April 1, 2010
The only thing better than spending an entire day touring Sonoma vineyards… is doing it twice in a row.
Thursday dawned, and we were awake (again) to see it. Although I think we slept in til seven this time. By the time DJ, our driver, had backed the Suburban up the long, windy driveway we were ready and waiting for our second day of tours to start.
Breakfast of Champions
We started off at Benzinger, which included a tram tour. Personally, I had a bit of a rough day – criss-crossing the rough terrain of northern California in the back of an SUV left me car sick for the first time in my entire life! When we pulled up to Benzinger, the only thing I wanted to drink was a Sprite out of the vending machine. Unfortunately, the car sickness stuck with me through the next 3 places so I can’t tell you much about the wine, just about the vineyards.
Benzinger was awesome, and definitely a place to go if you ever go out to Sonoma. The tram tour was educational without being boring. We got a tour of the grounds, and they explained their biodynamic garden philosophies which were really incredible – it’s obvious they’ve put a lot effort and money into making their vineyards a sustainable place and I think their success speaks to the idea that you reap what you sow And they sow some yummy grapes. While I didn’t try any that day, fortunately I found a bottle of Benzinger Chardonnay at my local Total Wine when I got back and it was every bit as yummy as my friends had promised.
Various of Views of Benzinger
I’ve always bought wines based on the label (and the price), but understanding where wine comes from and how it grows, and how things like soil, or climate or lifespan affect the grape and thus the wine appeals to me in the same way that understanding where food comes from and how it grows. I don’t fancy myself ever becoming a wine snob (although I do catch myself swirling and sniffing on a regular basis now….) but I like understanding things, and knowing why I like what I like and why I don’t what I don’t. I like understanding what maloactic fermentation is, and that a peachy fume blanc doesn’t really have peach in it.
After Benzinger, we went on to Chateau St Jean which was one of my least favorites of the day – it was more your typical chateau-y looking vineyard. Then our driver asked us if we would be okay going to a really unique place that was a reds only… and I was ready to take a breather (since I’m not a reds only kinda gal), so we went on to Kaz. Kaz was an experience. According to the red drinkers, it was not the best wine they had all week, but the experience was totally unique, in that the wine came straight out of a barrel into your glass or bottle.
After Kaz, we went on to a place called Family Vineyards. Pam and I had actually taken this off our list, because it looked like it was just a house on the road that represented five or six vineyards – and no actual vineyards there. I ended up being very glad our driver had put it back on the list. First of all, our pourer Stephanie was hilarious… she entertained us to no end. I had made a spontaneous recovery from my car sickness and was ready to taste again. Lucky me, because Family Vineyards ended up being home of the Sparkling. I love me some sparkly stuff, ya’ll. Since we were the only ones there, Stephanie tailored the tasting to us – mixing and matching from what she had on hand, diverting from the actual tasting menu – I had three white sand three sparkling, while some of the other girls had more reds, roses and just a few sparklings. I had two sparklings there I had never had – a raspberry flavored Framboise and an almond flavored Almonide. I bought them both to bring home, they were that good . Stephanie also had us do a few “experiments” – drinking a Zin, eating a piece of dark chocolate and trying the Zin again to see how it tasted, and then repeating that with a Late Harvest. Listen, any place that’s going to combine chocolate in its tasting experience gets two pinkies up from this girl.
After Stephanie declared that she was all out of experiments, we headed down the street to Kunde. I liked Kunde, but like Chateau St Jean, it felt more commercialized and our pourer gave us the hard sell on the wine club. This was the first place out of anywhere we went to where we felt like were being “sold” to (and consequently, we didn’t end up buying anything…)
All of us at Kunde
After Kunde, our driver sat in the parking lot deliberating something… then pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call. “Ok, we’re in” he said, explaining that the next place we were visiting was rather picky about large groups and often turned down drivers with groups. When we got to VJB Cellars, I couldn’t help but feeling like The Godfather himself had waved us into his home. VJB was owned by a sweet little Italian gentleman who regaled us with stories of Italy, wine and “the familia.” Even though I’m not a huge fan of reds, I drank every single taste he poured… I’m not sure if it was out of respect or fear! I ended up buying his Primitivo to bring home to Matt. We stayed there until the sun set and until our lovely host, Vittorio, had run out of stories.
Dinner on Thursday night was shrimp and salmon on the grill by Emily, fried goat cheese salad by me and molten lava cakes by Jenny. We did not hurt for calories that evening, let’s just say that. We had a bottle of Prosecco from VJB Cellars to go along with our dinner.
We sat around the table, reminiscing about stories from the ten years we’ve known each other, finishing each other’s sentences and laughing in anticipation as someone would begin rehashing a story we had heard before. There’s no better way to end a day than laughing so hard your stomach hurts and Prosecco nearly comes out your nose (ow) with your best friends.
Thank you, Sonoma, for another beautiful day.
March 30, 2010
I can’t believe here we are FINALLY here! And not just because we left Raleigh 15 hours ago “finally here” but because we’ve been planning this trip for a mere 5 years “finally” here.
Highlights of traveling across the country with your best friends? You can fall asleep on your seatmates shoulder with your mouth wide open, drool on yourself, and wake up without that awkward “my bad” moment. They also set aside you peanuts while you’re sleeping. And watch your bags so you don’t have to try and do the suitcase into stall, twirl around, suitcase back against the door, where does my purse go now?, dance in the bathroom stall that you have to do when you’re solo.
Also: memo to RDU TSA. I’m a little worried that the fact that we put a Tupperware of flour and of sugar through your x-ray machines and nary an eyebrow was raised. I mean, I would have felt a little safer had you at least asked us what that white powdery substance was.
Anyways, we landed in San Fran and the southeast winos awaited the arrival of our northeast representation, Pam. Much hugging, screaming and public jumping up and down ensued.
We went to pick up our rental car – which was supposed to be an Impala, to the delight of Emily, but with a little wink-wink the Hertz lady hooked us up with a mini-van for no extra charge. Not gonna lie, we were all pretty psyched about that guy. Even the aforementioned Chevy dealer appreciated the extra cargo space. (By the way, it kinda drives like a dream. Rethinking my “Will Never Drive a Mini-Van” pledge.)
Sweet, sweet ride.
Everywhere you look…
Through San Fran, across the Golden Gate Bridge (cue many rounds of the Full House theme song and varoius qutes… “Haaave mercy” and “Hoooow Rude), and then an hour north to Sonoma County. I’ve never been to California, and I know the topography is varied but I’d like to go on record to say Northern California? Gorgeous. I have a crush on you, Northern Cali, with all your green rolling hills, and Happy Cows munching grass, and oh yea, your vineyards. As soon as we got about 15 minutes outside of San Fran, the vineyards were everywhere. We passed Kendall Jackson, which made us a little nostalgic. KJ was the wine of choice on our every Wednesday night date to Filling Station our senior year, such that by spring semester we’d arrive to FS to find a table for six with 2 chilled bottles of KJ waiting for us.
The Winos: Now & Then (2004, 2009)
(Top pic: Jess, Pam, Shelby, Emily, Jenny, Megs)
The highlight of 2005 was returning to homecoming, going to Filling Station and having a waiter holler across to us “It’s the KJ girls!”
Fame’s kinda nice, ya’ll.
Wednesday night dinners (or “Winesday night” as we called them) were really my first introduction to wine, and we all started off with Chardonnay. Our tastes have changed so much, I’m not sure any of us are regular Chard drinkers anymore but KJ still takes us back to our roots. (A little wino history for you there.)
Pam had found our house, “Jimtown Cottage,” on one of those vacation rental by owners page and we didn’t know much about it except that it was red and out in the country.
These were both accurate, but the pictures online didn’t do it justice. (Pretty much the reverse of all our Post Exam experiences where picture online shows in-ground pool… you arrive to find hole in the backyard with blue tarp and a garden hose nearby…) We gasped, and squealed, threw our bags down and basically acted out Real World Sonoma County choosing rooms.
Jimtown Cottage. Adorable, I know.
I’ve never been in a rental home this lovely. Must be visitors to Sonoma County are slightly more considerate of their surroundings than those who patron Ocean Ave, Myrtle Beach, SC? Just a hunch.
I want this to be my Wine Country Souvenir. How can we make that happen?
At this point, although it was 5:00 West Coast time, our tummies were growling so we headed to downtown Healdsburg for dinner. We went to a restaurant’s called Willi’s which was small plates style. We ordered seven small plates for the five of us, and a bottle and a half of wine. I forgot to take my camera out in the restaurant, or here’s where I would be posting totally self-indulgent pictures of some really incredible food. You’re disappointed, I know. (Don’t worry… I made up for it at every other meal.) We also tried the wine from the vineyard across the street from our cottage, Stonestreet Wines Chardonnay. (Right, I know, I told you we don’t really drink Chards anymore… well, I lied. Get over it.) I also talked the girls (who are mostly Red drinkers) into trying one of my fave types of wine, a Gewürztraminer. (Winos, when you read this, do any of you remember what vineyard that was?) We bought a half bottle of that and it disappeared instantly. They hated it, clearly. Gertzies are usually very crisp and clear, and go perfect with spicy food… so the Thai calamari plus Gertzie was a perfect combo.
Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this was my food blog for a second. Woops.
We wrapped up our delicious meal at Willi’s and headed back home to get some rest for our big day of vineyards to come. Still on East Coast time, we were lights out by 9, sleeping with the excited anticipation of a little kid on Christmas Eve. That kinda happy.
November 6, 2009
I’m sure they thought buying the trampoline would do the trick. But no, even with the trampoline, the fire pit, the tree house, the Nintendo system, the hundreds of books and movies, the big, rolling park next door and the offer to invite friends whenever we wanted, we always had the same complaint about going to our other house, a big, rambling farmhouse an hour away in a small Ontario town. There’s nothing to do, we whined.
“Precisely,” was the thought, that I’m sure now, was etched in my parent’s mind.
It’s a decade and a half later, and my husband is expertly maneuvering our car through the twists and turns of the Blue Ridge Parkway as we head to his family’s house in Blowing Rock. As we turn into our gravel driveway and see the low hanging roof in front of us, I find myself chanting a delicious mantra. “I have nothing to do.“
It always comes full circle, doesn’t it? When I was 14, I couldn’t understand why my parents would want to leave everything behind for a weekend. I get it now.
I love the charm of the house itself, built by hand by Matt’s industrious Pa the same year that my dear husband was born. Nearly every piece of furnishing inside has it’s own story, whether it’s the trademark lazy susan table Pa is known for building or the settee under the window that came from Nanta’s mother’s boarding house. On my first visit to the mountain house, Nanta walked me down the hallway lined with family pictures, carefully detailing the persons and events of each sepia toned moment. I felt like I should be diligently taking notes, wondering if I would ever be able to remember which handle-bar mustached man was the family’s notorious horse-back riding physician or which 1920s bobbed sister was the one who wrote all the music. I quickly learned, on my next visit back, that Nanta would happily refresh me on the details. (Whether or not I asked.)
Trips to the mountain house over the last five years have included learning how to make red eye gravy without burning down your dorm room kitchen, trips into town to get Kilwyn’s ice cream, rides in the model A car and late night, rambunctious games of Trivial Pursuit and Catchphrase that probably disturbed the nocturnal animals of the area. But it wasn’t until this weekend that it hit me, that that point of going to the mountain house wasn’t for the things we do up there, it was for all the things we don’t do up here.
There’s no internet. There are very few television channels and no DVD player or wii. There’s no mall, no Wal-mart, no Target. There are but a few neighbors and upon waking in the early morning, there are no street noises to indicate whether it might be 4 am or 6 am.
The nearest Starbucks? Is 37 miles away. (Trust me, I looked.)
As soon as your wheels crunch on to the gravel drive, you suddenly feel far away from everything. I have always had a hard time doing nothing at all, but that is precisely the state of being I found myself deliriously anticipating all week long. For the first time ever, in my entire (albeit short) career-life, I did not bring a single piece of work with me on vacation. I did not bring a single project or intention with me. I brought two books, my computer to write, and my camera. I brought my dog and his leash. And about eight bags of groceries. I’m pretty sure we could not leave the house for days and be all set, calorically speaking.
This morning I awoke at 6, and took the dog out for a (brief and very cold) stroll. We came back in the house and I wrestled with an unfamiliar coffee pot, before I gave up and made tea on the stove. I briefly thought about going back to bed, and realized that I had the entire day free to take a nap at some point if I wanted. A nap! I love writing first thing in the morning, before my brain really has a chance to censor itself, but most days, I open up my computer and get caught up in emails or work projects and then the day is running. This morning, sans internet, I settled in with my tea and a blank word document. The sun rose over the Blue Ridge Mountains through the back window as my words settled into the place on the page, and I thought there really is no other place I’m supposed to be right now.
May 31, 2009
So my last post sounded super Debbie Downer, and seriously? Vacation? Not working? Free food and bevs? Perfect weather? Yea, no room for complaining. In all honesty, I was disappointed not to work because I really do love personal training, I love big shiny gyms and I like people. I was kind of looking forward to working with a new batch of ‘em. But all in all, everything turned out okay despite having to accept not working (seriously?). I mean, I did have to “show up” for work each day at 8 am but after 20 minutes of blundering through Spanish with terrible acoustics my first day I asked Hector if I could just work out as long as no one needed training. He agreed that would be fine, and this is how it came to be that I took a vacation where I was paid to show up at 8 am and workout for an hour every day.
I know, guys. Pity me.
After we’d work out, we’d go to breakfast where I fell in love with the omelet station and the pineapple bar and I’d stuff myself silly on these two items. Afterward we’d go back to the room and slather up with SPF 30 before setting up camp at the pool. Oh, the pool. I stayed poolside from about 10-2, with at least 3 more SPF-ings, voraciously reading. I quickly learned there was a “leave a book, take a book” and went through at least one whole fiction novel each day. Matt earned himself resort wide recognition playing beach volleyball and/or life-sized chess games. (Pics to come.) We’d take a break around lunch, and then call it quits again around 4. We’d head back to the room for a nap or to watch the only English channel, CNN (for me, nap > CNN) and then shower before heading down to the bar. On one day, I’m pretty sure we laid down for a nap around 2 and didn’t stir again til 6. We slept. A lot.
I know.
Matt had stayed late night at one bar watching an NBA game and befriended a bartender – a local with a penchant for tossing Grey Goose bottles high into the air and catching them moments before they crashed into the ground ` and so we quickly became regulars at this entertaining lobby bar. We’d have a drink or two, wander off to dinner, and then meander our way back to our still-warm bar seats. Here we’d chat with Teo – our bartender – learning much about his life, the traditions of the island (what mamajuana is, and is not) or meeting other hotel guests, sharing our TV and pistachios with them. Around half-time, we’d head up to our room with a “roadie”, where Matt would finish up the basketball game and I’d quickly be studying the back of my eyelids. 9 hours of sleep became a regular habit for me.
I know.
Tough life, huh? I tell you what, you hardly appreciate it while you have it. Before you know it you are walking back through the customs terminal at Charlotte International, looking at your cell phone light up with missed voice mails and emails and wondering why it isn’t possible to store up all that extra sleep and sun like a debit account for later withdrawals. Our vacation turned out to be exactly what we ordered: relaxing, detached, unscheduled and drawn out. The perfect fulcrum point to a hectic end of medical school and a sure-to-be-hectic beginning of internship. We’re both now wondering if the florescent lights in our workplace will give off UVA/UVB to help keep us in the carefree, happy place of this last week. Somehow I think I know the answer to this, but I’ll wear SPF 15 this week just to be sure. At least something will smell like coconuts this week, because my beverages certainly will not.
Pics to come.
May 26, 2009
I have been surprised at the language barrier here and how many of the staff – from concierge to gym staff – speak little to no ingles. I also have been surprised at the relative ease at which my Spanish has, thankfully, found its way back to me, after being tucked away in my subconscious for nearly six years. So, as mentioned, I’m here to personal train, right? Right. (And, y’know, test all the daquiri flavors.) I had visions of a shiny resort gym, a sign-up board with appointments, giving my trainees my best Jillian-esque workout, maybe even doing some on-the-floor weight loss coaching, converting their vacay into a mini Canyon Ranch in their one hour with me. Lovely, right? (I’m good at this vision work stuff.)
Reality? Not so much. Why I was way off:
1) It took me 2 days to merely figure out who scheduled people to be working in the gym. In these 2 days Matt and I learned that it also takes an act of congress to get towels or make a dinner reservation. Laid back? Um, you bet. When I finally found “my boss,” I’m not even sure he really knew I was supposed to be here. Then he asked if I could teach “aerobics in la piscina.” Luckily “no” needs no translation.
2) The gym looks exactly like my high school gym which was geared towards wrestlers and lineackers. The only thing “shiny” about it is the perma-stains of sweat on the weight benches.
3) The gym is run by Hector who speaks no english, thinks Matt plays for the Braves (did I mess something up in translation?), works from 7a to 7p for a wage that makes US minimum wage look like a make it rain kinda salary, and told me he’s is mucho bored. So, no sign up boards.
4) I saw 2-4 guests use the gym. Most of the occupants are employees of the resort, and clearly not interested in a training session. I guess this is how Hector survives – companionship.
I felt somewhat awkward and useless today in my first “working” day. I spent 20 minutes talking to Hector, but the acoustics in the gym were so bad that every 3rd or 4th response was lost – add to that I was trying to salvage my rusty Spanish skills and it ended up being my brain getting the biggest workout of all. Don’t get me wrong: I ain’t complaining! I’m in a tropical paradise, working 1 hour a day, and the pina colada machine never turns off. I’ll figure out a way to live with all this let-down.
The best part of floundering in a new language is the absolute thought, care and devotion dedicated to the choosing each world. Each “please” and “thank you” is a bridge between two worlds and the look of comprehension in the recipients eyes when the right tense is combined with the right verb is like the giving of no other gift.
Tonight we met Danny and Angela, siblings from Boston, who slip easily from Spanish to English with a mere flicker of thought. At one point, I asked Angela the best way to say “I would like” when ordering – knowing one could say “Quiero,” “Pido“, “Me gustaria” and so many other choices. (Imagine: in English… I’d like, Can I have, Bring me, Yea I want the… Gimmeah….). Her answer, “Deseo“, was not one I had considered and my joy at using just the right word in the future is just so tangibly unique to any other experience.
What a strange and separate world it is to know just a sliver of a language. Enough to “act as if”, but when the waterfall of worlds tumble out in response I back away, hands up, pleading “Mas Despacio!” And then as if the water was not cold enough the first time, I plunge back in.
May 24, 2009
We have arrived in Punta Cana! We are just sitting in the main lobby of our hotel now, awaiting our room to be ready. Ya’ll, it is HOT. Like, North Carolina in August minus the option of air conditioning plus the stupidity of wearing jeans because I was traveling on a plane and plane are always cold HOT.
The deal is that I’m contracted as the personal trainer here at this lovely resort for up to 3 hours a day, in exchange for us getting to stay here – room, food, drinks – for the mere cost of one night’s stay, 2 plane tickets, deportation tax, and the taxi ride from hell. Not a bad deal, if you can arrive here without losing your lunch in the taxi. I swear, the ride here made a Manhattan taxi ride look like a Sunday drive with Nanta and Pa. There are no lines on the road, stop signs apparently are optional, motorcycles are merely temporarily distractions to swerve around, oncoming traffic is No Big Deal when passing, and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me that speed limit is in kilometers? After awhile, I just shut my eyes and prayed that if we crashed, the ER doc sitting next to me would still be conscious because I’d rather take my chances on him saving my life with something out of our toiletry kit than go to the Punta Cana hospital – if there is one.
But we made it, and we’re here waiting and the resort looks gorgeous. The resort is kind of u-shaped facing the beach, and there’s two pools. One is the quiet pool, probably more family-friendly, and the other currently has Jock Jams pumping and the swim-up bar is jam packed. The resort is more international than I thought it would be – I just sort of assumed (estupida americana) that all the staff people would habla ingles. Not so much. Fortunately, my Spanish is reliably coming back to me.
Now, if we could just get in our rooms (and a/c) and get into bathing suits… it’s vacay time!
Various of Views of Benzinger
