Indulging in Napa

Last year, I indulged in the summer of a lifetime while studying art and music in Florence, Italy. For me, it was an absolute dream come true, with the fusion of several fierce passions into one. I embraced Italia as a boisterous playground for all the different parts of myself; the giddy traveler, the adventure seeker, the ferocious student, the hungry artist, the brave independent, the curious child. And while I dutifully scribbled away in a journal, attempting to capture the vitality and significance of every waking moment abroad, the thought of sharing the stories of my life-changing experiences only grew more daunting. Upon my return to the States, people would inevitably ask "So, how was Italy?" and hell if I knew where to begin.
For the young writer in me, it was beyond overwhelming and, alas, still continues to be.

So today's post is another warm-up.

I just returned from a weekend away in the world-renown Napa Valley, nestled less than an hour away from my San Francisco home. My boy* and I desperately wanted to get away from it all, and well, he's put up with me for six months and that's something to celebrate.

* - a term of endearment not intended to imply age.
Feel free to insert honey or sweetie if you prefer

A lot of deliberating went into planning our trip and at several points I tried to just toss my hands up against it, using excuses like "it's too expensive", "I won't be able to get away from work", "they're already booked"... But he can tell when the hamster that runs the wheel in my head has given up running and instead, frantically clings to the sides of the reckless spinning wheel as it races without pause or control. I must be making a face when this happens because he calls me on it every time. Little did my fretting hamster know, that everything would work out fine.



I was demanding as usual. I needed several things from our weekend away and I wasn't about to settle on less. I wanted a spa treatment - an hour-long full-body massage at minimum - but preferably with one of those hot springs baths that melt all your troubles away. I wanted wine, though truthfully a little over-indulgence in any alcoholic beverage would have likely done the trick. Opting for the stay-cation route because we only had the weekend, but we still needed to get far enough from the daily grind. Affordability was the biggest must, so I wouldn't squander our precious time worrying about money. And obviously, it should be unforgettably romantic for our first time away together...

Napa was my first pick and ultimately what I kept coming back to as I tried to visualize the elusive details of our perfect retreat. Our cozy B&B -complete with fireplace and a faux** jacuzzi - included a map to more free wine tastings than two people could drink up in a month. The Calistoga hot springs were a short, beautiful drive away up the winery-dotted highway. The entire Napa region is only 8 miles long and contrasts San Francisco's bustling 7x7 with blissfully calming neighborhoods and charming, small-town vignettes.

** - a haphazardly-built product of the Jacuzzi company that could
only be drawn by hand, where hot means mountain cold,
possessing jets that had only one volcano-erupting setting,
adequate for only one person and shorter than me

Dealt a rough blow by the times, dark, empty store-fronts crowd the spirited few shops still shining bright amidst a dimming downtown scene. Having agreed in advance to afford ourselves a little extra luxury, we happily offered up our tourist dollars to stimulating the local economy and helping restore Napa Valley to her invigorated glory.

Food is one of my great indulgences. I just can't cook well enough to satiate my cravings for flavor. That, and I am terribly impatient. Therefore I am most often bound to Rice-a-roni, PB&J's, and scrimping change together for a dinner out once in awhile. I count my blessings for having significantly over-paid my taxes, so I may now use the refund to spoil myself properly. Whispered permissions reaffirm that I deserve it, that we do, and yes, we most certainly will.

When in doubt on where to eat, always ask a local. This nugget of wisdom saved me from what would have been certain starvation in Japan, as my quick study of the phrase Ichiban ski desu ka? (loosely translated to "which is your favorite?") proved invaluable to soothing not only my hunger, but also my blundering anxiety over being a stranger in a strange land.

These were our faves (Check 'em out!).

1. Downtown Joes - Lovers, don't let the lively bar scene fool you. Their restaurant is tucked around back and oozes romance with their waterfront views. The food was impeccable. I pined over every bite and almost ordered a second despite how full I had grown. Leave room for dessert. Or if it cannot be helped, allow yourself some extra time to languor at the table Italian style, sip a coffee or a cocktail, and digest just enough to squeeze in that sweet treat after all. Other perks: Live music and their own brewhouse!

2. Rutherford Grill - Recommended as a must-try on the way to Calistoga. We may have been a tad under-dressed for Saturday brunch, but no one made us feel that way. A nice afternoon to sit outside and we did. Staff and locals alike were all very friendly, as the wait may be slightly longer than expected though well worth it. The salmon was absolutely divine. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to take my own advice on dessert, but I'll be back for that Oreo Sundae!

Even though catching up on some serious R&R was priority one, we couldn't very well stay cooped up in our Puccini Room all weekend gorging ourselves silly. The innkeeper had only mentioned the castle in passing to another guest and my ears perked. She couldn't remember what it was called and I cringed at her mispronunciation of the Italian word castello, but boyfriend knew this 12th-century-Italian-castle-turned-21st-century-winery would be the icing on our dream cake weekend. Before I could blither about the innkeeper's lack of details, he had secured our reservations for a private tour and tasting (premium wines AND chocolates) that afternoon. Full body massages scheduled to follow... Oh la la...

The Castle of Love - Castello di Amorosa

Baby steps, and a story!

Welcome, welcome! Many thanks for making a stop-over to my page.

My dear family and friends have been the inspiration and support for all of my many adventures. Most recently, I've been filled with silly notions to explore this big, beautiful world of ours, and have found myself writing about them. It is because of their encouragement, I have decided to share the fruits of my enthusiasm with you. And with a little help from Shel Silverstein, I open my arms to you and a world of possibilities.

Invitation
If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er. a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by the fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!


Below is a short story, my first attempt at travel-writing.
If you get a few minutes to check it out and share any feedback you may have, that'd be awesome. Enjoy!

Midnight on Miyajima

From the moment I arrive on the island of Miyajima, things go like clockwork. And with all the morning’s frustrations quickly fading away, I remind myself that today is another gift. After all, I am so lucky to have such a wonderful friend, one who delights in hosting a silly gal like me in this new and strangely fantastic land. Dustin has been nothing short of amazing and I want to express my immense gratitude by celebrating every moment here in Japan.

At the station, with a new silver-lined outlook, I ask an associate to call my ryokan for a pickup. It will be a few minutes, so I indulge my inner tourist in the meantime and sneak a few quick pictures. I can’t seem to line up a shot of me with the famous floating torii in the distance. That’s the one tiny inconvenience about traveling the world alone. You are either constantly asking strangers to take your picture or bound to look the fool in front of them as you photograph yourself. Thankfully, I’ve never had a problem with appearing foolish in public. A saving grace when gallivanting in another land, for sure. Teenagers are taunting a deer nearby. These ones are supposed to be wild and there are signs of warning everywhere indicating they may eat your baby. I resist the urge to giggle, but only barely.

The shuttle bus arrives before long and it is a delightful ride along the coastline to what will be my paradise island home, Miyajima Seaside Ryokan. I can tell immediately that this one has all the bells and whistles. Our driver welcomes us warmly in English. Another attendant then greets us with slippers and neatly tucks our shoes away in nearby cabinets. Our group then proceeds to the check-in desk, where the staff is very courteous and helpful. They strongly encourage the use of their public bath facilities. Much less shocked by the invitation now, I can’t help but grin. Dusty’s playful, yet constant urgings that Japan’s shared bathing customs are not to be missed are echoed loud and clear here. Ok! I get it! I’ll get naked, sheesh… just not right now.

I quiz the staff for a restaurant recommendation and –of course- they know just the place. In less time than it takes to fish out my phrasebook, they have already booked my reservation and shuttle. I ask for my room key (since it appears they have taken care of everything else) and am then directed to another attendant who has been waiting patiently to escort me to my room. It’s obvious I’m not accustomed to being pampered like this, and, once in the elevator, I struggle to remember whether or not I’m supposed to tip in hotels here. Alas, I was unable to decide in time, and opted to leave a gratuity neatly folded in paper at the end of my stay (as follow-up research had recommended).

In my room, I am overwhelmed by quiet. This is a place of tranquil stillness and I embrace it like one who has hungered for peace of mind for lifetimes. There is comfort in every cup of green tea and I gulp it down gratefully. From my window, overfull clouds spill down from dark gray skies, into the sea below. Like sitting fireside with a cup of cocoa in winter, it feels like home even worlds away.

My trusty travel clock and stomach soon agree that it’s nearing time for dinner. Downstairs, the lobby attendant seems to have memorized what shoes are mine and smiles in reply to my open surprise at his knowing. Tomorrow I promise to accept it all without question as part of the experience.

The door-to-door service is a blessing in this weather and my driver is kind enough to enter the restaurant ahead of me to assure I’m seated promptly. Another gracious welcome, though I feel the tiniest pinch of disappointment at being led to a table that permits me to keep my shoes on. The server and I get along famously. He speaks to me in his best English. I respond in as much Japanese as I can muster, requesting both a cocktail and his recommendation. “Chu-hai o kudasai. Ichiban skii desu ka?” Ah, tempura! “Hai, Hai! Excellent! Kore wa o kudasai. Arigato gozaimasu.” The meal was totemo oyshi and I was sure to impart my highest compliments to the server despite getting a little tongue-tied. “Gochiso sama deshita!”

After dinner and wishing oyasuminasai to all, I skip outside to go exploring. My inner thrill-seeker having seized control, I slush my way through empty streets and puddled, gravel pathways. The rain comes down harder, but that only serves to quicken my step and heighten the mood. The tide has come in, as Dusty had said to look for. A thick mist has swept over the island and has given the giant torii an eerie glow, like something out of a Robert Jordan novel. I’m sure the camera’s flash has distorted the effect, but I capture the moment in memory as best I can.

More rain makes it difficult to get good pictures, so after a little more splashing around, I start to make my way back to the station for the shuttle. A drowned sidewalk winds me through dozens of quiet deer hidden in shadow and following my every step. Now with signs the island over cautioning to protect your babies and having seen a swarm of them stampede toward an elderly woman carrying groceries earlier today, I am a little curious to see how they’ll respond. Forcing a little courage and reminding the scaredy cat in me to breathe, I sneak past and continue on without incident.

Once out of harm’s way, my zany adventurer zeal swoops in for the save and decides that I desperately need to eat ice cream in the rain. More ridiculous self-photos and outright goofiness ensue. Twenty minutes pass and the shuttle is supposed to come every fifteen. Hmmm… Soaking wet, without so much as a newspaper to throw over my head, I wait. And start to wonder. Am I in the wrong spot? Ten more minutes tick by as I stand there dripping as if I had just jumped out of a pool. I am considering my options when an old Japanese man drives up, rolls down his window, and extends out of it a clear umbrella (a cheapie from any 100 yen shop, but I feel special because it’s the only kind you see on the streets here). That settles it! I’ll walk, and immediately begin trudging through the fog toward my ryokan.

Now the map shows this walk at about 40 minutes. Of course, it is only supposed to take 15 minutes to get everywhere else on the island, but as long as I’m back by 10 o’clock they won’t shut me out. It’s only 8:30pm, so I should be good. With big eyes and an odd grin, I spend much of the walk convincing myself that I am strolling in the dark woods of the “safest place in the world to travel”. Where deer eat babies. Doh!

A little way into my trek, a minivan stops in front of me and three children under the age of 10 hop out brandishing flashlights and wearing their eagerness like a favorite coat. I continue on my way, but we are scavengers on the same hunt for a time and I end up passing through their little group. “Konbanwa”. I greet them, smiling wide. The oldest – a boy –whispers his reply in wonder. “Konbanwa”. He doesn’t know this, but we four share a spirit in this moment and our faces are painted in identical expressions intent on adventure. We dance together where elation and curiosity spin with mischievousness and fear of the unknown in this midnight-on-Miyajima playground at 9 o’clock. I walk on, glowing. It’s that glow that guides me on through the dark night and lights the path back to my island home. The children are off exploring some distance away from me now. I catch glimpses of their flashlight beams criss-crossing in the evening mist and giggle at my own adventurer spirit cartwheeling within.

I probably would have hiked around the mountain with that giggle if not for the curfew. Soon, though, my destination comes into view, and three stunned members of the ryokan staff with it. Mouths gaping, they hustle me into the lobby, and I suspect they were only moments away from sending out a search party. A single set of slippers anticipate my drenched feet. I greet their astonishment and formality with whole-body laughter and am overjoyed when they join in. One finds his courage to ask “You walk?” “Yes,” I reply mid-laugh. “Shuttle pick-up?” I blurt out that I had waited and no one came. Maybe I was at the wrong stop. No worries though. I really enjoyed the walk. Arigato gozaimasu. Oyasuminasai.

I had laughed all the way to my room when it hit me that I must now plunge from one crazy adventure immediately into the next. Chilled to the bone, there is nothing I need more than a hot bath. And there will never be a more perfect night to take one in public! I am in my yukata and slippers, ready to head down, when Dusty calls demanding to know if I’ve gotten naked yet. I tell him to call back in an hour.

Anxious, giddy, and likely blushing from head to foot, I creep down the halls following all the “public bath” signs. The red curtain signals the first obstacle. I have no idea where the nakedness begins, so I take a deep breath and forge ahead. Rounding the corner, I see a tall, multi-colored, stained-glass screen. On the floor beneath the glass, I observe slippers. One pair. A million different thought bubbles race to develop, but most important is that there is one naked person, not 20 or 30, on the other side of the screen. I pump myself up. Deep breath. Head up. Shoulders back.

Something like a high school locker room occupies the space on the other side of the screen with several large, mirrored vanities in the corner. An older woman is sitting at one of them drying her hair. She’s wearing a bra. So, this will not be the night that I get naked in public; however, I’ve had a long day and have come too far to turn back now. Finding a basket on the wall, I deposit my room key and yukata. Towel draped over my shoulders and head high, I walk confidently past the woman drying her hair despite her giving me a notable once-over.

In the next room, two dozen small shower set-ups with stools line the right wall. Custom insists on washing yourself at the shower before entering the bath and I certainly don’t want to break with tradition. It is definitely weird showering in such a big room by yourself, but I’m grateful for my warm-up to the shared bathing experience. Instantly upon easing into the pool-sized hot tub, my anxieties begin to melt away like ice over flames.

It isn’t until my fingers and toes begin to prune that I reluctantly pull my newly-zenned self from the bath and back to my room. And because I have a personal obligation to document the evening’s bravery, I reach for the camera. A final photo shoot as I collapse into bed. Towel turban and all. It is midnight on the island of Miyajima and Dusty was right about more than the bath. You won’t want to miss this.