by Eileen Le Guillou
After two flights and a leisurely drive through Monterey, Carmel and a visit to the Frank Lloyd Wright house, I was eager to arrive in Big Sur. The picturesque towns on the way looked freshly manicured and glossy but I had been dreaming of the wilderness. After 8 months in the city with no more than a few weekend trips away, I was desperate for nature and quiet the way you might crave a massage for a sore neck. I had read accounts of Big Sur from Henry Miller to Jack Kerouac and dreamt about seeing what they saw.
The landscape transformed dramatically as I approached Big Sur. After 30 miles weaving through high, dense woods and steep mountain cliffs I made it to my home for the next three days - the New Camaldoli Hermitage - a silent Benedictine Monastery. The drive in off of Highway 1 was two, winding miles up the cliffs.
I pulled in to the grounds and instantly felt like I entered into complete serenity. The first thing I noticed was the smell - flowers and trees that I couldn’t identify but that reminded me of my childhood summers in Brittany in France. My most enchanting childhood memories are of the outdoors - swimming in the ocean, roaming solo through the woods to find fairies, sitting by myself at the mast of my family’s sailboat so I could feel the water splash on me, playing with horses and kittens on our family friend’s farm. I felt so grateful to have these memories and surprised to find this new place was more beautiful and magical than I could have imagined.
The compound was clean and full of kindness with little cabins overlooking a lush garden and I felt the compulsive need to document all of it. I picked up a book from the shelf but the sunset was too beautiful. It was silent. I fell asleep at 9:30pm dreaming about my hike the next morning through the woods and wild flowers and beach.
The five hour hike did not disappoint. Later that day I discovered a hidden waterfall and some wild looking trees.
I explored some of the recommended spots around Big Sur but eventually found my way to the local dive without pretense or the anxieties of traveling families. A born and raised Big Sur-ian named Eli picked a bay leaf from a tree in the back yard, crumpled it up and handed it to me to smell. I’ve cooked with many a bay leaf but I’d never experienced their fresh, intoxicating, sweet scent. He told me stories about living on camp grounds for years of his life, his adopted baby raccoon, the intelligence of the native birds.
Excited to retreat once again to my monastery, I returned right before sunset and took another walk around the grounds. That night I wrote a little diary entry:
“This place is too beautiful to process. I can see my shadow in moonlight. Sunset, mountains, ocean and now a full sky of stars and all I hear is the steady flow of the ocean miles below. It smells like sweet perfume flowers. The air is chilly enough so I can cozy up in my cashmere and wool jacket. And my skin feels slightly burnt enough so I feel warm and drowsy, my body is tired from hiking ten miles. I am so happy. I even smell the musky woody oil I tried on yesterday at a gift shop lingering on my soft sleeve. ”
On my last morning I woke before sunrise and I walked to the Eastern-most point to watch the sun rise over the mountains. The land looked so untouched it made it easy to picture the planet without a single human. I sat for hours mediating - no reading, no writing. By 10am the sun was high and hot. I pulled myself away by noon to gear up for the long drive down to visit friends in LA and said goodbye to the trees and birds and bunnies, until next time. On my flight home a week later I reflected - the rich oasis I had found in LA on my last few trips was overshadowed by the magic of Big Sur.
xx Eileen
