Walking around: Carmel-by-the-Sea

On a recent reading of an article, I came to know about Vladimir Nabokov’s hand-drawn map of James Joyce’s Dublin. Nabokov believed that when teaching Ulysses to students, “…. instructors should prepare maps of Dublin with Bloom’s and Stephen’s intertwining itineraries clearly traced”. “The map is so precise it has led some people to say that the city of Dublin in 1904 could be precisely rebuilt employing the novel as a guide.” I admire Nabokov’s creativity, although I am still missing the courage to read James Joyce’s “Ulysses”, a Modernist novel seven hundred thirty pages long.

Instead I am musing about a little map and my walks around a one square mile village in California. I marvel at my delightful wanderings through the quaint courtyards, passageways, and my popping into art galleries, learning about Carmel’s distinctive artwork and hearing stories of artists and poets.

In my home, now and then a fleeting sight of a little frame from the exquisite “Sabine Adamson Antiques” (my last shopping in Carmel) - a painting of two green birds in a bird cage - and I remember Sabine’s voice, “I purchase only when it talks to me….”

After very colorful, fun-filled wedding ceremonies in San Jose and San Francisco, a sleepy coastal village, "Carmel-by-the-Sea”, was our destination for a six-day gateway on the west coast. The town is only a little over two hours driving distance from San Francisco. We drive along the Pacific Coast Highway (one of the most scenic drives in USA), which bends past rocky over hugs and coastal farming towns. We leave the highway and steer through the tree-shaded streets as we reach the downtown of a quaint European style village lined with lovely Victorian buildings and story book cottages with weathered wood arbors and stone chimneys. We find our temporary home for the next six days, tucked amid flowering gardens and stately pine trees.

The jovial concierge (that is the impression he had left on me) of “Carmel Bay View Inn” received us in a room looking onto Junipero Avenue. After my husband finished the mundane formalities of hotel checking in, our room keys and a little pocket map were placed on the counter. He looked at me sideways and spread the map open ‘Carmel-by-the-Sea’: “Here we have our village, it has its old-world charm. Take a stroll on Junipero Avenue and watch - how our village has been built around trees, creating an ambience of a village in a forest. In the night without the streetlights, it is pitch black, only the sky and stars peeking through the trees. When the full moon is out, the village gleams in the dark! But walking in the dark can be daunting – so carry a flashlight. Walk from Junipero Avenue to Ocean Avenue, the main street into the heart of the village. The street is a bit steep as you walk your way towards the ocean. Do not wear heels, its legally prohibited here, you know that.” He continues without any pause. “It seems like a peculiar law, but it was authored by the city attorney in nineteen sixty-three. Follow Ocean Avenue down to the bottom of the hill about five blocks and you will run into Carmel Bay and its steep sandy beach. A unique sight of California and its rugged Pacific coastline with rocky, ghostly Cypress trees. Keep this map and enjoy your stay in our great little village!”

His sense of duty to the hotel guests was indeed commendable and I expressed my gratitude, despite the fact that I would rather wander randomly on my own without a map, in the old streets and back alleys of this mystic town called Carmel, and explore the hidden oasis, soak up this artsy small village, discover the uniqueness of this place and its people, and learn the customs and ways of their life.

Our room was on the fifth floor. I put down my bag, walked out on to the balcony overlooking the village center, towering the pine and cypress trees. In the distance lay the Pacific coast and its magnificent white sand beach. The balcony was high up on the top floor of the five storied building – I stood there, breathing in the fresh sea air, completely blown away by the calmness in the nature and envisaging the beauty of the sunset as it unfurls…. the brilliant hues of the sun glistening against the Pacific Ocean and its plunge behind the horizon! But my silent, pensive moment got interrupted by my gurgling empty stomach. I was craving for seafood. I pulled out the map and found “Flaherty’s” (highlighted by the hotel concierge) - just a few minutes’ walk from our hotel.

At dawn, with the curtain of the sliding door wide open, I could see a seagull standing on the balcony railing. She was looking at me fixedly. In the distance wind-swept cypress trees and glimpses of the coastline at Pacific Grove. I remained still in my bed (did not want to scare the Seagull). I contemplated, “Is she here to check on the new occupants of this room, perhaps she wants to be the first one to greet me in the morning in this quaint town!” She would hang out a few more minutes, and make sure I saw her before she would fly through the white, fluffy morning clouds of Carmel by the Sea.

Doll houses for a wife

Following a few well-established rituals each day, we made our getaway in Carmel by the Sea very productive: our morning commenced with coffee and pastry at “The Carmel Coffee House”, tucked in a corner off Ocean Avenue and Dolores street, a small isolated café reminding us of our times in Vienna, Austria.

Morning strolls along Ocean Avenue to where the clear, blue sea waves rolled along the sandy beach, around the nearby side streets of the village, exploring the hidden oasis and garden passage ways, flowers sprouting from window boxes around the tiny perfect houses, and its idyllic quietness - only the sound of Pacific Ocean waves crashing against the shore. Legend has it that Robert Louise Stevenson found his inspiration for “Treasure Island” while walking on the beach near Point Lobos, just south of Carmel. Enchanting eclectic architecture, no two houses the same.

Whimsy roofline leaning towards the heavens built by Hugh Comstock. “Hugh’s wife Mayotta made and sold rag dolls that she named ‘Otsy-Totsys’. When her dolls outgrew their home, she asked Hugh to build her a Doll House to use for her sales and as a showroom. And so, he built HANSEL in 1924. In 1925, Hugh and Mayotta decided to build a second house on their parcel of land and named it GRETEL. His Tudor-style structures appeared with flared attics and hand-hewn trim, and irregular chimneys that looked like a pile of rocks. He built eighteen more fairy tale homes for the Carmel townsfolk.” Sadly, none of these are now open to the public. Early in the history of Carmel a bohemian community decided that houses would not have street numbers and the mail would be collected from the post office rather than delivered. In this quirky town without traffic lights and street addresses, homes are known by their names – “Cornerstone Cottage”, “Ivy by The Sea”, “Heaven Sent”. So, if we were looking for a house, we would be given a description of the house such as “SW Corner of Lincoln street and 5th, or “greenhouse three down with the big red door”.

A day’s intermission used to be at noon. We would grab our lunch at “Bruno’s Market and Deli” (a more than six decades old store, family owned and operated) on 6th and Junipero. It is an old-fashioned grocery store and only a place for “grab-and-go food” (no chain fast food restaurants are allowed in the village). It worked so well for my husband and Adit as our hotel was just adjacent to the store. And then I would depart from them until dinner time. At 6:30 in the evening we would meet at a restaurant. Restaurants are excellent in Carmel by the Sea. We savored the old-style European artistic culinary in six different restaurants during our six nights stay. Their menus are simple, all featuring local produce - all grown within an hour’s drive.

After lunch I have no obligation: I meander aimlessly through the street, take some pictures, experience the air, eavesdrop on peoples’ conversations. I have my frothing sea of thoughts. I am not lonely! I walk hours, up and down the narrow streets and back alleys, my mind wonders - “who lived here, who passed by here”. I try to attune to the chords that had once vibrated here, in these quaint courtyards and passageways, now with overgrown foliage. No wonder the painters and actors, musicians and writers, who had escaped the 1906 earthquake and fire of San Francisco, found their permanent home here in this quiet village.

I find myself inside the “Gallery 21” (on 6thbetween Dolores and Lincoln) amidst a huge collection of serigraphy, a few poems on the walls. I linger on a poem:

“Fog is a kind of rain before it falls

It floats and sails and climbs and drifts and crawls

It melts into the mountains and the hills

And slowly disappears as daylight spills….”

Thoughts dawn upon me: that poem and the paintings on the walls - have far more to be said rather than being a simple pleasure of art and its visual style. The poet would like us to enjoy and find delight in his use of the word “fog” in his poem, and his paintings of swirling ocean, groves of trees, they twist and spiral their way up creating spiral architectures, his golden meadows – a true reflection of Carmel’s enchanting character.

“Eyvind Earle was the background painter for Sleeping Beauty, Snow White (Disney animated films) too. He was one of the ‘Old men’ of Disney fame.” A sudden voice behind me spoke out. This was how “Mike” (the gallery manager) greeted me. Later he told me about the artist and explained the art medium “Serigraphy” (a fancy term for silk printing). “Andy Warhol also used this medium to give an amazing effect. A fascinating experience, they missed it”… I brooded over silently.

From Dolores St., a narrow little alley tucked behind bricks and moss wall, lined with bamboo led me to a secret garden - a lovely haven, the sound of water and wind chimes inside the garden and a collection of garden decors, statues, plants- a buffet for my eyes, mind and soul. And the bookstore attached to this garden, “The Pilgrim’s Way Community Bookstore”, its sweet smell of incense and soft music drifting out through the half-open red Dutch door. This type of half-open doors (a Carmel classic) of the many art galleries and boutiques always invited me to get a better look inside. I popped into the bookstore. A small place overstuffed with a unique collection of books. I bought a copy of “The Grapes of Wrath” by the local author John Steinbeck; I love to support the independent book sellers.

A hidden delight

I come to the last full day I would spend in Carmel. Next day we would leave this bohemian village. I see things that day that I had seen many times in the last five days. But a photo shy acquaintance, with scurried moves around her shop and words spoken at random, tempts me to dwell in the moment. As I saunter through the charming Su Vecino courtyard and passageway on Dolores between 5th and 6th, I catch sight of “Sabine Adamson Antiques”. I open the door – the shop is full of unique French antiques and vintages. I fall in love with her delightful shop. And Sabine, busy placing her old tattered leathered bound books on a weathered table next to a Louis XV armchair, says “They are not in English but German. I inherited from my mother,” a jolly friendly voice! Her warm greeting and smile whisk away my self-consciousness. She putters around her shop; at times she stops at her crowded desk, goes over her inventory list, or gets busy balancing her daily sales accounts. In a few minutes she befriends me. I plop on the couch, move a heap of old English/French fabric occupying most of its sitting space. A fabric spool behind it as a backdrop to the couch looking whimsical. She knows how to arrange her collections. An armory all the way from Provence - “It came all parted, we put them together. No screw or glue, only dowels”. She remembers her journey to France as a refugee and some part of her school years in Paris. She travels to Provence and collects artifacts every summer with her Scottish banker husband of thirty years. He was the one who introduced her to “Chicken tikka masala”. Since then she has become an Indian foodie. She talks to me with an acute nostalgia for her young days in England. “Every time I think of Prawn bhuna, my mouth drools”, she says. And her face lights up with pleasure, as if she feels a moist shrimp wrapped with luscious sauce, in her mouth.

Our conversation is interrupted by my husband’s phone call. It is a reminder for our dinner reservation in a few minutes. I realize it has been more than two hours that I have been in Sabine’s shop and we have talked about so many things in life ….. she holds her door open, a hearty shake of hands, she bids me farewell and says, “we’ve had our lovely chat” … a glow of satisfaction fills me up.

Clutching my little map, I scheme and make my mental route to the restaurant. I quickly crisscross the courtyard onto Dolores street….. I fancy our last dinner at “Mediterranean” – at the corner of Lincoln and Ocean Avenue.