Our Road Trip (Sans George)
Ah, yes. This time poor George was left behind. We dropped him off with his dog-sitter, Lisa, and his chum, Chazzie, a King Charles Spaniel like himself, with whom we assume he is good friends. When we said goodbye, at least, there was not a single reproachful backward glance…
It’s a long drive, up to San Francisco, particularly on Interstate 5, inland, which we chose because it’s the fastest way and we were anxious to get a good start on the journey. Past the Grapevine, at the end of the Tejon Pass, the highway is long, straight, and boring. It’s surprising how far you can travel at eighty miles an hour without seeming to get anywhere very much. It took us the better part of the day to reach our destination, near Sausalito, and we made the mistake, near the end, of choosing to drive through the city and back over the Golden Gate Bridge, instead of staying on the east side and dropping back down from the northern end of the bay. Either way, the traffic would have been terrible on a Friday afternoon, but we made it across the bridge in time to relax for a few minutes to get our bearings.
The Cavallo Point Lodge was formerly the officers’ quarters at the Fort Baker U.S. Army post under the Golden Gate Bridge...
The buildings have been restored into a rather expensive hotel and spa, gathered in a rough horseshoe around a wide, open central green...
... where deer come to graze—or at least two of them did, the evening we spent there. The gourmet restaurant was, we decided, a bit fussy and overpriced, but it offered us the opportunity to relax in comfort over dinner, and to enjoy a well-deserved cocktail...
... and a glass of wine. By bedtime, the rigors of the drive were long forgotten.
Up in good time, on Saturday, to drive up into the small town of Sausalito...
... where we enjoyed breakfast on the front in the company of many locals—and a King Charles cousin to George. (Ah, poor George!) Then we took the ferry...
... across the bay to the Ferry Building in San Francisco, where we found a busy weekend market in full swing, and jostled our way through the crowds to Market Street, walking the dozen or so blocks to the SF MoMA, our destination for the day. Loved the two big temporary murals in the atrium by an old friend (and one-time student) Kerry James Marshall—who has since emerged as one of the leading African-American artists in the country. These two murals took a poke at our “Founding Fathers,” lording it over their estates in which, on looking carefully, you could discern the hidden figures of the slaves who go unmentioned and unnamed in the same history that celebrates their masters. This is a poor detail shot...
... but you might be able to make out the (purposefully) distorted image of George Washington on the right, and some shadowy slave figures hidden here and there.
We spent a couple of hours at the museum—interesting shows from the permanent collection, with a special little gallery devoted to Paul Klee—and ended up in the delightful cafeteria for a memorable primavera omelette. Which was pretty much all the time we had before heading back to the pier for the return ferry to Sausalito. The ferry, by the way, is an easy and enjoyable way to avoid the city traffic and the nightmare parking: once you reach the Ferry Building, everything downtown is a pretty easy walk.
It took us barely an hour to drive up to our next destination, Napa, where we had arranged to stay with friends we have known for more than forty years. A great treat to find them both in good form, and to sit for a couple of hours catching up on family and mutual friends. Lacking dinner reservations, we went out early to a nearby Italian restaurant for good salad and pizzas, then on for a long walk down to the far end of town and the boardwalk alongside the river—I was surprised by its width and depth—and back to our friends’ “Granny Attic” where we spent a comfortable night. Granny, apparently, never fails to reward visitors with a great night’s sleep!
Did I mention that I had a speaking engagement in Napa, Sunday morning? I think I did. Sadly, it was a bust. In our correspondence, my understanding was that I should show up at 12 noon, to speak to a group of spiritual seekers after their regular 11AM session. Their understanding was different: that I should show up at the 11AM session and be introduced at some point to do my piece. I showed up at noon. They were breaking up, heading home… It was, of course, a disappointment—but a useful lesson in communication. I learned, also, that it’s a mistake to rely solely on the sale of books, especially for out-of-town events. A speaker’s fee goes a long way to ensuring that communications do not so easily get messed up.
No matter, we continued our journey north, following directions past Calistoga and way up into the mountains, a half-hour’s drive from the main highway up a narrow, winding country road to the amazing property...
... recently acquired by our friend, Arminée Chahbazian..
... an artist with whom Ellie has worked closely for many years (you can see her work here); and Vince Tofanelli, who works a family-owned vineyard near Calistoga. We found them both at the end of a day’s work in the garden, where they cultivate all kinds of fruits, vegetables, and flowers...
... and chatted for a while over a glass of ice-cold chai before heading out to explore the magical environment in which they live—not only the still-expanding garden but a sizeable pond..
... or small lake? Big enough, anyway, for the rowboat pulled up among the reeds…
... and a big barn at the top of the hill which serves, among other things, as a studio for Arminée.
Everything around here seems to turn into art! Even the boulders become pedestals for random found objects, which take on a new life in their new context...
These are two remarkable people, Arminée...
.. and Vince...
Aside from tending to their new property with extraordinary earth-stewardship and devotion to the land, they both have work schedules that most of us would find beyond daunting: aside from hiring seasonal day labor, Vince works his 26-acre vineyard by himself, producing 1,000 cases of his own label and providing grapes for a number of others—a labor of love that keeps him busy from early morning. In addition to her studio work, Arminée has created for herself a niche profession as the California representative for a French cooperage (oak wine barrels.) Yet they both manage to make all this work seem light and pleasurable, and still make time for generous hospitality. Sitting by the pond before dinner...
... with drinks and snacks with our hosts and a group of friends...
... felt a little like an alfresco Tuscan picnic—the profound kind of pleasure that good food, good wine, good conversation and good friends can bring.
We spent two nights and a glorious day in between with these good friends. Arminée was kind enough to take a rare day off, and after breakfast led us on a long hike down through the woods...
... to the creek that flows through their property, and up along the road that leads past adjacent properties hidden from sight. The early part of the walk involved a good deal of scrambling over rocks and moss-covered fallen tree trunks and branches, along with the occasional sighting of such delights as a wild turkey carcass...
... the remains, no doubt, of some predator’s feast—and bulbous mushrooms...
It was all a timely reminder of how hungrily the human soul feeds on the wealth of nature, and how rare the opportunities are for those of us who live in and around cities to enjoy that treat.
Monday, Memorial Day, was the forty-first anniversary of the day when Ellie and I met for the first time...
For our second evening at Vince and Arminée’s, we sat out by the pond again with other visiting friends for wine and treats and toasted the occasion. Before returning to the house at dusk for dinner, Vince offered us a tour of the pond in the rowboat to celebrate...
We managed to board without incident, and spent a few delicious minutes with the gentle rocking of the boat, the gathering twilight, and the voices of the bullfrogs, deep and resonant as the chanting of Tibetan monks…
A great conversation over Arminée's wonderful dinner...
... where we weighed the future of the planet and of the species that inhabit it—particularly our own. Are we destined for extinction—perhaps self-inflicted?—like so many other species that have disappeared? Or are we perhaps, finally, beginning to learn the lessons that nature and history have to teach us? Does consciousness have a chance to put the brakes on human greed and the fouling and exploitation of our natural environment? We had passionate arguments on both each side…
Tuesday morning I woke early, to find the property shrouded in a gentle mist...
And after breakfast it was departure time. We were due back south. Arminée led us off the mountain in her classic little Citroen 2Chevaux...
... a strange and wonderful apparition in this remote area of the American west!—and down to the vineyard where Vince had already been long at work with his tractor, turning the soil between the rows of vines.
This same ground has been tilled, and the vines tended by his family since 1929—one of the first vineyards to have been planted in the Napa Valley. It’s clear that at this point Vince could choose to sell out to some large neighboring enterprise, and walk away with a nice chunk of money and a whole lot of freedom from work and worry. But that’s not the path he chooses. It’s people like Vince who inspire me to stay, thus far, on the positive side of last night’s discussion!
A long drive south. We by-passed the Bay Area this time, heading around to the east and rejoining 101 to the south of San Jose. Then on for countless miles to Templeton, just south of Paso Robles, where we were booked for a couple of nights into a B&B. We arrived in time to unpack and enjoy a good dinner at a local restaurant, and headed back for an early night, to recover from the dreary miles of travel. Next morning, though, we were up in time for an excellent breakfast prepared by our hostess, Elaine; and to hear about the couple’s passion for road cycling. Scott, her husband, is a one-time racer, well-informed, as I discovered, about the history of the Tour de France.
We started out our wine country tour with a stop a a goat farm...
... to buy fresh made cheese; then spent the day on a tour of the beautiful local farmland, with frequent stops along the way at some of the many the wineries...
to taste their wares....
The rolling hills are already golden with the sun-drenched grasses, reminding us, not for the first time, just why California earns the name “Golden State.”
(This picture gives only the barest idea of the golden hue!) It’s not just about the precious metal that was discovered here in the nineteenth century; it’s about the incredible color of the hills throughout the state, once the green of spring is over and the summer approaches. The landscape simply glows.
These days, of course, a lot of that land has been cultivated by the vintners, and at this time of years the vines stand in endless, neatly kept rows of sturdy stalks and luscious green foliage—a lovely sight in themselves. And there are still small family farms, with horses and cattle out to pasture in the fields to left and right of the winding, narrow roads. Along the way, we stopped at a deli for a sandwhich and shared it at a picnic table at the Denner winery, with its hilltop view of miles of carefully tended vineyards and wheatfields. At the tasting counter, after lunch, we met up with a nice young woman who is off to art school this fall, and who much appreciated the gift of a copy of “Persist.”
The remainder of the afternoon was spent driving from winery to winery--our favorite was the beautifully tailored Justin, with its beautifully-tailored wines—and getting lost for miles way out in the country before finding our way back to Templeton. A brief drive south from there brought us to Atascadero, where we had learned a farmers’ market was in progress, and Ellie wanted fresh fruit and vegetables to bring home. Then back to Templeton, where we had been invited to join our B&B hosts on the green at the center of town for a glass of wine and a salad dinner as we listened to the band at one of their weekly summer concerts.
A fine evening’s entertainment, in the kind of friendly, active community that gives one hope that all is not lost in the political mess in which this country finds itself... The hardest part of the trip was coming back to the television news, and the dreadful story of the desecration of the Gulf.
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