“The nature of parties has been imperfectly studied. It is, however, generally understood that a party has a pathology, that it is a kind of an individual and that it is likely to be a perverse individual. And it is also generally understood that a party hardly ever goes the way it is planned or intended.”
Monterey, California. Wine country. Steinbeck country. Big Sur country. Gastronomic and topographic goodness. Before arriving in Monterey, I had heard tons of stories about how beautiful it was, how chic and how quaint. What I hadn’t remembered was that one of my favourite authors, John Steinbeck, once called Monterey home. That undergrad degree in English obviously did a lot.
After landing and driving around, namely to Salinas and San Jose, I could completely see George and Lennie roaming around and trying to stay out of trouble. And not succeeding.
BFFs Emily Barrick and Sophie Sanna take me on a drive up the coast on Highway 1. This is Big Sur country. We go through Pfeiffer National Park, past some really cool cliff-clinging architectural phenomena. And by the way, these are homes, not museums. When I ask who the hell lives here, Emily informs me that it’s the newly wed and the nearly dead.
Steinbeck book cover. ‘Nuff said.
Me and one of the smaller redwoods. Yeah…
