Carmel, Day 2

I notice that at the end of yesterday’s entry, I slipped unconsciously into the use of that old-fashioned word, “owner.” Like many animal lovers these days, I have always been uncomfortable with that word, and it seems to me quite inappropriate when it comes to George. I don’t feel that I “own” him. He’s a free spirit, who allows us the privilege of taking care of him, even as he brings extraordinary gifts into our lives. Even though he remains dependent on us for the smallest things, like preparing his food and picking up his poop when need arises, he does not appear to regard these efforts as any great favor, but simply what we humans are there to do for dogs.

Anyway, back to Carmel, where we spent a reasonably comfortable night despite our fears, and enjoyed a modest breakfast with George in the hotel lobby. It’s amazing to be sharing space with numerous dogs, all of whom seem to get along remarkably well. George, it must be admitted, suffers from a slight Napoleon complex: he’s a little chap, in stature if not in heart, and he sometimes—well, often—needs to prove his doghood with others of his species with a little aggressive lunge and a few good yaps. Once he gets to know them, though, he’s friendly enough. It’s just a matter of establishing his street cred.

Carmel, I have to say, is about the dog-friendliest place you could imagine. Dogs everywhere. George especially appreciates the fact that he’s allowed on the long beach off-leash, free to prance about with all the other dogs, as nature intended. Where his ball is in play, however, he is intent: not even an earthquake, let alone a few other four-legged creatures, could deter him from the task at hand. Which brings me to this morning…

After breakfast, Ellie and I decided to split up—amicably, I hasten to add: she wanted to spend time in the shops, in particular to find something to protect her from the unexpected chill that is permanently in the air here in Carmel. I, on the other hand, chose the beach with George.



We parted company, and George and I enjoyed a great walk down by the water’s edge whilst Ellie did her shopping, returning to the hotel in time to do what I had promised myself not to do: make a blog entry. I guess I’m addicted. Actually, I had started a simple journal earlier in the day, and it occurred to me, with a half hour to spare before Ellie returned, that it was almost silly to write the journal and not include a few pictures and post it as a blog. Here's Ellie, by the way, reading the first installment.


So I did it. I can’t swear that it will continue, but at least I got a start.

A wander around the streets of Carmel brought us finally to a grocery store around lunchtime, where we bought a couple of so-so sandwiches and ate them in the pleasant surroundings of one of the city’s many picturesque court-yards. Then back to our hotel to check out and move in to the new one. A tiny, tiny room, which George had no trouble in appropriating...


... and definitely a lot quieter and more pleasant--a great place for a welcome nap...


and a couple of hours with a book. I’m reading the new Alan Furst novel, “The Spies of Warsaw.” (If you haven’t yet encountered Alan Furst, I’d certainly recommend him as an excellent read. While the genre is a blend of historical novel, spy novel and thriller, his books are set at the periphery of the great historical events in Europe that led up to World War II—a period that he captures in all its complexity with an amazing eye and ear for detail.)

A late afternoon stroll, then,


and an early dinner (again, with George) at Nico’s, a restaurant with a fine Mediterranean menu and a quiet back court festooned with bougainvillea.


Our waiter was a young man who had arrived in the United States from Bosnia during the troubles there, and who spoke utterly unaccented English—though he could, when called upon, also revert to the perfect Bosnian accent. Very charming. We shared a roasted garlic appetizer with crisp Tuscan bread, an arugula salad, and a tagliatella dish with Bolognese sauce. George had to make to with a few crumbs he found scattered under the table.

And finally, a walk back down to admire the beach at sunset...


... where George was deeply disappointed in us to learn that we had neglected, this time, to bring a ball.