My Book Won An Award

My Year In California won the silver award from the North American Travel Journalists Association.   So excited to share the gift of living in the Golden State with the rest of the world. 

Cabrillo National Monument

My son Jordan balances himself along
a wall at Cabrillo National Monument.
I closed my eyes while snapping this pix.

San Diego, CA -- “This may be the most beautiful day of the year,” I told Jordan at the Cabrillo National Monument as we gazed over all of downtown San Diego, sailboats set in the foreground.  It had rained the night before and there was snow on Mount Palomar and the Laguna Mountains.  I've worn contact lenses for the past 20 years, so my eyes are no longer sharp, yet I could still clearly make out the Spanish revival style tower that houses the Museum of Man at Balboa Park, ten miles away. 

Venice: The Boys Are Back In Town

Venice, CA -- On a tranquil winter day, I sat on the beach, meditating on gentle waves tumbling on the shore when three young men carrying skateboards passed in front of me. Freedom. Riding on that same breeze was a whiff of incense, the scent of Venice, tenderly reminding me to remain in the present moment. I drew a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. There is only one time, and it is now.

Arcata: Holly Yashi Jewelry

Arcata, CA -- My favorite jewelry in the world is made in Arcata—the company is called Holly Yashi. Their signature metal is a lightweight material called niobium like titanium but much rarer.  When niobium is dipped in an electrically-charged bath, the refractory metal turns into a rich rainbow color, resulting in one-of-a-kind necklaces and earrings.  

            The story of how owners Holly Hosterman and Paul “Yashi” Lubitz began their company goes back to 1981, when they were searching for creative ways to use their degrees. Holly, who majored in studio art with an emphasis in jewelry-making, and Paul, who graduated with a double degree in industrial technology and music, knew they wanted to work together. Combining their talents to lay the foundation for what would quickly become a successful jewelry business they transformed their one-car garage into a design studio and started their lifelong career with Holly Yashi.  They just celebrated 30 years in business. 

            If you’re looking for a Mother’s Day gift that will wow your mom, I recommend Holly Yashi.  Tell them the Humboldt Honey sent you. 

El Portal: Rafting the Merced River

El Portal, CA --  The Merced River picks up at the West Entrance to Yosemite in mid-spring alongside  Highway 140, five miles from El Portal.  The snow melt is only a few hours old—low 40’s and ready to give Class III and Class IV rafters the ride of a lifetime.  If you're looking for adventure and appreciate a tremendous landscape, I recommend you explore the Merced River with the Zephyr Whitewater Expeditions.  Tell them Operation Goldfish sent you.

Rodeo Drive: Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills, CA -- When I was little, I loved watching the Beverly Hillbillies, falling in love with the Clampetts who struck oil, calling it black gold, Texas tea.  Since now they were rich, they moved to Beverly Hills—swimming pools and movies stars.  It was a natural for me to visit the shopping capital of the world, Rodeo Drive, a three-block district of high-end stores with designer names like Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, Tiffany & Co. and Chanel.  But I never did run into the Clampetts, only tourists.

Fort Rosencrans National Cemetery

San Diego, CA -- Watching the sunset at the only place on the peninsula that allows people to stay after 5 p.m.—Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, a West Coast version of Arlington National Cemetery.  Admittedly it is a creepy place to watch the sun go down, what with all the identical white marble tombstones and randomly distributed carnations, but my son and I were undaunted. Since it was still so cold we waited for sunset in the car, facing due west.  Jordan took a little snooze and I looked out over the horizon and saw distant ships sailing into the mist, imagining early explorer Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo peering through his scope aboard his vessel the San Salvador to the shore and I wondered if he could see me, snuggled in the car wearing a big warm jacket, set among the tombstones, gently touching the sleeve of my sleeping son’s arm. “Wake up…it’s almost time for the sun to set.”

Cabrillo National Monument: San Diego Treasure

San Diego, CA -- Cabrillo National Monument is at the tip of the Point Loma peninsula.  It offers a panoramic view of San Diego, the naval shipyard to north and the Coronado Bridge and Island to the south.  I took my son Jordan, who was visiting from Davis for the weekend, to see the place where Spanish conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo in 1542, became the first European to set foot on what would later become the state of California.

Indian Canyon: Heart of Palm Springs

Palm Springs, CA -- Indian Canyon is the resilient, yet fragile heart of the Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians. This holy oasis of canyons and streams is home to the world’s largest grove of Washingtona filifera, known as the California Fan Palm. These skirted, stately guards grow to 60 feet and are over 200 years old. 

Golden Gate Bridge: Tourist Rite of Passage

San Francisco, CA -- Last year, I went on a pilgrimage of California and lived for one month in 12 cities.  In each city I took a picture in front of their official city limits sign.  In San Francisco, their sign was in the center of the Golden Gate Bridge.  I walked the 1.7 miles north toward Marin County across the entire span searching for the San Francisco city limits sign only to discover that it was across the bridge on the bicycles-only side, where no foot-traffic was allowed.  I dodged angry spandex-clad bicyclists to arrive at my destination.  I had to take the photo myself.  The goal was to place the entire sign in the picture frame, with at least some part of me in the photograph.  I was a bundle of nerves—my hands were shaking and my fingers were thumbs.  It took me 63 times to get it right.

Palace of Fine Arts: San Francisco Treasure

San Francisco, CA -- The Palace of Fine Arts in the Marina District was built for the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition or what’s known as the World’s Fair.  It was part of a massive undertaking to show the world that after the 1906 earthquake and resulting fire, San Francisco was back in business. 

Architect Bernard Maybeck designed the Palace of Fine Arts to evoke the same emotional response of sadness and beauty one might feel while looking at a Roman ruin, yet still in California.  The circular paved walkway offers views of a pond filled with ducks and geese, surrounded by camellia and rhododendron trees creating an ethereal landscape. The fact that this haunting structure of immense proportion remains standing is a testament to the esteem San Franciscans hold for their beloved landmark. Gavin Newsom, the city's former mayor is quoted as saying “The Palace is part of San Francisco's soul, a beautiful link to our past and a gateway to the future.”

Goddess Clothing: Serrahna in Oakland

Looking for Goddess clothing?  Try Serrahna in Oakland.  I bought a handloomed poncho in gold and black to add a little bling to my wardrobe.  Owner Andrea Serrahn designs the clothing herself and travels to India twice a year to seek out the finest textiles, artisans and tailors in her quest to offer a wide array of fair-trade fashions for women of all ages and sizes.  This boutique shop is loaded with one-of-a-kind items. Andrea will personally assist you in selecting an outft to brighten your wardrobe.  Go there soon and try one of her mom's homemade carmels at the front desk.  Candy and artisan clothing?  Divine.

Finding California Gold: Antelope Valley Poppy Preserve

Lancaster, CA -- At a party in Venice Beach, the owner of Flake, a Venice restaurant dedicated to the pursuit of cereal and yummy cuisine showed me pictures on her cell phone of brilliant orange poppies. "If you ever get a chance to see these poppies in bloom, do yourself a favor and go, you'll never regret it." Now I've lived long enough to know that when someone makes a recommendation of this caliber and intensity, it's wise to heed the call, if possible. The Antelope Valley California Poppy Reserve conveniently enough, was on my way out of the L.A. basin, north along Highway 5, 15 miles west of Lancaster, California. Divine timing.

Listening to the Grateful Dead station on my XM satellite radio driving by fields of brilliant orange poppies put me in that groovy head space of wonder and awe. Is it possible that so much beauty can exist on this Earth and not have it be overrun with people? Indeed. The intense blooming season for the California poppy falls usually within late winter to early spring, during the months of mid-February through mid-May. Go there now, for the maximum bloom. Within the reserve, there are seven miles of trails, including a paved section for wheelchair access, which traverse through the poppy fields.

Watching the undulating breeze quake a sea of golden poppies at the 1800 acre State Reserve was like finding California gold incarnate. As far as my eyes could see, there were poppies. Liquid gold. The energetic vibration of all these flowers was difficult to hold. I couldn't sit still for long—the energy too intense. When I viewed the experience through a micro lense and examined each individual poppy, the metaphor was revealed to me. Each flower in various stages of growth represented the natural cycle of our lives: some were buds, others unfolding, still others in full bloom, while many had gone to seed and were dormant.

In celebration of the 40th anniversary of Earth Day—which by the way is my 49th birthday, do yourself a favor and go visit the poppy reserve. Tell them the Divine Daytripper and Paige sent you. Happy Earth Day!

Spring Skiing: Bluebird Days

Sierra Nevada, CA -- Oh the bluebird days of spring skiing has me hummin' a tune: Zippidee Doo Da, Zippidee Ay, my oh my what a wonderful day, plenty of sunshing, heading my way...

Sugar Bowl Ski Resort is still alive with grateful skiers enjoying the last days of winter.  While most people are now thinking of gardening, golfing or tennis, our tribe of ten, including the Bowl's 2009 ski patrolman of the year Paul Licata were enjoying the slopes mostly to ourselves.  The snow was soft and forgiving, the temperature in the mid-50's and plenty of sunshine.  Better wax and edge those skis because Sugar Bowl will remain open until April 25. My favorite run: top of Lincoln down to Disney.

Ride, Wine & Dine: Biking Napa’s Wine Country

Yountville, CA – In my mind, bike riding and wine tasting don’t really mix. Kind of like peanut butter and banana sandwiches, it’s an odd pairing. However, I’m always willing to try anything once. So here I am on a winter’s day, sitting on a touring bike with a wide, comfortable seat, riding past boutique vineyards in Napa Valley’s wine country. It’s a cool 45 degrees, my nose is running, my ears are freezing, and I am bitter with envy as my friend Koleen rides in comfort with her wool gloves and thermal head band. I mock her preparation skills—Ms. iPod, she’s probably wearing thermal underwear, too. Still, I get over myself long enough to marvel at the stark beauty of the dormant winter vines. I promise myself to come back here in early spring when the mustard blooms and the temperature is mild. Or maybe during fall harvest, when I can pluck a juicy grape off the vine as I whiz by on my bike, wearing nothing more than a flowing skirt, a skimpy t-shirt, and, of course, my trusty helmet.

Leading us on this survival challenge is Nick Wierzba of Napa Valley Bike Tours. Nick tells me his love of wine and passion for biking is a good fit. “The people I guide on bikes are on vacation, they are already happy, and it’s fun to show my backyard to everyone.” Nick’s “backyard” includes hidden wineries that a visitor might not otherwise discover. “Biking is a good way to see the Napa Valley,” says Nick. “If you’re in a limo or car, the vineyards look like corn rows.” I ask Nick what the policy is on drinking and biking. “We cycle an average of four miles between each wine tasting. It gives people time to burn off alcohol—we’ve had zero accidents related to people being drunk.”

I actually like the thought of being drunk on my bike—might take the edge off of our chilly winter’s afternoon cycling adventure, which thankfully is only two hours long. We stopped and imbibed at the hip and tony Cliff Lede (pronounced Cliff Lady), a 60-acre winery set in the Stags’ Leap District. This quintessential Napa Valley winery’s got it all: indoor art gallery, outdoor sculptures, state of the art gravity-flow conical tanks, and acres of hidden caves filled with single-layer barrel storage. Owner Cliff Lede, who acquired the property in 2002, put some serious coin into this bucolic slice of heaven. Repeat after me: swank-tastic. I recommend their 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon (15.2 percent alcohol content—yum!), which conjures exotic spices, old leather, and new money—a winning Napa Valley combination.


Alas, it is time to get back in the saddle, and continue this unique two-wheeled adventure. By the time we get back to our hotel, I discover that bike riding and wine tasting do mix after all. My suggestion is to wait until warmer weather prevails when it's enjoyable rather than just endurable. Next time I’ll tear a page out of Koleen’s Girl Scout book and be prepared—Sunscreen and Chardonnay anyone?

Sierra Nevada Adventure: Miracle on the Mountain

Truckee, CA – Executing a 360-degree spinout in a snowstorm while entering Highway 80 seemed effortless with Rachel behind the wheel—like a trained ballerina twirling a pirouette—only we were doing it in four-wheel drive with snow chains on the front tires. My heart went into my throat. Rachel—fresh from celebrating her 40th birthday—quickly got us back on the road. “Okay, that was the first time I ever did a complete spinout,” she said. “Glad that’s over.” She pointed the white Acura SUV due west toward Sacramento. Like the Donner Party who made this crossing in the winter of 1846-47, on this same exact pass in the Sierra Nevada mountains, we were trying to make our way home. Pioneers! O Pioneers!

This was our second attempt at getting off the Sierra. The snowstorm came in earlier than expected the day before and Caltrans closed the highway, ending any wide-eyed hopes of watching 60 Minutes from the comfort of our own homes. The dream of a St. Bernard dog with a barrel of brandy around his neck coming to our Alpine rescue was just that—a fantasy, much like watching Carrie Bradshaw trying to marry Mr. Big in a lavish wedding in Sex and the City on the tiny television in Rachel’s car. Beth, the doe-eyed beauty of the group called a friend of a friend, of a friend, who owned a second home in Truckee and our base camp for the night was secured—we were ready to hunker down for the evening.

There are times in life when the kindness of newfound friends is so profound that the opportunity for repayment is not possible, and so it was with our hosts: Tanya and her mother and father in-law, Nonni and Nonna, affectionately known as the Italians. Their generosity embodied the biblical “water into wine, two fish into a feast” story. We drank ample bottles of Nonni’s homemade red wine. We watched in amazement as Nonna’s pasta dish grew from an original serving of five, to fill the bellies of ten. It was a glorious rigatoni concoction of spicy tomato sauce, diced chicken, and mozzarella cheese. A spinach and romaine lettuce salad with olive oil and vinegar dressing filled in the gaps along with two pizzas: one cheese, the other a meat and veggie combo. Where this freshly delivered pizza came from remained a mystery. File it under the “Marriage of Cana” miracle. For desert, we dined on Nonna’s pie made with homegrown apples from their Napa Valley trees.

Nonni told us stories of his hometown near Naples, Italy; and learned about the family restaurant that they owned for 40 years in Napa; and watched as their three grandchildren, all under the age of seven, showered them with affection by tearing up pieces of tissue paper and sprinkling their heads with it. Let it snow. Let it snow. Let it snow.

In the morning, two feet of snow covered our cars and the driveway. The world looked like a freshly shaken snow globe. Highway 80, the main artery to our deliverance from this snow covered paradise was finally open and we were ready for adventure. Our hands and feet were frozen from shoveling snow and putting on tire chains, but our hearts were warm from the memory of our unexpected evening of international camaraderie including a rousing game of Scrabble, tossing the grandkids on the coach and the gift of newfound friendships.

Monterey Bay -- Have Pumpkin, Will Kayak

MONTEREY BAY, CA – Karen let out a shriek and I quickly turned around to see an elephant seal practically dive-bomb her kayak. A little too close for her comfort, she sighs with relief and then laughs, yet another story to tell about paddling magical Monterey Bay.

I am here with the Crazy Cayak Krew (CCK), a group of 14 raucous, fun-loving kayakers, hell-bent on adventure. We are paddling outside of the Monterey Bay Aquarium among sea otters, pelicans, and a wayward white egret who sits atop the kelp bed staring intently on what could be his breakfast. Bob, our leader, has a pumpkin strapped on the front of his kayak and if you think that’s weird, listen to this, the pumpkin is wearing a child’s life vest and has a name: Mr. Wilson. We hoop and holler on the undulating sea—as the swell surges us into a hypnotic trance, then silence.

We finish our day by paddling through the harbor and marveling at pelicans sunning themselves next to restaurant diners. Life is good on the water.

Farm to Fork: Enjoying nature’s bounty

MADERA, CA -- Fresh. Local. Organic. That’s the motto of T & D Willey Farms. I’m sitting in the passenger’s seat of Tom Willey’s electric cart as we drive the 75 acres of his and wife Denesse’s Madera farm. There are rows of French Breakfast radishes, Rosa Bianca eggplants, Russian kale and more than 50 varieties of crops—all organic, a Garden of Eden. At this farm, there is no mechanized harvest. In fact, the yellow crookneck squash are picked with white cotton gloves to protect their sensitive skins. Talk about a labor of love.

Every part of this productive farm radiates health and vitality. In large part because of the Willey’s commitment to old-fashioned farming, “We do not use any toxic pesticides,” said Tom pointing to a stand of sunflowers—a habitat strip that attracts beneficial insects for pest control, “we focus on plant nutrient and soil quality. That’s the best possible protection.”

The Willey’s send me home with a box of fruits and vegetables similar to what their Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) customers receive. “I can’t just show you this produce, you have to taste it” said Tom, loading the box into my trunk. I pop a firm red grape into my mouth and marvel at the flavor, complex yet simple. Divine. The rest of the grapes sit on my lap for the journey back to Sacramento. Farm to Fork? Uh-ah…these babies are farm to mouth—thanks Tom!

Rafting -- South Fork of the American River

LOTUS, CA -- “This next rapid is called Hospital Bar. You either end up in the hospital or you want to be in a bar, drinking,” said our river guide Peter “Mac” MacLaren from the back of the raft. Before I could even say margarita, we dive headlong into a Class Three rapid – 1,350 cubic feet per second of ice-cold Sierra Nevada snowmelt funneling through a rocky channel of pure exhilaration, soaking us to the bone. Woo-hoo! Now this is what I call living.

I am on the 12-mile “Gorge” stretch on the South Fork of the American River aboard the raft affectionately called “Ship of Fools.” It is near the historic site of Coloma, where gold was first discovered in California. “Eureka, I’ve found it” has given way to “show me some plastic,” as our boatload of six, high-five our paddles together after surviving the likes of Satan’s Cesspool and the Recovery Room.

River Runners, our adventure host, has been running trips on this stretch of the American River for over 25 years. According to Peter Mac, who’s been guiding since 1993, today there are over 100 boats on this river—a traffic jam of thrill seekers, hell bent on adventure. There are college students with water guns and helmet-wearing kayakers zipping through the rapids. Watching on the sidelines from the comfort of their lawn chairs are sunbathers on sandy beaches. A blowtorch wind hurls through the canyon as we make our way down river. I spy a weathered pirate flag with “surrender your booty” written in white. The countryside is divided: pastoral Chaparral, low-land Manzanita shrubs; to the more alpine-looking Ponderosa, Live Oak and Alder. Yonder on the hill is the Lollipop Tree. We all break out into obnoxious songs.

My beloved friends Rose and Shirish are with me on this 100 degree day as we advance through more than ten, Class two and three rapids. Bouncing Rock, Son of Satan, Lost Hat, each offer its own level of excitement. As we advanced through Midgets with Golf Clubs and were tossed from our seats to the raft bottom Shirish yells, “your husband picked a great day to get married.” I smiled to myself, looked at him and said, “former – my former husband.” We all laughed, then hung on for dear life as the next E-ticket Disney ride slammed our boat.