| California, the State. San Francisco, the
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| | would, by dint of financial muscle, bully
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| city. Monterey, the town. John Steinbeck,
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| | their way into ownership or control of
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| the author. For this Steinbeck fan, San
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| | all of the agricultural land in the area.
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| Francisco is quite close to heaven. From
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| | Steinbeck was right to be worried. For
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| San Francisco it is an easy drive down
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| | that is what has come to pass.Sad also to
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| the peninsula to Santa Cruz and into
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| | realize that the year 'Cannery Row' was
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| Steinbeck territory.I fly into San
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| | published, 1945, was the year the sardine
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| Francisco airport late in the afternoon.
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| | fishing industry of Monterey died. As
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| The signs are immediate America. 'No Ped
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| | Steinbeck said at a later time: 'They are
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| Xing', 'Squeeze right', 'Occupation by
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| | fishing for tourists now.' In the heyday
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| more than 132 persons unlawful'. From
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| | of Monterey there were eighteen
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| Rent-a-Wreck I collect a Chevrolet in two
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| | canneries, 100-odd fishing boats, 4,000
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| tones -- cat-sick green and vile yellow.
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| | workers, three gaudy brothels and a
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| A veritable pimpmobile. And was it not in
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| | terrible smell of dead fish. Now, nearly
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| a car like this I drove into San
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| | all are gone.(It used to be that
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| Francisco for the 1967 Summer of Love, to
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| | Monterey, and nearby Salinas where he was
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| follow Timothy Leary's instructions to
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| | born, was angry and ashamed of John
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| 'turn on, tune in, and drop out'?
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| | Steinbeck. In 1944, after the success of
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| It was. And was it not in very much the
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| | 'The Grapes of Wrath' Steinbeck bought a
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| same automobile I parked outside the City
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| | house in Monterey; no one would rent him
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| Lights Bookstore and went in and listened
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| | an office for writing. He was harassed
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| to Ginsberg recite 'Howl' and got Jack
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| | when trying to get fuel and wood from a
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| Kerouac to sign my copy of 'The Dharma
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| | local wartime rations board. He wrote
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| Bums'? It was. This antediluvian American
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| | that his old friends did not want him,
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| monster is the car of my youth. Be damned
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| | partly because of his works and partly
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| to the characterless compacts of today.
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| | because he was so successful: 'This isn't
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| (It is a sad reflection on progress that
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| | my country anymore. And it won't be until
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| the Rent-a-Wreck franchise now rents
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| | I am dead. It makes me very sad.' He late
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| modern compacts.)Now I drive across
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| | wrote: 'After I had written "The Grapes
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| Highway 92 and its beguiling signs
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| | of Wrath" . . . the librarians at the
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| leading to San Jose along the Camino Real
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| | Salinas Public Library, who had known my
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| -- the Royal Road. (Yes, I know the way
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| | folks remarked that is was lucky my
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| to San Jose and a sterile, dreary city it
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| | parents were dead so that they did not
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| is.)Swing on to Highway 1, America's very
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| | have to suffer this shame.'In truth, the
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| own Pacific Highway, which takes me down
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| | whole American literary establishment
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| the peninsula and along the coast, the
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| | should fry in hell for their treatment of
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| rugged, rocky coast on the right, the
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| | this author. When Steinbeck won the Nobel
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| remains of cypress forests on my left -
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| | Prize for literature in 1962 he was
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| and goes through Santa Cruz to Monterey.
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| | damned in newspapers with faint praise.
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| Coming back, I will use Highway 9 which
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| | 'The New York Times' in particular should
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| is a backroad, in spite of the grandiose
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| | hang its head in shame.)Now there is a
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| title, and follow the San Lorenzo river
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| | National Steinbeck Center in Salinas,
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| up, up into the Santa Cruz mountains and
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| | about 25 km inland from Monterey. It is
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| then through the magnificence of
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| | not for me. I am not of the school who
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| California redwoods in the Henry Cowell
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| | thinks these things can be packaged,
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| Redwoods State Park.If I have enough
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| | tarted up, represented. Of itself the
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| time, on the way back I will stop at
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| | center says: 'Discover Steinbeck's works
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| Felton on Highway 9 and ride on a steam
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| | and philosophy through interactive,
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| train for an hour of nostalgia on the
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| | multisensory exhibits for all ages and
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| wondrously named Roaring Camp and Big
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| | backgrounds, priceless artifacts,
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| Trees narrow-gauge railway line. No
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| | entertaining displays, educational
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| railway line of my youth ever swooped
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| | programs and research archives. Seven
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| through stands of redwoods; it is true
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| | themed theaters showcase "East of Eden",
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| that only God could have made these
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| | "Cannery Row", "Of Mice and Men", "The
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| trees, one of which is within spit of
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| | Grapes of Wrath" and much more.' That is
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| being a hundred meters tall.No train in
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| | not my scene.Yet we can still see the old
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| the darkness of the Rhondda Valley in
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| | Cannery Row if we look with care.This
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| Wales puffed like the 'Little Red Engine'
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| | morning I go to Foam Street, where the
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| -- I think I can, I think I can -- up one
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| | true Cannery Row starts. I stand silently
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| of the steepest railway gradients in the
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| | on the stone pilings of the deserted
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| world to Bear Mountain.But that is on the
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| | loading dock. A pleasant melancholy. It
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| morrow. Today is for blessed Monterey.
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| | would have been better if I had delayed
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| Robert Louis Stevenson in travel-book
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| | my visit by a couple of months. For this
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| mode wrote of Monterey in a fish-hook
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| | is the end of summer and the weather is
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| simile as being 'cosily ensconced beside
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| | still too warm, too pleasant for my mood.
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| the barb'. (At the time Stevenson was
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| | Cannery Row needs a touch of cold damp in
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| skulking around Monterey, waiting for the
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| | the air for true dismal authenticity. And
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| divorce of the light of his life, Fanny
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| | it is wrong that I should be here on a
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| Osbourne.) Much earlier than Stevenson,
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| | Saturday. Thursday, Sweet Thursday, is
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| Gaspar de Portola and the intrepid
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| | surely the only day to visit Monterey.
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| explorer for God, Father Junipero Serra,
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| | But how can we change a business
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| claimed Monterey for Spain and the Holy
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| | itinerary for literary requirements?Much
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| Catholic Church by establishing a fort
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| | in Monterey remains the same, much has
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| and a mission in 1777. Now I claim it,
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| | changed. La Ida Cafe of blessed memory is
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| yet again, for myself.The sea as I drive
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| | now Kalisa's, down from my hotel at 851
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| down the coast road is white with rage
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| | Cannery Row. Wing Chong Market, at 835,
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| and foam. A hurricane has been creating
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| | has been transmogrified into the Old
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| havoc at sea and in Mexico. This is the
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| | General Store and the building that once
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| dying fringe of the storm. Waves slam
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| | held Doc Rickett's Marine Lab still
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| against the rocky coast and burst in
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| | stands at 800 Cannery Row. Last time I
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| white flags to mark the route ahead. I
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| | was here it was a private club and I
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| see no sea lions or seals as I did last
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| | managed to smooth-talk my way in. This
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| year. Perhaps the sea is too rough.
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| | morning it seems sadly deserted and I am
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| Perhaps they have a shelter where they
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| | told it is owned by the city of Monterey
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| hide from the big waves. Perhaps.I am
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| | and the public is not welcome.Do not
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| staying at the Monterey Bay Inn simply
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| | confuse this, the genuine article, with
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| because of its address, 242 Cannery Row.
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| | Doc Rickett's Lab, which is a restaurant
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| From here, last night, I walked past the
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| | at 180 E Franklin Street, and is not the
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| appalling tourist mockery that is
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| | sort of place Doc Rickett would have
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| Fisherman's Wharf -- what sins are
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| | dined at, but didn't.When I have finished
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| committed for the tourist dollar -- and
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| | writing, I will stroll down to Sancho
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| on to the Municipal Wharf at the end of
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| | Panza for lunch. This restaurant is in an
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| Figuero Street. This is where the real
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| | adobe building built in 1841 in Calle
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| fishing fleet is moored; where the
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| | Principal -- Main Street. There, in the
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| buildings are designed for work, not
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| | crowded, low-ceilinged room, I will drink
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| tourist, and the pelicans stalk the
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| | Mexican Corona beer with slices of lime
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| fish-smelling docks and landings. Pure
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| | and eat chile con carne con frijoles and
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| Steinbeck.Last night I dreamed I was Doc
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| | remember John Steinbeck, the writer who
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| Rickett and that I still worked in my
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| | gave me the smell, the feel, the reality
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| laboratory among the wonderful desperates
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| | of Monterey when I was a small boy in
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| of 'Cannery Row'. This morning, over
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| | Wales.Gareth Powell runs, among other
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| breakfast, I consider sadly the strong
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| | sites, Travel Hopefully - - and has been
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| moral purpose that ran through all of
| |
| | a travel writer and editor for far too
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| John Steinbeck's 'Cannery Row' novels. He
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| | long.
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| was worried the major canning companies
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|
