I suck at planning. Suck at it. Totally and completely. What’s worse: my girlfriend isn’t any better. To complicate matters further, I’m a chronic FOMO subscriber. When gifted rare, valuable free time, I’m always on the hunt for the best option, which ebbs alongside my ever-changing mood. This makes travel challenging. Or simple, depending on how you look at it. I’m infinitely more likely to drop everything for a spontaneous weekend trip chasing a swell than to book a trip to Europe six months in advance. I’m just not at that six-month-out life stage yet. Maybe I never will be. So when Fourth of July rolled around this year, as it inevitably does, I had zero plans. Quite a few options. All lukewarm. But no plans.
Local BBQ? Meh. House party? Meh. Road trip with my girlfriend to Carmel through Big Sur? Oh, heyyyyy. I like that.
So Thursday afternoon creeps up. I send a text to the pretty girl who tolerates me:
“Want to go to Carmel tomorrow?”
10 AM Friday, and we we’re off!
Yes. More of this please.
Considering we did absolutely zero planning in order to make this trip come to life and knew nothing about solid accommodations, we downloaded the Booking.com app, and within a few double taps, some scrolling, and about five minutes of exploring the options later, we had a ridiculous place booked that had an outdoor bathtub on a deck overlooking the Carmel Valley. I will never look at an indoor tub the same. Outdoor bathtub. Outside is better. Always.
There was a pool. We didn’t spend any time at it. But it was there.
All I knew about Carmel is this: high heels are illegal. Seriously. That’s a real thing. My lady told me. You have to go to the courthouse and register to wear them legally. It was a measure taken by the city to avoid litigation that might result from injuries on uneven pavement. It’s rarely enforced, but it’s real. Carmel: a city that covers its ass. Much respect.
I also knew it’s beautiful, with gorgeous hikes at Point Lobos, otherworldly views just south at Big Sur, and even some waves to surf.
Carmel Valley views.
I was unaware that fireworks are also illegal there, though. Which makes it an odd Fourth of July destination considering the central role fire in the sky plays to our sacred American holiday. BUT, they allow bonfires and alcohol on the beach. So the fires on the beach more than made up for the fireless sky.
S’mores!
So we were outside in America all weekend. White seals rolling around the rocks. S’mores and wine beside a sandy fire. Little kids on a Fourth of July sugar high with sparklers in hand screaming, “I feel so FREEEE right now! Do you feel free?” I wanted whatever those kids had. Walking through vineyards. Examining nascent grapes. Fermentation. Freeze frames of the Bixby Bridge and hopping into crystal clear water at Sand Dollar beach to slide along slopey,
empty waves.
Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you suck at planning. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
This post is sponsored by Booking.com. Wing everything. Except your accommodation.
