Day Sixteen - Fremont to Lompoc

The Pacific Coast Highway

That silly girl who is the voice of our GPS wanted us to take the route through California's San Joaquin Valley, and miss the Pacific Coast Highway.  No way.  It took a while to get to the coast from Fremont, and turned a one-day trip to San Diego into two days.  Well worth it.

It's hard to describe the beauty of the California coastline.

There are no straight lines on the Pacific Coast Highway; the driver should
try to avoid noticing the scenery.  Fat chance.

Rocks and surf...

....and rocks and surf.

A beautiful beach several hundred feet below.

A view toward the east shows California golden hills country.

Mary Frances above the sea.

An interesting underpass.

Lots of bridges and partial bridges.

 Elephant Seals and Little Squirrels

About half-way between San Francisco and San Simeon is a single beach where elephant seals go to rest, sun themselves, mate and give birth, and, we assume, rest some more.  They make sounds that among humans would imply severe gastric discomfort.

Lots and lots of elephant seals.

And lots of hungry squirrels looking for an illegal handout.

Why the elephant seals chose a beach with  a drainage outlet we'll never know.

Some old guy testing the strength of the fence.

Mary Frances feeling a little cold breeze off the Pacific.

La Cuesta Encantada

Like everyone else we had heard of San Simeon or Hearst's Castle (two different things, it turns out), so it would be foolish just to drive by as we motored south on the Pacific Coast Highway.  One of the signs before we boarded the bus to the summit casually mentioned the 106 vertical steps required.  They didn't mention that those 106 vertical steps occurred immediately after leaving the bus.  By the time I took the first picture, the one below, there was not enough oxygen left in the universe to keep these old lungs going.

The gold-accented portcullis at the entrance to Casa Grande is about 600 years
old, similar in age and Mediterranean origin to most of the internal and external details.

The Hearst Castle's architect was Julia Morgan, the first female licensed architect in California, and a prolific designer with more than 700 projects other than this one, but she collaborated with Hearst for 28 years in its construction.

There's a lot of variation in external surfaces.

William Randolph Hearst, who was the Rupert Murdoch of his day, had money enough to raid the bankrupt churches and monasteries of the Mediterranean for the materials for the walls, ceilings and furnishings of the castle and grounds.  Personally, I don't envy the rich, at least those very rich who feel the necessity of gaudy display.  Sure, those huge 16th century tapestries and the cathedral ceilings and confession booth walls are old and historic and valuable.  But they are also ugly, dark and uncomfortable.  For wealth, Hearst was in the top tier; for taste, we was not in a class with the Vanderbilts, Astors and others of the era.

The dining room, serving 60 or so close friends.

The ceiling, constructed of ancient church ceiling carvings.  The size of the
rooms were often determined by the number and size of ceiling panels.

The recreation room.

Unlike inside the castle, the exterior is beautiful, with splendid walkways,
artwork, and most important, magnificent views.

Mary Frances in the gardens with Casa Grande behind.

The gardens are lovely.  At 1600 feet elevation a few miles from the Pacific,
there's always a pleasant breeze.

Marble statuary everywhere.

Not a bad spot for morning tea, looking out over Mr. Hearst's 250,000 acres.

No water in the magnificent Neptune's Pool.  Repairs underway.

Mary Frances liked this sculpture, which left nothing to the imagination.

Casa Grande

A verdant oasis in the midst of mostly grassy mountains.

Neptune's pool (shown earlier) was leaking 5000 gallons of water a day, so it is closed for the next year or so while repairs are made.  But the second pool--The Roman Pool--located beneath the tennis courts, was full and beautiful.

Mary Frances at the Roman Pool, last stop before the bus ride back down the mountain.

We left the Hearst Castle sore but happy, with another couple hours drive southward to a Motel 6 in Lompoc where me had made a reservation weeks earlier.  When we went to check in, the clerk (pronounced jerk) told us only smoking rooms were available.  "But I specifically reserved a non-smoking room, because I have asthma," I said.  "We can guarantee your room, but not your special requests," he said.  "FU", I said, or something approximately like that, and after stopping at a couple of booked-up hotels, wound up at the Day's Inn down the street, a better choice anyway.

Tomorrow:  Dutch Reagan and Cousin Genie.