BIG SUR, Calif. — I’m broke. You’re broke. We’re all broke.
Sometimes the best medicine comes in the form of a pretty distraction, and I’m not talking about Pamela Anderson here. If you live in (insert city name — really, any one will do), it’s time for you to GET OUT. No doomsday warnings here, just a poor man’s guide to travel to ease your weary soul.
This month it’s cold. So let’s take our vacation-lusting souls to someplace warmer than the icebox we’ve been living in.
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California. Sweet California. You’re always there for us to retreat to, no matter how many times we make fun of your governor, or how bad your drivers are, or wish that you would just fall off into the ocean already. (Yea! California Island! Even better.)
I recently made my first pilgrimage to the Big Sur Coastline. If you’ve ever seen Big Sur, you’ll understand the use of the word “pilgrimage.” The coasts are practically untouched since the days of the Spanish settlers: sweeping views, pristine waters that appear as though Tide would bottle them for their next detergent, and the freshest air to fill your lungs since you came screaming out of the womb.
Strange phenomena happen in Big Sur. Cypress trees cling to steep drop offs. The Ghost Tree is an example of nature’s malleability in the face of it’s own force, arched from root to tip it pays homage to the glory of it’s creation, and the mysticism that lies in Big Sur.
If the beach-that-is-really-too-cold-to-sunbathe-at just isn’t your thing, head on out from Los Angeles like the Rider on the Storm that you are to an old ski-town in another sentimentally static are of California called Vincent’s Gap. The mountains here are sleepy and wise, extending off as far as you can see in most directions. Popular for hiking and even skiing, it is east to wander into Vincent’s Gap and feel time travel back to frontier days, when the mountains were first inhabited.