The Journey Begins

Up at 3:00 a.m. for a 4:00 a.m. pick-up (courtesy of Mom, what a saint to roll out of bed pre-dawn on Mother's Day to take me to the airport) for a 5:40 a.m. flight. Having only gone to bed the "night" before at 12:45 a.m. (reasons for which deserve their own post re: the most spectacular full moon on the May River...) it was rough going.

I fell asleep before my short flight from Savannah (where I learned that a bag over 50 lbs. will cost you $90) to Atlanta was even airborne. And I woke only when we slammed (not exaggerating) into the runway upon arrival. It was a jarring landing, but perhaps the pilot was also up way past his bedtime. I'm on vacation, so he was forgiven.

Scooted into ATL, hit the Dunkin' Donuts and was back in a window seat an hour later for my cross-country flight.

Now, if you haven't been keeping up, this trip is my gift to myself for well, living with me for the past 36 years. The plan -- two nights in Calistoga; two nights in San Francisco and three nights in Monterey. A drive down Route 1 for good measure and lots of visits with friends in between. (It took 36 years for me to have enough friends on the West Coast to stretch a trip over seven days.)

To the two people who read this blog ... no offense but my chronicling every minute is really for me. This is a big milestone - my first solo travel, ever - and I don't want to forget anything. But, please keep reading!

So, here is what Day One looked like after a smooth landing in San Francisco.

I expected that the approach to SFO would be tantamount to flying into NYC - with landmarks surrounding the plane at every turn. Um no. Who knew San Francisco was surrounded by mountains? Who was my geography teacher anyway?

In the rental car and over the Bay Bridge where I could see the Golden Gate bridge (and wondered how I could drive over that one) and Alcatraz off to the distance made me excited for my return to San Fran in just a couple days.

Next came the traffic as I attempted to get out of the city. It was like Route 18 in New Brunswick on a Saturday in the fall when the Scarlet Knights are playing at home. If you're not from New Jersey, that means it was a cluster f*ck. Bumper to bumper, traffic light after traffic light.

Just as I was perfecting my breathing and trying to stay calm, I hit Route 29 and everything cleared. Welcome to Napa Valley. 30 miles of vineyards and I hit my destination. Solage Calistoga. I wasn't disappointed. The General Manager upgraded me to a suite with private patio and jacuzzi (which would be so much more exciting if I wasn't here alone) and a steam shower that dreams are made of (which also would be so much more exciting if I wasn't here alone).

My plan for day one was to simply re-charge and I did. A few hours poolside with a great book, a lunch of spicy shrimp and lettuce rolls, a quick bike ride around property, a short nap and off to dinner at Solbar at 8 p.m. (a stretch for me, since it was already 11 p.m. on my clock) where I had the most spectacular salmon I have every tasted.

One of my students this semester who travels a lot told me that whenever he gets to a new time zone, he lays on his stomach for 20 minutes and lets the sun hit the back of his knees. He said it automatically readjusts his clock. I gave my knees their 20 minutes earlier in the day at the pool.

Perhaps it worked because I drifted to slumber at 10 p.m. (PST) and slept until 7:00 a.m. I think my clock is back in order.