California as I remember it

It was the kind of cold that got under your skin; the kind of cold none of us was prepared for. Hey, no one told us it would be fifty degrees in the summer! We had arrived. First things first. Tim and I claimed our room, dug out the only sweaters we had brought, and plumped down on a sofa, finally having a chance to admire the view of a peaceful lagoon full of migratory birds, fish, and harbor seals. The road to Bolinas made my knees tremble and I dreaded the thought of having to traverse it yet again for our daytrip to San Francisco in a couple of days. A narrow, windy road on a bald mountain range rising out of the ocean. Several times we had come across cracked pavement where the road had partially washed away. Earthquake country, I thought, gritting my teeth. The benefit of being so high up with no obstructions right above the ocean are the views, of course. So I focused on that, trying to steer my mind away from playing out all the worse case scenarios - its specialty.

The house I had picked for all of us to rent - sister, dad, wife, Tim, Jonah, and I - stood on a hillside, overlooking a lagoon. The closest town, about a five minute drive, was Bolinas. A place legendary for its residents' intensity about wanting to remain off the beaten path. Stories abound about the locals tearing down the Bolinas signs along the road so as to remain inconspicuous. It's as if time has stopped in the town itself, as my dad remarked. Bolinas - one bar, one market, one restaurant... surprisingly a post office and even a tiny museum... you get the idea.

The old saloon-style bar opens early, making sure the locals are satisfied. The barn-like supermarket seems a bit crooked and partially dilapidated. But have no fear. They are well stocked for their size, complete with liquor and fresh meat. I was surprised a cowboy on a horse didn't come riding through the place, grabbing merchandise off the shelves while I was there. But rather than cowboys on galloping horses, the town consisted mostly of slow-moving balding hippies in dirty plaid and gray pony tails and the occasional surfer, seemingly lost but ready to brave the mucky waters frequented by the great white sharks.

The community altar dominates the center of the town. It's a place where the townspeople bond over wishes and prayers written on pieces of paper and placed under small rocks by the feet of the Virgin-like deity. My sister and I, too, added a couple of wishes to ones encapsulating the local flavor: "Peace, love, harmony globally for all beings."

Unfortunately we hadn't managed to add anything to the community collage bulletin board which consisted of rant-like poetry and random newspaper cut-outs. The sign next to the community collage described Bolinas in a nut shell "Welcome to Bolinas. Nothing here to do. That's the way we like it, hope that you do too."

To be continued.