Living with Hippo May 22 - June 9, 2002 about a fictitious handbook, a non-existent city, and a fake farm.

Perhaps when I get older, I would put together my experiences and write them down into a manual with a title "Living with Hippo". Right now, after mere two years, two elementary rules stand out that need to be followed:

	Point Lobos rock of this "Treasure Island" provide a view to Carmel

	Hummingbird did not even clean pollen off his beak

I admit we somewhat flunked the second rule -- buying a house, moving, then my trip to Bohemia, homeowners' merry-go-round after I returned... When one of our neighbors suggested we could borrow his lawnmower, we felt good about it; when another one came the following week and offered to mow it for us, we realized it was time to devote our weekend to buying our own lawnmower and tame a jungle that filled the space in front of our house. And so on and on.

On that weekend, we only drove out for one day, to Point Lobos, and it taught us a lesson on how much we grew unaccustomed to traveling. We simply jumped in our Wagon and ... we somewhat forgot summertime seaside inversion. The Pacific is at most sixty degrees, air cools down over the surface and once cold, it stays put. Warm landmass air pushes over it, keeping a foggy lid under which it is chilly and crabby (moist). It only took us a moment to cross Santa Cruz Mountains and we were hit with the suddenly obvious fact that our shorts and T-shirts were clear signs of ignorance. We felt pretty stupid, by what can you do? We needed new trousers anyway (I only had one decent pair, and I wore them to work too many times over the half year I've been working; Sid had a similar case) -- so we had to go shopping first.

	These bunnies measure about 6 inches

	Pelican Bay, CA an ocean of blue fades into an ocean of green

Wearing some heavier stuff, we moved on beyond Carmel, to the southern rim of Point Lobos, which we had not seen before. Crowds were heavy and funny, tiny bunnies jumped crazily under our feet. Besides the usual otters and seals, we captured another resident. A hummingbird tried to hide among bushes, breathing very fast, thinking that we could not see it. But we saw and took pictures frantically. Then we finished our great day by eating Krens' dinner.

A week later, it was clear the previous trip did not really reach Hippo-approved level, and a remedy was on order. We took off "already" on Saturday noon, driving north and taking bets of how far we would manage to get. Eureka, CA, repeated the same embarrassment we encountered at Point Lobos -- while San Jose had 80°F, it was half of that here, including wind-chill factor -- we're simply unable to learn. First attempting to fight cold by rule #1 -- feed the Hippo (+ myself) at our favorite Eureka brewery, I resorted to buying a black fleece hat at an Irish shop with a very nice and helpful lady. This made me ready for the worst, i.e. our night outdoors.

	Klamath River mouth

	This fake farm was a cover for a primitive radar equipment during WWII

Sid actually promised me camping in a "ghost town without ghosts". We had to reach Crescent City and then navigate through country roads and cut through some farm to the coast of Pelican Bay. There, we found a network of town blocks, some even marked with usual street signs, Tell Boulevard equipped with functional high voltage powerline -- but not a single building in sight. We chose Stuckey Street and claimed an upscale lot with an ocean view.

It fascinated me how deserted and beautiful this place was. God only knows why they dropped the idea of building a town here. Maybe due to lack of fresh water, maybe due to harsh winters -- there are only sand dunes and an ocean of grass touching an ocean of water. Green and blue, with a rough air and a permanent breeze. We slept among the dunes on a soft, warm sand, listening to a monotonous roar of the Pacific beating a beach -- and felt good for not chickening out or turning ourselves in at some stuffy, noisy motel.

Heat woke us up -- we stumbled out of our tent in the middle of this nowhere, had a morning stroll on a beach, then we slowly packed and drove back south again. Sid discovered a coastal detour -- a narrow path cut among cliffs near the mouth of Klamath River was a welcome diversion. We could not figure the reason for such aimless road going from nowhere to nowhere, but then we hit a farm which was not. Having spent the night in a town that was not a town, we should have not been surprised. This fake farm, however, has a stated purpose. Ordinary shingle roofs of a "farmhouse" and a "barn", fading well into a steep slope of a cove, used to provide cover for a bulky Word War II radar equipment.

	Breakwater on Samoa peninsula

	Visiting Samoa, CA

Looking from the road, from the ocean, or from the air, it provides a perfect illusion of a farming settlement. A dandelion overgrown path, stinging nettles surrounding a creek, a small meadow with a cabin huddled out of sight -- suddenly it felt transformed into a Bohemian landscape of Giant Mountains hamlet. Looking closer, you can see coarse concrete blocks, your eyes hit the absence of real windows and missing scattered farming equipment.

Close to Eureka, CA, we took another detour -- to Samoa peninsula. It ends at a huge breakwater, and walking on this gigantic structure consumed almost two hours. Here, for the first time in my life, I got surrounded by giant swells of the open ocean -- not just a broken foam along the coastline, but regular hills of water that could easily swallow a whole boat. Completely fascinating... but our time was running out, and we had to think about returning. Back to our Wagon, back into summer. It is curious how our two-day trip, only four hundred miles north of our home, looked like a journey two months back in time through seasons. Leaving summer for a moment, we swung into a worm, yet still rough spring -- and back on Sunday I was treating my plants beat by hot summer sunshine. Only my Hippo rumbled happily that he finally had a proper outing.

Copyright © 2002-2005 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.