A hilltop chapel in Paso Robles, California. Photo / Getty Images
Sadie Beckman gets a taste for the relaxing life in California
Halfway between frenetic Los Angeles and bustling San Francisco lies part of California where the pace is more of a stroll.
Both a coastal and rural lifestyle exist in this place, a blend of earth, sea, history and agriculture that is home to creative industries and people.
It is wine country, wildlife country, space-to-breathe country.
San Luis Obispo County, aptly nicknamed "SLO", covers some 9300km of southern California. With a population just slightly more than that of Wellington, it is the kind of place where people say hello to each other, artisans abound, and the cellar doors, farmers' markets and art studios characterise a region that wants to live the good life.
With a few days up my sleeve to experience the SLO way of doing things, I got my priorities straight and headed to a winery. This was California after all.
Ancient Peaks is part of the enormous Santa Margarita ranch in the historic central coast town of the same name. Tucked against the Santa Lucia mountains near Paso Robles, the winery is owned by three local, longstanding winemaking families who still work the land and vines.
One of the owners, along with the winery's chef, joined me and several other visitors on an off-road tour of the ranch in a special ex-army vehicle. Bumping up dusty ranch tracks through the hot, dry landscape we met some of the ranch's huge beef cattle and saw clusters of tiny hummingbirds buzzing like bees around the trees. Further up the hillside, actual beehives were surrounded by electric fencing to keep bears out, and we were shown where a drinking trough had to be fixed down more securely after ranchers had spotted two grizzlies taking a bath in it one hot day. Edible plants and herbs were the chef's passion, and he pointed out a surprising number in the arid landscape. Afterwards, back in the cool winery, we enjoyed an exquisite lunch incorporating some of the elements he had shown us on the tour, plus other produce from the ranch, and, importantly, the delicious wines made from grape varieties that thrive in the area's distinctive soil.
Although it was hard to leave such delicious relaxation, nearby Paso Robles beckoned, and walking off lunch around its leafy park and quiet streets was another treat. Paso felt like a community that takes pride in itself, and it showed in the friendly greetings of locals and the welcoming shops, many of which sold arts, crafts and organic products. A highlight was Studios On The Park, where a large, open-plan space houses different artists who work and exhibit onsite, as well as teaching and educating. Local school children visit and take part in art activities, and the inclusive, not-for-profit ethos is something that should exist in every town.
Later, as a warm California evening fell, I was a dinner guest at Summerwood Winery, where the most picturesque dining table had been set up on a lawn overlooking the vines, beneath trees strung with fairy lights. In true SLO style, all the ingredients for the meal were local and seasonal, sourced from nearby producers and a farmers' market by the chef. Matched with local wines, it was a delight.
Moving closer to the coast, towards the end of the next day, I found myself in circumstances that differed quite considerably to the hazy summer countryside of the wineries I had visited. Standing in dense fog and darkness on a quiet street, I could hear the mournful bark of sea lions. They sounded so close I would have believed they were making their way towards me in the haze, like apparitions, instead of lying on the rocks just off a nearby beach. Car headlights appeared, diffused like a watercolour, and when the vehicle passed, it was enveloped again almost immediately. This was a real humdinger of a California sea fog, and I was on a back street in the small coastal settlement of Morro Bay.
Arriving somewhere at night in a pea-souper is very disorientating. You have no way to get your bearings, and all the sounds and senses of being somewhere completely different are more pronounced. It felt eerie, so I headed to my motel, hoping the morning would reveal more about this new destination.
Hours later, the sun stole into my room and Morro decided to shed its cloak and show its face properly. Quaint in a nautical way, Morro Bay in the daytime turned out to be a lively and vibrant town, with a wharf of tarred timber and a row of shops and restaurants overlooking the water.
Tourists and locals had emerged from wherever they had been hiding the night before and were strolling, shopping and delighting in watching the families of sea-otters which carelessly tumbled and splashed just off shore. Pelicans perched on old, sea-worn timber and I could spot the sea lions now, draped over rocks like enormous slugs, their barking chatter continuing as a permanent aural backdrop. The bay was large and calm, with waves visible out beyond the rocky reaches, and the SLO vibe permeated once more. Overlooking everything was the looming Morro Rock, a volcanic "plug" connected to the mainland by a causeway, and protected as a reserve and place of significance to the Salinan people, the area's original tribal inhabitants.
Getting closer to the watery action was on the day's agenda, and kayaks were to be the method, so I joined a group of visitors from China, Japan, Brazil and Italy and we hit the water in double-seaters. Surprisingly, I was the only person who seemed to know their way around a paddle, and so my boat led an otherwise motley and directionally-challenged fleet out to a moored jetty that housed the Morro Bay Oyster Company. Here we were met by a paddle-boarding man with a fabulous Californian drawl, who literally plucked oysters from the water around us, sliced up a lemon and served them to us on the spot. Considering I have always thought eating oysters is similar to swallowing mucus, they were actually delicious. After an equally uncoordinated return journey in the kayaks, the group made it back to dry land without incident, and retired to dinner at Windows on The Water, an iconic spot in Morro Bay with a self-explanatory name. The stand-out dish was delicious fresh-caught Pacific Ahi (tuna) served rare and seared.
Walking back along the waterfront later, I spotted the otters again. They looked so contented floating on their backs or play-fighting in the water. The good-natured creatures seemed an appropriate mascot for a place where taking the time to enjoy life is an unspoken rule. SLO certainly puts its best foot forward for visitors and tourists, but I got the sense it was genuine and that people who live there not only know how good they've got it, but want to share too. While the political tribulations of their country continue, they are protective of their enclave — a lifestyle that pushes back against a wider society that seems hellbent on wanting more and wanting it faster. A bumper sticker I saw on a beaten up old car parked in Morro Bay's main street summed it up nicely — a spoofed Trump slogan that read "Make America Grateful Again". And if anywhere can lead by example and instill a feeling of gratitude, I'd wager SLO can.
SAN LUIS OBISPO COUNTY
Getting there United Airlines flies daily to San Francisco from Auckland.
Online VisitCalifornia.com
Holiday home owners fear angry people will show up at their door demanding money.