Category Archives: California

Ode to the Swimming Pool

March 24, 2013

For years, I’ve based my hotel choices not on price or location but on the quality of the pool. Indoor, outdoor, it didn’t matter, but there had to be a well-maintained pool, one that the hotel was proud to showcase, not something hidden on the sixth floor at the end of some abandoned hallway.

I turned my Cheeveresque pool quest into an assignment for The Los Angeles Times (Nora Ephron’s mother is right–everything is copy!). The article appears in today’s LA Times travel section, focusing on Southern California pools with a few pools nearby in the desert, as well as some surprisingly alluring pools in cold places like Seattle and Montreal.

(Photo credit: Splashtopia at Rancho Las Palmas Resort & Spa)

I wish the Northeast had California’s pool season. I live here, the swankier pools are there, so we travel out west once a year for about a week or two every summer and, yes, we sample the pools (and the beaches) the way you sample Napa wines. You can read about my family escapades to California here. Our annual California vacation involves a week in LA so Mike can visit the Mother Ship (his employer) while Anna and I soak up quality pool time. We make time to explore other parts of California, too. One year it was a day trip to San Diego. Another year we did Disneyland. Last year, we did Big Sur and San Francisco. This year, we’re doing four days in Monterey and a day trip to San Juan Capistrano Mission. Ironically, the day my pool article debuted is the day I paid the bill for our family’s summer town pool membership, though pool season doesn’t start until Memorial Day weekend, so we have a two-month wait ahead of us. Meanwhile, SoCal families may be reading my story now and could spend Easter poolside if they chose to. It’s a sweet life out there in SoCal. New York City’s bagels are better, but SoCal has a lot going for it. It’s always a beautiful sight when our flight descends towards LA airport and I can see all the backyard pools glistening sky blue.

24 Hours in San Francisco – Beanies & Bikinis (Pack Both!)

October 6, 2012

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Mark Twain once said “the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.” The typical summer day in San Francisco rarely tops 70 degrees. The day we were there the thermometer sputtered to reach 60. We drove up from Los Angeles and added layers with each passing hour during the ride. When we got to San Francisco, our heads were cold. It was late August and 58 degrees. Just 18 hours earlier, we had been boogie boarding in Santa Monica on an 85-degree day.

We had 24 hours in this fantastic city so what did we do on a chilly, overcast, dreary Saturday? We hopped a trolley and headed to the beach!

Walking along the waterfront and historic (and never dull) Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghiradelli Square, we saw every garment being worn, from shorts and flip-flops to heavy coats and scarves and mittens. We saw men swimming in the bay wearing wet suits or speedos, and women of all shapes and sizes grabbing a few afternoon laps in the bay in nothing more than a bikini. That’s right. While we purchased touristy-knitted animal-shaped beanies along Fisherman’s Wharf–people swam in San Francisco Bay’s funky cocktail of freshwater and saltwater protected only by a strip or two of polyester.

And that’s what I love about San Francisco. It’s a city of contrasts. It’s rowdy in Union Square and serene at the Japanese Tea Garden. It’s 58 degrees and freezing on a Saturday night so folks swim. It’s sunny and 70 degrees the following day so people sit at a cafe with a hot coffee. Freshwater mixes with saltwater. East mixes with West. My visits here are always shorter than they should be. No matter how many times I come by, I’m always underdressed and thrilled to be in town because every street corner offers something unexpected.

What to do when it’s below 70 degrees?

There’s always people-watching along the bay. We did. We also enjoyed decadent hot cocoa at Ghiradelli Square, though (dare I say this publicly?) it was too decadent for this chocohalic. The shopping was fun and I spent probably way too much time and money at Gigi and Rose where I bought a beautiful, sparkly, citron-colored scarf because that’s my weak spot when I travel: scarves. Gigi and Rose sold jewelry by Amano Studio, a Sonoma, California-based company, so now I’m hooked on them, too. I really, really wanted to grab some snacks and souvenirs, from Boudin Bakery, like a giant sourdough crab,but the line never let up. Next time. After freezing our tails off by the water, we spent the night at the beautiful Westin St. Francis hotel. There are the new and historic sections to the hotel. We stayed in the historic section and had a room overlooking Union Square where people gathered in sleeping bags to watch an outdoor movie that night. We stayed very much indoors and the hotel served us milk and cookies. Westin St. Francis also had the best soap–white tea aloe, green leaf-shaped silky smooth bars of soap. I get giddy just talking about it. While I loved Westin St. Francis’s hospitality (and its soap) Union Square itself is too much of a retail mecca for me. I’m not a mall gal at home or on the road.

What to do when it’s above 70 degrees:

Feeling lazy? So are the sea lions on Pier 39, but tons of sightseers come by to watch these creatures laze in the sun. It’s not a bad way to spend 15 minutes, plus there’s a carousel and other boardwalk goodies nearby.

Our leisure Sunday morning continued with kite-flying along the bay. Not too far from lazy sea lions, is San Francisco Kites. This will go down as one of my favorite family vacation memories. We bought a blue macaw kite, unwrapped everything along the beach, and really the wind took the toy and did the rest. I often complain about the chotchke plastic junk that families buy for their kids, but this kite was a piece of plastic worth the investment. We had a fantastic time and barely moved a muscle because bay breezes just grabbed our kite and danced.

Cloudy or clear, San Francisco is always radiant. If you’re not outside enjoying its bay, its gardens, its parks and mountains then you need cognitive behavioral therapy. I could have spent all day at Golden Gate Park, home to the Japanese Tea Garden (a great place to relax), a rose garden, the San Francisco Botanical Garden, Shakespeare’s Garden, and an AIDS Memorial Grove. Again, next time, and with the giant crab sourdough bun in hand.

Feeling Small in Big Sur

September 13, 2012

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Big Sur is unforgiving. I could wax poetic and quote those before me about its striking coastline hand carved by the Creator, how it’s the most amazing place where land meets sea, how it’s the Earth as God intended. And all of those things are true. But after a few days on the Creator’s coastline I walked away humbled by Big Sur’s bigness. The Spanish called this stretch of wild “the big country in the south,” but as you drive and hike further in, you see how quickly the land overshadows its name.

The cliffs, the mountains, the redwoods, the stretch of blue that is sometimes sea and sometimes sky–it’s all big. This is a place that just got electricity en masse only about 60 years ago because the land is barely habitable–so much of the parks and attractions there are named after those resilient enough to stick around. This is a place relatively under-developed in our over-developed world because getting people, let alone materials, in and out of there is a feat. This is a place where signs read “Sensitive Habitat,” suggesting Big Sur is about to crumble into the Pacific at any moment from the simple mistake of a mountain lion or a tourist drunk on Chardonnay stepping somewhere slippery and suddenly there’s a mudslide sending everyone over.

It’s silly to say words can’t describe this landscape, but, um, words can’t describe this landscape (though I will try). Fly to California, rent a car from San Francisco (or if you feeling ambitious, Los Angeles), and drive the Pacific Coast Highway, fondly known by the locals as the PCH. Sometimes the PCH is lined with guard rails. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes the road runs right along a curvy cliff with a thousand-foot drop to the ocean. Sometimes it’s straight. But this is California, so take it easy, and take advantage of the multiple turnouts where you can pull over, give the white knuckles a rest from the steering wheel, breathe deeply and soak in what all that Creator talk and fussin’ are about. Big Sur is 90 miles of coastline so there’s plenty of opportunity. There are plants that look like feather dusters. Pink lilies grow along the sides of cliffs. The ground looks lush and parched all at the same time. The beaches are jagged in some areas, smooth in others. Make sure you have enough battery power in your iPhones and cameras because every moment spent in Big Sur is photogenic.

Where to Stay:

We stayed at Glen Oaks Big Sur, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s now my go-to destination for lodging there. It’s not cheap. And it doesn’t serve breakfast (though you can walk next door to the River Inn Cafe for awesome French toast or huevos rancheros). So why do I like it? The vibe. Yep. I pay for good vibe. Glen Oaks offers bucolic serenity with rustic modern flair. This place just oozed California cool to me with its Eames plastic chairs and sustainable hardwood bathrooms (my daughter particularly enjoyed the bathroom floor warming option). Every room has a fireplace, and the nights are cold there, even in late August. Other perks include orange yoga mats tucked in closets and, for $15, you can grab a bucket of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers and sit by their gas-powered fire and listen to the Big Sur night rise. Sun salutations in the morning, sticky gooey campfire snacks at night. And then gorgeous hiking and beach time in between. Definitely get plenty of rest wherever you stay because when you get back on the Pacific Coast Highway to navigate your way across Big Sur, you’re quickly reminded who’s in charge on this planet, and, hint, hint, it’s not us.

What to Do:

Hike. Swim. Hug a redwood. Sunbathe. Kite surf. Look at birds. Watch elephant seals. Take pictures of wildflowers. Need I say more? Traveling with an eight-year-old, we kept the hiking light (nothing too vertical) and pursued very accessible trails at Andrew Molera State Park or spent time at the lovely Pfeiffer Beach. Santa Monica is beautiful, but Pfeiffer Beach reminds you what Santa Monica might have looked like when the mission fathers were building their parishes centuries ago. State parks cost a $10 entrance fee and admission is valid at any state park for the day. Pfeiffer Beach cost $5 to enter.

The elephant seals nap on Point Piedras Blancas towards the southern end of the Big Sur stretch. There’s no admission charge, but donations are welcome. Pull over and stand behind the fence while the seals roll around in the sand, bark, swat at flies, and pose for the camera, all from their protected natural habitats.

The little colorful specks here are kite surfers riding the waves at Big Sur.

Where to Eat:

Nepenthe. This cliff side restaurant is handicap-accessible and you can also burn calories before dinner by schlepping up several flights of stairs to the restaurant for an amazing view and a cocktail. There’s also the Phoenix Gift Shop stocked with jewelry made by area artists, books, funky overpriced decorative objects, and a clawfoot bathtub filled with goldfish. (I bought some souvenir bling.) The shopping is downstairs, the dining is upstairs. Since we were dining on a cliff, our daughter’s crayons kept rolling off the table, but thankfully our food did not. Everything was phenomenally good so order whatever–it will be delicious. My favorite part was the detailed story about the goat cheese wedge on our cheese plate. Our waitress thoughtfully explained to us how the goat was milked once in the morning when the fog was rolling out and then that very same goat was milked again at night as the fog rolled in; the milk remained separated and made into cheese that was then separated by a layer of ash. I couldn’t taste the difference between cheese made with morning milk and cheese made with evening milk, but the story and the waitress’s earnestness made me love California even more.

The view at Nephenthe, a great place to enjoy goat cheese with locally made wine:

And the fish in the bathtub. Now I know what to do with our antique spare clawfoot bathtub (yes, we own two):

Spontaneity Flop

August 25, 2011

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Spontaneity doesn’t always work out. I like to keep a vacation itinerary loose; mix it up with old haunts and new ones and not necessarily know what I’m going to be doing that day. This year, we visited The Huntington Library and I decided we would just show up, wander the gardens and galleries of the very rich, and enjoy a lovely mother-daughter afternoon tea, which, for Anna, means piling tons of precious little cookies and cakes on to dainty plates.

For $21.50 (Anna’s admission was $6) we saw only a fraction of the estate (we simply tired out). Named after railroad magnate and fellow upstate New Yorker Henry E. Huntington, the “library” is a series of mini-museums spread across very well irrigated and manicured acres. The San Gabriel mountains watch over the estate. The museums are devoted to botany, science, art and books. Huntington left his hometown of Oneonta, New York, to follow the family railroad business in California (why does industry and innovation always move East to West? It keeps happening, from railroads to Facebook). The 18th century art collection is extensive and shows portrait after portrait of pale rich people staring. What interested me most is what the Huntingtons thought they should be collecting and sharing with a less enlightened public; that at the turn of the 20th century, this was how people were supposed to be wealthy. To be knowledgeable about 18th century French art was considered a privilege then and money was used to accrue evidence of this knowledge.

Wealth looks so different today. Warren Buffett still lives in the five-bedroom Omaha, Nebraska home he purchased more than a half century ago. Sam Walton prided himself on driving an old pickup truck. Bill Gates owns some Michelangelo originals (and we’re not invited to his Seattle lakeside home to view them) but he also gives billions to support vaccination efforts in Africa. Hygiene and public health were still embryonic concepts at the turn of the 20th century. Today, fortunate individuals donate huge sums to protect people from bacteria and viruses. Philanthropy has evolved.

These were my thoughts as we wandered. Then we were thirsty and hungry, but unfortunately, the impromptu afternoon tea did not happen. I didn’t make a reservation thinking that Wednesday would be a slow day at The Huntington Library. I was quite wrong. Tourists were everywhere and there was a long queue for the purchase of a commemorative stamp. The tea room didn’t have a table until 2:45. We walked through the gardens some more under a sweltering Southern California sun. There was not a cloud in the sky and even with a hat on, I was feeling cooked. Pooped, we got into the car, blasted on the air conditioning, and headed to Whole Foods in Pasadena for a very late lunch.

Monster cupcakes from Whole Foods helped low blood sugar levels and brought big smiles on a hot day.

11 Hours in San Diego

August 22, 2011

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San Diego is less than an hour’s drive north of Mexico’s border and a reasonable two hours drive south of downtown Los Angeles. And there’s so much to do between the hours of 9 am and 8 pm, making it the perfect day trip for kids and adults.

Yes, SeaWorld was our first stop, not surprisingly. After two trips to Disney Land, we decided to mix it up. We got there when the gates opened. SeaWorld is what it is; a little cheaper than Disney, some interesting exhibits with the occasional tortoise out wandering across some very pretty, well-kept grounds. The turtle reef and shark exhibits were impressive. However, I think SeaWorld misses a big opportunity to really educate families about our environment and conservation. The “Pets Rule” show at the Pets Playhouse did a better job at this than the marine shows; the cats, dogs, pigs, ostriches and ducks running across the stage were a delight, the show was fun, and trainers took time to share some backstories about their pets and the importance of helping animals at rescue shelters. The show at Shamu stadium was disappointing; the whales get people wet while the sound system pumps out a tune about living in one ocean. Not exactly a call to action. Kids love animals and there’s a captive audience during these shows so in addition to pushing product, which is everywhere in classic middle American abundance (need a plastic dolphin sippy cup? There’s one every 25 yards), why not push some knowledge? It would have been far more interesting to have learned where the whales came from, were they born in captivity, what are the natural environments of orcas, what’s happening to their ecosystems now, and what do the orcas like to do during their downtime? Someone in a Shamu costume walks around the park hugging kids and posing for pictures but he didn’t seem to be taking questions.

After five-and-a-half hours at SeaWorld, which included a decent lunch at Pineapple Pete’s Island Eats where the coconut shrimp was not overly fried, we got back into the rental to head to downtown San Diego’s Maritime Museum. This was Mike’s favorite part of the day, and if you have been following his blog, it’s obvious why. For $14 per adult or $8 per kid ages six to 12 (children five and under are free) you can tour 19th century sailing ships, a replica used to film the 2003 Russell Crowe movie “Master and Commander” and board some rather aged-looking submarines that I absolutely refused to go on. The 19th century sailing ship that dominates the waterfront view is the Star of India, a cargo ship that frequently sailed between London and Auckland, New Zealand, and went around the world 21 times, transporting everything from families to fruit. It took approximately 100 days to sail from England to New Zealand, and after viewing the passenger cabins, I have great admiration for the determination and physical constitution of these individuals. A lovely surprise that was part of our Maritime Museum admission was the Paul Gauguin exhibit that went into detail about his travels to Tahiti. The exhibit is titled “Cook, Melville and Gauguin: Three Voyages to Paradise” and includes many original oil and watercolor paintings by the French artist, as well as woodblock prints and sculptures depicting plenty of naked ladies and flowers, which to most white males of the 19th century embodied the ideal of “paradise.”

Sculptures can be found inside and outside the Maritime Museum (which isn’t really a one-stop museum, but a series of ships and submarines). San Diego’s waterfront sculptures are now ranked among one of my favorite outdoor public art collections in the Western Hemisphere next to Seattle’s Olympic Sculpture Park and Isla Mujeres’ Sculpture Garden on the farthest eastern point of Mexico, which has a breathtaking view of the Caribbean. A stroll along these works of art under the Southern California sun will do anyone good. You can also purchase from street vendors palm leaves sculpted into roses.

We were told by a pedi-cabbie passing by that this fish sculpture would go on auction starting at $4,000. I would totally consider this for my front lawn as a way to get to know my neighbors better.

Art is everywhere along the San Diego waterfront, even on these benches made of tiles handpainted by children.

After about two hours along the waterfront, we were pushing 5:30 in the afternoon and decided to head to Old Town San Diego, allegedly the birthplace of California because the first permanent Spanish settlement took root in 1769 when Father Junipero Serra brought Catholicism to the natives, setting up a mission that would breed more missions, a move that helped launch California’s colonization.

Old Town is a series of blocks filled with old Colonial-style churches, shops selling painted skulls identical to the ones we saw in Isla Mujeres, and festive flags zig-zagging across strings of lights in red, orange, yellow, blue and green. We browsed, we shopped around Bazaar del Mundo, and then we enjoyed dinner at Casa Guadalajara where the party does not stop, not even on Sunday nights. The mariachi band was in full swing that night (and included a female violinist!) and the tequila was flowing! I ordered what was considered a “small” margarita, which seemed like a normal six-ounce glass to me until I saw the wading pools that waiters rolled out for customers who had ordered the “large” margarita (there’s a “medium” one too, for those who want to take their drinking to new heights, but want to remain upright during dinner). I was unable to capture a photo of these drinks simply because I could not get them to fit in the frame.

After enchiladas, margaritas and fried ice cream it was about 8 pm and time to make the two-hour drive back to LA. Our only regret was that the sun had set and it was too dark to enjoy the view from the Pacific Coast Highway. So we took I-5 back, which isn’t as exciting, but was a fine way to cap a perfect summer’s day.