|
Pelican Inn, Muir Beach, California, USA
|
|
I've been coming to this
magical
place since it first opened in 1979, almost as long as I've lived
in these United States. The first home I moved into after
immigrating from
Fiji
in 1977 is a few short miles from here. Over the years, I've
discovered this place, then rediscovered it, then discovered it
again. It comes into my life and then it goes away -
as if under its own volition ie all by itself. When it goes away,
it stays away for months, maybe years. And now suddenly,
spontaneously the Pelican Inn, this
English
country pub incorrigibly located in (ie transplanted into) Marin
county's Muir Beach, comes back into my life again calling to me to
come home to it ... all by itself.
After lunch we sit outside on the stone steps nursing half pint
mugs of ale. It's a grand tradition in this bucolic environment,
and it makes for great
conversation.
Who doesn't feel comfortable in a place like this? It's arguably
even more
inviting
on a blustery winter's day as you warm yourself
inside
by an open log fire playing darts and sipping beer while
listening
to the
driving
rain playing staccato on the window panes.
She says how great the place is, how it offers a great experience,
to which I counter (after a moment of silence for emphasis)
"Perhaps it's you who's the
source
of your experience, for which this place is at best simply its
background
like a movie set.". "Hmmm!" she says demurely, almost dismissing me,
leaving me
wondering
if she got it.
And then I see her
eyes
lock on to something je ne sais quoi in the middle
distance, and she pauses, looking back at me, starting to ask a
question,
then stopping pre-sentence, her
face
suddenly
lit up
and beaming. She says
nothing
as her head nods up and down in a silent "A-Ha!". "She
does get it" I think to myself. It's these
moments
which are the best. It's these
moments
which are priceless. They're the
moments
when people
get it
by
getting it
... and no further explanation is required.
|