Top down on Highway 1, the decadence of Hearst Castle, the shortest dinner ever at Big Sur and taking it easy in Carmel.

There are many different definitions of being broke. For William Randolph Hearst being more than a hundred million in debt did not restrict the hedonistic and expansive lifestyle he enjoyed at his 'little ranch' in San Simeon.  The little ranch he alluded to was Hearst Castle.  

We'd taken a punt on visiting Hearst Castle without pre-booking our tickets because we hadn't been sure how long it would take us to drive up the coast via Highway 1 and because we couldn't make up our minds about which tours of the house to do. There are four tours on offer; upstairs suites, the grand rooms, the kitchens (note the plural) and the cottages. Standing at the visitor centre at pretty much sea level and scanning the skyline, it looks as if some stonking great church has been uprooted from the southern mediterranean and perched majestically atop the central Californian Hills. As you take the five mile drive up to the house (house does not begin to describe the extent of Hearst Castle) along a narrow and at times precipitous lane (I closed my eyes at the worst bends and put my faith in God and the mini bus driver) you are driving through grasslands and fields which were at one time home to some members of Hearst's private zoo. Imagine zebras  roaming the pasture land to your right and wilderbeest the hills to your left. Then as you turn the next corner coming almost face to face with a polar bear.  

Built between 1920 and 1948 and designed by an architect called Julia Morgan, the house is a study in how to spend money.  Different floors play host to different classical styles from baroque to renaissance to gothic. The refectory was visited by the producers and designers of the Harry Potter films for ideas on how Hogwarts should look and bits of Spartacus were filmed in the Greco/Roman inspired outdoor swimming pool. Visitors who came to stay are straight out of Black's 'Who's Who' of the twenties, thirties and forties of the twentieth century and included prominent Hollywood stars such as Charlie Chaplin and Greta Garbo.  The Kennedys stayed a while as did Winston Churchill, David Niven, Carey Grant, Johnny Weissmuller. At the cocktail parties of LA and San Francisco, you weren't considered to be a real star if you hadn't had the big invite up to the 'ranch'.  It seems to have been the American equivalent of the glamorous social world that in the UK we associate with Cliveden and the Astors. Coming to stay at Hearst Castle must have been a bit like living on a permanent film set.  The house was bequeathed to the state of California in the 1950s when none of Hearst's five sons could afford the upkeep despite their own significant successes in different spheres of professional life.  It was left on the proviso that nothing could ever be changed.  The furniture; the most significant personal collection of greek and roman pottery; the unique collection of art; the massive sixteenth century tapastries are all exactly as they were at the height of Hearst Castles place in American high-society.  It's quite unlike anything I have visited before.  

It had taken us about three hours to reach Hearst Castle from Santa Barbara having peeled off from highway 101 at Obispo and onto highway 1, which for the most part hugs the coastline all the way up to San Francisco.  A slow, winding road highway 1is a joy to drive and the view a joy to watch for the person who is not driving.  Having decided to hire a car at LA the deal was that we would share responsibility for driving but so far the task had fallen entirely to me.  The large and mostly empty car park at the visitor centre at Hearst Castle seemed the ideal spot for Janet to get behind the wheel and practice using the controls of an automatic and of driving on the right hand side of the road.  She was, it is fair to say, a little reticent. Five miles later I was back in the driving seat.

It was about another 60 miles to the Post Ranch restaurant at Big Sur (http://www.postranchinn.com/) which my friend Mikey had recommended.  We drove at a gentle and stately speed navigating regular hair pin bends and stopping from time to time to look at the views and give our legs a stretch. Now and then a group of motorcyclists would pass us going the other way and I would think how perfect California weather must be for a biker. We had planned to arrive at Big Sur an hour early to give us time to chill and freshen up before dinner. As we turned off the highway and on to the road leading up to the restaurant  a guard stepped out into the road and held up his hand. We stopped. It wasn't possible, we learned, to go up to the restaurant before the time of our reservation at 5.30pm. Despite our protests and pleading for him to take into consideration our wind-swept and dishevelled appearance that was the result of two hours with the top down on the car, he remained unmoved. We were eventually allowed to make our way up to the restaurant just before 5.30pm.  With a bag full of clean clothes under my arm I ask where we might freshen up before dinner. The hostess, slightly bemused pointed us to the bathroom.  Having driven for over four hours and having sat for nearly an hour in the heat waiting to be allowed in I was not, what might be called.... chilled and joining Janet at the table even the striking view from the hotel's position high on the cliff face did not help me settle.  Leaning over to me she whispered "there's only a four course tasting menu, it's $120 each and the steak is a $50 dollar supplement. Steak, on the long drive north with nothing much to eat since breakfast is exactly what we had both agreed we wanted for dinner. A good sized, succulent, tasty steak.  A hundred and seventy dollars seemed an awful lot to pay no matter how good the steak might be.  We looked at each other and then at the view and then back at each other.  We were torn.  The restaurant was lovely and the view stunning.  But one hundred and seventy dollars for a steak?  No way.  Not least because my birthday dinner at Nobu the evening before had also turned into a very expensive meal.  We grabbed our bags and stood up.    Heading for the door I tapped the hostess on the shoulder, "sorry" I said, "we're just not that hungry, we should have booked for lunch instead".  Ignoring the curious looks of the waiters and trying to appear like walking out of a very expensive restaurant was really the most natural thing in the world, once out of the door we flew down the steps and across to the car park before anyone could think to stop us.  Back on the road once more and heading for Carmel we laughed with relief.  So, thank-you Mikey if you are reading this, for the recommendation.  It was a truly beautiful restaurant and location but I am afraid we had to scarper.

An hour later we drove into Carmel.  As we made our way to the centre of the small town I felt instantly at home.  Instead of forcing itself on the natural landscape Carmel is designed instead to fit around the natural contours and habitat of the area.  Lovely houses sit nestled in the trees and, other than Ocean Street, a long straight esplanade leading down to the sea, the remainder of the thoroughfares are mainly narrow avenues amply populated with tall scotch pines and other evergreen shrubs and trees. Carmel has a large resident artists population and is famous for its fine art, sculpture and photo galleries. But amongst the exclusive boutiques and jewellery stores (there is a Tiffany on one of the street corners and a host of shops selling furs.  In September!) there are many small independent traders and lots of busy coffee shops and bakeries.   As we sat in a restaurant eating our $30 steak (expensive enough) and drinking a satisfying glass of local wine I said I thought I could easily spend a week here.  But San Francisco beckoned the day after next and another part of the trip would begin.

Comments

[A Morley]

Really enjoying this Lorraine, just a note on the GPS navigation, you do realise that in the States left is right and right is left.
p.s happy belated 50th. x