Big Sur, the hump protruding from California after Monterey Bay, is amazing. It’s basically a wilderness area sitting on top of prime real estate along the Pacific, with a surprisingly low population and shockingly high cliffs.
Sadly, the perfect clear and water is too dangerous to swim in (let alone reach), so visitors must satisfy themselves with azure fantasies.
We had hoped to spend Thanksgiving at Big Sur, but so did lots of other people so all the good places were booked up.
Having attempted to stay at one campground, which can only accept reservations ten days in advance owing to a precarious entry bridge over the sometimes swollen Big Sur River, we had to go. The staff was friendly, but the place was a Big Disappointment. Sitting in a dark forest with no means of disposing of sewage or water, the campground felt a million miles away from the startling beauty of the Redwoods and coast.
So further south we went, on towards San Luis Obispo and the Central Coast.
Claire – On maternity leave from career as editor of monthly finance trade magazines, and occasionally a freelance translator. Half-American/half-English, raised in the suburbs of New York, has lived in London for almost nine years.
Daniel – Furniture designer/maker based on London’s Columbia Road flower market, for ten years, also an aspiring painter and DIY supremo. On one-year career break to reconsider options. English by birth, but mother is half-American and spent part of her childhood in Bronxville, New York.
Sophia – 3.5-year old spitfire who loves school, singing, swimming and being a big sister
Lulu – Born May 8 of this year, a model baby who eats, sleeps and gurgles.
Special guests – American, British and international friends and family who drop in along our trip to see whatever part of the country they fancy. They’re welcome to travel in the car with us and sleep in an adjoining tent.