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