California Dreamin'

Ensconced in a southern Ontario university as fall comes too quickly, I’m moved to recall a wonderful summer trip. From the travelogue archive…

24 July, 2008, San Francisco, USA

What a whirlwind. Should have been obvious by the name, but San Francisco is brimming with Spanish influence. So is all of northern California once you hit the Sacramento Valley. It’s different — the rainy, wet woods of the Pacific Northwest give way to a dry palette of browns and beiges that remind of droughts and wildfires. First day in California was marked by heat — winding through sparsely wooded mountains (Shasta appearing like a hazy mirage), rolling brown hills and flat fields of olive trees interspersed with dry creek beds. All laid over with a light sprinkling of palms. Then suddenly off the beaten path, up into the winding roads of northern Napa, a shifting swath of flora and form. Like no place else on earth (except what one imagines Greece to be…).

Sonoma is the ultimate multi-faceted simulacrum — every European clime reproduced in this still authentic reserve of the wine country. Authenticity a touch more elusive at the mushrooming vineyards, but beauty abounds in and among overtly commercial enterprises. In a few cases, they also make some damn good wine.

Heading west through the pseudo-urbanity of Petaluma to the coast is another revelation — Marin county a mix of rocky highlands and groves of huge, seemingly ageless Cypress trees. Hitting the back bay near Reyes Point is like remembering an old sea shanty — dotted as it is with old oyster shacks and hippies who’ve decided to put up the “gone fishin’” sign — permanently…

Feels far away now, though transcribing this I can almost smell the ocean.