There were coastal live oaks all along the driveway to this castle, often called the Biltmore House of the west coast, and we climbed into the shuttle bus and listened to (of all people) Alex Trebec on a recorded narrative. William Randolph Hearst had camped on this piece of coastal property high above the ocean as a boy, and as he grew older he decided that camping was no longer as comfortable for him as it used to be, so he decided to build this "little place," which turned into a 90,000 SF castle. He named it "La Cuesta Encantada" ("The Enchanted Hill"), but usually called it "the ranch." He kept exotic animals in the pastures here, and some zebra still remain; Martha says she saw them, way off in the distance.
I did not take this beautiful photo - it is a famous print on display in the Visitor Center - but it gives some perspective of this castle on a hill.
It is hard to resist taking photographs; there is beauty everywhere in the wide terraces and gardens, the Spanish-style architecture, and this chapel in the very center.
Hearst's architect was almost as interesting as he was - a 4'-8" woman named Julia Morgan, the first female architect licensed in the State of California, and famously shy (there are virtually no photos of her). The architectural details are lovely to behold. The house also happens to be the inspiration for Xanadu in Orson Welles's classic movie, Citizen Kane (although it was not filmed here).
He was a collector, and sculptures from every era are everywhere, like these ancient Egyptian figures. And, more typically, this.
Hearst snubbed his nose at High Society. He lived here with his mistress while his wife lived in New York, an arrangement which all parties found amicable. Famous movie stars were invited here, and we saw the private theater where he showed movies to his guests, many of whom were on the screen in front of them. The Roman Pool is sumptuous:
Hearst always remained in some way a kind of down-to-earth person; the fancy dining room table was set with Blue Willow, paper napkins, and mustard and ketchup in their original containers, which reminded him of camping on this hill as a boy.
What a small world it is, though. Some young women on the shuttle bus back down to the Visitor Center noticed my "Asheville" shirt and said that they went to running camp in Brevard, coached by the legendary Roy Benson, who used to write for Running Journal.
After we leave Xanadu - I mean Hearst Castle - we start heading eastward for the first time, back towards Highlands. We climb away from the coast and the cool temperatures disappear within 30 minutes; we are in 103-degree heat again. We travel through some hot, flat country then, a let-down after the Pacific Coast Highway, and see these surprising pump jacks nodding up and down along the road, like some strange prehistoric creatures out here in the middle of nowhere; it turns out this is the Lost Hills Oil Field.
Over another long pass we motor, dotted with windmills again. Why do they always have three blades, like the symbol of a Mercedes? I actually read about this (while Martha was driving) and discovered that two is more efficient but causes something called "yaw chatter."
We turned on the TV in our motel room in Barstow, and there was even more yaw chatter - little bits and pieces of the Republican and Democratic conventions have followed us along on our journey, and we find ourselves listening to Hillary's acceptance speech at the end of another long day.
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