Sneaky Salamander

At times, the unique and exciting scent we come to expect from a metropolis rots into an overbearing stench. Nostrils are rudely accosted by fumigated air and you can almost begin to taste the sweet poison of carbon monoxide, ash, and debris on your tongue. The intertwined wire greets a glance out the window; an umbilical cord joining a field of perfectly planted structures. Metal, glass, and cement come together to form an impressive, and in San Francisco’s case- beautiful, concrete jungle.
And it is beautiful… San Francisco is stunning, its resident’s wake up each morning enthralled by the madness that engulfs them and like a drug the craven desire for more is ceaseless. However, at some point there is always a sensory overload… The mind begins to feed on chaos and the body finds itself in the grip of claustrophobia with no option but out. Out of the city to regain a sense of sanity, to compose oneself before the next week of the psychotic, masochistic, fire drill we call life.

Coming around a bend on highway one, roughly fifteen minutes outside of San Francisco, abused eyes accustomed to scanning sky scraping enclosures of hard grey, came to rest on the vast blue plain of the open ocean. Instinctively, I inhaled the breezy draft coming off the sea, and almost immediately felt the benefits of its calm.

Pacifica, an underdeveloped town with not much to offer aside from astonishing ocean shores, is a small sanctuary only fifteen minutes outside of San Francisco. When life gets too critical, too heavy and all consuming, take a minute to find this understated spot. Pacifica lacks much of the allure of its sister down south, Santa Cruz. It cannot offer any shopping or quaint town-life, but it shares the same staggering ocean and is fully capable of rendering you speechless.

Brown sandy cliffs drop heavily into a beach where clear blue waters lap up the footsteps of former wanderers. Further on, a solitary pier juts out into the semi-circular bay, the only break in seamless sapphire velvet. Finally, I have found a source of tranquility, where I can take a desperately needed break from society.

Sprawled out on a flat rock the beach has furnished me with, I lay and basked in the sun. A reptile escaped from its cage, I felt the wild freedom that only nature possesses. John Usher, a good friend of mine grabbed his surfboard and hurled himself in the water. Crying out with joy and adrenaline he scolded me for not bringing my own board and quickly vanished under a wave before he popped up and paddled out into the line up.

We spent the day lounging in Poseidon’s good graces and when five o-clock rolled about, it was very reluctantly that John and I headed back towards the shimmering skyline of man made San Francisco. Pacifica may be a nondescript beach town but it is also a priceless source of sanity.

Driving around that bend only provides a brief glimpse of Pacifica but if you are adventurous, take the Manor Drive exit and find your own spot on the practically deserted beach. Pause the neurotic lifestyle within which you find yourself submerged, take a moment to appreciate a splendor tapped by few and allow yourself to slow down.