angels and fantasy
I had intended to write about the drive down to Cayucos from Oakland. But I need to tell you about Angels and a fantasy.
Last year the Mommy/Sister did not go to the little seaside perfection that is Cayucos, San Luis Obispo County, CA. They were running around the Greater Southwest like tee toe tums. This year they did, though, so to meet them I drove down 880 to 101, and through the glorious Salinas Valley, thence south of Paso Robles and to the Pacific on the 46. I got to Cayucos and my family’s rented condo just in time for cocktails at Lavone’s, about a block down the street. Lavone is a retired Sierra Madrian and the girls always like to touch base with her when they go up. A watery vodka martini is improved mightily by a beautifully pickled green bean. Back at our own fireside (the Julie always wants a fireplace when at the beach) we planned the next day.
The Edna Valley is part of the Paso Robles appellation, a beautiful alluvial valley surrounded with cinder cones. The finest volcanic earth in the state nurtures the wines of this place. Our first stop was Steven Ross on Tank Farm Road in San Luis Obispo. They have a brand new tasting room with some nice wines. From there to Orcutt Road and Balleyana where we found two lovely Spanish style wines by Tangent. The Albiaño in especial is very nice. As we passed the Madonna Inn on our way back to the beach, Julie and I hatched a plan and did not tell our mother. But more about the fantasy later. It is time for the angels.
My mother is 90, sister Julie was 62 in November and I will be 60 in March. Julie is slim and very active. I am neither and am enjoying the early effects of arthritis. This means that walking with my mother is more natural to me than the sister. Thus, Julie went ahead to Schooner’s Wharf to get a table. The Mommy and I walked, slowly, from the condo down to where Julie had procured the perfect spot for watching the setting sun. We drank and talked and I had almost enough shrimp—but honestly, is there such a thing? With our next day planned out we headed back to the condo. Julie took the car and Mommy and I went down to the beach hoping for a shorter and easier trek to our temporary fireside.
Earlier in that morning we observed, from the comfort of our private veranda, a lovely large family spreading out their blankets and putting up their pavilions. They were just about packed up when we two gimps walked down the little wooden steps to the sand. And then my darling old mother fell. I’d never seen her fall before and although the sand cushioned her a good deal it also hid a piece of glass that cut her heel. While I stood there like a fool, the angels swooped down to help. The father and son picked her up, gentle as a mother. One of the daughters noticed the cut heel and got a clean towel to stop the bleeding. The angels insisted that we get into their beautiful black SUV, and took us to the condo. Whereupon the gentlemen angels, one on each side, carried my mother up three flights of stairs. Julie came out the front door to remonstrate us for being tardy when she realized that the Mommy had taken a fall and was wounded. We thanked the blessed angels as much as they would let us and then they were gone. You may not think of Fresno as a neighborhood of Heaven, but these Chicano angels live there so it must be.
Now we come to the fantasy. As previously stated, Julie and I planned to have a drink at the Madonna Inn. Said drink would end our rambles on Monday. Our first stop that day was See Canyon and their deeply wonderful apples. It is a deep, long arroyo that follows a seasonal stream from San Luis Obispo to the Pacific, whose depths nurture several beautiful apple orchards. In the winter it gets cold down in those gullies and the apples get very happy, even our last winter. See Canyon Ranch is our go to place for apples. A short left hand turn, a white stone gravel parking and a shed full of apples. The folks there know their stuff. In a long shed there are paper bags of apples, tomatoes and small squash. Along the walls are locally made honeys, jams and pickles. At the back of the shed is the tasting table. Just like at a winery, we tasted and chose from a dizzying array of the freshest apples possible. Do you know Chieftan or Redgold? Well, y’otta, go down to See Canyon and check them out. The traveler sees the trees from which the apples come on the way to the shed.
With our apple swag we headed down the canyon to Avila Beach. This is a strange place because it is so new. It had been an oil depot and the land was poisoned. Arco finally ponied up, dug up the poisoned sand and built a new town. Avila Beach is very pretty, with Caribbean colored condos and a sweet main street. It’s all so new that it looks like a move set. With all of that, one can walk out the old pier, look down the steps and into the blue green clear water. And there you will see Pacific seals. They loll. They loll on the steps, they loll on what was the little dock. Sometimes they seem to just seem to loll into the water. With the sun slanting in the water, they are so beautiful. We tore ourselves away and headed up the 101 to the Madonna Inn.
My dear readers, you must understand that I have passed the Madonna Inn all of my life. Having lived in San Francisco and Petaluma long before the 5 was built, our family used the 101 at least twice a year, and we passed the Madonna Inn. In high school—Pasadena High (go Bulldogs)—I had a friend named Pam. Her family traveled the 101 once a year and that’s how I first heard of the Madonna Inn. They stayed there every summer on their way to somewhere. So it has always been there, looking slightly Disney, just off the 101 just south of San Luis Obispo. We drove into a huge parking lot, found an easy handicapped space and walked by a very pretty rose garden. The Disney sense is very strong because of the manicured perfection but all bets were off once we went through the curved wood and beveled glass main doors.
Once inside we were met by a high ceiling of winding vines, flowers of various purple hues, and fairy lights. A sweet doll on a swing invited us to the main dinning room. The seating is sumptuous in tufted leather, round high backed banquets on the floor with rectangular ones against the left wall. The far right wall is the broad doorway to the night club and I do not use those words lightly. It is a beautiful space with ample seating and a gorgeous dance floor. Live music is played seven nights a week from the bandstand at the top of the room under a big window.
We sat for a drink in a sumptuous side bar with a huge glass backed wall, filled with gleaming bottles. There was no one else in this room in the palace of fantasy except the three of us and a very good bartender. We ordered our drinks and the most rational bar snack in the entire world, a relish tray. No dip; fresh sliced carrots, celery, cheese, peperoncini, salami and Lindsey black olives; is that so hard? I want this in every bar. We sat in beautifully upholstered high backed captain’s chairs in colors of cream, pink (on the dusky side) and cobalt blue. As I relaxed into this luxury, I realized something very important: these chairs were not covered in virgin naugahyde, but leather, on the butter side.
Here is the thing about the the Madonna Inn: everything is real. The carpets are wool, the paneling is wood and all of the seating is covered with leather. The couple who made it all happen might have had questionable taste but they knew comfort. They knew how to make their guests feel welcomed. And so they and their children have done, very well, for many years. No, nobody paid me for this, I’d just never been to the Madonna Inn. If I had been allowed there, before the age of 13, I would have demanded that we stop at this place every time we traveled from the North to the South for so many years. You dodged that bullet Mommy.
The apples of See Canyon became a pretty fine pie, the travels are all catalogued and I am at home in Oakland. Yet all I can remember are the angels of Fresno.
