The layers of Tokyo

Nihonbashi, with freeway above and canal beneath

We didn't go on the fast roads. We saw them, above our heads or beneath high windows, intertwining on concrete stilts. Below the roads are the surface railways, then the residential and commercial streets, some narrow, some wide. The river and its tributary canals are another level of interconnection. Under the surface lies the network of subway stations and underground trains.

Canal dredging under a motorway

Tokyo's houses used to look like this

This is so for most modern cities, Montreal springs to mind, but cramped and crowded Tokyo is a particularly impressive example of how the multiple layers of infrastructure work. Not only that, but the history of the place appears layered too. Concealed or partly concealed beneath one thing is another. Most of what we saw was super-modern, but below the modernity or in hidden corners we caught glimpses of how Tokyo used to be, in the past.

View of Tokyo station from the roof garden of the Kitte building

Yurikamone Line near Daiba station

Fuji headquarters on Odaiba, Tokyo's artificial island

Bank of Japan (built 1896), new skyscrapers beyond it

For all my observation in public places, I could not see below the surface of the Japanese people themselves. They are reserved people who would hesitate to let you penetrate their privacy.

Perhaps the reason the parks of Tokyo are so soothing is that they offer an escape from the multilayered modern city and its complexity. You are at last in a setting that looks relatively natural; even though the layout of the garden is artificially designed. Without distraction, you are free to concentrate on one thing at a time.

In Tokyo's parks and gardens

Think of Japan and you think of trees, the ubiquitous flowering cherry and plum trees of springtime, the brilliant leaves of Japanese maples in autumn, bonsai trees in ceramic pots, cedars towering in forests, bamboo groves and pines cultivated to curve over ponds. They revere their sacred trees. They protect them too, many very young, very small or very large, old trees being neatly bandaged in hessian wraps. I looked this up. It is to protect the trunks and bark against frost bite, sun scald and parasitic insects. In the winters they wrap their most precious or vulnerable trees in straw as well.

In this post I'll try to describe some of the gardens I visited this August in Tokyo. People had warned us about visiting Tokyo this month; because it is so excessively hot out of doors, I thought that the shade of trees would be welcome. It was.

On our first day, Saturday, August 3rd, still jet-lagged and culture-shocked, we headed for the park around the Imperial Palace; this is a wide open space beyond the moat and stone walls and people were finishing a run there, gasping for cold water. The option of queuing in full sun to tour the Palace didn't appeal. Chinese tourists don't mind; they carry parasols. It was already 39°C in the shade but at least we were in the shade when we crossed the road into leafy Hibiya-koen, the location and appearance of which I remembered from my last time in Tokyo --- that had been in February. Pine trees bent over Shinji pond near a corner where ancient burial relics are kept. Pine trees leaned over the water in which were ducks and fish. In one of the park's restaurants a smart wedding was taking place. At the far end four girls pranced and sang (out of tune but with plenty of energy) on a temporary stage, entertaining the crowd.

Cosmos field, Hamarikyu Gardens

More walking through streets between skyscrapers, under motorways, half-heartedly searching for something to replace the clothes in my missing suitcase, in vain, brought us that afternoon to the Hamarikyu gardens, where I'd also been before and had thought lovely. This park, for which we paid a small entrance fee at a discounted rate, is an oasis of quietness in the busy neighbourhood of Shinbashi / Shimbashi and the Shiodome, but we wished it had offered more opportunities to sit down. We did eventually find a bench in some shade, with a fine view of the city and of nearby courting couples, at the summit of a small mound humorously called Fuji San (Mt. Fuji --- I saw the Fuji San in other Tokyo gardens too). Near the entrance is a 300-year-old pine tree, its spreading limbs propped up on multiple crutches. A field cosmos sulphureus was a mass of bright orange, and near the central pond is a newly renovated, thatched tea-house, beautifully put together without nails, inside which the heat was even more intense. Outside we could feel a breeze at least.

Steps up "Fuji San", Hamarikyu Gardens

The following day we headed for another park, the museum district at Ueno. There are shrines here too. This was another place I'd discovered in 2012 that Chris didn't yet know. As I'd anticipated, he liked it as much as I did and even suggested we go back there on our last morning in Tokyo before we flew back to Canada, which we did. On that first weekend we saw a cellist busking by the central walkway, a Westerner, and further along, in contrast, a young man practising his kendo swordsmanship, very Japanese. Near the fountains, we also watched an group of five or six sporty Japanese students practising an energetic and difficult routine with two skipping ropes. Down the hill by the Tokyo zoo is an extensive lotus pond, the Shinobazu Pond; the buds had opened and I was thrilled to see the huge pink flowers among those huge, umbrella like leaves. Another part of the pond is for pedal boats shaped like pink swans, very reminiscent of the scene at Beihai Park in Beijing, where they have the same sort of boats.

At the Fukutoku Shrine, close to our hotel, is a miniature forest garden, complete with a hill, stone steps up it, stepping stones around it, and a freshwater spring. At night, spotlights shine through the undergrowth to illuminate the leaves above, a magical sight. Soothing music is broadcast in the background to go with the sounds made by the water and the leaves in this miniature, urban forest. Although space is scarce in the city, Tokyo citizens often cultivate container gardens on the street and doorsteps round their houses. At the brand new workplace (not yet officially opened) where Chris worked this month, a small botanical garden has been planted all round the front of the building, many of the plants labelled with their Latin names. I also came across a roof garden overlooking the central station, at the Kitte building and a flower shop on Chuo Dori in the business district the other side of the central station, where passers-by are encouraged sit and rest amongst the tropical plants.

Mid-week, on the recommendation of a friend I went to see the much more extensive Meiji-Jingu Shrine. This shrine, dedicated to Emperor Meiji and his wife, has a large inner garden, with a fish pond full of water lilies and a shelter with a thatched roof. Apparently, 100,000 trees were brought here to be planted from all over Japan, a godsend on such a hot day. "Kiyomasa's Well" is a spring from which a little stream flowed towards the pond, deemed to be a sacred place.

On another day, I visited the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden, walking there from Shinjukugyoenmae Station on the Marunouchi Subway Line. Gyoen means Imperial Park (established in 1879 --- before that, it had been a botanical garden since the 18th century). The park had been destroyed by bombs in the 2nd World War and afterwards reconstructed. Long row of "sycamore" trees with benches under them. French / English formal garden at one end, traditional Japanese garden at the other. Woodland around the perimeter. Himalayan cedars, sequoias, a plane tree, etc. were indicated on the map of the gardens. Overlooking one of the ponds was a Taiwan Pavilion built on the occasion of the wedding of the Showa Emperor, and all the ponds featured those Japanese stone lanterns that I find so attractive. Inside the lavish tropical greenhouse, the air felt cooler than the air outside! I also sat in the cafeteria to cool down with a "cake set": a slice of green-tea-coloured, layered cake served on a tray with a glass of fruit juice. for which there was a complicated ordering system involving a ticket machine.

On our second weekend we crossed the Sumida River to see the Kiyosumi Gardens, created in the 19th century. During the Great Earthquake of 1923 and the bombing of Tokyo in 1945 "...this garden saved many lives as an area for refuge." We had been there before, as well. This serene spot has stone lanterns again, and turtles swimming near the stepping stones. There are Buddhist relics in a secluded corner including a stone relief of the Three Wise Monkeys, and a haiku by Matsuo Bashō is carved onto the face of a standing stone near the place where irises grow.

An ancient pond.
A frog jumps in.
The splash of water.

Flying to Japan

San Francisco - Vancouver - Tokyo, July 31st - August 2nd

This was the luxury stretch! One snag though: due to someone's incompetence at the San Francisco airport, my suitcase went missing for five days; it was not so luxurious to manage without a proper change of clothes for that length of time.

Approaching Vancouver

Anyway, apart from that, we had seats near the front again for the evening ride from SFO to YVR (Vancouver) going parallel to the coast, and I in a window seat, which gave me extraordinary views to the east of the semi-dessert terrain in northern California and then of the still snow-capped, isolated mountains of the coastal range in Oregon, their peaks glowing in the semi-light after sunset. This was unworldly scenery. As we descended into the Vancouver area too, my views of the lit up city, the ships anchored in English Bay and the mountains beyond were exciting.

It was in Vancouver that we realised my suitcase, despite its red "priority" label, was not going to show up. Before we could catch a shuttle bus to our hotel for the night, we had to wait at the carousel in vain and then report it, taking a long time. 

The name of the hotel (on Cessna Drive) was The Pacific Gateway, appropriately, but we shall probably not return there; the room was over-priced. Before tackling the Pacific on August 1st, we managed to find a walk along a trail along a bank of the Fraser River, where sweet, fresh blackberries, straight from the bush, supplemented our hotel breakfast; it felt good to get some fresh air, knowing we had a 9-10 hour flight ahead of us: AC3. 

Signature Class, what self-indulgent snobbery it encourages! The Maple Leaf Lounge was full, but was serving plenty of snacks and drinks at its lunch buffet, so we didn't need to line up at an airport Tim Horton's. Priority boarding for that full flight made the departure more tolerable too. I was right to anticipate that the luxury would spoil us on flight AC3; little details make a difference, the deferential "Would you like a glass of champagne, Mrs. Hobbs?" as you settle in to your little den with the comfy bedding and shelf space in the Dreamliner, while trying to work out what all the knobs and switches do to your seat, the complimentary "amenity kits" with their eye shades and black socks, the stainless steel rather than plastic cutlery for your in-flight meals, and the large, clear, modern screen for the map and movies, the noise cancelling headphones. I thoroughly enjoyed wallowing in the novelty of it, although I'm old enough to remember when the standard of Economy Class service on long haul flights used to be quite similar. The map showed a straight line between Vancouver and Tokyo, across the Aleutian Islands. For entertainment I watched two comedy films, learning a good deal about men in the process. 25 Km/H, in German, was about a pair of brothers who decided to fulfil a teenage dream of riding across Germany on their mopeds, each coming to terms with his very male mid-life crisis in the process, and the other was that northern British-humoured comedy about six unemployed men and a boy --- The Full Monty --- starring Robert Carlyle, who also acts the no-good father in Angela's Ashes, a film I happened to watch later on during this trip as well.

In an aisle seat with the cabin windows tinted in changing colours to conceal the view, I saw nothing of the ocean we were flying over. I did succeed in lying flat and getting some sleep, about two hours worth. When we landed at Tokyo it was mid-afternoon on August 2nd.

On the Ginza line train, August 2nd

Immigration in Tokyo was very quick and efficient, but again, the fruitless wait for my suitcase at the carousel. It took an extra hour before we could set off from the airport after helping a novice but sincere and courteous baggage-handling girl fill in the online forms about the shape, size, colour and contents of my case. I used vocabulary she didn't know and she had to get assistance from her superiors. The Japanese take enormous care not to give offence, which I appreciate, and I was given another little amenities kit as a compensatory gift from the airline. Then after clearing customs we had a longish conversation with the man in the railway office who sold us (for cash only, N.B.) our return tickets + extra metro tickets to central Tokyo. It cost us almost 10,000 yen which seems exhorbitant, until you remember that $1 (Canadian) = about 80 yen. We had to change from the Keisei express ("Skyliner") train to the Ginza Line metro at Ueno, not as difficult as I'd feared, but we were tired and hot and didn't know which "gate" to aim for at Mitsukoshimae (三越前) station, our metro stop. It should have been A10; we emerged at one of the other exits and had to use the GPS on Chris' phone, as in the Californian forests, to find our destination. The Mitsui Garden Hotel Nihonbashi Premier was actually not so far off, opposite two enormous skyscrapers, one of which was going to be Chris' place of work. The other (the Nihonbashi-Mitsui Tower, 34 storeys high) was floodlit after dark in the Olympic colours, next year's big event being much on the minds of Tokyo's authorities, obviously; they are getting ready for it already.

The Mitsui Garden Hotel's reception desk is on the 9th floor and our room was on the 12th. In a corner of the lifts are survival kits in case you have the misfortune to get stuck there during an earthquake *. The receptionist, bowing politely, looked askance when we told him we had a booking for 10 nights. I wondered why he felt so sorry for us. The room was in fact pretty small and all the furniture and walls were black, which looked chic, but made it seem smaller. Outside our window was another high wall to look at. There was very little space for our things and no desk, but the bed was comfortable, and during our stay Chris was able to work on his laptop at a small glass table. The pull-out washing line in the shower was useful, my change of clothes being so limited, although the humidity was such that it took a good two days for washed socks to dry, even after rolling them in the towels. 

We arrived Friday. My suitcase finally reached me the following Tuesday evening.

Too befuddled to search far for supper on that first night, we found a narrow Vietnamese eatery hung with pretty lanterns in a nearby side street and enjoyed some comfort food there, perching on high stools. Cash only, once more. It was already dark.

Mitsui Tower, Chuo Ciy, Tokyo

*As far as I could tell from the pictures, the emergency kit contains food and drink, a portable toilet, a first aid kit, a set of dominoes to play with, a blanket and a fan.

Leaving California

Written Wednesday, July 31st

Chris has to work for four or five hours before we leave, and we have checked out of the Country Inn Motel, so now I have to mark time. I'm writing this on the seat with the cushions by the magnolia bush in this photo.

It has been really pleasant staying here! Today we take an evening flight to Vancouver, stay near the airport overnight and tomorrow continue our journey to Tokyo. Some of the young engineers we met last night will also be in Tokyo by the time we get there. I sat at a long dining table with 11 men; none of us, as Chris pointed out, born anywhere near this place. The one who spoke German was from Slovenia; Geoff (who'd arranged Chris' visit) is from New Zealand and lives in Japan, speaks fluent Japanese and has a Japanese wife. There were three Japanese gentlemen as well and one from somewhere near Basel in Switzerland (who showed me his Alpine mountaineering photos). Four others were from various parts of India. The one sitting beside me grew up speaking a rare language, the dialect of his village in southern India.

Later ...
I'm going to be hanging around in coffee shops in the local area until Chris pings me to tell me he has finished work. There aren't as many nearby coffee shops as I'm used to in Ottawa. The San Antonio "Village" (planned in 2013) at the intersection of San Antonio Road and El Camino Real is as yet incomplete, with many properties available for lease or still under construction. At present it is mostly the vast parking lots that are occupied, with vehicles. Anyway, I am presently plugged in to one of the line of sockets at the corner Starbucks here. I'm in Mountain View on this side of San Antonio. Before getting here I had a wander round the residential streets west of San Antonio in Palo Alto, getting nowhere because of the crescents, ovals and uncrossable Caltrain line, but appreciating the attractive houses and quiet, well established gardens with their enormous trees, succulents and flowering bushes, many roses among them. The smell of pine needles pervaded. I happened upon a small grassy park with a sandpit and swings inhabited almost entirely by older couples playing with their small grandchildren and calling out to them in Chinese. There was one fair haired young mother with her child, looking awkward and out of place in this crowd. It is much the same in our son's neighbourhood in Australia.  Silicon Valley clearly has a huge population of Asian people, although the busses post notices in English and Spanish. We were served our breakfast by a lady from Cambodia and the restaurant next door was Vietnamese. A multicultural place indeed. The quiet streets could have been Latin American, Mediterranean or Australian. They also reminded me of North Carolina. In Monroe Park, described above, I sat on a bench decorated with a memorial to

Sean Christopher Perry A Renaissance Man From All Who Love Him

I was touched by that. We need Renaissance Men in this world.

For lunch, I'm going to see if I can find some soup at the Thai restaurant we walked past the other day.

A few hours in San Francisco

Palms outside the Oracle

On Tuesday, I decided to take the Caltrain to San Francisco. I'd been there before, in 2012, on a bart train from the other direction (from Richmond). This time, staying in Los Altos, all I needed to do was get on a No. 22 bus from the Los Altos bus stop at the Garden Inn, and stay on it till the terminus again at Palo Alto station (where I could catch the train). I'd taken the same bus the previous day on my way to Stanford University. I found the ticket machine at the station confusing and didn't buy the correct ticket to take me through three zones, paid less than I should have, but the ticket inspector let me off with a caution. I enjoyed the ride, the smart young boy (aged 8 or so) on the other side of the carriage keeping up a non-stop conversation with his dad who was taking him out for the day; the boy commented intelligently on everything he noticed, mostly to do with the trains. Interestingly he had nothing to say about some extraordinary, graffiti-style artwork we passed along one section of the line; it didn't enter his consciousness. The suburbs of San Francisco are non-stop too, not a break in the buildings the whole length of Silicon Valley. One community ("city") that seemed to be worth exploring one day was Burlingame, with its striking Spanish architecture in the area near the station and many trees. Soon thereafter we passed SOUTH SAN FRANCISCO, THE INDUSTRIAL CITY, as it said in big white capital letters stuck on the hillside. It looked like an industrial wasteland to me. I wasn't expecting the wild, bare mountainous area that appeared on our left between there and San Francisco proper, a conservation area presumably. On the right hand side of our tracks was an extensive container port. The train having been held up at one of the stations, we were half an hour late getting into the Caltrain station at San Francisco. From there, reusing the street map I'd found at home, I walked straight to the street by the waterfront, the Embarcadero. The first thing I found there was the baseball stadium, Oracle [ball]Park, with tall palm trees standing beside it.

Park on the Embarcadero, business district behind it

The Embarcadero is a a Tsunami Evacuation Route, by the way, awareness of which made me nervous, perhaps unnecessarily. I enjoyed taking photos of the sculpture, Bay Bridge, buildings at sea level and on Rincon Hill, the parks and boats, and reading the historic plaques; this is a worthwhile walk. One plaque told me about the large number of Chinese people who migrated to America in the 1870s: "

Many white workers held anti-Chinese views because of perceived competition over jobs. In 1877 a mob of unemployed workers set fire to the Pacific Mail docks in an act of aggression towards the Chinese. Not long after, the United States passed the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act [...] not repealed until 1943.

Another plaque said that the Port of San Francisco was "the strategic center of world trade," with a map to prove it. I found a great place for lunch too, the Delancey Street Restaurant, staffed by people who are "rebuilding their lives" (I was served a grilled cheese sandwich and soup by a very polite and friendly black waiter) with a view of the bridge from its flowery patio. Recommended!

There's a famous piece of art called Cupid's Span near there, a giant bow and arrow stuck in the grass. Further along the seafront is a series of Piers, counting down to Pier 1, the Ferry Building being the most impressive piece of architecture in this district. Streetcars run along the Embarcadero with their tracks in the middle of the cobbled roadway. I made my way back through the business district, Market Street, 1st Street, 2nd Street, etc. to the Caltrain station on 4th Street, the tall buildings of different ages reminding me of Chicago.

The Bay Bridge with a ferry boat

Ferry Building on the Embarcadero

Bike lane on 2nd Street

At Stanford

Gum trees at Stanford

On Monday July 29th, I took the No. 22 bus down El Camino Real to Palo Alto station, the last stop, which was easy enough, except that the driver had braked suddenly on the way there, jolting his passengers. I grazed my knee on the seat in front — lucky I had a band-aid in my purse. I entered the campus through an arch then walked down the bike path beside Palm Drive. As well as that long row of palms, I couldn't help noticing the clumps of tall eucalyptus with their bare, golden trunks: their sight and distinctive smell took me straight back to the grounds of Macquarie University on the edge of Sydney, Australia, close to where my son lives; that made me feel happy, for a start. Back in the 19th century, the founder of the university, Leland Stanford, had 1000 eucalypts planted, and here they still are. The only element missing from this incongruous scene was the cry of parrots or kookaburras, although I did see an occasional California scrub jay, with blue head, back and tail.

I had a map with me — a screen shot from Google Maps that I'd printed at home — and aimed for the campus art gallery where I discovered that it didn't open till 11 a.m. but there's a sculpture garden accessible outside. Someone here has been obsessed with collecting Rodin's sculptures. I have never seen so many at once. Here are his full size Gates of Hell, with the (famous) Thinker in miniature at the top. (If you ask Google for a cartoon version of The Thinker, you get 11,700,000 links.) The Thinker in his original full size, is also to be found inside the gallery, where he has a room to himself, as I discovered later in the day. I was also impressed with Rodin's Adam and Eve, standing pensively naked beside the Gates of Hell, and by the huge head of one of the self-sacrificial Burghers of Calais (Pierre de Wissant).

Jane Stanford

To pass the time till the Gallery opened, I walked on into the centre of the campus, where the 87 m tall Hoover Tower (in honour of President Hoover who'd studied at Stanford and was a generous donor to its history department) dominates. The architecture all around is very hispanic. The Romanesque Memorial Church was built by Stanford's wife Jane to commemorate him after his death. Inside, it's a European cathedral, opulently decorated. The Stanfords must have been rich beyond measure. Long, shady cloisters and spacious courtyards with lovely trees and flowerbeds surround the main buildings. The story of the university's origins is tragic and touching. Leland Stanford Junior, a handsome youngster, had died in his teens, and his parents founded the university to give other young people the education they wished he'd had. I wandered around this part of the campus with my mouth agape, whispering Wow! to myself and taking photos. Families of Chinese tourists were doing likewise. The younger ones probably wanted to enrol or were perhaps already enrolled in a student programme here. I also noticed ambitious American fathers bringing their sons or daughters along to be inspired by these surroundings to the extent that they'd want to apply for a place here. I feared for the future of one such child, only about 10 years old, whom I observed in the bookstore, miserably disengaged, his eager father prodding him to buy a guidebook to the university. Actually Stanford is not one of the Ivy League schools, although still highly selective and prestigious.

Island Universe, by Josiah McElheny

In the art gallery, cool in contrast to the outside world on this hot day, was a wealth of exhibits, a painting in 2006 by a Chinese artist, Liu Xiaodong, for example, called A Highway by the Yangzi. One installation by Josiah McElheny (2008) explored the concept of the multiple universes in the cosmos. Still thinking of the dreadful images in Rodin's Gates of Hell, outside, I found a painting of The Last Judgement by Hieronymus Bosch and his students, another interpretation of damned souls. A 17th century painting of a woman called Maria, by Pieter Nason of den Haag, was more likeable. One item in the collection was an impressionist painting by Picasso, executed in his early days.

A Concert hall, a Visitors' Centre, a solar power station and multiple sports facilities are also to be found on the campus. It's an amazing place. On my walk back towards Palm Drive I discovered the Arizona Garden, full of exotic cacti.

*****

That evening, after Chris' first day at work in Palo Alto, I was invited to join the whole team for a grilled supper in a new restaurant at the San Antonio Center (sic) or "Village". It took us ages to park and find our way through the parking lots to the venue. We were at a table for 10 men and me, not one of us a true-born Californian. Geoff, the man in charge that evening, is a New Zealander who lives in Tokyo; Chris and I are English born Canadians; the others, software engineers all, come from Slovenia, Switzerland, India and Japan. This may well be a gathering typical of the Silicon Valley.

A drive to the Pacific coast

The road through San Gregorio

On Sunday 28th July, the day after our arrival in California, we got lost several times, up and down the winding roads. Along the Arastradero Road in Los Altos to start with, then up Page Mill Road, and then effectively in circles, losing our sense of direction in the forests of the Palo Alto foothills, with their steep sided coniferous slopes down to the creeks. In the end we gave up trying to follow the inadequate paper map and resorted to the GPS app. on the phone. That took us back almost to where we'd begun, so we tried again, along Portola Road up Portola Valley to the Skyline Boulevard where it joins La Honda Road. There are "rustic redwood cabins" at this junction, selling stuff, but the Mountain Terrace restrooms were closed, so to Chris' chagrin we had to move on, following a convoy of low-slung vintage cars. Bikers were also much in evidence but rode off in another direction. We followed La Honda Creek downhill to San Gregorio which consisted of very few habitations and no restrooms until we reached the parking lot at the beach: $8 well spent for the time we spent at this spot! The first thing you see is the magnificent view of Highway 1 snaking its way down the cliffs to the San Gregorio State Beach and San Gregorio Lagoon, with the Pacific Ocean beyond it flanked by the long, sandy shore. The lagoon is a "fish nursery" protecting young fish from the ocean. You start taking photos with enthusiasm. The next thing you notice, with a gasp of alarm, is the long mottled snake that wriggles out from under the picnic table in the grass above the lagoon, at your approach. I thought this was a rattlesnake, at first, but (having looked it up) I now believe it was a gopher snake. Chris said, it's called a gopher because, if you tread on it, it will go for you. Oh dear. But they are considered harmless to humans.

Gopher snake?

Once at the beach, I took my shoes and socks off and set off walking to Australia. The waves that rolled in over my bare feet were freezing cold so I didn't get very far. Further out were sizeable breakers. A few would-be surfers in wetsuits were gazing dreamily at them, but spent a long time getting into the water and didn't surf. I kept the warm find sand under my toes and climbed the dunes against the cliffs to take photos of the wildflowers for my botanist sister. Latin American fishermen stood hopefully with fishing rods on the shore. Mist obscured the distant cliffs. Kelp with dried out bladders (pneumatocysts) had got tangled in the driftwood, with shells and stones, creating intricate pieces of natural sculpture. We sat on a bleached log to enjoy the views and the breeze for a while before walking back to the car. A Muslim family, the ladies wearing full burqas, carried their picnic and pushchairs over the sandy rocks down to the beach.

Nasturtiums in Half Moon Bay

We drove on down Highway 1 (passing some more dramatic views of the cliffs) to Half Moon Bay for lunch, which we parked on Main Street and walked on to find at the Ark North Indian Cuisine on our way to the town centre. Half Moon Bay is an attractive and interesting place to stop, with bougainvillea, camelias and cacti in the gardens, not unlike coastal towns we've seen in New South Wales. Where the road bridge crosses a creek in a ravine, nasturtiums have rampaged over the undergrowth in a mass of colour. In 1906 a shocking earthquake of magnitude 7.9 destroyed most of Half Moon Bay's adobe houses, but a man called Joseph Debenedetti made a vow to rebuild the town, reinforcing its important structures with steel, and he did. There's a memorial to him here.

On the faster drive back to Los Altos, we passed numerous rose-growing farms by the San Mateo Road and then the Crystal Springs reservoir in the hills above Silicon Valley. We were hoping to drive down Canada Road along the left hand side of the lake, but it was closed to traffic on that day. I should have spelled that name Cañada, which is the Spanish word for glen.