Monterey was an experience. Fifteen or so student journalists on their own in sunny (but surprisingly cold) California.
After checking in to our motel, we had out first class meeting, outlining the usual rules as far as critique times and such. The deal was that we could do pretty much whatever we wanted, provided we brought back two stories a day. Easy enough, right?
The next day, we set out to find our stories. My group of four headed over to the fabled Cannery Row, where, while wandering around, we happened upon a culinary school. Not being ones to pass up a story when it fairly slaps us in the face, we jumped on it. Surrounded by the sights and smells of a restaurant kitchen, myself and the other photog who was in our little group hit our grooves and shot, dodging the flames and flying molten sugar.
Nina Justamonte of the Culinary Centre of Monterey finishes up a game hen.
Our reporters got their story, and we celebrated with a gourmet lunch on a patio overlooking Monterey Bay. After the lunch, the pull of the beach to four normally landlocked people from Colorado was too much to resist, and, giggling like schoolgirls, we made for the beach until our professor could rein us in.
I’ll climb that.
The next day started interestingly enough. My reporter, Hayley, and I had been in my room, waiting for a call back from a contact for a story on haunted buildings in old Monterey, and had planned to catch a ride from Bill, another one of the photogs on the trip. We had five cars among 16 journalists, so some creative wrangling was involved. I went outside to check that Bill’s Saturn was still in the lot (it had appeared so before), but upon closer inspection, the Saturn was not really a Saturn. Apparently silver, mid-size four doors look quite similar. It seems we had been marooned!
Lucky for us, the public transit system in Monterey isn’t exactly rocket science. Plus, hey, getting left behind is only cause for adventure, right? Hayley and I found ourselves a bus headed to Monterey (our digs were almost in Seaside) and made our way to Church St., where a few, rather photogenic old churches awaited us.
Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ, I HAVE SEEN THE LIGHT!
We made our way to Fisherman’s Wharf, but nothing grabbed us the way the culinary school had the day before until we heard strange grinding noises coming from the marina. As it turns out, another story had fallen into our laps. Doug Campbell, a regular at the marina in Monterey, was prepping his boat, the Manawahi, for the racing season. Again, the two of us transformed from college students into journalists, the camera and notebook flying out and the story started to take shape. We seem to have a knack for this sort of thing.
Drop canvas and hoist the colours!
After the boatworks, we continued along the path towards the middle of Monterey, when we saw what appeared to be a diver saving someone from a rip current. Being the journos we are, we rushed to see what the matter was. As it turns out, the two were divers working on Master diver certification. Being divers, they are trained to save a flailing companion caught in the icy grips of a California rip current. A story, methinks.
See? Told you I’m not drowning.
Critique was fun that night, after some exceptionally good sushi and a sake-assisted run across the street to the critique. Fashionably late, I’d say.
More soon.
