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A TRUTHFUL WOMAN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
BY KATE SANBORN
AUTHOR OF ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM, ETC.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1906
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--HINTS FOR THE JOURNEY
II.--AT CORONADO BEACH
III.--SAN DIEGO
IV.--EN ROUTE TO LOS ANGELES
V.--LOS ANGELES AND ROUND ABOUT
VI.--PASADENA
VII.--CAMPING ON MOUNT WILSON
VIII.--CATCHING UP ON THE KITE-SHAPED TRACK
IX.--RIVERSIDE
X.--A LESSON ON THE TRAIN
XI.--SANTA BARBARA
XII.--HER CITY AND COUNTY
XIII.--IN GALA DRESS
XIV.--AU REVOIR
A Truthful Woman in Southern California
CHAPTER I.
HINTS FOR THE JOURNEY.
The typical Forty-niner, in alluring dreams, grips the Golden
Fleece.
The _fin-de-siecle_ Argonaut, in Pullman train, flees the Cold and
Grip.
_En Sol y la Sombra_--shade as well as sun.
Yes, as California is. I resolve neither to soar into romance nor drop
into poetry (as even Chicago drummers do here), nor to idealize nor
quote too many prodigious stories, but to write such a book as I needed
to read before leaving my "Abandoned Farm," "Gooseville," Mass. For I
have discovered that many other travellers are as ignorant as myself
regarding practical information about every-day life here, and many
others at home may know even less.
So let me say that California has not a tropical, but a semi-tropical
climate, and you need the same clothing for almost every month that is
found necessary and comfortable in New York or Chicago during the
winter.
Bring fur capes, heavy wraps, simple woolen dresses for morning and
outdoor life; and unless rolling in wealth, pack as little as possible
of everything else, for extra baggage is a curse and will deplete a
heavy purse,--that rhymes and has reason too. I know of one man who paid
$300 for extra baggage for his party of fifteen from Boston to Los
Angeles.
Last year I brought dresses and underwear for every season, and for a
vague unknown fifth; also my lectures, causing profanity all along the
line, and costing enough to provide drawing-room accommodations for the
entire trip.
Why did I come? Laryngitis, bronchitis, tonsilitis, had claimed me as
their own. Grip (I will not honor it with a foreign spelling, now it is
so thoroughly acclimated and in every home) had clutched me twice--nay,
thrice; doctors shook their heads, thumped my lungs, sprayed my throat,
douched my nose, dosed me with cough anodynes and nerve tonics, and
pronounced another winter in the North a dangerous experiment. Some of
you know about this from personal experience. Not a human being could I
induce to join me. If this hits your case, do not be deterred; just come
and be made over into a joyous, healthful life. I would not urge those
to take the tedious journey who are hopelessly consumptive. Home is the
best place for such, and although I see many dragging wearily along with
one lung, or even half of that, who settle here and get married and
prolong existence for a few years, and although some marvellous cures
have been effected, still I say the same.
And what is to be put in the one big trunk? Plenty of flannels of medium
thickness, a few pretty evening dresses, two blouses, silk and woolen or
velvet for morning wear, with simple skirts, a gossamer, rubbers, thick
boots for long tramps and excursions, parasol, umbrella, soft hat to
shade the face, and gloves for all sorts of occasions. I do not venture
to suggest anything for men, they travel so sensibly. The more
experienced one is, the less he carries with him.
So do not load up with portfolio and portable inkstand, your favorite
stationery, the books that delighted your childhood or exerted a
formative influence upon your character in youth. Deny yourself and
leave at home the gold or silver toilet set, photograph album, family
Bibles, heavy fancy work, gilded horseshoe for luck, etc. I know of
bright people who actually carried their favorite matches from an
eastern city to Tacoma, also a big box of crackers, cheese, pickles, and
preserved fruits, only to find the best of everything in that brilliant
and up-with-the-times city. One old lady brought a calla-lily in a pot!
When she arrived and saw hedges and fields of lilies, hers went out of
the window. Another lady from Boston brought a quart bottle of the
blackest ink, only to spill it all upon a new carpet at Santa Barbara,
costing the boarding-house keeper thirty-five dollars. Everything that
one needs can be purchased all along the way, from a quinine capsule to
a complete outfit for any occasion.
As to the various ways of coming here, I greatly prefer the Southern
Pacific in winter, and Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe in spring or summer.
Either will take you from New York to San Diego and return for $137,
allowing six months' stay. The "Phillips Excursion" will take you from
Boston to San Francisco for fifty-five dollars. But in this case the
beds are hard, and you provide your own meals. Some try the long voyage,
twenty-three days from New York to San Francisco. It is considered
monotonous and undesirable by some; others, equally good judges, prefer
it decidedly.
I believe in taking along a loose wrapper to wear in the cars,
especially when crossing the desert. It greatly lessens fatigue to be
able to curl up cosily in a corner and go to sleep, with a silk
travelling hat or a long veil on one's head, and the stiff bonnet or
big hat with showy plumes nicely covered in its long purse-like bag, and
hanging on a hook above. The sand and alkali ruin everything, and are
apt to inflame the eyes and nose. I find a hamper with strap
indispensable on the train; it will hold as much as a small trunk, yet
it can be easily carried.
Now imagine you have arrived, very tired, and probably with a cold in
your head, for the close heated cars and the sudden changes of climate
are trying. You may be at The Raymond, and "personally conducted."
Nothing can be better than that. But if you are alone at Los Angeles, or
San Francisco, come straight down to Coronado Beach, and begin at the
beginning--or the end, as you may think it.