Rain, Wind, Ocean: Santa Cruz

One of the pullovers designed to advertise Santa Cruz in a surfers store said it: wind in the air, salt in my hair. I almost fell for it. It associates a pleasant feeling that I can hardly give up: Ocean or the sea-induced happiness. The sticky-salty-pretty-feeling.

The rain in the area was relentless, almost made me give up the long-desired, long-postponed trip to Santa Cruz. People kept telling me that I’d love it and why not? Someone told: Oh, imagine Berkeley by the ocean. Well, I did and I know how rich the combinations of quality-life can get only better.

Granted that I am willingly romanticizing here. I know two people who are teaching and studying there and their daily schedules are so full that they can hardly go outside of the department let alone enjoying the Pacific Avenue, which is full of quirky, local, alternative shops and restaurants.

The ocean is quite mesmerizing by itself although the beach seemed deserted by people except some homeless-looking guys. To tell the difference between the surfers and the homeless in some very specific cases can be challenging. Some people love Rasta and baggy style. Sticky hair, baggy clothes, loud and reckless manner in speech.

I took a long walk by the ocean at around 2.30 pm, spotted only two surfers in the water.  I had spotted more swimmers in the Bay during my break at Ghirardelli store, the one with the view. Maybe it was the heavy rain, which whole California was longing for. Nobody but the tourists complained and when they did, I heard mild objections more than once: please, we were so desperate for the rain. We have been going through the worst drought in hundreds of years.

It is not fair to describe UCSC in this entry. I only took a ring-bus tour and focused on the beautiful forest, the tall redwood trees more than the buildings or the ambiance of the campus with people. The students are students, they all looked very young and busy with their own lives. I am a ghost in these trips I take, maybe with the exception of the homeless, every single person is busy and following her/his life schedule in the best possible ways. How many times in my lifetime do I get to act like this ghost and simply observe people, take notes and pictures of things (ranging from bumper stickers to fall leaves in colors)? Unless I become a full-time writer, I cannot enjoy that. The traveling ghost has to die soon and the person with a bunch of responsibilities and with an unending to-do list surfaces again and join the majority. Then, you die. Crush, boom, bang... Lucia’s stepmother always said: I rest when I die. She never took a break. Marriage, kids, jobs, housework, farm work.... She is dead now. I hope she is enjoying her rest wherever she is.

The ocean, the real ocean, reminds me of the circle of death and life more than the Mediterranean. Maybe it is the dramatic tide or maybe it is surfers who are willingly putting their lives at risk against the giant waves. The slipperiness of oceans, not being able to touch the ground has something to do with it too. 

The ride back to San Francisco was still rainy but so green and thrilling. The thrill was because my dear-friend/driver drove recklessly, it felt like surfing on the slippery asphalt, zigzagging between the different sizes of vehicles. She was late to her meeting in San Francisco and she only had three hours of sleep the night before. She skipped lunch for sure, you could tell in the way she gobbled the energy bar from her backpack. There is a theory that some drivers take their rage on other issues from the wheel by transforming into a traffic monster. My friend is not one of them. She was only and purely angry. She turned the radio's volume up to listen to the news on Ferguson-triggered protests around the country. She attended many protests and had many friends who are either harassed and beaten by the police or got sick because of the generously sprayed tear-gas. She is frustrated and even has been thinking of quitting the city from time to time. But she cannot. She is one of the most politically committed people I have ever met and will risk her own health and life before she gives up living in San Francisco. She is also upset that the major mainstream media (such as San Francisco Chronicle) is hardly reflecting the extent of the protests. Sounds familiar to my Turkish ears? Can her emotions be related to a feeling of belonging together with the love of a city? Public protests can be curious phenomena.  During the Gezi events in Istanbul, the protesters were fighting for a city in the manner that you would fight to save a lover.  There were reports of visitors or tourists being part of it too, and getting a big kick out of it. BUT were they truly committed or just excited and wanted to be a part of the collective excitement? Maybe that is something that I can relate to and speculate further. I attended meetings of anti-eviction movement led by her, I witnessed people’s frustrations, even carried a banner in a demonstration at Golden Gate Panhandle chanting "stop the flip" among other catchy phrases.

The thoughts slip and surf. Even in Santa Cruz, while walking on a beautiful deserted beach, you cannot stop your thoughts surf clumsily. Fortunately, I know the secret to keep sane: it is all about the balance! Both salt and wind in my hair made me look like a witch but I am not going to wash it until I land Istanbul. 30 more hours.