We fly on into the small coastal town of Carmel. So far, out of all of the coast we have seen, the place I would happily live is Carmel.
I think the reason why i enjoyed the few hours we spent wandering around, is because the beaches remind me of the northern beaches in Sydney. a rugged coast, covered in houses, and a ton of people enjoying the beach.
The cafe's served high quality, fresh goods and we got the first decent cup of Joe on our trip. To a Sydney-sider, a good cup of coffee (real coffee) is an important part of our day. For me, its "a double-shot, flat white... just a little stronger than you would usually make it, cheers mate." Or to translate, a really strong latte without the foam. Simple, perfect, delicious. I need to feel the coffee coursing through my veins.
Coffee'd up, we wander down the main strip, perusing art galleries, knick-knack stores and stopping for a biscuit (or a cookie as you Americans call them) at every bakery we would walk past. We see no sign of Clint Eastwood, or even any reference to him other than a random painting in an even more random art gallery.
Beach time. If the water wasn't so cold, I would have immediately jumped in. The wave that was rolling in was a perfect bodysurfing, body-whomping, heavy, crushing, dumping, thick mother of a thing. It looked fun. But for the day, I was stranded ashore. A landlubber having to ignore the heed of the ocean. If you have never been bodysurfing, you are missing out. It is the closest thing to flying that we, as mere humans, can get, while also getting close to drowning.
I turn my attention to the dogs.
Dogs...
Woofers...
Borkers...
and Mini-floofs...
I was having a blast watching them run around, but we couldn't sit there all day. We continued driving around the town, blindly exploring the perfect seaside town.
Until tomorrow,
Danedebeau