Traveler's Translations

During the July 4th holiday weekend, Belinda and I visited the family cabin at Mount Hermon. About two hours drive west of our home in Stockton, the Santa Cruz mountains are familiar territory to me. I have been a tourist to the region many times and have faint memories stretching back to early childhood when the family visited the beaches of Santa Cruz and Capitola. But, places change, and this region is heavily touristed by visitors from all over the world. During this trip we took in the Pancake Breakfast at the volunteer fire station in Ben Lomond, where I saw this van with a fender encrusted with lichen. We also had two less than desirable restaurant experiences, the inspiration for this blog. During a dinner with my 89 year old uncle in Pacific Grove, we ate at the famous Fish Wife Restaurant. Unfortunately, the menu was replete in deep fried fish of one sort or another, a capitulation no doubt to visitors unable to appreciate the finer experiences of good fresh fish. The wine list was weak, but I settled upon what appeared to be a promising entree--Blackened Fish. The menu describe three filets of different fish, for the price of $22-. I made a mistake. I must of have misread the deeper meaning of the menu--the plate turned out to be three tiny greasy fried cuts of meat. Since it wasn't blackened, I complained to the waiter. The menu described the dish as Cajun Blackened Fish, but this was anything but that. So, I chose a linguini and shellfish plate as a substitute, a plate which was OK, even if smothered in a horribly cheesy cream sauce. As far a may experience was concerned, the original Fish Wife was no more, but no traveler could divine this from the menu. To return to an upbeat mood, we walked the dog at Pebble Beach--his first experience ever with the sea. The second disappointment was at a place in downtown Santa Cruz called Soufit. The place has a great wine shop and bar, but we must have arrived too early. A table was open immediately and we sat down. The menu appeared simple at first: small plates, appetizer, and entrees. But, then I had discovered the language problem of what exactly was the difference between a "small plate" and an "appetizer" because nothing on the menu spelled that out for me. The waitress wasn't much help. She knew nothing about the wines that could be verbalized to me, but we were all in a good mood and knew that both the food and wine would be good regardless of what we ordered. Then, the menu tricks appeared. The "small plates" and "appetizers" were indeed small. Three smelt were placed on three little crackers, and on another plate, about eight very thin cheviche style mahi mahi were the attraction--the total for both dishes? Twenty dollars! Shockingly, the entree dishes were hardly better. I had about 10 wonderfully cooked nickel sized slices of duck dribbled with a blueberry sauce. The taste was wonderful, but the portion was simply to small to be considered hardly fair. The traveler was caught and the joke was on him for failing to understand the menu. Needless to say, I left Soufit hungry, even though I did stop to buy six bottles of Spanish and German wine at the shop. At least the shop keeper sales person was an inspiration, and the prices weren't out of this world, or were they? We walked the streets of Santa Cruz at night windowshopping, discussing what were the responsibilities of travelers and hosting restaurants. But at this point, I find myself feeling somewhat ashamed for discussing such issues within the context of one of the world's wealthiest neighborhoods. I returned home and posted VT images and text, and then received the news of member Kinga_freespirit's death from malaria in Ghana. I browsed her website--the scenes from the funeral were there. I browsed further into her image base for Africa--the scenes of her communications with African women and children, with Ivory Coast rebels, and with UN Peacekeeping troops in Liberia. Kinga wasn't a journalist nor diplomat, but a traveler. This Polish born wanderer of the world had attempted to translate life as it was in this region, but could not translate herself out of the scourge of malaria. How are we to measure her life? View her images at www.kingafreespirit.pl and you translate the experience.