I drove two and a half hours to have lunch in Jenner on Saturday.  

I left early, thinking I’d walk in the roadside parks and stare at the Pacific for a couple of hours before dining.  But my body thought differently.  Hungry, with that nagging feeling from going too long without a restroom, I pulled into something calling itself a “cafe” that I’d never previously noticed.  With a view of the Russian River where it hits the sea, the placed seemed idyllic for a cup of coffee and, hopefully, something edible.

I first sought the sign announcing “Restroom” and followed its arrow — right into a wall.  Questioning the clerk yielded the information that the restroom was two parking lots north at the visitor’s center.  When I finally realized that she wasn’t joking, I trudged outside, pecked my way around two buildings and over a small wall, and finally found the brick all-gender outhouses.  

Back at the cafe, I strained to see the tiny print of the overhead menu.  I asked for a paper menu and she snapped, Outside, taped to the door.  I went outside, got in my car, and drove to the next open establishment calling itself a “restaurant”.  Surrounded with lovely trees and on the banks of the Russian River, this place looked more promising.  I asked the woman if they were, indeed, open and she said, with a charming accent, “Yes and no”.  Apparently, they had tea, coffee, and pastries until noon when they served food for a few hours.  I didn’t really understand, but accepted the information and the offered outside table.  A smiling young man brought over a delicious cup of tea with leaves sinking to the bottom of the delicate cup and a pastry with an unpronounceable Russian name.  When I went to pay, the lady gestured to a large vase and said, “Put money there, whatever you feel like paying.”  My confusion deepened, but I fished for money, threw some in the jar and thanked her.  “Of course,” she replied. 

I smiled and made my way back outside.  Afterwards, I discovered that I had been somewhere special; I’ll definitely return to the Russian House, now that I’ve found it.

Two hours of meandering later, I realized that I did, after all, need lunch.  I found a place on Bodega Bay.  A woman whose beaming smile showed in her eyes above a flowered mask carried two fish tacos (local, caught that morning) and a cold glass of Chardonnay to a table on the patio.  I watched the gulls skimming the water as the tension eased from my body.

I passed the rest of the day with abandon.  I stopped at Goat Rock Beach, random roadside turn-outs, and small bluffs as far south as Stinson Beach.  With a back-up reservation at a Mill Valley motel, I took my time, enjoying the sharp smell of the ocean and the cool wind flowing inland from somewhere near the horizon. As evening gathered, I resigned myself to a clean room in an old building because I was, frankly, too tired for the two-hour drive home, I treated myself to a vegetarian cassoulet at a restaurant where everyone wore masks without shame or hesitation.  One couple had color-coordinated both their attire and their face coverings.  Customers and staff alike seemed glad to be back to some semblance of normalcy.

I fell asleep at 9:00 p.m. in an accessible room with more square footage than my entire house.  Halfway to Sacramento in the morning, I stopped for breakfast served in a parking lot at a Denny’s off I-80.  I got to the Del Paso Avenue Safeway just in time for my second Moderna vaccine.  

My Saturday at the Ocean might sound boring to some, but for me, it’s a fine, fine life.

It’s the seventh day of the eighty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

There are 34 photos in this slide show.  They scroll slowly at times; be patient.  Please enjoy.