June 26, 2009

"Where are you Elephant Seals?"

Shelby had been told about these elephant seals that you could see in Ano Nuevo State Reserve. No one told the jerks to stay open past 3pm. We ignored the signs and went in anyway. The man can't stop us if we want to see some seals. He can put up all kinds of warnings about fines, put 3 miles (not an exaggeration) of meandering path between us and the seals with only 5 deaf tourists to point the way (also true) but nothing will stop us...that is except an eight foot length of chain across the sand path within spitting distance of the viewing area. All said the excursion took an hour and a half, we didn't see any elephants seals, the California Park Service and it's puny length of chain kept us from making the final 100 yards of our journey to the seals. Our punk anthem is called "We are Responsible, We are adults."

After a brush that close with the law, our Adrenaline was pumping. (Even the next morning) So, we decided to go see why everyone in Beverly Hills weekends in Carmel. It was as though Ralph Lauren ate a bunch of antiques, and threw up on the town from "Murder She Wrote." Wait let me google that...Cabot Cove!!! (thank you internet.) Too quaint. Too, picturesque. It was a California version of Cabot Stinking Cove...and Clint Eastwood used to be the mayor.

We made it to Big Sur for lunch. The second or third patch of redwoods we had seen, but it was really beautiful and only slightly touristy. And the biggest score of all was that a nice man who ran a general store there gave us the low down on a great Elephant Seal viewing spot. Take that, Park Service! We will not be denied. Elephant Seals!!! They fought a lot, sounded like coffee percolators, and smelled weird. They were awesome.

"Where are you, Elephant Man?"

Now, the only thing standing between us an L.A. was Neverland Ranch. We called our friend Andrea and she found the address on the world wide web. Score. We found the town on the map. Score. We found the exit. Score. Here's where the scoring stops. Our expectation was to find hordes of overly emotional fans from everywhere around the globe, but here, that we could gawk at. Alas, who would have thought it, someone's death was actually kind of depressing and surreal. We did not meet hordes of anyone. We were two of about eleven people who had walked up very quietly to the nice, but nondescript gate of the ranch. Neverland was not visible from the road. I imagine that there was a pretty steady stream of about three people every five minutes coming and going. The security staff had not at this point been overwhelmed. There were several signs and candles and bouquets that had been left.
It was quiet, surreal, uncomfortable. One drawing that a kid had left stands out. The top said something like "We will miss you". The drawing depicted Michael and the kid standing in front of a ferris wheel, and Michael's word bubble said,
"Hello, Lil Mouse"
It was signed,
"Love, Lil Mouse."

As we left, I notice a lone paparazzo, unshaven and napping in the back of a VW Westfalia with the side door slid all the way open. He was obviously waiting for the circus that we had expected. In that moment, I felt almost as dirty.

We left and arrived in L.A. at our friend Alex's house in Beachwood Canyon around dinner time.

(ps I've turned off the date stamp feature on Shelby's camera so at some point you will stop seeing pictures that tell you we are traveling in January of 2005.)