Charles Nordhoff, “California: How to Go There and What to See by the Way”

Harper’s Magazine, May 1872

 

THOUGH California has been celebrated in books, newspapers, and magazines for more than twenty years, it is really almost as little known to the tourist — a creature who ought to know it thoroughly, to his own delight — as it was to Swift when he wrote, in his description of the flying island of Laputa, "The continent of which this kingdom is a part extends itself, as I have reason to believe, eastward to that unknown tract of America westward of California, and north to the Pacific Ocean, which is not above a hundred and fifty miles from Logado," and so on.

California is to us Eastern people still a land of big beets and pumpkins, of rough miners, of pistols, bowle-knives, abundant fruit, green wines, high prices — full of discomforts, and abounding in dangers to the peaceful traveler.  A New Yorker, inefficient except in his own business, looking to the government, municipal, State, or Federal, for almost every thing except his daily dollars; overridden by a semi-barbarous foreign population; troubled with incapable servants, private as well as public; subject to daily rudeness from car-drivers and others who ought to be civil; rolled helplessly and tediously down town to his business in a lumbering omnibus; exposed to inconveniences, to dirty streets, bad gas, beggars, loss of time through improper conveyances; to high taxes, theft, and all kinds of public wrong, year in and year out — the New Yorker fondly imagines himself to be living at the centre of civilization, and pities the unlucky friend who is "going to California."  He invites him to dine before he sets out, "because you will not get a good dinner again till you return, you know." He sends him, with his parting blessing, a heavy navy revolver, and shudders at the annoyances and dangers which his friend, out of a rash and venturesome disposition, is about to undergo.

Well, the New Yorker is mistaken. There are no dangers to travelers on the beaten track in California; there are no inconveniences which a child or a tenderly reared woman would not laugh at; they dine in San Francisco rather better, and with quite as much form and a more elegant and perfect service, than in New York; the San Francisco hotels are the best in the world; the noble art of cooking is better understood in California than any where else where I have eaten; the bread is far better, the variety of food is greater; the persons with whom a tourist comes in contact, and upon whom his comfort and pleasures so greatly depend, are more uniformly civil, obliging, honest, and intelligent than they are any where in this country, or, so far as I know, in Europe; the pleasure-roads in the neighborhood of San Francisco are unequaled any where; the common country roads are kept in far better order than any where in the Eastern States; and when you have spent half a dozen weeks in the State, you will perhaps return with a notion that New York is the true frontier land, and that you have nowhere in the United States seen so complete a civilization ? in all material points, at least — as you found in California.

If this seems incredible to what out there they call an Eastern person, let him reflect for a moment upon the fact that New York receives a constant supply of the rudest, least civilized European populations; that of the immigrants landed at Castle Garden the neediest, the least thrifty and energetic, and the most vicious remain in New York, while the ablest and most valuable fly rapidly westward; and that, besides this, New York has necessarily a large population of native adventurers; while, on the other hand, California has a settled and permanent population of doubly picked men.

"When the gold was discovered," said a Californian to whom I had expressed my wonder at the admirable quality of the State's population, "wherever an Eastern family had three or four boys, the ablest, the most energetic one, came hither.  Of that great multitude of picked men, again, the weakly broke down under the strain; they died of disease or bad whisky, or they returned home.  The remainder you see here, and you ought not to wonder that they an above your Eastern average intelligence, energy, and thrift.  Moreover, you are to remember that, contrary to the commonly received belief, California has a more settled population than almost any State in the Union. It does not change; our people can not move west, and very few of them remove back to the East.  What we have we keep, and almost all, except the Chinese, have a permanent interest in the State.  Finally"' added this old miner, who is now a banker, and whom you could not tell from a New Yorker, either in his dress or the tones of his voice, or in the manner in which he transacts business, and who yet has not been "home," as he calls it, for seventeen years — "finally, you must remember that of our immigrants who came from China, not a single one, so far as is known, but knew how to read, write, and keep at least his own accounts on his own abacus when he passed the Golden Gate.  We are not saints out here, but I believe we have much less of a frontier population than you in New York."  And my experience persuades me that he was right.

Certainly in no part of the continent is pleasure-traveling so exquisite and unalloyed a, pleasure as in California.  Not only are the sights grand, wonderful, and surprising in the highest degree, but the climate is exhilarating and favorable to an active life; the weather is so certain that you need not lose a day, and may lay out your whole tour in the State without reference to rainy days, unless it is in the rainy season; the roads are surprisingly good, the country inns are clean, the beds good, the food abundant and almost always well cooked, and the charge moderate; and the journey by rail from New York to San Francisco, which costs no more than the steamer fare to London, and is shorter than a voyage across the Atlantic, is in itself delightful as well as instructive.  Probably twenty Americans go to Europe for one who goes to California; yet no American who has not seen the plains, the Rocky Mountains, the Great Salt Lake, and the wonders of California can honestly, say that he has seen his own country, or that he even has an intelligent idea of its greatness.  It is of this journey from New York to San Francisco that I wish to give here, such an accurate and detailed account as will, I hope, tempt many who contemplate a European, tour to turn their faces westward rather, sure that this way lies the most real pleasure.