California - Wine Country

The white Chevy Impala sat gleaming in the garage, hazard lights flashing orange, beckoning. It was time to begin - the Road Trip.

We spent about half an hour trying to figure out the electrics, the automatic gearbox, and deal with other Americanisations. And then the car basically drove itself - spewing gasoline into the engine, and struggling to break 25 mpg. There is a reason why even in the USA, no-one drives American any more and Detroit's emergency city governor is a former bankruptcy lawyer...

With San Fran in our rear view mirror, we sped across the bay bridge towards wine country. The vines of California were beckoning - wines that we traditionally have paid little heed to were going to get 4 days of Mhairi and Toby action, broken up by camping amongst the redwoods in Sugar Loaf Ridge and Armstrong Woods.

Gundlach Bundschu, and our only Napa stop - the Vintner's Collective were up on day 1. And we started to learn about the different wine sub-regions - the valleys and ridges within Napa and Sonoma and Mendocino. The minute temperature differences, climate quirks, and soil types that lead to widely differing tastes and styles, all labelled 'Californian'. As night drew in, we encountered something we hadn't expected - the wilderness. Despite what vigilante border patrols and Republicans say, America is not full. Not even close. Our drive to Sonoma from Napa climbed across a mountain range that took us an hour to navigate, with narrow, winding roads barely wide enough for the car. The road was full of hairpins and switchbacks, with steep drops into wooded gullies. There was one other car on that road, and by the time we entered Sugar Loaf Ridge park, I'd found the headlights and revved the engine in 'L' gear to keep us going up to our mountainside campsite. We arrived and a slightly stoned camp-host gave us a big smile: 'Glad you could make it, it was getting kind of lonely up here'. Indeed, there was no one else camping.

It had begun in San Francisco, it started to become clear in wine country, and by Oregon/Washington we'd have nailed it. As I write this in Seattle it seems blindingly obvious. Mhairi and I can rough it with camping, rent an economy car, and wait for half-price days in museums - queuing for hours to get in sometimes. But we will not compromise on food and drink. So as we finished setting up our tent, we popped the boot and put on our smart clothes for an evening at Thomas Keller's Bouchon Bistro. More relaxed than his other restaurant, 'the best in the world' for a time - French Laundry - Bouchon's less formal style let me get away with jeans and Mhairi wear her new fancy vintage jacket. We had some great food, great service, wiped our mouths on a crisp linen napkin and then went back to our tent.

In the morning we had our second California realisation - northern California is very, very cold overnight in March. Especially when you are on a mountainside. Coin operated showers at 25 cents a minute were our only means of warming up. Our little stove gamely sputtered in the cold wind to make tea and porridge, but other than that mornings were to be decidedly cool affair.

By 10am, we were on the road for our first wine tasting. We had Lynmar, Hartford and Copain on the books and by the end of the day would squeeze in Garagiste, in downtown Healdsburg. Driving the roads of Russian River in Sonoma was enchanting. The earth, rust red and ochre, supported the vines in their winter state, cut back gnarled stumps. Buttercup yellow flowers bloomed in the grass and the trees arched over the roads, covered in spearmint green moss. Copain certainly won the award for most beautiful winery - an incredible aspect overlooking the Russian River valley certainly helped improve our enjoyment of the wines too.

Another cold night in the tent, but we compensated by burning a load of wood in the oildrum firepit.  My firelighting skill showed a little rust, but a roaring blaze was soon up, courtesy of a paper wine bag as a firelighter. It meant we had to buy at least a bottle of wine a day to make sure we had a paper bag for the evening... Well, that was our excuse.

Lynmar Estates with some ARCHITECTURE!

Ridge vines...

The next day we hit Ridge. Organic, Biodynamic, the Wholefoods of Sonoma wines. We had an excellent vineyard tour from Elliott, gaining a deep understanding of Ridge's ethos; and their struggle to keep their land pesticide free despite near-Caddyshack Gopher problems. A private tasting, and an expensive purchase later, we'd loved Ridge and what they do. With only one winery on the list, we spent our afternoon walking the Sugar Loaf park. As we were learning, very few Americans trouble with walking in these parks in March, so we had the views, the wildlife and sun to ourselves.

Ridge Winery

Deer in Sugar Loaf Park

A final chilly night on Sugar Loaf Ridge left Mhairi basically wearing all of her clothes to sleep in. Trying to cook breakfast as the icy gale blew around me proved almost impossible. It was an hour before the cold water boiled. And just as the porridge was heated, the camping gas sputtered, and died out.

We were to move on to Armstrong woods that day, via a great Italian style lunch - four types of firm pasta with fresh Italian sauces paired with wine at the legendary Seghesio wines. We loved the experience, but wished we'd been eating at Everett Ridge to enjoy their amazing view, a winery we'd stopped into first during the day. We also picked up a tip there about Seattle Bites... About which you'll find out later...

Post lunch we trawled Healdsburg, stopping off at the glossy but vacuous Thumbprint winery to taste their forgettable offerings. We watched as the 'Barrel Tasters' mobbed the streets. These revellers paid $55 to get free tastings across Sonoma on specific weekends. Some take it seriously, many are there for a boozy crawl and walk the streets, glass in hand; and a few probably have run-ins with the 6ft plus, stone-jawed muscle men wearing hi-visibility vests who patrol the streets as 'wine road hospitality'.

Our last stop was Stryker - we sped out of town to make it before they closed,  and were rewarded with the classic Californian experience. Big fruity wines, heavy use of oak, those chardonnays that the English now hate, the type of wines that Gallo churns out by the bucket load. Set in stunning grounds, it had charm as a stop-off in its own right for anyone who wants to know why 'Californian' wines can be loved and loathed depending on your palate. We probably fell towards the latter but had fun nonetheless.



We high-tailed it into Gurneville that evening for a stop off among the redwoods of Armstrong park. Fatigued and out of camping gas, we succumbed to takeaway pizza, ready for a full day's walking on Sunday. Our campsite was again on top of a mountain, set next to a beautiful pond full of bullfrogs.

In the morning, the redwoods towered around us: walking amongst the giants is incredible - they dominate their woods. A hush descends amongst them, as there is little other flora for any wildlife to feed on. Trees date back to 900 AD, and look set to live forever. But here and there are the downed carcasses of the giants, sometimes with entirely new trees growing out from their decaying bark. I can't do the redwoods justice, no in picture or words. Luckily, good friends had recommended we read John Steinbeck's 'Travels with Charley' and he conveys the experience much better than I ever could:

  "The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes a silence and awe. It's not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time... they carry their own light and shade... Respect - that's the word. One feels the need to bow to unquestioned sovereigns.'

After wandering the tourist paths lower down, we went up to the hiking trails that led out from our mountainside campsite. All the other visitors had left and we walked around to the sounds of wild turkeys and other unusual birds. Night time saw us still alone, looking up at the stars as we barbecued our dinner and drank our last Californian wine for a while. Looking up at the stars, listening to the bullfrogs calling in the darkness, we felt our isolation from the rest of the world. The next day we packed up and headed west, to the coast...

Hello San Fransisco

A brief change in Houston - where re-checking our bags and another raft of security measures confirmed that yes, this was it, we were definitely back to the West Proper (Peruvian border controls clearly not trusted to safeguard US security  sufficiently) - and we landed into a slightly overcast Californian morning.

California baby! My first ever West coast adventure. And the final leg of our journey. Putting aside all End of Days thoughts in favour of the month ahead - a week in San Francisco followed by a two-week road-trip through wine country and up along the redwood coast until Seattle beckoned and our final stop in Vancouver - we prepared to melt back into home comforts.

And then some. We'd had an incredible three months heading up through South America and, despite our rudimentary Spanish, never felt alienated by the language barrier. Nor, indeed, had I ever felt hindered in the lands of steak, jamon y queso, pique macho and guinea pig by my vegetarianism. Quite the opposite, I'd only struggled occasionally and more often than not we were excited to find quite decent vegetarian fare along our winding route. But. By the time we'd spent day one getting settled, meandering up through the City's North Beach to take in the exhilarating panoramas from quasi-socialist mecca Coit Tower (for anyone who, like me, has long harboured a San Fran crush from afar) and catching up on proper Earl Grey and strong coffees in Beat-famed Caffé Trieste, we were knocked even further off our feets by Akiko's on Bush Street.

It is almost impossible to underestimate how great this meal was, nor how ecstatic we were to find ourselves gorging on deep white miso flavours, delicate agedashi tofu and sesame wakami. From having felt I'd got on fine foodwise in South America, I suddenly remembered what I'd been missing and right then, perhaps, over Japanese beer and maki rolls in the packed Tuesday-night dining room, we realised with a searing clarity there was a good chance this week was going to get expensive...

And so it began:

Day 1: Japanese dinner at Akiko's. Heaven for a vegetarian and so too for a man freshly emerged from three months of red meat dining to rediscover the joys of a seaweed salad. Lord we give thanks for umami. 

Day 2: Californian Mexican lunch at Pancho Villa Taqueria in the Mission. Recommended by our pal April, a former Mission resident, this was another wake-up to some of my core, neglected, foodie loves - the citrus, avocado, chilli nexus. Re-adjusting to US portions led to a terrific over-order (of course nachos come with everything anyway...) Which we then ripped through in no time. Bliss.

Dinner at vegan pan-Asian Golden Era on O'Farrell. Crazy cheap. Crazy awesome. Spicy noodle soup is one of my twice-a-week fixes at home and bar a couple of notable exceptions - an unexpectedly brilliant Japanese cafe in Thamel, Kathmandu sticks out - I'd been without for six months. All over it.

Day 3: Proper old-school Italian at Franchino's in North Beach. Fantastic gnocchi with pesto and some good Italian reds. Pricey compared to the Asian and Mexican places we'd been frequenting but in keeping with the Little Italy norm around this way. Warm, busy and family-run, with friendly chat from the slightly half-cut paterfamiliar watching the world go by from his regular spot outside the front door.

Day 4: Tasty Vietnamese over in Oakland, spicy soup yet again... And a slightly disappointing tipsy dinner at Chilango's in Castro. After living it up a little wine-'tasting' stylee at super duper Pause, we were pretty starving by the time we hiked down to Church Street and this may have been our downfall, with a less than inspiring set meal where the regular menu might have yielded better results.

Day 5: Burger time! T had been lusting after a proper dirty burger, diner style but reaching Saturday tired and in expectation of an early night, we went bourgeois instead at the SF mini-chain Roam Artisan Burgers on Fillmore in pursuit of a proper veggie offering. Which I more than found, matching the organic veg burger with Dijon mustard, Gruyere and avocado. Not for the first or last time during this month, the sheer breadth and fine execution of US eateries caught us bewailing the paltry-by-comparison UK offerings...

Day 6: A shopping and pub crawl along the Haight took in a flawless hot-dog lunch (with two vegan options to boot) at Rosamunde's Sausage Grill before a few beers at Toronado next door. Getting the hang of the massive range of US microbrews was already proving a mammoth (and risky, given the high alcohol content) task. 

But one we continued to hammer away at in the name of... research, at Magnolia further along Haight Street, before Starbelly for a decent though overpriced pizza dinner.

Day 7: Splendid over-ordering dim sum lunch at in Chinatown and yet more fab sushi for dinner at Otori on Oak Street. Before more turbo-charged, 8-12% microbrews at the Amsterdam Cafe.

Day 8: And on to our final evening with a stand-out Greek meal at Kokkari. This was the one 'fine dining' treat we'd promised ourselves. The odd evening out where we put on the one outfit which can possibly pass as, well passable, I stick on a bit of mascara and we both walk in hamming up 'Gosh, terribly' English accents and hoping no one looks at our shoes. This place was immense. Super friendly, not uncomfortably formal and T had what he still maintains was his Best Lamb Ever.

So the eating and drinking was fairly tremendous then. Of Mendoza proportions. Money got spent. Though not too intensely, San Fransisco eateries and bars being  such good value for the most part. Like any foodie city, there is something for any budget and taste. For me, the return to a full veggie menu months after India was pretty epic - and we were both quite ready for the broader return to more a more familiar culture. We'd never felt out on a limb in South America, despite the language obstacles, but still felt an inevitable balm from being able to make small talk with strangers, buy proper tea and more generally relax into a more accessible world, with all its creature comforts.

Back in the Uco Valley, near Mendoza on a wine visit, we'd picked the brains of an English-Canadian couple who'd spent lots of time in San Fransisco. I'd mused on how it felt a bit risky, expectation-wise, being one of the cities I had a bit of a crush on and always assumed I would like. He'd shook his head briskly, batting any possibility of under-delivery away with one wry blink; 'It doesn't disappoint.'

And it doesn't. From the British/European perspective the very best of the US is here. It is beautiful and walkable, the hilly landscape interesting and varied; the Bay Area filled with notable cities, towns and national parks. Restaurants, nightlife, culture, nature on the doorstep and great street-life - as well as being a liberal hotbed to boot. 

Perhaps the problem with a week anywhere is that it's long enough to get a glimpse of what it would be like to live somewhere, but not long enough to get through everything you might wish to do. A list that tends to grow each day. We spent a few days exploring the Mission and Haight, buying cheap second-hand clothes, enjoying the beer, visiting Mission Delores and finding great coffee. We spent a day out walking in Muir Woods with one friend, meeting the coastal redwoods for the first but by no means the last time, and another day over in Oakland with another at the fantastic Museum of California checking out its illuminating Gallery of California History. We went to the huge, superlative Asian Art Museum of San Fransisco in time to catch the eerie Terracotta Warriors we'd seen back in London a year or two before.

We hired bikes from the Marina and cycled across the Golden Gate Bridge, on a day so foggy - as many of them are - the epic red suspension literally disappeared from our view when standing right next to it. Seriously, where did they put the bridge?We rode across, wind battering through the largest Pacific estuary in the Americas and whipping ominously around us, to Sausalito - a picturesque if cutesy little town stuffed with art galleries and expensive seafood restaurants - before returning by ferry alongside Alcatraz.

We tramped the streets and hills (literally, only starting to play around with the bus system properly by day 5), exploring Chinatown, North Beach and Golden Gate Park. We even found time to flirt with our all-too-impending return to routine and dip our toes into the horrors of consumer culture with a 3-trip nightmare to Best Buy to purchase a cheap new laptop for our final month of travel (who remembered retail was such an exhausting, traumatic process??)

By our last day or two, I was itching to be on the move again - one week having been our maximum anywhere since last September - and yet regretted all the places and neighbourhoods we'd yet to see. I think we'll be back. I hope we'll be back. The promise of wine country a little further north was too hard to resist, and the excitement at picking up our wildly oversized Chevrolet from a few blocks east on Bush Street and dusting off the camping gear too live.

But still I craned my neck round wistfully as we sped out, T nervously grappling with the automatic transmission, over the bridge towards Napa. You know, because... San Francisco. You would, wouldn't you?