We sped down the 101 over the Golden Gate Bridge, through San Francisco, and around the bay to the parking spot outside our hotel room in Monterrey in a mere three hours. The Hyatt Regency there is nothing more than an upscale motel with a hot-tub and a very nice lobby. No matter; we would be spending our time in other places, like Carmel.

There are a few places in the world that just grab me. The 3rd Arrondissement of Paris, Nob Hill in Portland, Crested Butte in Colorado, and Thailand's Chiang Mai to name a few. And now Carmel-by-the-Sea. Not having been on a beach in a few years could have something to do with that.

Right down Ocean Avenue, we spilled onto the beach where I kicked off my sandals and dug my toes into the heated sand. The ocean was open wide and licked the edges of Pebble Beach. I almost wish I didn't have my camera, because I couldn't stop taking pictures. Josh climbed up towards the course and hunted for balls in the grassy bluffs around the 6th green. Craig found a sand bench, probably an imploded sand castle, and plopped down to watch. I wandered around, astonished mostly, taking deep breaths trying to inhale the serenity.

But it wouldn't be until three hours later, around 6:30PM, when the sun plunged down behind the edge of the Pacific in a dazzling explosion of pastels, that I would find it. In the moments leading up to the 10-minute sunset, people had rushed down to the beach, grabbed their lovers and snuggled into the sand to watch. It was a Work of Art. Someone behind me applauded as the purples faded into yellows and the yellows into oranges and eventually into dusk. This happens every night. Maybe some people aren't so surprised by it anymore as they spin at 700 mph away from the bulb of fire. As for me, that masterpiece had made my day, and made my trip.