News from Nowhere

Our first visit to California had been in April. Returning in late summer, driving the same highways, I was disconcerted by the complete change in the vegetation. It can't really have been the total transformation it seemed, I must partly just have been noticing different things. The dense carpet of ice plants, whose neon pink daisies had fascinated me in the spring had not really vanished, but it took me a while to spot their darkened leaves. Everwhere was golden tawny grass, and where had those trees come from? Suddenly I was seeing big, impressive trees: they couldn't have sprung up while we were away.

Then we took the road to Amador County, Gold Rush country, and there's gold in them there hills... The default terrain is gentle curves and folds, covered with golden grass, like the flanks of giant sleeping teddy bears. The most scenic section, early on, was spiked by the occasional dark green tree. Later, on route 49. the hills grew steeper, and the pattern changed. durham_rambler made the usual offer: "If there's anywhere you want to stop for a photo-opportunity, just say, and I'll explain why it's impossible." So I have no golden landscapes. Here's a picture from the town of Volcano:



Later, setting off to retrace our route to Sunnyvale, there was thunder and rain - strange, warm rain. The golden fields were luminous under the darkened sky, which evolved into a lingering sunset: a single skeletal tree in a field of gold; a big red sun; a tree on the horizon echoing the shape of a fringed and tattered cloud outlined in light.

But that was later. First we explored Amador County...

On Friday afternoon we went to the Gala to see the Shaun the Sheep film: it was a lot of fun, and that's really all I have to say about it.

We should go to the cinema more often. The Gala isn't the greatest cinema - its programming is very 'family' oriented, which isn't a bad thing in itself but excludes many of the films I would otherwise go and see - but that's all the more reason to go when they are showing something good. As it is, I suspect that the last films we saw* were the ones weegoddess showed us on out last night in Woburn last September.

We'd spent a happy Sunday wandering around Mount Auburn cemetery, and returned to Woburn to eat at Gene's Chinese Flatbread Cafe, about which J. had heard good things - which were entirely justified by the hand-pulled noodles, chunky strips of almost-dumpling in a spicy and fresh-herby broth, with which I spattered my grey sweatshirt (somehow, I always encounter the messiest foods when I am wearing my only pale-coloured shirt).

Back home, we settled down for movie night, front-loading our inflight entertainment. weegoddess had been offering a showing of Brave, of which she is very fond, and I was interested to see this film which had been so warmly embraced by the Scottish tourism industry. Not to mention that Chris Stout had told us he played on the soundtrack. And, well, now I've seen it. I was entertained, but rather uneasy at the level of cultural stereotyping: is it OK if the Scots join in?

After that, we watched The Voyage of the Dawn Trader: weegoddess recommended Prince Caspian, and since I had previously seen The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe this would have been the logical sequel: but I wanted to see the Dawn Treader herself, and I was not disappointed. I thought it an entirely respectable adaptation. I didn't agree with all of its choices - in particular, I thought that Lucy was older than she should have been, and that this created a number of problems - but it felt as if those choices had been made by someone who understood what they were doing.

And that was our last day in Massachussetts well spent. Time to say goodbye to weegoddess and J., and fly out to California. Logan airport seemed much improved since our last visit: we'd been there a full quarter-hour before anyone even tried to sell us a lobster plushie. In gratitude, I bought a t-shirt.

*ETA: durham_rambler reminds me that we also, in the interim, saw Mr. Turner.

In Saturday's travel supplement, the Guardian's restaurant critic recommends where to eat in San Francisco. desperance, your mission is to try all of these before our next visit. Brunch at Verbena is currently top of my list (they have, and I quote, an illuminated wooden pickle wall), but I await your report...

Across the bottom of the page, readers contribute additional recommendations. One of these is for Hamburgers, in Sausalito - "just across the street from the ferry terminal. It’s a tiny place with a line of lunch customers along the sidewalk..." This explains something. My notes from Sausalito (which will be a post of their own when they grow up, but not yet...) remark that the big queue (much longer than the one in the Guardian's photograph) along the street was not for the nice Mexican restaurant where we lunched, but for the burger joint next door. Apparently it's a thing.

Previously: We flew out of Edinburgh, the journey was a journey, we started by exploring Woburn - and since we had a date to meet non-LJ friends for dinner in Boston, the next day was our day for being tourists in the city.

Our gracious hosts drove us to the end of the T, where we bought passes, and then it's an easy trip to Downtown Crossing, where a banjo player on the platform is just setting up for some travelling music, and out onto the Common. Now what? We hadn't made any particular plans, and though there was a tourist information place on the Common, it didn't offer us anything that really appealed: but we wandered across the Common, came out on Beacon Hill, and were very happy just to keep wandering there. ( Wandering, and taking pictures, so perhaps we'd better have a cut here: )

I'd call that a day well spent.

When I tried to post about our journey to the US, I was frustrated by a shortage of internets: by the time I was back online, things (and we) had moved on, and I was reduced to saying "But that's another post..." We have moved on again, and this is that post.

Our plan was to fly from Edinburgh, and to overnight there before our morning flight. We emerged from Waverley Station into a dazzle of sunshine, and found a taxi. This was disconcerting: firstly, the driver stowed our luggage with us in the passenger space - it was a bit of a squeeze, but it does appear to be the local style); secondly, he plunged straight into the traffic of Princes Street - again, this isn't as bizarre a route as I thought at first, and I sat back to enjoy a bonus view of the castle, and the drive out to the hotel.

We stayed at the Bridge Inn, Ratho which is as near as we could get without actually being at the airport. It is also on the Union Canal, and there was time before dinner for a walk in the golden September evening. The sun glittered on the water, the trees cast deep shade, the cyclists emerged suddenly from the darkness.



This description of the canal describes most of what we saw, as well as much that we didn't. But it doesn't mention the walled kitchen garden, which I was rather smug at identifying - and then delighted to learn that it belongs to the hotel, and produces many of the vegetables served in the restaurant. Time for dinner, then.

We had a very good dinner, and if it was a bit oddly shaped, that's our fault for some slightly eccentric ordering - but we were very pleased with the results. We both started with the scallops: three delicious, sweet little scallops, with rather pointless accompaniments. The crisped pancetta was good with the pea sauce, but neither had much to do with the scallops (indeed, to my taste the sweetness of the pea sauce killed the flavour of the scallops). durham_rambler chose a main course of bubble-and-squeak: it's unusual for him to take the vegetarian option, but he did help me out with the huge platter of smoked salmon which I had chosen as my main couse (technically, it's a starter to share). It was moist and tasty, and accompanied by a big heap of salad, but the star of the show was my side order of absolutely perfect chips: floury, crisp, hot and salted just right. We had a bottle of Touraine sauvignon (might have been les Mazelles, but I can't be certain), fresh and clean, which we agreed was almost as good as the one we have bought from the Caves de Haut Poitou... I resisted dessert, and was rewarded, because my decaff expresso came with a chunk of buttery tablet, which was exactly what I wanted - that and a glass of Scapa, to tell the truth.

After dinner I wrangled with the wi-fi (the frustration of having not quite enough connectivity to achieve anything, but enough to keep me trying) while the television above my head relayed quite an interesting programme, in Gaelic with subtitles, about living on islands.

And the next morning we were off to the airport, and all the fun that followed.

ETA: A review of the Bridge Inn in the Guardian

We dined inside a water tower; Mendocino is famous for its water towers, and Flow is located upstairs at the one on Main Street. We brought home with us the remains of a bottle of Atrea Old Soul Red, which is everything the website says.

durham_rambler has found a weather forecast, and the rain may be easing off. But I won't tempt fate by saying so.

While we were in Woburn, we received an e-mail from desperance: "Just another data point," it said. "There's a supplement in the newspaper today about Amador, up in the Sierra Nevada. It's two and a half hours from Sunnyvale, according to the internets - and the Shenandoah Valley has forty-odd wineries, including some of the oldest Zin vines on the planet..." That'd be the San Jose Mercury's 'Eat-Drink-Play' supplement, and I'd link to it, but when I try to go there, I get adware, so take my word for it.

Anyway, I read the supplement. I was pretty much hooked at "hundred-year-old zinfandels" (though the cool kids seem to be moving into barbera), but wine-and-food destination among the Gold Rush towns - that's irresistible. Which is how I come to be writing this on my patio at the Sutter Creek Inn, under the grape arbour. (Ours is the Cellar Room, if you wondered, but don't be put off by the name).

By the time we were installed last night, it was five o'clock: we'd stopped a couple of times en route, and reception was slightly chaotic - we had trouble finding anyone to book us in (it's all twisty garden paths and rustic outbuildings), and then the person we found denied being the housekeeper, and wanted us to be an Irish couple he was expecting... But by five we were ready to go and taste at the only one of the town's nine wineries that we expected still to be open.

Immediately across the road, though, Driven Cellars (who aren't on that list) still had the 'Open' sign up, and made us very welcome, even though it became apparent that they simply hadn't had a chance to take down the signs. The 'driven' name comes from the patriarch's collection of defunct automobiles, and the bright, sunny showroom was decorated with one or two dramatic pieces: a rust-red petrol pump, a radiator grille. It's clearly a family affair, and the woman who served us was relaxed and frindly, assuring us that our late arrival was no problem, and that she thought they should shift their opening times an hour later, anyway. She was dismissive about their white wines, and assured us throughout the tasting that her favourite of the wines was the last one we would taste, the primitivo - and we agreed with her. I was pleased to have tasted zinfandel from hundred-year-old vines, but we bought a bottle of the primitivo.

Back across the road, the doors were still open at Scott Harvey, where they were having a 'Locals' Night'. "Are you local?" asked our server; "Say yes." So we said that we were indeed local, from just two doors down the street, and proceeded to taste our way through a succession of delicious wines. Scott Harvey trained in Germany, and knows that it is possible to make white wine with subtlety and elegance, even in the California climate. His Jana sauvignon blanc (Jana is his wife, and her name goes on the wines made with grapes from Napa) has just a touch of riesling, and lots of rounded fruit - I would not have identified the main grape as sauvignon, there was none of the green vegetable acidity I associate with that grape. Premier Beso is a blend of grapes from Amador (chardonnay, riesling and something called symphony). We also tasted three zinfandels: a 'Jana' old vine, fresh and fruity, a J&S Reserve, spicy and beautifully structured, and a Mountain Selection, big and soft, and I'd probably have liked it better if I hadn't been knocked out by the previous wine. (Our server then produced a barbera, so we could see why people were moving towards this grape, and it was very persuasive. It's not that I don't like barbera, just that in California I want to drink California wines, but the barbera was excellent).

If I were permanently local, I'd be buying these by the case, especially at Local's Night prices, but as it was we restricted ourselves to a couple of bottles. desperance, if you're reading, the Premier Beso is recommended with cheese, so if we're doing that cheese crawl...

By now it was eat or fall over, so we went to the Hotel Sutter and ate their signature dish of brussels sprouts frizzler with bacon and served with a lemony mayonnaise (which they call aïoli, but isn't). Back home, we listened to Scotland deciding not to leave the UK, which is good news for the UK, I think, though not necessarily for Scotland. There was a very high turn-out, which suggests that low polls demonstrate that voters are apathetic, not from original sin, but about the choices they are being offered.

Breakfast in ten minutes. Time to go!

ETA: that of the red wines we bought and took back to Sunnyvale for actual drinking, it was the Driven primitivo which really stood out. I hadn't expected that.

Delayed by headwinds, and collecting a hire car at the airport was a bit of a faff, but we are now at the Best Western Silicon Valley, where the man on the desk recognised us: "Weren't you here two, three years ago?" - which we were, of course - and I recognised him, too.

And now I am going to bed. Goodnight!

On Thursday weegoddess, durham_rambler and I went into Cambridge to spend the day with nineweaving. J. took us to the bus stop, and we rode the bus past the garden centre offering 'Mums, Asters, Cabbages and Kale' (like a forgotten nursery rhyme), past Myopia Street (why would you call a street that?) to Alewife, a town named after a herring and the end of the red line of the T.



nineweaving escorted us past the Old Burial Ground, with its notices forbidding loitering between dusk and dawn, in and out of all the best chocolate shops, to TeaLuxe where we sniffed three different grades of Earl Grey and selected one for the afternoon's tea-party, into Harvard Yard where Anthropology students were investigating The Archaeology of Harvard Yard (and digging up lots of clay pipes), a tour of the wonderful Widener Library (with its Gutenberg Bible, as crisp and clean as if it were fresh off the press).

Eventually we returned to nineweaving's flat, just in time to welcome rushthatspeaks. The tea party was all that a tea party should be: delightful company, stimulating conversation, light, clear, citrussy Earl Grey that gave me a whole new appreciation of what Earl Grey is about, local strawberries with crème fraîche, all under the aegis of an overmantel laden with blue and white china.

The time flew by, and soon we were back on the T, where we stayed for some time, as the train limped home; which gave us time to agree that the hat was in fact not lavender but silver, but that this would not reduce its contribution to literature.

I had woken that morning with a sore throat, and hoped it was simply a result of shouted conversations in a noisy restaurant the night before; but during the day I became more and more snuffly, and by yesterday I had a streaming cold. I spent much of the day in bed, and I think the treatment is working. I was well enough to go out to dinner with sunspiral and roozle - fortunately. because I would have hated to miss it! They made us very welcome, and served us all-American favourites: ribs, and apple pie, and bonus pumpkin loaf; I didn't have the stamina for ice cream...

weegoddess and J. collected us from Logan airport, and carried us off through the rush hour traffic to their home in Woburn, where we have the honour of being the First Guests. The first of the sights they couldn't wait to show us was ( hidden behind a cut, where there are several pictures. )