As I mentioned on the blog earlier, I spent two weeks in California recently. Traveling in the age if the coronavirus may be a bit risky, but as a result, the plane tickets were cheap. I was originally going to go in early September, but the state caught on fire so I waited a month. I hadn’t visited my family since 2018. In the intervening time since then I’d had a son, making travel somewhat out of the question. So I was in Florida, slowly forgetting what hills and non-humid weather was like. As it so happened, Azerbaijan and Turkey attacked Armenia just before my trip, and this burdened my mind gravely the entire trip. However, I did my best to enjoy myself.
The fires weren’t quite done when I got there. When I got off the plane at the Santa Rosa airport, the air was smoky and the sun was red. It was rather eerie. I couldn’t help but be reminded of a key scene from the video game The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.
I was only gone two years, what happened?!
I stayed in Guerneville, a small town north of San Francisco located deep in the redwood forests, where my family lives now. After a day or so we did a road trip to Oregon to pick up my niece and nephew for the occasion. It was my first time in Oregon as well. The sight of redwoods, mountains and cold foggy beaches was cleansing to the soul. Florida beaches are flat, hot, and featureless. But these were real beaches.
The beaches of the northern Pacific cleanse the soul in a way nothing else does for me, besides perhaps the mountains of Armenia and the cold air of Lake Sevan, that is. We also stopped in Eureka and Crescent City, towns along the northern coast. It was my first time visiting these towns, which had a similar feel to Monterey further south, but smaller. I also had a deliciously refreshing bread bowl of clam chowder as well. You just can’t get chowder like that in Florida. I don’t know why.
It was a 9 hour trip there and back, probably the longest road trip I have ever been on. We were accompanied by my sister’s spotify DJ skills. At any rate, I didn’t stay long in Oregon but at least I can say I have been there.
My next big excursion during the trip was back to Contra Costa County, where I grew up. I stayed with my good brother in Pleasant Hill, catching up on old times and making new memories. Foremost, along with our traditional visits to the Mongolian bbq restaurant at the nearby mall, was a hike up Mt. Wanda in Martinez, for which my other dear brother joined us. This isn’t a proper mountain, but was named by the daughter of John Muir, the environmental activist from the 19th century whose large home is preserved nearby as a museum. When I lived in Martinez I would do this hike whenever the mood struck me, and to do it again was rejuvenating. Especially after having gone so long without seeing hills. Here are some nice pictures from that hike.
The summit. Mt. Diablo in the background, rising like a smaller Mt. Ararat.
I don't want to stay away from where I came from for so long again. As my child becomes more independent I shouldn’t have to. I feel like home for me is nowhere in particular, or conversely, several places at once. I always miss someplace or someone no matter where I am. That will likely never go away. But by traveling, I now feel whole again in a way I hadn’t for a long time.
Now I just get to stress about the war going on in Armenia.
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