Tag: travel planning

A tasting I went

When someone says California, the first thing that pops into my head is “Wine Country”. And accompanied by the phrase is the image of sun-kissed grapes, maturing with time, ripening with patience. As I breathe in the smell of those grapes my mind wanders to pulpy glasses half-filled with blood-red liquid and tiny bubbles along the edges. I imagine the light refracting through the liquid, the redness reflecting on a white table-cloth. And I heave a sigh, coming back to reality.

For a long time, I only fantasised about wines and wineries. And then I travelled to San Francisco for work. As soon as I knew the news, I asked my colleague about wine tasting tours. Lucky for me, my colleague had a friend whose family owned the renowned Robert Mondavi winery—before it was sold to a multinational beverage corporation. After the sale, however, the Robert Mondavi family bought another estate and now run it by the name of Continuum. My colleague arranged a tasting and a tour for my friend and me. Swelling with joy, I realised my fantasies could perhaps become reality.

Continuum 1One not-so-fine Saturday, we drove down to see the romance that’s Napa. It was the hottest day of the Californian summer. The government had issued heat wave warnings, and although tropical creatures, my friend and I had to brace ourselves with sunscreen and wet tissues. While my colleague drove, I stared out at the looming wineries, bunches of grapes enticing me all the way.

When we came to a halt at the top of a hill, under the scorching sun we saw grape vines extending in every direction. Juicy fruit hung on hinges waiting. Our host welcomed us with open arms—he’d come in to work on a Saturday just so we could get a whiff of their wine. We admired the vines while he explained the expanse of the estate. The Mondavi family owned all the hills our eye could see. That’s where they grew the flagship wine, while a little further down, he explained, is where they grew grapes for the sister wine, Novicium.

Continuum 3

As if the sight wasn’t impressive already, our host made his narrative extra descriptive triggering awe and jealousy at the same time. He drove us through the vines, explaining the different types of grapes that grew on either side. While Cabernet extended on our right, more rare varietals took up the rest of the estate. Here and there amidst grapes we saw spice plants emitting flavours for the grapes to absorb. That’s how, we learnt, that natural spiciness comes into wine. We rode past Franc and Blanc, and far in the distance we caught sight of handsome olives hanging from their branches. Continuum Estate not only produces one of the elitist wines, but they also produce some of the highest quality—and much sought after—olive oil. After the outside tour, we went within the building where the actual magic would happen. We saw massive barrels awaiting harvested grapes.

Continuum 5

Before moving further, our host directed us to the wooden plank that stood bearing a bottle and three glasses. As we approached the plank I saw Novicium, the sister wine. Unlike the flagship wine, this one is made from younger grapes and so bears tender flavours as compared to the bigger bolder one. Our host poured us each a generous amount and explained to us how we should smell, swirl, and sip the wine. A smile spread across my lips and as class creeped through my spine, I swirled and sipped. A mild sweet and peppery flavour touched my tongue and I held it in place trying to discern more. I couldn’t much. Rotating it in my mouth for a while, I let the juice dribble down my throat. The fruitiness with its complementary acidity refreshed me from within, making me feel oh so fancy.

According to our host, harvest this year would begin early thanks to the warm summer and the breeze that blew uphill. Nodding my head as if understood weather and its miracles, I put my head into a barrel and saw an intense hollow with a fan above. There were both oak and metal barrels, gleaming in the glory of newness. All around me were signs of grandeur and selectiveness—Continuum isn’t just any winery. Continuum is a luxury brand that ensures every drop of their wine is deserving of its price. Such was the care, and such was the process every grape went through.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

“Let’s break bread,” our host announced leading us to a round table set amidst fresh wine barrels. On the polished wooden table were two glasses for each of us, along with a pitcher of cold water. In the centre was a platter of three cheeses, a basket of bread, a bowl of olives, and another of almonds. Right by the bread stood a green-labelled heavy bottle of olive oil.

We set our Novicium samples on the table. When I took my seat, I saw on my plate, a card welcoming me and my friends to the estate. It was a thoughtful gesture by the management to print out our names and the details of our tasting. And knowing that they went to all that trouble on a Saturday made me glow with gratitude. Before my elation could evaporate, our host brought out a bottle of the esteemed Continuum—the fanciest wine I’d ever see or be in the same room as in my lifetime. For the next 20 minutes, we ate and while we ate we drank our wines. I dipped my bread in the freshest of olive oil and sipped my wine with the creamiest of cheeses. It was my first experience with goat cheese which became an instant favourite.

I left the table a satisfied wine enthusiast. I’d realised some of my wildest fantasies in a single day, in a classy way, surrounded by friends I appreciate spending time with. At the end of it all, having thanked our host multiple times for his willingness, we drove downhill.

My heart, however, soared.

The Castro

Having spent a couple of hours in Haight Ashbury, I moved on to the next place on my list: Castro District in San Francisco. Although I had had a peek at Castro during my hop-on-hop-off tour, I hadn’t spent much time there. And so when a colleague suggested I spend some time looking around Castro street, I was happy to oblige.

I grew up amidst people who don’t discuss gender as anything aside male and female. Where I’m from, we have an isolated gay community. Sure, I’ve heard there’s a strong vocal presence and representation for the gays in my country, but I’ve never seen it or heard about it. As a result, I walked into San Francisco’s Castro without any previous interaction with the LGBTQ community.

Castro 3

Although I do have friends from work who identify as LGBTQ in the US, and it was with their guidance that I found out about Castro. To find out more and to experience actual gayness, however, I had to explore the streets on my own.

Oh my, what a day that was.

Castro 1

I can’t recall the first thing I noticed. Everything seemed new and grand. Right from the sloping streets to the rising flag poles, everything vivid caught my eye. It was even more exciting to see cable car lines over my head and street car tracks under my feet. I saw the gigantic rainbow flag, fluttering in the warm September afternoon. And I saw plenty of smaller flags swaying along. It meant only one thing to me: declaration. Never before have I seen someone asserting their identity with such pride. It was the ultimate claim of authority, although far from authoritative. It was welcoming. Walking into such a neighbourhood, I felt no discomfort or fear. I saw people being themselves without the fear of judgement. I saw Castro and its people emit a sense of belongingness that anyone could relate to. I didn’t have to dress a certain way or wear make up to be a girl. I could walk around sporting short hair and shorts if I want and people still smiled at me from the bottom of their heats. It was all obvious from the way people walked and conversed.

Dancers in Castro

As I walked further I noticed a group in the middle of the street, dancing. Every street lamp in the area housed a flag. It could because it was pride week, but it could also be Castro’s characteristic. The dancing men spun about as the DJ played in the corner, and older men sat around chatting yet making meaningful conversations. A banner on the DJ table told me it was an organised celebration. Talking to one of the men in the cheering lot, I further learnt that gay organisations in Castro rent out public places and often set up celebrations — just for the hell of it.

I smiled. Then lingered, wanting nothing more than to linger longer. But I continued. There was more of Castro to see.

Trying to balance between the map on my phone and the splendour around me, I found myself standing at a crossing, staring at the crossing. While fellow pedestrians crossed the road onto the other side, I looked with wide eyes at the lines that stretched out from my feet.

Castro 2

And at that moment, I concluded that Castro is one hell of a place to live. It’s not only for the lesbians, gays, the bisexual, transgender, and queer who know how they identify themselves, but even for those confused souls bordering in-between. Who’s to say, perhaps there are more, better, gay villages in other parts of the world, but from my sample of a gay village, I’d say it’s worth cherishing such a vibrant community.

I discovered a marvellous face of San Francisco that day, and it was a discovery I had to make on my own. I already feel like I’ve grown up a little. And that’s always a good sign.

Up above

Sometimes you need to go up above to realise how minute you are in the grand scheme of things. And a long flight journey is the best place and time to contemplate your place in the world with a view that complements the thoughts. I looked through the window on my flight to San Francisco, and what I saw sprawled below amazed me to silence. There lay the city—or what led to the city—of San Francisco. It was just winding sand paths and shore-kissing seabeds, but the lower we flew, the bigger it got. It’s incredible to think how putting distance between two things puts so much perspective in place. We often think great of ourselves, but from afar we’re nothing more than a speck of futility.

Up above.jpeg

Walking down Haight

It was love at first sight. And my first sight was through the windows of a bus as it cruised along the street that’s Haight Street. My friend and I were on a hop on-hop off tour then, and the moment I entered the street, I knew I had to come back again to explore further.

It looked like any other street—except that it wasn’t. There were buildings and there were people. But unlike most other parts of San Francisco, the buildings weren’t picture perfect. The people weren’t suited, booted, or groomed. Purple-headed women walked hand in hand with pink clad men. No one stared at each other as weird. No one seemed conventional, and yet, no one seemed to care. Some wore jeans, some wore mascara, and a lot wore whatever felt comfortable.

Haight 1

Store exhibits advocated peace and love, street signs echoed similar emotions, and even the walls called passers by to listen. Love afloat, was abundant, and at times as with love, overflowing and breaking norms.

Haight 2

Seeing all of this left a permanent smile of my face. I felt as if a bloom ballooned up within me, filling me up with the joy of welcome. There sparked inside me a sense of belonging to the place. I wanted to stay there, to walk down the street, to walk into shops. I wanted to talk to the people on the streets, befriend them, and hang out. For someone who’s reluctant to barge into another person’s consciousness and force discussion, I felt like doing that exact thing. To my surprise, I realised that the people of Haight Street would’ve been only too happy to talk to me.

Haight 2

For the first time in my life, I saw a hookah bar. Curious, I went in. Men and women had seats for themselves, going about their usual business, smoking away, reading a book, watching a game, and unperturbed by the stranger who’d just walked in unashamed and out of place. The shop owner came up to help me settle in, and I stepped back telling him I was just looking. A big smile came onto his face, and he waved his arms around the bar, inviting me to look around and hang around for as long as I wanted. When I left, my compassion for the people of San Francisco had magnified.

When I went back a second time to Haight Street—alone, this time—I felt the same sense of joy. This time, however, I realised what about the locality made me so ecstatic. Being in the street made me feel rebellious. All around me people embodied everything that our typical society scorns upon. Metaphorical reminders of Bob Marley and John Lennon, their beliefs, and The Beatles of 1960s hung over the sky exuberating with positivity and encouragement.

Haight 1

Sure, I did come across a couple of guys who willed sell me pot. Illegal though it is, I didn’t feel scared or ominous. In fact, it was so casual and so matter of fact that I understood there was nothing to fear. It was just a part of everyday life.

All my life, my family had taught me to be wary of strangers, of people who’d lead me astray—but here I was passing people whose habits I’d never micic, but people who I’d respect nevertheless. It was a new experience and I enjoyed every moment of it. And I realised how huge San Francisco is—diverse, yet inclusive of every weirdo, every nut job, even every other corporate guy. The city continued to surprise me.

Varying interest

We’re not all fascinated by the same thing. What interests me could be mundane and unworthy of a second look to someone else. This was only too common while I was in California. It was my first time in the US—a first world country—and I was gawking at everything I saw. Sure, I had seen fancy buildings before, but it still seemed magnificent to me that the city of San Francisco housed such constructions that its residents looked at every day without seeing it. Walking down the streets that day, I saw countless jaw-dropping sights that were just pedestrian to the locals.

pedastrian