Well, Thursday night we had arrived at the Old Monterey Inn (oddly enough, in Monterey) after almost being sabotaged by American Airlines. It is a lovely place, . Friday morning peered through our open windows (no air conditioning here, but the night air was cool and sweet) at 6 for me (already 8 for you central time readers). Since Dee refused to ride from San Francisco to Monterey with the top down last night, I decided to give the Mustang a little exercise with the lid down. Too early for coffee at the Inn, so I cruised to the harbor front and found a 24 hour service station (service? I don’t think so). The convenience store fulfilled my expectations, and, despite the language barrier (no, not Russian), I had my coffee. I drove slowly along Lighthouse Boulevard, along the waterfront, past Lighthouse Park, the boat harbor, local Fisherman’s Wharf, Cannery Row. There were kayakers gearing up, scuba divers assembling with their wetsuits and tanks, tai chi exercisers, and bums (not politically correct, but the word I know).
Knowing that breakfast at the inn was at 9, I decided to see if Scott was awake yet, with the plan of inviting him to join us at the Inn for some non-microwaved food. I found his apartment, called him on his cell, and woke him up, but he seemed happy enough at the prospect of a meal, so he was out to the car in 4 minutes, fully dressed if not fully awake. We cruised back toward the Inn, and discussed our mutual admiration of the Mustang. My first car ever was a 1967 Mustang, hardtop, three speed manual, a meager 6 cylinder engine, canary yellow, and the coolest thing I had ever imagined. And my parents bought it for me when I was just 16, but we lived in South Carolina then, and I had my license since I was a mature 14. Makes you shudder just to think of 14 year olds added to our already dangerous traffic mix. Anyway, I am seriously contemplating buying another one, a subconscious return to those adolescent days? We pulled into the parking area at the Inn, and I took Scott to our room, where Dee was thrilled to see him. We had a lovely breakfast of fresh squeezed OJ, coffee, fresh fruit cups, and French Toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and topped with a citrus syrup. Dee and I dropped Scott at his apartment, as he had studying and class on his schedule. Dee and I headed towards Carmel, top down, Dee bundled in three layers of sweaters, jackets and head scarf. We took the famous (at least locally) 17 mile drive, which takes you past the prettiest coastal views and scenery, famous landmarks and golf courses, and multi, multi million dollar houses. We stopped frequently along the way, and took pictures of rocks, waves, birds, trees, sea otters, and other things worth flying across the country to see. We ended up in Carmel, with Dee eagerly scanning the people we passed for a glimpse of Clint Eastwood. Carmel is very pretty, flowers everywhere. Yes, a tourist town, but at least its classy as it sells you. After strolling and window shopping for nothing at all, we picked a restaurant, Anton & Michel’s, on Mission between Ocean and 7th. It had an interesting menu, but a truly wonderful courtyard with fountains and flowers. We dined in the courtyard. French onion soup, wild mushroom ravioli, and a creme broule’ for me, tiger prawn salad for Dee. We chatted with an artist eager to sell her works, Dee wandered through shops filled with shoes, boots, and $250 blouses. We walked into a little hidden mall (what is a better word? It was lots of shops on three levels, small quaint, but still a mall). I had coffee and read the Carmel real estate listings. We didn’t qualify to buy a FEMA trailer here. Over lunch, we had decided on the Mission Ranch for dinner with Scott (Clint Eastwood owns it, maybe part of Dee’s decision process?), so I wanted to make sure I could find it when we returned that evening. We found the Mission Ranch, a lovely former working ranch nestled below the hills of Carmel, on a small bay. The ranch buildings now house a small hotel, reception and meeting rooms, and a rustic restaurant, which does not take reservations. Live music, and the chance to see owner Clint make it a very popular spot. Eastwood bought the ranch, lock, stock and barrel, to keep developers from purchasing it and turning the spot into condos, preserving one of the last underdeveloped pieces of ground in the area. We drove back to Monterey (only about 10 minutes from Carmel) and relaxed in the gardens at the Old Monterey Inn until we could fetch Scott, who doesn't get home from school until about 6:30 each day. We picked him up a little after 7, and met his "land ladies" while there. They have been very nice to Scott, cooking him a meal or two, and giving him the use of one of their bicycles while he is in school. He rides down hill, walks up, but swears by the end of term, he will be riding both ways. Anyway, off we went to Carmel, down to the Mission Ranch. We watched the sun set while Dee looked for Clint. We had a great meal, prime rib for Dee and me, and "surf and turf" lobster tail and filet mingon for Scott (heh, Dad's paying, right?) while Dee looked for Clint. We finally got our picture with Clint, see our picture site for proof. All full and content, we motored back to Monterey, persuaded Scott to spend the weekend in San Francisco with us, dropped him off, and retired to our Inn for the night.
