan, decided to try for tickets. None of us really expected her to actually get them; demand would obviously be huge. But somehow, inexplicably, despite being the 63,000th person in the online ticket queue Mum managed to get through and purchase two tickets in under ten minutes. The trip was on. Initially myself and Mum were to go but after a little bit of life re-tooling we decided to throw caution to the wind and go as a family.

We got off to the worst possible start. My wife's ESTA application, the visa waiver you need to enter the United States, did not get approved before she could board the plane. It was a terrible forty eight hours, with many frantic calls to U.S. customs trying to find out what was going on. We all travelled to Manchester airport together in the hope the ESTA would come through in time to board, but alas it was not to be. So myself, Mum and our five year old son had to board the plane and leave my wife on terra-firma with nothing to do but sit and wait for the digital acceptance to come through. Separating at the security gates, not knowing when or if she would even be able to join us was awful but needless to say our son took it all in his stride and did not let what could have been a very traumatic moment affect him too much. 

And so our first day in the US was spent under a literal and metaphorical cloud as the infamous mist of San Francisco rolled in from the Pacific to add to the general feeling of Doom. We got on with the trip as best we could while awaiting news from my wife on the ESTA situation, spending our first full day down by the Fisherman's Wharf area, slowly ambling along the historic Piers displaying amusement and bewilderment at the many driverless Waymo taxis in the area. Finally, through the fog of jet lag the news came through that the ESTA had been approved and thanks in no small part to the herculean efforts of Gemma at Travel Counsellors, my wife was on her way and the adventure could finally begin. 

While we were in the air the news broke of the assassination attempt on Donald Trump. I viewed this as totally unsurprising, firstly because America has an extremely troubling relationship with armed weapons but also because Mr Trump is a despicable human. The only real surprise is that an attempt on his life took this long. Nevertheless, whatever you think of him I am not sure I want my son to grow up in a world where people can get executed live on Television. I wonder what impact this incident had on the Presidential race. Indeed, in our first few days in San Francisco I noticed Trump supporters on the streets. They are certainly not inconspicuous. One young man was typically dressed in Republican red, sporting a Tiger Joe bleach blonde mullet and shouting his disdain at Joe Biden to anyone within earshot. We later saw him being ejected from the Pier by Cops. We were to see instances of Trump support again in Monterey and Pismo Beach along the coast. Two Alt-Right types in Monterey Harbour who looked like they’d come straight from the 6th January riots were attempting to flog QAnon merchandise emblazoned with slogans like “We Don't Call 911” and “.22 is faster than 911”. I didn't see a single Democrat placard until we reached LA. This was interesting to me; I had always viewed the West Coast and California in particular as more liberal with strong Democrat support. Had the shooting incident emboldened the Trump loyalists, encouraging them to step into the light in these places or is the political situation more complex with the traditional electorate in these areas more in flux? I fear the latter.

Comedy MAGA appearances aside, we ploughed on with our trip again visiting Fisherman's Wharf for my wife's benefit, as the weather had now markedly improved. The Pier is fine, but once you've been on one Pier you've been on them all. There's the whiff of churros and fries everywhere and gift stores selling chintz on all sides and Arcade machines at the end. At least this one has the added bonus of California Seal's lounging on flotillas and the unmistakable imposing outline of Alcatraz out in the Bay. We had a hire car so getting around wasn't a problem, although it did mean we didn't really make use of San Francisco's famed Victorian era trams as much as we would have liked. However our son took great pleasure driving up and down the city's many steep inclines. 

On the Sunday we resolved to find a place to watch the European Championship Final, ending up in of all places an Avo Toasty coffee shop in the lobby of a gleaming, glass-plated skyscraper. A pretty cold and sedate place to watch such an auspicious occasion. Needless to say there was not much joy to be had in either the match or the result. Thankfully we had the rest of the day to explore so we jumped in our wheels and headed for Lombard Street; the famed winding road with eight hairpin turns said to make it the most crooked street in the world. From there it's just a short ride to another of San Francisco's landmarks, the Painted Ladies. Seven Georgian era homes symbolic of the California Gold Rush, their builders wanting to display their new wealth with ornate touches such as dramatic windows, decorative rooflines and turrets. The houses skirt the Alamo Park, a pretty green area inhabited by Parrots and sometimes Coyote and which offers pretty spectacular views of the city skyline.

Painted Ladies

Speaking of which, the North side of the city's view is dominated by the Golden Gate Bridge, a majestic structure first constructed in 1933. Being keen cyclists we knew we’d want to ride across it during our stay so we duly hired some rental bikes and endeavoured to make the crossing. It's the ultimate touristy thing to do in San Francisco and there was never less than a constant stream of folks riding back and forth, stopping for pictures at various vista points. Shortly after collecting our rentals and making our way down to the shoreline to follow the cycle track up and over the bridge, two F22 Raptor Fighter Jets presumably on a training exercise and possibly from nearby Miramar Air Force Base thundered over the bridge and across the Bay, their sonic boom rumbling and cracking off the opposite mountains impossibly adding even more drama to an already jaw dropping vista. The ride across takes a good hour, but for us a little while longer since yours truly was hauling a heavy trailer with a five year old lording it inside. Thankfully there is a lengthy decline on the other side of the bridge which drops you right into the middle of Sausalito, a pretty little town which again offers amazing views looking back across the water to the San Francisco skyline. I hadn't expected this place; it has a feeling of somewhere akin to the French Riviera. Very white, very middle class and obviously very moneyed. Still, we had a pleasant enough afternoon there.

Golden Gate Bridge

Cycle trips across world famous landmarks aside, the other top tourist destination in the city is of course Alcatraz. The former military fort that became a feared penal facility in the 1930's and has housed some of the United States most notorious criminals. The only trip we could book to get across would first take in a three hour stop off at nearby Angel Island which at first, knowing nothing about the place seemed like an inconvenience but it actually turned out to be well worth a visit. Now a State Park and itself once a military installation, the island is quietly beautiful if a little haunting with its condemned school houses, hospital, barracks and Civil War era camp throwing up ghostly images of a life long passed. Known as the ‘Ellis Island of the West’ it processed up to half a million immigrants from China and Japan between 1910 and 1940, providing an entry point to the US which sparked the beginning of the sizeable Asian population in the Bay Area.

And so after a whistlestop and windswept tour of Angel Island it was time to hop back on the ferry and chug across the short straight down to Alcatraz. The first thing to notice as the boat awkwardly manoeuvres itself into the floating dock is the ‘graffiti’ daubed on its famous water tower and on the side of the cell block proclaiming Alcatraz to be ‘Indian’ land, following the 1969 occupation by the Red Power Movement led by Richard Oakes, a Native American Mohawk whom symbolically claimed the island for the Indian people which lasted until June 1th 1971. I felt a little naive not knowing about this. Of course this group felt they had a claim to the land, why wouldn't they? But I'm not sure if the incident is as widely known as it should be; it's not until you reach the island itself that you are presented with information on the occupation. The paint daubings are now rightly preserved for visitors to be aware of.

Alcatraz Island from the Ferry

On a pleasant, sunny if breezy day Alcatraz still felt pretty desolate. Even its flower gardens don't really make it any more welcoming. One can only imagine what it must have felt like in the dark, shrouded in fog and surrounded on all sides by bone chilling choppy waters. The steep climb up to the main jail house is pretty foreboding. Passing the Morgue and Guardhouses until finally you enter the cell blocks and you realise how small these actually are. It was on these two trips that our son took a real interest in drawing, filling in his sketchbook with beautiful little snapshots of the landmarks we'd seen. Even through a child's eyes the pictures of the places we'd visited are unmistakable. It's these experiences we hope will form core memories of where he has been and what he saw. 

The day of the Stones concert had finally rolled around and Mum and I made the sixty minute journey south down Interstate 82 to Santa Clara, to try and locate the Levi’s Stadium where the gig was taking place. Home to the San Francisco 49ers, the Levi Stadium is a pretty impressive Sports Arena and looked rather majestic half bathed in early evening sun as it loomed into view after leaving the car in a pretty sketchy scrap of car parking space that would not have looked out of place in an episode of Breaking Bad. Joining the swelling crowd as we attempted to find the correct gate to enter I was struck how mixed the crowd was between young and old. I had half expected to be battling our way through a wall of rock & roll dinosaurs, of which there were still many, but it was refreshing to see the Stones pull a nice blend of ageing hippies, slick IT types and kids just out for a party although it was hard to ignore that the audience was overwhelmingly white.

As for the actual gig itself, we were perched way up in the Gods but had a great view as we watched Jagger and co. unleash their undeniably stupendous back catalogue of classic after classic. Since this was a date on their Hackney Diamonds tour, I had expected a raft of new material from the new album to be aired but actually it was much more of a greatest hits set which was a pleasant surprise. Coming on to Start Me Up, they quickly rattled through Get Off My Cloud and Tumbling Dice before slowing things down for a lovely rendition of Bob Dylan’s Like A Rolling Stone. The middle section of the set let Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood have their moments, as they in turn took the lead to take us through three songs before launching into a landslide of their most beloved hits from their canon including Sympathy For The Devil, Paint It Black and Jumpin’ Jack Flash, with a superbly bluesy and extended Midnight Rambler proving to be the highlight of the evening. Mick continues to defy age as he struts up and down the stage like a man half his age, only now starting to resemble a slightly embarrassing drunk (Grand)Dad at a Wedding, rather than the uber hip counterculture figurehead of yesteryear. Nevertheless, it was a dazzling show and one I am supremely grateful to have had the opportunity to witness. It’s not every day you can say you have been to a Rolling Stones concert is it?

Levi’s Stadium filling up as the Sun sets

And so it was time to leave San Francisco and head South, to get on the Pacific Coast Highway that would carry us all the way down to Los Angeles. Except it wouldn't. More on that in a second. In truth, this was the part of the trip I was looking forward to most. Even though it meant long stretches of driving, I couldn't wait to see what delights this coastal highway would offer. Would it match the images I’d created in my head? We weren't yet out from under the long reach of Pacific fog, and so like our arrival in San Francisco a few days earlier our first impressions of Monterey were a little underwhelming. The gun metal sky above made what we knew was supposed to be a picturesque area rather drab and uninspiring. Still, we resolved to make the best of it, enjoying an hour on the beach and moseying down the old Pier for dinner in a charming Seafood restaurant. Thankfully we awoke on the second day to sunshine already burning off the mist and everywhere was starting to look a whole lot more colourful and bright. We were here for the Monterey Bay Aquarium, a world famous Marine centre that houses an impressive collection of aquatic wildlife. And it is impressive, the Sea Otters in particular were a big hit not to mention the living Kelp Forest, Sharks, Tuna and Turtles. We had also wanted to do the ‘17 Mile Drive’, a stunning section of the rugged Pacific Coast offering panoramic views but sadly time constraints meant we had to cut out this part of the trip if we were to reach our next destination at Pismo Beach in enough time to actually spend some time there and keep our PCH leg of the trip on schedule. 

Here is where ‘Vacation Disaster Number Two’ occurred. Ever since we made the decision to come out to California and attempt the PCH I knew the coastal route through the Big Sur area would be a big part of the journey, and one I looked forward to the most. And so I duly researched the route, carefully planning out how long stretches of drive would take, and where potential stopovers could be. I quickly discovered that the area can be fraught with landslides with Highway 1, the main section of the PCH routinely closed due to falling rocks making it unsafe for vehicles to pass. If this happens, motorists have no choice but to turn around and head back the way they came, which for us on such a tight schedule and young son on board would have proved disastrous. However I was fairly confident this would be less frequent during the Summer months, but was still a risk. I even found a local traffic report website which informed me that yes, Highway 1 had been recently closed for some months but recent maintenance work had declared the way open. And so I felt confident that we would be OK. 

Bixby Bridge

The first warning came before we reached Bixby Creek Bridge, a traffic signal declared Highway 1 was blocked up ahead, and we were to see at least three more warnings as we headed deeper into the Big Sur State Park. Was this our route or would there be some diversion that would save us? And so either through stupidity or blind faith we ploughed on, hoping against hope that the way would be clear or we would at least be able to take some other detour that would not haul us all the way back to Monterey. It was not to be. Finally, some 15 kilometres past Bixby Bridge the road was blocked and we could go no further, leaving us no other choice but to turn around and make the hour and half journey back up to Monterey to pick up the Interstate south. By this time the Sun was starting to dip behind the Carmel Mountains and dusk was quickly upon us. What ensued was a four hour trek through the Highlands as darkness swallowed us, navigating our cumbersome Nissan rental through increasingly winding and narrow roads as we battled on to join the Interstate that would carry us to our next destination. We barely saw another vehicle, just a few cattle and horse Ranches. I would not have been surprised if a UFO had made an appearance out of the twilight skies. It was that kind of area.

Finally just after midnight we arrived at our Motel in Pismo Beach, a little bleary eyed and a cranky young boy in tow but nevertheless we were thankful to have made it to safe sanctuary. It did mean however that our time here was cut short and the diversion had curtailed our plans to explore the area in more detail, however we resolved to set out early and have a day at the beach, which we’d heard was one of the best along this stretch of coastline. We awoke early to bright sunshine, and finally it seemed we were out from under the long fingers of the Pacific fog and the temperature was noticeably a few degrees higher. It was a Saturday and as we attempted to navigate our way to the beach it soon became apparent that all the locals had the same idea and we were quickly jammed up in a gridlock, scouring the streets to find suitable parking. It was around Pismo that I started to notice an abundance of classic American vehicles; beautifully restored sixties Chevrolet’s and Corvettes were popping up alongside contemporary bright yellow Hummers; I assumed these were weekend vehicles on display by moneyed locals. I found the beach area to be slightly underwhelming, and a little rough around the edges. Nevertheless our son spent a fun afternoon on the pure white sand and adjoining playpark with its impressive oak Whale climbing structure. 

We decided to get on the road again and avoid another prolonged night drive and attempt to reach Santa Barbara by sundown. An hour outside of Pismo and once we had passed the many fruit farms and the Vandenberg Space Force base were able to pick up the Pacific Coast Highway once again and enjoy some lovely coastline views all the way down to our next destination. We hit Santa Barbara at about 5pm and could immediately feel that we would be impressed. There was a very definite Californian feel about the place, with its palm free lined avenues, Mediterranean style stucco white buildings and Santa Ynez Mountains providing a dramatic backdrop. Our hotel was our best accommodation of the trip yet, with a spacious family suite to enjoy and best of all a pool right outside our door situated in a pleasant garden area. After an evening dip it was time to get some rest with the plan to make an early start and have a walk down to the famous Santa Barbara Pier. Once again though we did not have nearly as much time as we would have liked here, the perils of attempting a San Francisco to LA coastal trip making themselves felt as we reluctantly had to curtail some of our plans. Still, we had a very pleasant time walking among the pretty boutiques and independent shops. 

The next day was the last leg of the coastal route as we made the final push onto Los Angeles. The plan was to make a stop in Malibu, and spend a short time on the beach but as we got nearer and nearer it became clearer the area was absolutely packed and car parking was going to be limited. So alas we made the decision not to stop and keep going in order to reach our LA AirBnB in good time. Once again the highway was dotted with classic automobiles, and the city’s iconic black and white cop cars roamed the highways. We were most definitely out of rural Cali now and about to be under Los Angeles smog. The environment became very familiar from what I'd seen of LA on TV and movies; oil fields, storm drains, and tall, skinny palm tress.  It felt almost surreal to be here. We were staying in Baldwin Hills, dubbed the ‘Black Beverly Hills’ for its largely affluent African African community. The house was perched on a hill and offered a stunning, panoramic view of the city with Hollywood straight out ahead of us, Culver City to the left and Downtown over to the right. 

In keeping with the typical tourist theme we resolved to do the most obvious thing and make a trip to Hollywood during our first full day. Firing up the Nissan once more, we inched our way down from Baldwin Village and weaved our way through the general Beverley Hills area. Never have I felt more like being on a living, breathing film set as we passed sign after sign of infamous streets and boulevards. Wilshire Blvd. Sunset. Crenshaw. Melrose Avenue. As we approached closer to Hollywood it became apparent that this really is a tale of two cities: the glamour and the wealth versus the abject poverty and broken dreams and the two reside side by side seemingly in every neighbourhood. From what I could tell this is never more apparent in Hollywood itself. As we parked the Nissan in a ramshackle parking lot somewhere near Vine and tried to make our way to where we thought the Walk Of Fame begins, Google Maps pulled its usual trick and sent us thirty minutes the wrong way into West Hollywood. As the roadside makeshift tents and vagrants became more and more frequent, not to mention the overwhelming whiff of urine it became obvious that this was most certainly the wrong side of the tracks, and one that you do not associate with the Hollywood that is presented on TV. Remarkable that just a couple of blocks away lies Rodeo Drive, one of the most expensive streets in the world. I couldn't help but be struck by this perverse juxtaposition. Perhaps this is some kind of living metaphor for what the US has become; a visual representation of the fractured American Dream. Once the 'Land of the Free' but now a polarised society where celebrity is elevated at all costs and everyone else be damned. Once back on track we had an enjoyable few hours in Hollywood proper, which really isn't much more than Blackpool jacked up on steroids and made our way to as many famous landmarks as we could such as Capitol Records, the Chinese Theatre, the Boulevard and the Dolby Theatre which are all pretty much within walking distance of each other.

The next day we had tickets for Universal Studios which proved to be the highlight of the entire trip, for me at least if not the others. I'm nothing if not a big kid at heart and the attractions that lay in wait there were greatly anticipated. Although being peak summer time the crowds were huge and the wait times at each ride sometimes got up to over an hour and a half long. Once again though our son handled it brilliantly as we patiently waited our turn to go on rides such as Transformers, Jurassic World and Minions. The 3D experience on these is really spectacular, and it's just a shame it was too busy to only really enjoy them once. Still, we spent almost twelve hours there and packed in as much as we possibly could. Around 10pm the crowds had started to thin considerably and we were able to get on the Harry Potter Forbidden Journey ride, which for most of the day had commanded the longest queue in the whole park. It was well worth the wait; a visceral 3D and CGI experience that had us holding on for dear life as we were whisked virtually over the rooftops of Hogwarts Castle at breakneck speed. It really was quite the thrill.

Back To The Future film set, and the Delorean at Universal Studios

We were now down to our last couple of days of the trip, and there was still so much we wanted to see and do, but alas not enough time to head over to Downtown or Santa Monica and so we made our way down to Venice and spent a while at the Beach and wander along it's famous boardwalk. It's another location that feels straight out of a movie set; within five minutes an LAPD helicopter came roaring low overhead and its colourful cast of characters that populate the walkway would not be out of place in any film or music video you've ever seen. Of course there is the world famous Muscle Beach Gym where Armond Schwarzenegger made his name, and the birthplace of the fitness boom in the US. There's the Rastafarians reeking of marijuana trying to hawk their reggae CD's, roller guys and girls expertly weaving their way in and out the crowd, street performers and ghetto blaster kids. It's quite the spectacle but look a little closer at the area and it's not hard to see why it's suffered a recent homeless crisis. Despite its cool, bohemian vibe and independent stores and cafes, the area is a little shabby around the edges and a further reminder that it's not all glitz and glamour in Los Angeles,  another example of where affluence and adversity collide. I must however give a shout out to Smallworld Books, a gem of a bookstore tucked away behind a pavement cafe just a little further along from Muscle Beach Gym. It's a favourite pastime of mine to hunt out the more interesting book shops of the world and I did not expect to find such a charming place nestled amongst the usual beachfront tourist tat and greasy fast food joints.

The final full day of the trip had arrived and so we were to visit the last place that we had on our list that was achievable: The Griffith Observatory. We knew it would offer stunning views of the entire city and would get us close to the Hollywood sign, so we packed up and clambered into the Nissan one last time and headed across town to tackle the steady climb up through the south facing slope of Mount Hollywood. It was late July by now and the temperature was the hottest it had been the whole trip, the sweltering sun radiating off the famous white domes of the structure and the outside area pretty unforgiving in the heat, offering little shade save for the interior of the Observatory itself. Its central 12 inch Zeiss Telescope is impressive, and in keeping with its originator Griffith J. Griffith’s wishes the telescope is available to the public for free to use every night the Observatory is open.

The trip had reached its end and it was time to pack up and make the journey to LAX airport for the long flight home. Just as we were loading up the car, and taking one last long look across the city from our Baldwin Hills viewpoint I was rather pleased with myself for successfully identifying the 'Nakatomi Plaza' skyscraper that was used in the Die Hard movie, which is situated in Century City and goes by the real name of 2121 Avenue Of The Stars. I knew it was located somewhere near the area and just by zooming in with my phone camera I was able to spot it. The building is rather unmistakable after you've seen the film as many times as I have, but sadly it was another location that fell foul of our truncated schedule and we would not get a chance to get any nearer. Next time. 

And so with that, the Golden State was behind us. Two of the planet’s finest cities ticked off, one of the most stunning coastlines in the world (partly) travelled. The trip of a lifetime completed, California dreams now a firm reality. We'd overcome near vacation ending disasters and unexpected diversions and through it all enough memorable experiences to recount the rest of our lives. Where to next?