Coasting

Coasting

My first taste of the Pacific Coast Highway came along yesterday.  It was a not-so-scenic trip along a  crowded boulevard connecting one beach town to the next, mostly with no space between, crowded with row houses overlooking the beaches.  Once we ventured into the beach towns, we found them to be a little more upscale than the beach towns occupying the barrier islands that dot the coast of Georgia and the Carolinas.

Just for an example, when we stepped up to the door of a small eatery to look at the menu, we found buckets of seafood available for $35 apiece, a far cry from fish and chips on Tybee.  The beaches, and the piers that marked the main streets of the towns, were still beautiful to see.  Mirabile visu, I think, was the Latin expression--they offered a glimpse of the Pacific, but no surfers.

Crowded it was, too.  Bicycles, skateboards and us ordinary walkers more than filled the sidewalks and some of the streets.  Interesting sights were all over as well.  We were walking up toward a corner bar, wondering if the large cowboy-hatted figure beside the door was a statue or what.  It was huge, arms as big around as legs, a beard covering much of its face and arms folded as it leaned against the wall beside the door.  Our question was answered as a group of young ladies approached the door and he held up his massive hand and asked for ID's.  He was the daytime bouncer, and he towered over everyone.  

We're planning to head the other way today.   So much to see, so little time.