Crapping on a yak.....overland to the other side of the world and the rest: Day 308 – 05 June 2010: No cheap motels in Monterey

Continuing northwards up the Big Sur, I stop for lunch at the imaginatively monikered Rocky Point. There can’t be many restaurants in the world better situated than here, with outdoor deck seating overlooking the Pacific as it ends against the wall of the rocky rising coastline. The food is impressive too, having been served a luscious bit of swordfish. Considering the setting and the quality, you could expect the price to be somewhat four starred, as in ****in ‘ell!, but in reality it’s about the same as a decent pub lunch in the UK.

I struggle a bit today after last night’s entertainments, and stop at the upmarket Carmel to recuperate on the beach for a while. I chiefly know Carmel as being the town that Clint Eastwood briefly became the mayor of after the locals got fed up with the previous incumbent passing a series of ludicrous laws like not allowing people to wear sandals in the town, or some such.

There is a genteel feel about Carmel, although it is a very popular stop and I have to park on the street as the beach car park is full. The homes around here can be worth millions of dollars, but there is nothing overtly opulent about Carmel, just an obvious tendency toward tidiness. The architecture is what I have come to think of as traditionally American, perhaps born out of nostalgia for the prairie town.

By late afternoon, I reach Monterey, the cheapest motel I can find being the Quality Inn, for $69. This is more than I wanted to spend, but even the Travelodge wanted $125 and it didn’t look any better than the hostel I stayed at in LA. The Quality Inn looks like luxury in contrast. Even here in a relatively expensive part of the US, I can’t help but reflect on how much more you pay for even the most second rate accommodation in most of the UK.

I have dinner at a California Pizza Kitchen, a popular chain. Starting with an appetizer of Artichoke Hearts, these turn out to be deep fried bread crumb constructs which really do go right to the heart of the artichoke, the bit of it in the middle of the bread crumbs being about the size of the last bone of my pinky.

The pizza I order inevitably comes heaped with meat toppings and is cheesily tasty, but a bit too dry with little evidence of the tomato sauce base.