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In Greek mythology, the River Styx formed the boundary between earth and the underworld, Hades - also known as Hell. The river circles Hades nine times and separates the world of the living from the world of the dead. It takes no time at all to get into Hell. To quote a famous lousy song, it can be done in a New York Minute and mine occurred on the morning of May 5, 1994, when my wife kidnapped my two beloved boys. That story is told elsewhere on this website and the purpose of this page is to tell the happy story that I've been waiting 12 years to be able to write. It's very rare for anybody to get out if Hell, but on Tuesday, March 31, 2006, my journey across the River Styx in the opposite direction began. Please forgive a bit of righteous anger and vituperation but I want to briefly summarize my hellacious experience so that my escape will be put into perspective.
The great love of my life crucified me by inflicting the worst pain I've ever known. She nailed my entire body to the cross by kidnapping Jason and Alex. She forced me through the depraved ordeal of "supervised visitations", poisoned their minds against me and stole everything there is to steal from a man - my children, my home, my life, my dreams - and of course she didn't forget to embezzle all the money. For 12 years I was on the edge of homelessness and had to face the very real possibility of living under a bridge in a cardboard box. I bounced from one horrible living situation to the next one, renting overpriced rooms from underdeveloped people. The worst one was King Rat and his filthy rat cage known as the Buoy Avenue Dump in the hypocritical City of Orange. The lie out of the fat rat's mouth was "You are my best and only friend." I had no idea who this thing really was but I found out the hard way. For almost three years I had to live in half the living room of his pig sty with absolutely no privacy whatsoever. I paid him $400/month for that "privilege" while I saved up enough money to move. The three bedrooms were already occupied by three male pigs, all of whom live with garbage piled up in their rooms. One was King Rat himself, one was a beer-a-holic/TV addict, and the third was a piece of white trash who psychologically abused me almost every day. King Rat has a 400 lb. progeny who is indescribably obscene, violent, repulsively ugly and offensive. One night, the progeny ordered one of his minions to beat the living daylights out of me when I was peacefully sleeping in my bed.
Fortunately, I had saved up enough money by that time and I moved out of the hell-hole within one week of the attack. The title of this web page really should have been "Peter Crossing the River Styx in the Opposite Direction Against the Current" but it's too long and would have wrapped around uncontrollably and looked bad. However, it would have been true because The Force apparently felt it was necessary to make me work to get out of there. The beating I suffered in the low class City of Orange caused me to move into the first available room. That turned out to be the low class City of Huntington Beach. I moved into a house owned and occupied by a 6 ft. tall, straggly haired, ugly Amazon who called herself an old hippie but peace and love was a concept she apparently never got. The second day I was there she went ballistic because I tried to cook myself a meal in her kitchen. As far as I could tell, all she ever ate was a bowl of cereal in the morning. I knew right away I would be moving again.
I wanted to get back to Lovely Laguna Beach, the town I thought was the best place for me to live in southern California. I suspected that I would be priced out of Laguna and I was correct. So I began looking south of Laguna, first in Dana Point, and next in San Clemente. Then I met a man who convinced me to rent a two bedroom apartment with him in San Clemente. The guy purported to be a professional chef who had owned two restaurants in northern California and had received awards from Gourmet Magazine. Of course I was impressed because I'm a gourmet cook who is compelled to exclaim Damn, I'm Good ! every single time I cook something new for myself. This is one for the books, and I don't mean the cookbooks. This so-called professional chef stocked his cupboard with cheap packaged pasta and canned tuna fish. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this self-proclaimed chef eating bowls of plain boiled pasta with no sauce. One night I came out of my room to go to the bathroom, passed his open door and I couldn't avoid seeing this 55 year old man in bed asleep sucking his thumb. The situation got much worse than that, but it's irrelevant.
However, I had found paradise in San Clemente. I used to believe San Clemente was "Nixon City" but I was dead wrong. And happy to be alive being dead wrong too. Because I think San Clemente is the last great town in southern California for many good reasons. It has true class. San Clemente features old Spanish type architecture, with many real clay tile roofs, curved arches and white stucco walls. It's a lush tropical paradise without humidity, there's almost always a cool ocean breeze blowing inland with the cleanest, freshest air I've ever breathed, and no bugs. That's a big deal to me because I've committed bug genocide. The beaches are sensational, the view in every direction is breathtaking, the downtown area contains many intriguing restaurants that serve the kind of food I'd actually pay for. There's even a great pizza place and coming from a New York City boy, that's a real compliment. Now I live in a beautiful apartment of my own in a gated security community. I often sit peacefully and watch the sun descend over the Pacific Ocean from my seemingly private lawn that I don't have to mow. During the day, the color of the water is purple but at sunset, it changes to turquoise while I watch a dramatic, constantly changing painting in the sky. I can even see the romantic island of Catalina in the distance. After 12 years of horror, I have real peace, quiet, and cleanliness because I'm a Penny Lane kind of Clean Machine and I keep my home totally together. I created an original sign that hangs outside my front door. My sign says, "The Sanctuary. Welcome home, Peter.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Not mine because my words are worth a thousand pictures, but here are some photos to illustrate the stunning beauty of San Clemente:
A typical spectacular San Clemente sunset over the wharf at the public beach
A tropical San Clemente sunrise illuminates the same wharf at the public beach
The view from the wharf facing the town of San Clemente
Soon after I moved to San Clemente, I discovered the famous wharf and the Fisherman's Restaurant that you see on both sides of the wharf in this photo. I really don't drink, but for some reason I felt like buying myself a beer here because I wanted to sit at one of the tables facing the ocean, relax, enjoy the view and observe the scene. I've never been a beer drinker but they served me a golden ale from Oregon with a piece of fresh lemon in it which turned out to be terrific. So I was able to spend over an hour sitting in comfort while I slowly savored this delicious brew.
Here's a good example of the intriguing European style restaurants San Clemente offers.
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