California blog series, part V: Alcatraz

Erin staring down one of the cell blocks of North America's most infamous penitentiary

I didn't actually really plan to go to California. I'd initially been looking at hitting Italy with my beloved friend Meg, but finances and life choices had other plans. But as I was thoroughly sick of never leaving the province I was nonetheless delighted when Erin proposed this California venture - so delighted in fact that I wasn't especially concerned with where in California I was going at first. Except for two stipulations. 1) San Diego Zoo, which was the topic of the last post. 2) Alcatraz.

In fact, it was the only activity we booked prior to our departure: a 3.5-hour evening tour of Alcatraz that would be the last thing we did before hopping the overnight Greyhound to LA. I've wanted to see The Rock for as long as I can remember, be it owing to the movie of that name with Nicolas Cage, Ed Harris and Sean Connery, a random childhood memory of wanting to attend a restaurant named The Rock that was actually a bar (probably why the folks wouldn't take me), or simply an overall fascination with the criminal mind. Whatever the reason, though, I'm ecstatic that I got to see it. Here's what I wrote about it on my flight home:

This is about the only attraction I’ve said nothing about and yet it was also my favourite (edging out the SD Zoo, swimming in the Pacific, my random San Francisco night, and the Aquarium of the Bay, in that order). I’d been told not to have too high of expectations (I think by Adrian), but I’m not sure why – it was fabulous! Admittedly, looking back, I’m hard-pressed to pinpoint exactly what we liked about it so much, but the guided and audio tours were both highlights, and Erin and I were in agreement that, had we been alive with $2.5 million in 1964, we definitely would’ve bought The Rock and invited all our friends to come live with us for one massive party. I feel like the cells would’ve made for a pretty ideal drunk tank for anyone who became too belligerent.

Anyway, I think for me, Alcatraz derives its allure from merely a general feeling that pervades the place. As the ‘inescapable’ prison, it holds a certain fascination, one which is made all the more prevalent by the type of criminals housed therein. But hey – perhaps I just have a sick preoccupation with the criminal mind.

Do I? If not, why are people drawn to the criminal? Is it a desire to live vicariously through those that, for whatever reason, do not allow themselves to be controlled by restraints of conscience, nor of civil law? Do we all have some sort of deep-rooted wish to live out some horrendous fantasies? 'Cause I mean, I don't feel like I want to be a murderer, but I do find them fascinating (from a distance and from behind protective bars and strict surveillance, naturally). Any thoughts?

PS - I think everything is just generally cooler if it's on an island.