TRAVEL
I LEFT MY HEART IN NAPA VALLEY
November 1-6, 2018
In case you don’t follow me on Instagram (Why? What’s wrong with you?) I traveled to the West Coast for my 32nd birthday. Having never been to California before (Why? What’s wrong with me?) and with so many cities and destinations, it was hard for me to decide on the perfect location to lose my C-card.
My first thought was L.A., but I was afraid of getting discovered on Rodeo Drive and have my singing career skyrocket. Then there was Disney Land, but, when you’re from Central Florida, all-things-Disney don’t really excite you as much. So, since California is such a small state, I was basically only left with Northern California.
I have always heard such amazing things about San Francisco, from the food to the locals to the infamous trolley and bridge, that I knew this was the place I needed to visit. And since I would already be in the area, I figured I might as well drive up to Napa Valley and partake in my all-time favorite pastime, hiking!
Ha - no, I went to Napa Valley to drink wine. To drink all of the wine.
Joe and I arrived in San Francisco on a Thursday afternoon and made our way to our Hotel in the Union Square area of the city. I was told this was this “cool” “hip” and “happening” place to stay, but, when we turned onto the street where our hotel was, all I could see were homeless people, abandoned buildings, and then some more homeless people. I hurriedly called Expedia to see if I could make a last minute change to my reservation. (They said no).
The hotel wasn’t that bad once you got inside, and because I’m a VIP (or because literally no one else was staying there) I got upgraded to a King Suite. This room, they assured me, had better views, a bigger TV, and a private bathroom.
As soon as we dropped our bags in the room, my boyfriend and I threw on our sneakers (well, he put on his Nikes while I slipped into my comfiest pair of Sperry’s) and we headed for our first San Francisco attraction: the house that was used in 1993’s Mrs. Doubtfire.
On the map, it said it was only 1.1 miles away, which if you live in New York is a piece of cake. So I said we should walk it. Six minutes and four enormous hills later, I called an Uber to come pick us up. The house was beautiful and just how you’d picture it, and I was actually shocked at the amount of people that were standing out front taking pictures. I thought I was the only one who watched the movie every week and quoted it constantly. After spending a good 30 minutes looking at someone's house, we walked over to see the Painted Ladies, or, four houses on a hill that aren't that interesting.
The next morning, we woke up with a pep in our step and headed over to see the Golden Gate Bridge and maybe, if my undiagnosed asthma didn’t kick in, we would walk across it!
Well, the cab dropped us off at the entrance of the bridge and all we saw was…fog. Lot’s and lots of fog. Like, we were literally 3 feet from the bridge and we could not see it. So we took some pictures, walked through the gift shop, and sat on a bench deciding where to go next. Was I secretly ecstatic that I didn’t have to walk the mile across a bridge at 10 am? You betcha! But I also really wanted that cliche picture of me in front of the bridge to use as my Facebook profile picture.
Ya win some, ya lose some.
That night before dinner, we were walking around our extremely safe neighborhood and stumbled upon a Marijuana Dispensary. I completely forgot that weed was legal in California. So, Joe and I talked it over while we walked around the block eight times to gain the nerve to go into this place and buy some drugs.
I hadn’t smoked weed in over a decade, so I was a little hesitant about walking in and placing an order. I also had no idea what to expect. In my mind, the entire room would be smoky and everyone would be wearing “We Be Jammin’” t-shirts with Rastafarian hats covering up their dreadlocks. It was kind of like that. But, also, kind of like a CVS.
Basically, (in case you’ve never been), you wait in a line and when you are called, you go to a counter and you meet with a “Weed Specialist” to order and pay for your goods. When it was our turn, I walked over to our specialist, trying to convey that I do this all the time. Maybe it was my floral button down shirt, or maybe it was me calling it “dope”, but she definitely knew I had not smoked in a very long time and was just there because I was on vacation and I wanted to be cool.
We ended up getting a vape and a bag of chocolate chip cookies and made our way back to the hotel. She put our items in a small brown paper bag that was so conspicuous, it literally could have said “THIS HAS WEED IN IT - ROB ME”. We smoked the pot after dinner and, to be honest, I had no reaction. I didn’t laugh uncontrollably. I didn’t fall asleep right away. I didn’t ponder about the unknown. Nothing. “I don’t think I’m getting high” I said to a completely comatose Joe.
On our last day in San Francisco, we did all of the expected touristy things: walk around Fisherman’s Wharf, take a boat to see Alcatraz Prison, eat chocolate at Ghirardelli Square, walk by Lombard Street and say “Oh, nice.” Needless to say, we were ready for a change of scenery.
Early on Sunday morning we picked up our rental car and began our drive to Wine Country. Once we got off the highway and into Napa, I thought to myself, “This is where I belong.” The acres and acres of land covered in vineyards and the stunning wineries every mile or so was just beautiful.
For our first full day in Napa, we woke up early and headed to our first wine tasting…at 10:30 in the morning. Since it was so early, we were the only ones there, so we got a private tasting with one of the owners of the vineyard.
This was my first time actually “tasting” wine, instead of just gulping it down while watching season 2 of Making a Murderer, so I was intrigued. Four glasses of wine were placed in front of us and while my mouth was watering, the instructor gave us a 20 minute history of how the grapes were grown, whether they were barreled in oak or steel, and what color eyes the person who planted the grapes had. And while it was all very interesting, I basically just wanted to get drunk.
After each sip we took, we were asked what notes we tasted. Did we taste apple? Did we taste cherry? Did we taste lavender? I tried to pretend like I could taste the different flavors of each wine, but in all honesty, it all just tasted like…wine. But, to go along with the exercise, I continued to swirl the wine around in my glass, hold it up to my nose, and say pretentious things like, “Oh, the 2002 Chardonnay has a hint of gooseberries.”
Once the tasting was done, we continued down the highway and stopped at about 2 or 8 different wineries and, instead of participating in more tastings, we just ordered a glass at each spot. Enough of the bullshit – we wanted to drink.
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Aside from sitting outside and drinking wine, there isn’t much to write about. But I can definitely say that the Napa leg of our trip was far superior to San Francisco. It’s not that I hated San Fran, it’s just that when you live in a big city, it’s hard to travel to another big city and be impressed. But Napa was the antithesis of NYC; gorgeous 70-degree weather, delicious wine and fresh foods, and relaxing at a quiet and quaint resort – nothing can compare.
I really enjoyed our week-long getaway to California and was so happy at all we got to do, but I’m afraid I left my heart in Napa Valley.