Monterey - the soul of Steinbeck country

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