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The Original Starbucks

Yesterday I was at a conference in downtown Seattle. In the afternoon I had some free time so I walked down to the pier to the famous Pike Place Market. Seattle has more Starbucks stores than any other city. You can literally step out of any building and look around in all direction and you will likely see a Starbucks. Here is a fun little article that illustrates my point. 

When I got down to Pike Place Market, I was in for a treat. Because that’s where the original Starbucks store is.

The first Starbucks store was established in 1971 at 2000 Western Avenue where it operated until 1976, when it moved to 1912 Pike Place Market in downtown Seattle. So this address, while still hosting the original Starbucks, is actually the second location for the chain.

There are now 27,339 Starbucks stores worldwide.

As you can see in the picture above, there is a line going into the store. While it is not visible in the image, the line continues along the sidewalk to the left and goes all the way down the block.  There were probably a hundred or more people lined up – to get a cup of Starbucks in this store. I was not in the mood.

But I enjoyed a bit of coffee history and took this photograph.

My plan was to visit the Seattle Art Museum, just a few blocks down the road, but unfortunately, it was closed Monday as Tuesday, as museums are wont to be. Perhaps another time, after a good cup of coffee.

I am currently reading Fear: Trump in the White House, by Bob Woodward, and much to my surprise, I have come across quite a few passages where I find myself agreeing with Trump.

For instance, he was a staunch adversary of our “endless” war in Afghanistan. As far back as in March 2012, he tweeted: Afghanistan is a total disaster. We don’t know what we are doing. They are, in addition to everything else, robbing us blind.” Then in 2013: “Let’s get out of Afghanistan. Our troops are being killed by the Afghanis we train and we waste billions there. Nonsense! Rebuild the USA.”

When he was president, Trump was tired of his generals and their “plans.” He wanted to hear from soldiers on the ground. He called several soldiers, non-officers, to the White House and asked them what was going on in Afghanistan. Here is what he came away with:

“Unanimous. We’ve got to figure out how to get the fuck out of there. Totally corrupt. The people are not worth fighting for… NATO does nothing. They’re a hindrance. Don’t let anybody tell you how great they are. It’s all bullshit.”

— Fear: by Bob Woodward, page 123-124

I agree with every word above. If I were in the White House, I would also force my team to come up with a way to get the fuck out, and fast. It pains me to see American cash, our taxes, to be passed around by the handfuls to Afghan warlords who are taking our money and think we are idiots. I cringe when I think about American soldiers getting killed there — not for our freedom, not to defend our country, but for the bullshit we have allowed ourselves to get sucked into. This is very wrong and it needs to change.

We are idiots.

Now there is some Trump news we don’t get on the Rachel Maddow show. Thanks, Bob Woodward!

We the Animals is the story of three brothers of a Puerto Rican family in the U.S. who have a strong bond amongst each other. Manny and Joel are the older ones (somewhere between 10 and 12 years old) and Jonah is the youngest at 10. Jonah is different. He is more sensitive, and likes to draw. To avoid ridicule, he does it when hiding under this bed where he has stashed his notebook inside the bottom of the mattress. Their father, Paps, is loving and supportive to them, but abuses his wife and from time to time abandons the family. Their mother, Ma, is very young and tries to shelter the boys, particularly Jonah, from the world. But she is not very successful, as she descends into depression and virtually abandons her care of her kids for days on end. The boys are left to fend for themselves, by stealing, by scavenging, and by sticking to each other. We the Animals!

This is a thought-provoking film with interesting, refreshing cinematography, quite a bit of fantasy, that gets into the heads of the boys. Their acting is superb. But I found the movie hard to watch, due to the disturbing subject matter.  After a while I felt I knew what the story was, and I just wanted it to be over. I was bored. It ended abruptly after 92 minutes, but if it had ended after 60 minutes, I would not have missed anything either.

When I was a 12-year-old schoolboy, my German professor (W.I.) once ruminated about the longevity of various types of music. He was a lover of the classics, we all knew, and his point was that the classic composers like Beethoven and Mozart created works that lasted centuries – probably millennia. Pop music on the radio, according to him, would last months in comparison, perhaps a few years.

Well, time has shown that it’s not quite true. Fifty years have gone by, and when I listen to the rendition of Sounds of Silence in the video below I get goosebumps. I am transported back to my youth instantly, and the feelings, the passions and the memories flood back, and I drift in timeless reveries. The Ageless Sounds of Silence will live on at least as long as those of us who listened to it when we were young are still here to testify.

Go on, have some goosebumps!

Norbert Haupt

52 years after it was first released

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Movie Review: Alpha

Set in the last ice age in Europe, a tribe of Cro-Magnon men goes on a hunting trip. Keda, the chief’s son, comes along for the first time. His proud father is teaching him how to hunt, and how to be a man. But during the hunt things go horribly wrong, a buffalo charges Keda and throws him off a steep cliff. The hunting party can only assume he is dead and eventually they leave, the distraught father almost being dragged away by his friends.

Miraculously, the boy survives and must now fend for himself, fight off predators, and somehow find his way home, before winter comes and makes travel impossible. When a pack of wolves attack him,  he barely escapes into a tree, but he injures one of them. The wolf and the boy reluctantly form a bond and protect each other as they try to journey home. He calls the wolf Alpha.

Alpha is a survival movie. We see and feel how prehistoric people lived and survived. The landscape didn’t look like Europe 20,000 years ago to me, but rather more like South Dakota, but that is a minor point. I liked the fact that the tribe didn’t speak English. That would have been too easy and too distracting. They spoke their own language, accompanied by easy to read subtitles. This helped make the film more realistic.

I marvel about prehistory, and how unlikely it was that men survived at all, and how amazing it is that we’re all here today, descendants of these very Cro-Magnon men. If you have ever speculated how humans first started domesticating dogs, this is the movie to watch.

To Tip or Not To Tip

Many foreigners can’t figure out the tipping system in America. I actually like it. Every time I go to another country where tipping is not customary like it is here, I remember why I like it. It just makes customer service better. Going to a restaurant in the United States is by far a different experience from going to a restaurant in a European country, where the waiters are paid “a living wage” to use a Bernie Sanders phrase. The waiters, all too often, simply don’t care, and the service is sloppy and slow. Often the staff is unfriendly and sometimes even condescending.

When a significant portion of your income depends on how the customer feels taken care of, the quality of service goes up.

I believe in tipping, and I usually tip well, but only where the tip has an effect on the service I am getting. I do not believe I should be tipping when there is no direct relationship between the service and the tip.

For instance, I believe in tipping in the following service relationships:

  • Waiters in restaurants – they cater to me, both in making me feel comfortable, providing good advice on the menu, bringing me the food and acting like they want me there. My tip will reward them in proportion to the service. It’s a true interaction.
  • Staff at events – recently we went on a hot-air balloon ride. It takes a whole crew to get a balloon launched and landed safely. The staff works hard and they make the guests feel safe, comfortable, and enhance the experience.
  • Shuttle drivers – from hotels, rental car companies, parking garages to airport terminals, etc. The drivers work hard, they carry my luggage, they drop me off and pick me up when I need them.
  • Doormen – people who hail cars, check your luggage, coats, open your doors, help you in and out of cars.
  • Food delivery people – the pizza man, or anyone bringing food to my house.
  • Installers at my house – Recently we had a fan installed at my house. The installer worked had, cleaned up after himself, and I know he was just a laborer, working for a company. I gave him a generous tip.

I don’t tip in the following service relationships:

  • Hotel housekeeping staff – this is controversial. Many people leave tips on the pillow for housekeepers. I do not, except when I am at a resort for multiple days or a week, and it’s the same housekeeper that cleans up for me day after day. When I spend one or two nights at a hotel, I never see the housekeeper, and I do not create a service relationship. The service is provided in advance according to expectations set. Whether I leave a tip at the end or not does not affect the service. It makes no sense to me.
  • Owners or managers – If I am getting a service from a business owner, say a caterer, and the caterer is the boss, and I am already paying for that service, I do not think I should be expected to tip them.
  • Tip jars at the coffee shop – The servers behind the counter work hard, yes, but what they do is pour a cup of overpriced coffee into a paper cup, put on a lid, and take my money. I don’t believe after paying two dollars for a cup of coffee I should put money into a jar on the counter. These people are doing the minimum necessary to give me my product. I don’t think a tip is appropriate. I ignore the jar.
  • Tip jars anywhere – If someone just sells me something, there is no reason for a tip.
  • Cab drivers – even though I do sometimes tip when I have to give cash to a cab driver, I never like it. They are driving me, for goodness sake. What’s so special. Now I don’t use cabs anymore, I use Uber, and yes, I usually don’t tip Uber drivers.

I am curious if my readers have input into this subject.

 

President Trump has been blowing his own horn about having GDP growth rates of over 4.2%. That is correct, he has.

The chart below (source) shows the U.S. GDP growth rate not adjusted for inflation.

The interesting fact is that Obama shows a growth rate of over 4.2% in six out of the 32 quarters of his presidency. When you look at where he took over – right after Bush’s market crash – he really did inherit a mess, unlike Trump, who came in when things were going swimmingly.

However, Obama’s growth rate, on average, was slower than Bush’s, if you for a moment forget about the crash, and Trump’s.

This has been common knowledge. Obama’s growth or recovery rates were slower than they could have been. I attribute that to his being bent on regulation, both in the financial sector, as well as in energy. I considered him responsible for the health of the citizenry and the long-term health of the globe. I do think that climate change is anthropogenic, and I do believe that Obama took responsible actions. We were paying for it by less than optimal growth rates.

In the end, however, Trump is making claims that he is some superstar of growth, which he is not. Bush’s numbers were better than his, and Obama’s not that much worse.

Date Rate President Average
30-Jun-18 5.44% Trump 4.44%
31-Mar-18 4.58% Trump
31-Dec-17 4.49% Trump
30-Sep-17 4.19% Trump
30-Jun-17 3.85% Trump
31-Mar-17 4.09% Trump
31-Dec-16 3.40% Obama 3.07%
30-Sep-16 2.56% Obama
30-Jun-16 2.30% Obama
31-Mar-16 2.44% Obama
31-Dec-15 2.89% Obama
30-Sep-15 3.45% Obama
30-Jun-15 4.57% Obama
31-Mar-15 5.07% Obama
31-Dec-14 4.42% Obama
30-Sep-14 5.17% Obama
30-Jun-14 4.74% Obama
31-Mar-14 3.22% Obama
31-Dec-13 4.43% Obama
30-Sep-13 3.64% Obama
30-Jun-13 3.01% Obama
31-Mar-13 3.43% Obama
31-Dec-12 3.56% Obama
30-Sep-12 4.27% Obama
30-Jun-12 4.23% Obama
31-Mar-12 4.80% Obama
31-Dec-11 3.65% Obama
30-Sep-11 3.40% Obama
30-Jun-11 3.82% Obama
31-Mar-11 3.83% Obama
31-Dec-10 4.19% Obama
30-Sep-10 4.57% Obama
30-Jun-10 3.99% Obama
31-Mar-10 2.27% Obama
31-Dec-09 0.47% Obama
30-Sep-09 -2.80% Obama
30-Jun-09 -3.06% Obama
31-Mar-09 -1.75% Obama
31-Dec-08 -0.83% Bush 4.64%
30-Sep-08 2.07% Bush
30-Jun-08 2.94% Bush
31-Mar-08 3.11% Bush
31-Dec-07 4.59% Bush
30-Sep-07 4.81% Bush
30-Jun-07 4.60% Bush
31-Mar-07 4.45% Bush
31-Dec-06 5.29% Bush
30-Sep-06 5.51% Bush
30-Jun-06 6.51% Bush
31-Mar-06 6.60% Bush
31-Dec-05 6.47% Bush
30-Sep-05 6.82% Bush
30-Jun-05 6.61% Bush
31-Mar-05 7.06% Bush
31-Dec-04 6.40% Bush
30-Sep-04 6.36% Bush
30-Jun-04 7.04% Bush
31-Mar-04 6.59% Bush
31-Dec-03 6.30% Bush
30-Sep-03 5.23% Bush
30-Jun-03 3.85% Bush
31-Mar-03 3.66% Bush
31-Dec-02 3.86% Bush
30-Sep-02 3.74% Bush
30-Jun-02 2.79% Bush
31-Mar-02 3.02% Bush
31-Dec-01 2.12% Bush
30-Sep-01 2.68% Bush
30-Jun-01 3.42% Bush
31-Mar-01 4.70% Bush

I didn’t grow up as a boy in America, so I didn’t actually know the story of Christopher Robin and his stuffed animals, including the iconic Winnie the Pooh, the donkey Eeyore and of course, the piglet.

Watching this movie has caught me up. It’s a story about the boy Christopher who grew up in the Hundred Acre Wood, access to which is through a magical tree.

The movie is portrayed to be “not just for children” and so The Woman talked me into going to see it with her. Ok, yes, it was heartwarming, not even as corny as I expected it to be, and the acting was actually pretty good.

But I have to say – this is a movie for children – really. It’s about important lessons in life.

Take your kids!

Gail Francis hiked the Pacific Crest Trail and wrote a book about it. Unlike some other books about the same subject that I have read (or partially read), Bliss(ters) is not about driving the demons from the writer’s life. Gail Francis rights in simple prose and just tells her story. As the hike progresses, she describes her experiences, her thoughts, and the ups and downs that inevitably come along during such an epic experience. There are not a lot of superlatives, and there is not a lot of emotional mumbo jumbo.

Gail Francis simply takes us along for the hike, allows us to participate in the highlights, and we are spared the pain, the fatigue, and all the hard parts.

Just fun reading all the way. Here is a small excerpt, telling us about shopping in a store along to trail where there was no a lot of selection:

As I browsed the stunted aisles trying to piece together enough meals to last me a couple days, I noticed that the bags of chips appeared to have all been opened already, and then taped shut. When I asked the cashier about it, she explained that when they drive the chips up the mountain, the pressure change makes all the bags pop, so when they get to the resort, they have to tape them all shut again. She said it sounds like guns going off in the back when they start popping and that it is great fun to have an unsuspecting new person make the drive.

— Francis, Gail. Bliss(ters): How I Walked from Mexico to Canada One Summer (Kindle Locations 1605-1609). Kindle Edition.

Bliss(ters) is the best trail hike book I have read, and I would recommend it to anyone interested in hiking.

Duncan Hunter is the congressman for my district. Despite being indicted for the use of campaign funds for per personal vacations and other uses, and an impending trial (after the election), he is still being favored as the likely winner in the upcoming election.

This is staggering to me. People’s money has been used for personal gain by the congressman. Yet, they still support him? I call this corruption, and I am not willing to tolerate it. But many apparently are.

Regardless of that, I just received this personal (form)letter from the congressman. It shows how one deflects from a scandal with grace. I am actually commending him here:

Our president has shown us how to use bully tactics when he is criticized or attacked. He lashes out like a 5th grader in a school yard. That, in my opinion, makes him look weak and insecure. Pathetic even, considering he is the President of the United States.

In contrast, Congressman Hunter just moves right on with business as usual, and invites his constituents to visit him in Washington and get a tour of the White House. That’s actually elegant, classy, and most likely very effective.

Congressman Hunter, you do not have my vote, but you have my respect for your grace and creativity in a time when there is little of that to be found in politics.

The president spends a quarter of his time in office playing golf, after stating during the campaign that he would not have time to play golf, he’d be too busy working for the country.

Please note that Air Force One costs over $200,000 per flight hour. So when the president travels to Florida, and the trip takes two and a half hours, that’s a half a million dollars each way.

Of course, the plane was just as expensive when Obama and Bush traveled in it. No difference there. But this president has told veterans that we need more cuts to VA programs and we can’t give federal workers COLA raises, because we need to save the nation’s money.

 

Everyone Suddenly Lies

Have you noticed that since the age of Trump, everyone lies.

The entire “main stream media” makes up stores and lies. The journalists at rallies are dishonest and disgusting people. The authors of books are all making up fictitious stories. Former Trump staff members plead guilty to felonies without trials and then make up stories to make the president look bad.

Since about the summer of 2016, everyone is dishonest everyone lies, and only one person tells the truth: Donald Trump.

Yeah, that all makes perfect sense.

So let me get this straight: Two Republican congressmen were charged by the government for felonies. This is what our law enforcement is supposed to do. They have sworn an oath to defend the laws. But our president ridicules the attorney general he himself installed, for doing the job he is supposed to do. He insinuates that Sessions should have obstructed justice because the two congressmen were Republicans at a time the Republican party needs all the votes it can get.

The American people need to know their Justice Department is fair, unbiased and upholds the laws. The president however, makes is blatantly clear that he not only does not care about law and order, but that the laws don’t apply to Republicans (because he needs them) and to him.

This is how a mob boss acts, not an elected official, not an American president, and I, for one, am disgusted.

Randy Morgenson was raised in the Yosemite Valley in the 1950s, where his parents both worked. His father was an avid naturalist, photographer and later tour guide. Of all the places in the world to grow up in, Yosemite must be one of the most fabulous, spectacular and awe-inspiring places to be.

It is therefore no surprise that Randy became a park ranger as soon as he was old enough to serve. He loved the Sierras, the mountains, nature, solitude and serenity. He was the quintessential ranger.

Being a backcountry ranger means getting flown out into the wilderness in the spring by helicopter with supplies, and getting picked up again the fall. I have hiked in the Sierras, so I know its remoteness, its beauty, and – of course – its challenges. In the High Sierras of California, there is still true wilderness. There are places where no human steps for years. This means there is solitude where one can reflect and regain the natural connection to Mother Earth. But there are also dangers everywhere. Most people think of bears and mountain lions, and yes, they are there, but very few people ever see any of them. The true dangers are getting lost without food, water or shelter, being exposed to the sometimes violent and hostile elements at high altitudes with no chance of anyone coming by to help. Or falling in an avalanche, or slipping on an ice field, or stumbling off a cliff, or drowning in a meltwater-swollen creek.

Backcountry rangers are there to assist hikers with advice, or with emergency services, if needed.

The problem for the rangers is that it’s a seasonal job. There is no work to be done in the winter. So who can afford a lifestyle to go away into the mountains every summer at low pay, and then come back in the winter and do something else for gainful employment. Not only is it largely impossible, it’s also hard on relationships or a marriage.

Randy and his wife Judi didn’t have children, exactly for that reason. But over the years, Randy’s love for the mountains eclipsed his relationship with Judi and cracks started to appear in the fabric of their marriage. As the seasons went by, Randy became more and more disillusioned with his life when he was not in the mountains.

The Last Season chronicles Randy’s life and his experiences and reputation as a backcountry ranger over decades. When, one day, Randy doesn’t check in on the radio like he is supposed to, the reader participates in the massive search and rescue effort for Randy launched by the park service.

The Last Season is a riveting book about people who do what they absolutely love to do, and how they live, and die.

Visiting Dana Point

Yesterday we visited Dana Point, a little city on the shores of the Pacific not an hour’s drive away from my home. In my more than thirty years of living in Southern California I have never been to Dana Point before.

After reading Two Years Before the Mast by Richard Henry Dana recently, I have had plans to go and see the location. Richard Henry Dana, with this book, gave Dana Point its name, basically on the grounds of the following passage from the book which I read out loud on the beach to celebrate the occasion:

Coasting along on the quiet shore of the Pacific, we came to anchor in twenty fathoms’ water, almost out at sea, as it were, and directly abreast of a steep hill which overhung the water, and was twice as high as our royal-mast-head. We had heard much of this place from the Lagoda’s crew, who said it was the worst place in California. The shore is rocky, and directly exposed to the southeast, so that vessels are obliged to slip and run for their lives on the first sign of a gale; and late as it was in the season, we got up our slip-rope and gear, though we meant to stay only twenty-four hours.

We pulled the agent ashore, and were ordered to wait for him, while he took a circuitous way round the hill to the Mission, which was hidden behind it. We were glad of the opportunity to examine this singular place, and hauling the boat up, and making her well fast, took different directions up and down the beach, to explore it.

San Juan is the only romantic spot on the coast. The country here for several miles is high table-land, running boldly to the shore, and breaking off in a steep cliff, at the foot of which the waters of the Pacific are constantly dashing. For several miles the water washes the very base of the hill, or breaks upon ledges and fragments of rocks which run out into the sea. Just where we landed was a small cove, or bight, which gave us, at high tide, a few square feet of sand-beach between the sea and the bottom of the hill. This was the only landing-place.

Directly before us rose the perpendicular height of four or five hundred feet. How we were to get hides down, or goods up, upon the table-land on which the Mission was situated, was more than we could tell. The agent had taken a long circuit, and yet had frequently to jump over breaks, and climb steep places, in the ascent. No animal but a man or a monkey could get up it. However, that was not our lookout; and, knowing that the agent would be gone an hour or more, we strolled about, picking up shells, and following the sea where it tumbled in, roaring and spouting, among the crevices of the great rocks. What a sight, thought I, must this be in a southeaster! The rocks were as large as those of Nahant or Newport, but, to my eye, more grand and broken.

Beside, there was a grandeur in everything around, which gave a solemnity to the scene, a silence and solitariness which affected every part! Not a human being but ourselves for miles, and no sound heard but the pulsations of the great Pacific! and the great steep hill rising like a wall, and cutting us off from all the world, but the “world of waters”! I separated myself from the rest, and sat down on a rock, just where the sea ran in and formed a fine spouting horn. Compared with the plain, dull sand-beach of the rest of the coast, this grandeur was as refreshing as a great rock in a weary land. It was almost the first time that I had been positively alone — free from the sense that human beings were at my elbow, if not talking with me — since I had left home. My better nature returned strong upon me. Everything was in accordance with my state of feeling, and I experienced a glow of pleasure at finding that what of poetry and romance I ever had in me had not been entirely deadened by the laborious life, with its paltry, vulgar associations, which I had been leading. Nearly an hour did I sit, almost lost in the luxury of this entire new scene of the play in which I had been so long acting, when I was aroused by the distant shouts of my companions, and saw that they were collecting together, as the agent had made his appearance, on his way back to our boat.

We pulled aboard, and found the long-boat hoisted out, and nearly laden with goods; and, after dinner, we all went on shore in the quarter-boat, with the long-boat in tow. As we drew in, we descried an ox-cart and a couple of men standing directly on the brow of the hill; and having landed, the captain took his way round the hill, ordering me and one other to follow him. We followed, picking our way out, and jumping and scrambling up, walking over briers and prickly pears, until we came to the top.

Here the country stretched out for miles, as far as the eye could reach, on a level, table surface, and the only habitation in sight was the small white mission of San Juan Capistrano, with a few Indian huts about it, standing in a small hollow, about a mile from where we were. Reaching the brow of the hill, where the cart stood, we found several piles of hides, and Indians sitting round them. One or two other carts were coming slowly on from the Mission, and the captain told us to begin and throw the hides down. This, then, was the way they were to be got down — thrown down, one at a time, a distance of four hundred feet! This was doing the business on a great scale.

Standing on the edge of the hill, and looking down the perpendicular height, the sailors “That walked upon the beach appeared like mice; and our tall anchoring bark diminished to her cock; her cock a buoy almost too small for sight.” Down this height we pitched the hides, throwing them as far out into the air as we could; and as they were all large, stiff, and doubled, like the cover of a book, the wind took them, and they swayed and eddied about, plunging and rising in the air, like a kite when it has broken its string. As it was now low tide, there was no danger of their falling into the water; and, as fast as they came to ground, the men below picked them up, and, taking them on their heads, walked off with them to the boat. It was really a picturesque sight: the great height, the scaling of the hides, and the continual walking to and fro of the men, who looked like mites, on the beach. This was the romance of hide dropping! Some of the hides lodged in cavities under the bank and out of our sight, being directly under us; but by pitching other hides in the same direction, we succeeded in dislodging them. Had they remained there, the captain said he should have sent on board for a couple of pairs of long halyards, and got some one to go down for them. It was said that one of the crew of an English brig went down in the same way, a few years before. We looked over, and thought it would not be a welcome task, especially for a few paltry hides; but no one knows what he will do until he is called upon; for, six months afterwards, I descended the same place by a pair of top-gallant studding-sail halyards, to save half a dozen hides which had lodged there. Having thrown them all over, we took our way back again, and found the boat loaded and ready to start. We pulled off, took the hides all aboard, hoisted in the boats, hove up our anchor, made sail, and before sundown were on our way to San Diego.

— Dana, Richard Henry. Two Years Before the Mast; A Personal Narrative (1911): WITH A SUPPLEMENT BY THE AUTHOR AND INTRODUCTION AND ADDITIONAL CHAPTER BY HIS SON (Kindle Locations 2302-2351). Houghton Mifflin. Kindle Edition.

I took a picture of the cliffs Dana is describing. It was still morning, and the marine layer over the coast had not yet cleared, hence the grey sky.

Later, after spending some time walking along the board walk and getting some lunch in one of the seafood places, we drove up the hill, where there are now housing developments with ocean view as far as the eye can see. However, we found the spot where Dana was likely standing when he took the hides off the ox cart and threw them down the cliff like huge Frisbees.

Here is the view from the top:

Moored down in the harbor is the Pilgrim, a full-sized replica of the ship Dana sailed on from Boston in 1835 on the trip he described in Two Years Before the Mast.

This is that the Pilgrim looks like under full sail, which I found on the Ocean Institute’s website. Click on the image to jump to that site for more information.

[picture credit: Ocean Institute]

The Pilgrim moored at Dana Point is a replica of the original ship that was built in 1825 in Boston for $50,000 and designed for shipping back and forth between the American East Coast and California. To do this, they had to sail all the way around Cape Horn, the southern tip of South America. This replica was built in Denmark in 1945. 

I truly enjoyed our visit to Dana Point, tracing some California history, and I strongly recommend reading Two Years Before the Mast, a book for which I gave a four-star review.

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