T. S. Elliot must have had the kind of April I was having when he wrote The Waste Land. I was never friends with the month of April, typically keeping as low a profile as I can. But the past month was proving to be one of the more--but not the most--cruel ones. By the end of the month, I was fatigued, mentally and emotionally. I needed to get away.
I wanted to go to a place that is either completely new to me or related to a pleasant memory. Initially having thought of Pismo Beach or Monterey/Carmel, I quickly realized that the entire central coast did not meet the conditions I set. After much wasted time on hesitations and indecisiveness, Big Bear Lake was finally chosen as the destination--it fell in the latter category.
Day 1, May 13, Sunday.
Sunday being the Mother's Day, I paid my obligatory visit to my mom on Saturday instead. But my mom being a mother, tried her best, with success, to get me to visit her again on Mother's Day. So my start was a late one, with three different types of crustaceans in my stomach.
My poor car, not used to such strenuous driving, had a difficult time going up the winding roads of the San Bernardino National Forest. I could feel the pains of my car--the last five miles gave me a short-lived migraine headache. Finally, around 6PM, I arrived and checked in at the Marina Resort.
It wasn't the most upscale a place to stay--the decor was hideous and ceiling was a bit too low. But it was clean, had a fireplace, and most importantly, a balcony with a view of the lake. As soon as the unpacking was done, I grabbed my Nikon and headed out.
Ducks, my goodness, the ducks! The Mallards were everywhere. And by a little magic of my camera and the sun, I got the shot below. Except for cropping the photo and adding a watermark, no Photoshop work was done to this. I didn't play with the color setting of my camera either.
I spent the rest of the evening quietly in my room, reading Hermann Hesse and drinking the wine I brought along, listening to--unseasonably--Schubert's Winterreise. Ever since my strangely spooky trip to San Simeon two and a half years ago, I made a habit of bringing my rosary to any trip. And starting this year, I added another one--an old family portrait.
Day 2, May 14, Monday.
The hotel's idea of "continental breakfast" was packaged cinnamon buns and watered down coffee. Utterly disappointed, I started wandering around the lobby, looking through the periodicals. One of the magazines featured an article about newest acquisitions at the Moonridge Zoo--a silver fox and what looked like a groundhog--and it became my first and only planned activity.
The two acre lot facility housed such animals as crows, squirrels, even seagulls. It was more like a wild life shelter than a zoo, but I had a surprisingly great time, and walked away with a couple of great photos.
Bald-headed Eagle
My encounter with a bear
Probably my favorite shot of the trip--a baby owl staring at its left over.
I went for a drive around the lake after leaving the zoo. Listening to Eroica, Beethoven's third symphony, and hugging every curve of the road along the lake was a thing of beauty.
After a late lunch of tilapia and sauteed vegetables at a local restaurant (really, what is a mountain-y meal to eat?), I went back to the room and made use of the balcony that had a view. Of the three books I brought along with me, I picked the collection of short stories by Ryu Murakami (not to be confused with Haruki Murakami, no relations), about food and women. It is an interesting read, even second time around, but he's still no match for his unrelated colleague.
As the sunset started to cast beautiful light on the scenery, I headed out with my camera again. There was a boardwalk I had seen while driving earlier that day, and I wanted to go there. Unfortunately, it wasn't too photo-worthy and I was left with only a boring picture.
After a late lunch of tilapia and sauteed vegetables at a local restaurant (really, what is a mountain-y meal to eat?), I went back to the room and made use of the balcony that had a view. Of the three books I brought along with me, I picked the collection of short stories by Ryu Murakami (not to be confused with Haruki Murakami, no relations), about food and women. It is an interesting read, even second time around, but he's still no match for his unrelated colleague.
As the sunset started to cast beautiful light on the scenery, I headed out with my camera again. There was a boardwalk I had seen while driving earlier that day, and I wanted to go there. Unfortunately, it wasn't too photo-worthy and I was left with only a boring picture.
The evening was uneventful. I did some more thinking, then tried to read Hesse's The Glass Bead Game, one of only two books of his I have not yet read. But I was overcome by complete exhaustion and I fell asleep even before finishing my wine.
Day 3, May 15, Tuesday
As I started packing to leave, I realized how much "stuff" I had. I had a small suitcase filled with my clothes and toiletries, a laptop case, a camera case, a tripod, and another tote bag containing the wine glass, wine opener, water bottles, etc. And I wondered if the words "travel light" have become obsolete to modern day people. Or is it just obsolete to me, having adopted peculiarities that require more and more "stuff" as I age? Either way, I wasn't too happy.
After checking out, I headed to Lake Arrowhead. Actually, my pleasant memory of a trip to Big Bear was Lake Arrowhead, not Big Bear Lake. Six years ago, a college friend of mine from Japan was visiting for a month. A fishing aficionado he was (probably still is), and insisted that we go to Arrowhead, with a cheap fishing rod in one hand and salmon roe in the other. A fishing aficionado I wasn't, but tagging along I could, I took The Fountainhead in one hand and my camera in the other. That day, he caught what looked like a rainbow trout. I, having dozed off while reading, ended up with a reddish tan on one side of my face.
When I got to the village, I went straight to McDonald's for lunch, reminiscing about the late lunch my friend and I had there six years ago.
Somehow in my CD player, Jimmi Hendrix found his way, adding more fun to the mountain driving (although it would have been really fun with Acura TL sports sedan that I would be getting in a couple months). I started driving around the lake, hoping to find the spot I had gone to last time I was here.
I did find the spot. But my friend and I must not have realized that we were trespassing on private property. We were bold then (or just ignorant), I guess, but I am not any more. So I left.
The music switched from Hendrix to The Beatles. But as I continued my descent down the mountain, I found myself missing Beethoven. At 3,000 feet elevation, I slipped in his String Quarter No. 13 into the CD player.
I was listening to Grosse Fuge as I passed the sign leaving the San Bernardino Mountains. And I came back to the reality that wasn't much different than before I drove up there.
No comments:
Post a Comment