Santa Cruz

Two or three dolphins were following us. We were walking along West Cliff Avenue, the road that winds its way across the cliffs of Santa Cruz's beach front. We passed a rocky outcrop whose flat top had been transformed into a rookery for cormorants and pelicans.
“We have cormorants in Central Park.” I mentioned to Caitlin. “We also get Egrets. They put fish in the North Meer and they showed up. I guess you don’t have to put any fish in the ocean. Not yet.”

Seals were floating on their backs preening themselves. One barked at us as we passed. Now and then the dolphins black silhouettes would emerge from the waves and then disappear back into sea.

We passed a snazzy red convertible with an old hipster behind the wheel. He had long perfectly groomed long gray hair and jet black sunglasses. He was kinda L.L. Bean styled but more Patagonia and North Face. Everybody wears some sort of hiking shoe. No street shoes like me. Nothing New York City on their feet. He smiled as we passed. I imagined him a hippie forty years ago.
"We have tons of guys like that." Caitlin said. "They never grow up."

As we drew close to the town center there was a tent on one of the promontories. Druid rock filled the air with irish harps, wooden flutes, and mystical electric guitars. Below us more silver haired hippies, now in wet suits took turns catching the waves on their surfboards.
"That's Steamer Lane." Caitlin said. "That's where the Beach Boys were talking about when they sang about Santa Cruz."
"Yeah." I said. "And the same guys are still down there."
"They will be until they die." Came her reply with a wry grin. "It's very territorial."

There is one main drag in town, Center street. Well you could also say Center and Front st. Front is more for cars and Center for pedestrians. On every corner of Center there is somebody carefully positioned to catch the loving kiss of the California winter sun. In the warm afternoon they strum or pluck their guitars and sing.

There are three art movie houses and a half dozen yoga studios downtown. There is a penny arcade. Just around the bay you can see a roller coaster. There is a lingerie shop where the sexy asian owner prances around in her wares. You can walk from one end of "The Mall" to the other in about ten minutes. At the far end of town is a perfect English tower clock. Nearby the post office sits, looking like a miniature Roman temple.

Homelessness is an art in Santa Cruz. Many young people make their way here. They come down from the mountains and villages and join the bands of elder street people whose crenelated, sun burnt faces illustrate years of battle with the elements. They live in beat up vans, sleeping in oily down sleeping bags. They beg and sing and do Tarot card readings. There's a guy who tells jokes for loose change. They wear hooded sweatshirts, baseball caps on their long matted hair, dark sunglasses and black army boots held together with tape.
"Its the Unibomber look." according to Caitlin.
“Yeah.” I thought. “That IS a look.”