Santa Cruz and The Big Sur

October 4, 2011

We’ve stayed in some great and not so great places throughout our 4 months on the road. One of the best was probably our place in Santa Cruz. We stayed in a wooden shed in the garden of someone’s home, complete with a record player, huge record collection and outdoor bath surrounded by twinkly lights. It would have been romantic if either one of us actually knew how to be romantic.

We decided to drive down the Big Sur and stop at Pfeiffer Beach where the sand was supposedly purple. It was, and I was way more impressed with it than I thought I’d be. So much so, I kept on saying ‘purple, it’s purple’ like a tard. Although, probably more impressive was the sea garbage that looked like a gang bang of penises. Seeing cocks in most objects is probably number one reason why I can’t be romantic.

We decided to drive further along the coast when we were hit with the Californian fog. This stuff rolls in and then blocks the view of everything you drove an hour and a half to see. So we took the view we’d seen so far, multiplied it in our brains and then went home and waited for it to get dark so we could have another bath.

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