Go Tell It on the Mountain

I was having trouble summoning any holiday spirit in the Bay Area this year. No desire to hear the music. No interest in baking cookies. I even felt half-hearted about pulling out my treasured decorations.

My good friend and chief biking buddy, Ms. C, suggested a stroll through Christmas in the Park, which features many traditional Christmas trees decorated by groups large and small. As well as some non-traditional trees, California-style.

The last concert in the Season of Giving series at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Joseph featured the Harpers Hall Celtic Harpists. The program ranged from the local to the traditional, with selections from around the world—almost as diverse as the faces in the audience. Children enthusiastically embellished Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (“Like a flashlight!”). I chimed in for Silent Night; luckily there were plenty of voices to carry Feliz Navidad (note to self: learn the words). We both felt drowsy at the same time, and agreed that the Carol of the Bells was the piece most suited to the instruments.

The past two years have seen us exploring the coast in Half Moon Bay on Christmas Day; this year, Ms. C suggested we try something new: Montara Mountain. We followed the Gray Whale Cove trail first, for the coastal view. Although it didn't seem that we'd climbed all that much, we were soon looking down—way down—at the parking lot where we'd started. We saw lots of gray clouds, but no whales.

And while this would seem to be an unlikely way to spend Christmas, the parking lot filled up and many fellow hikers (and mountain bikers) greeted us sincerely with “Merry Christmas!”

The mountain lies within the expanse of McNee Ranch State Park, which (despite its size) is treated like a footnote to Montara State Beach.

There are no facilities. No posted trail maps. No pamphlets. A few signposts at some junctions, that's all. We asked some descending hikers how much farther to the top of the mountain, and were surprised when they said a few more miles. Having foregone a recommended short-cut, I wasn't entirely surprised; Google Maps confirmed our fellow hiker's estimate, so we soon chose to turn and follow a different route back to the car. The trail was steep, and sandy; challenging enough with our hiking boots and walking sticks. A trio including an older woman outfitted with ordinary running shoes hiked past us; we couldn't imagine how she'd fare on the way down. In the distance, the Farallons were just barely visible.

We were satisfied with our 5.2 mile hike. The mountaintop will wait.

Memories, Indelible

I'd walked through that tunnel on Saturday, transferring from the R line to the C. Like thousands of other people, that day and every day. (Except today.)

So many hotel dining areas have televisions running the non-stop news cycle. Honestly, I don't know why. At breakfast, or really at any other meal, the images are all-too-often disturbing.

I was the early riser this morning, the only guest in the room. Having scanned the news online while waking up, I was stunned to find the screen filled with flashing red and blue lights, the NYPD bomb squad, live coverage of an explosion in the tunnel connecting the Times Square subway station to the Port Authority station. Yet another disaffected, brainwashed young man. Fortunately, he killed no one—not even himself.

Within two hours, the hum of the city was already being restored. The bomber identified, surveillance footage of the blast on air, officials holding a press conference about the resilience of New Yorkers. Within two hours. Astonishing.

Construction is a constant in the city. If I had thought about how concrete floors are poured two dozen stories above street level, I would have assumed the material was mixed there. I would not have expected to see it poured from a truck into a bin that was then hoisted into the sky by a giant crane.

The friend who planned to meet me in the city confirmed that NJ Transit was running normally and our lunch date was on.

I strolled up Fifth Avenue, not wanting to miss the the animated displays in the windows at Lord & Taylor. I assured two visitors that they were on the right track and could not miss Rockefeller Center. This being a weekday, the crowds were a bit thinner than Friday night's crush.

How many times have I seen the Christmas Show at Radio City? I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure it was an annual treat when I was a child. Back in the day when some of the seats were actually general admission. How my mom loved it! After we moved farther away, she'd take a bus tour each year.

Fifth row, virtually in the center, today. I wish you were here, Mom. (Though the 3D segment would make you nauseous!) They fully use this glorious space these days, projecting trains and dancing Santas on the arches high above our heads to complement the action on stage.

Confetti rained down on the audience, like snowflakes, in the finale. Even after walking 20+ blocks back downtown, stray bits fluttered off at dinner and in my hotel room.

I love NYC at Christmastime.