Italia

A fluffy read, Frances Mayes' "Bella Tuscany", still is a poetic ode to my Italy, where I've traveled three times yet ever craving another trip, a long residence, a second home... I share her reflections:

"[Arriving in Venice]: I am knocked silent. The beauty does not just pass before your eyes. It ravishes. I begin to feel the elation a traveler experiences when in the presence of a place supremely itself."

"Growing up in a small town, I felt the tight bit about my mouth. I couldn't wait to leave. The pull of cities was strong. I remember, however, a slight pull, too, toward life far in the country... What rings you out and, truly, what rinses you with happiness? What comes from my own labor and creativity, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it, stays close to the natural joy we all were born with and carry always. Mystic, Georgia, was not for me. I would have been hell on wheels by thirty. Oddly, oddly, I probably could live a happy, sensuous life there now."

"Life would be different if you grew up bouncing your ball against the wall of the Orvieto cathedral... In Italy, it would be curious not to be intimate with art. You grow up here surrounded by beauty, thinking beauty is natural. Art always has been outside, something I appreciated, loved, sought, but something not exactly natural. American towns often are void of art and are often actively ugly. In schools, art is usually a luxury which falls with no thud when the budget ax swings. Art, music, poetry - natural pleasures we were born to love - are expendables, fancy extras, so very non-binary. The unnaturalness comes, too, from the hushed atmosphere of museums, where most of us experience art. In Italy, so much art is in churches... Art and the mass come not from on high, but with a familial attitude."

"If you settle in, even for two weeks, live in a house not a hotel, and you buy figs and soap a the local places, sit in cafes and restaurants, go to a local concert or church service, you cannot help but open to the resonance of a place and the deeper you go, the stranger the people become because they're like you and they're not...
It can be dangerous to travel. A strong reflecting light is cast back on 'real life', sometimes a disquieting experience. Sometimes you go to the far interior and who knows what you might find there? ... But the passionate traveler looks for something... Something must change you... Change - the transforming experience - is part of the quest of traveling...
Often we take America with us. How can we not, being thoroughly products of our culture? We see what we know how to see... we are wary everywhere of being robbed and mugged. We fear the violence of America everywhere...
Travel can reinforce the primitive urge to bring the new into the circle of the known. I went to Pasadena... and walking around on a perfect day, I saw Starbucks, Banana Republic, the Gap, Williams Sonoma, Il Fornaio - all the high-end chains with identical merchandise in dozens of other cities... Nothing happened to me. And yet, surely if I'd stayed longer than a day, there are layers of Pasadena.... In America, with franchises and TV pouring their solvents over us by the second, you have to look longer and harder. In Italy, it's easier."

Currently watching: Brief Encounter - Criterion Collection

Hearing and seeing more because we've tasted more

Reading more essays from the greatest food (and just plain great) writer of all time, M.F.K. Fisher. In "A Stew or A Story", here are some choice quotes from favorite essays, including wonderful bits on California:

From "Shall It Be... Eating or Dining?" (1944):
[After describing an ideal meal and courses, ending with coffee]..."I think the magic would have happened, and we'd sit for a long time with our elbows on the table, talking easily, hearing and seeing more than we had for some time because of the way we'd tasted more."

From the enlightening "Love in a Dish" (1948):
[In describing the three basic needs of life, food, love, shelter, and the poor quality and care of food]: "...having failed so completely to satisfy in harmony one of their three basic needs, it cannot be wondered that the other two, for love and shelter, are increasingly unfulfilled. There can be no warm, rich home life anywhere else if it does not exist at table, and in the same way there can be no enduring family happiness, no real marriage, if a man and woman cannot open themselves generously and without suspicion one to the other over a shared bowl of soup as well as a shared caress."

From "If This Were My Place" (1950):
[In describing her perfect restaurant, particularly a meal in San Francisco at a crusty, classic seafood place]..."If I were running this place... I'd leave it just as it is, cluttered and funny and right - right for now, that is: a bottle of cold light white wine, sizzling crab-legs meuniere, crisp bread on an ugly thick white plate, and beyond them the fog and the sound of harbor horns. But last week another place was right, a lunch of pure fantasy, of equally fantastic expense and 'restauraterie', in a beautifully appointed and beautifully managed and beautifully dishonest Beverly Hills hash house. And far back in my mind is that light high-voiced subtle room in New York, where the champagne and the finnan haddie were so completely right. If I were running this place, the mythical Perfect Restaurant, I'd try to be honest and fantastic and artful, so that I could serve forth what would be, at a given moment, the essential food, the nourishment most needed in a man's Design for Living."

From "The Art of Eating, California Style" (1981):
"... all I really know from experience is that the California way is the best, gastronomically, except perhaps for small places in southern France. But I have talked about California style with other people who know a lot more than I do, and they all agree that the eating, the foods, the dishes and the styles of cooking are for some reason better here than anywhere else in the United States. Why? I repeat. They reply: it's the freshness, the easiness, the availability. Or is it the ethnic influences? Or perhaps the climate? ... I have tentatively concluded that all of those factors are involved."

From "Only in Spots Have We Tamed the California Coast" (1985):
"The California coast stretches, for some thirteen hundred miles, from the Oregon border to Mexico. I have spent many of the good moments of my life along it, from the time I was three years old unti8l now, and I would ask no better than to end my days with the smell and sound of its wild surf wrapped around me."

"Across the water to the south [from Marin], blazing and twinkling at night and serene in all the changing lights of day, is San Francisco. Its court jester has named it Baghdad-on-the-Bay. This evocative title will do until a better one happens, but the City is literally indescribable... I have yet to leave San Francisco willingly... My only comfort is that I am confident I'll return, in one way or another, even as a ghost... It is the focal point of the whole beautiful coastline... The City, as its lovers smugly call it, rises pearly on its many hills, and all roads, at least in California, seem to lead to it. People feel lighter there, in their myriad ways, and there are clip joints and penthouses of utmost squalor or elegance to satisfy them, as they breathe the wonderful washed air and walk with unaccustomed vigor along the tipping streets. It is a fine place to be, the glowing jewel of the California coastline, in the planet's crown of such mysterious happenings."

Currently watching : Brideshead Revisited [Theatrical Release] 2008

Paradise

I am reading short stories about world traveling writers who have made their homes elsewhere from the place of their birth. Isabel Allende, well known Peruvian writer (famous for "The House of the Spirits"), writes about Marin - ending up there as she married, saying it is more home than even South America was. Her thoughts on Marin (the adjustment it took to move to "paradise", as she calls it) and about California, are fascinating:

"I love this country in general and California in particular. Diversity fascinates me. All the races of the planet come here with their traditions and their dreams. Everything new or important starts here or comes here. I like the awareness, the sense of future, the generosity of the people. The young and optimistic energy of Californians is so attractive! Also their sense of freedom: this is as far West as you can get." - from "A Home in Paradise" (2002)

Currently watching : The Graduate (1967)

Las Vegas

A welcome change of pace and a birthday celebration for my Dannee... we escaped on a Wednesday from work to fly to Vegas and get a gorgeous suite at the Venetian for a third of its normal price (thank you American Express for the deal!) A living room, large bathroom with marble tub and glass shower, TVs in both the living room and bedroom - perfect.

Neither of us had been to Vegas in ten years and we remembered why: too fake, flashy, obnoxious, overpriced, lacking in anything real. YET... it was a mixture of hate and delight as we enjoyed the decadence of Sin City. We could wait another ten years to go back but it still was over the top fun for a couple days.

The first night we stayed out till 2am exhausting ourselves by walking around and checking out all the hotels that are new since we were last there... the fountains at the Bellagio were among my favorite things about the whole trip. Mesmerizing, we watched at least five or six shows over these couple days ... I could have watched more. The second night we came back to our room after a long, wonderful dinner and got hot chocolate and exquisite chocolates downstairs in our hotel, then took them up to our room where we ate & drank chocolate in bed while watching Letterman and late night TV. An ideal night.

Our favorite hotels were the Wynn Las Vegas, Mandalay Bay (best food strip - so many big chefs in one spot) and the Venetian. The ultra-modern lake at the Wynn was not only the backdrop to two of our three dinners, but was the perfect spot to sit with mojitos on the deck overlooking the stunning lights and flowing water under heat lamps. That is, until weird, random things popped out of the lake every half hour to remind you you were in Vegas: such as a giant frog who sang "What a Wonderful World" - Louis' version. Strange and whimsical.

Despite the overpriced ridiculousness of Vegas restaurants, we had some fabulous meals in stunning dining rooms (knowing me, I thoroughly researched ahead of time to try and narrow down some of the best reviewed).

For Lunch, we dined at:
- Spago at Cesar's Palace (not our choice but last minute resort as a lot of lunch spots were closed since we flew in mid-afternoon): excellent gourmet pizza
- Burger Bar at Mandalay Bay (our local SF Fluer de Lys chef, Hubert Keller's creative burger joint - fun and hearty; mmm Blue Cheese Burger)
- Mesa Grill at Cesar's Palace (the famous Food Network chef Bobby Flay's Southwestern/Mexican restaurant - excellent tamales, the best pumpkin soup I've ever had!)

Dinner:
- Bartolotta Ristorante di Mare in Wynn Las Vegas (incredible seafood flown in fresh every day from Mediterranean; TOO expensive but a delightful, one-of-a-kind experience; the lobster/crab/langoustine pasta was to die for!)
- Okada in the Wynn (sleek Japanese/sushi restaurant at the base of man made lake and waterfalls; great sushi, though not as good as in SF, and robata grill along with your token top-notch miso cod dish)
- Delmonico Steakhouse in the Venetian (Emeril's steakhouse for Dan! Insanely huge, juicy steak; banana bread pudding with oreo ice cream; addictive beer, steak & cheese fondue with homemade pretzel sticks to dip in it)

We had breakfast one morn at Pinot Brassiere in the Venetian and brought pastries & foamy cappucinos into bed the second morning from Bouchon (our local Thomas Keller's spot). Drinks were had at some sleek bars including the Napoleon Cigar Lounge in Paris Las Vegas and at the Wynn/Parasol Up.

All in all, a memorable escapade mid-week to celebrate my Dan.

Currently watching : Da Ali G Show - Da Compleet Seereez

Haunted Savannah

Savannah, otherwise dubbed as "crazy pirate town" or "eerie ghost central" by Dan and myself, was a perfect last stop to our road trip. On the way, we stopped for a few hours on Hilton Head Island so Dan could golf (most national golfing tournaments are held on this famed, tiny island) and to roam the beach (the sand is so hard, people ride bikes on it!)

After the pristine beauty of Charleston, I expected something similar from Savannah (as people often compare the two) but found though they are both historical, impeccably preserved cities less than two hours from each other near the coast, they are radically different. They're in different states for one (SC and GA respectively). Where Charleston is pretty and colorful, Savannah is gritty and grey. Where Charleston is bright and a step back in time, Savannah is a mixture of old and modern with a moody, dark edge. Where Charleston has pirate stories (parks where public hangings of pirates took place), Savannah feels like a rough pirate town along River Street with historical restaurants/pubs with pirate carved tunnels underneath where pirates would drag men after drugging them to waiting ships to be endentured slaves.

The squares of Savannah (21 in all - one every few blocks layed out in a perfect grid) are beautifully dreamy, exuding a lazy, old world feel with their mossy trees and fountains. To truly experience Savannah, one need merely sit in the squares and watch.

We stayed at River Street Inn, a historical 'monument' at over 200 years old, with a lovely, high-ceilinged room overlooking the Savannah River. The river water is dirty with ports along it a prime spot for overseas cargo. Lined with industrial smokestacks and barges, it was not exactly asethetic but it was more than interesting. River Street itself is touristy, lined with crappy souvenir shops capitalizing on pirates and the over-hyped "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" (both book and film take place here).

But the cobblestoned street, waterfront benches, handful of riverboats, gas lamps, brick, grey, soot-stained buildings and balconies lining the street made us feel insanely out of time. Like gritty Disneyland for grown-ups. Especially with open alcohol policy! One can roam the streets of Savannah with a beer or glass of wine in hand, no paper bag required. We had to try it and so we did with Dan's artillery punch (a crazy story about that, like so many stories here).

Our character-rich hotel had a free, nightly wine and cheese 'hour' (rather two, from 5-7pm). With a big porch lined with white rocking chairs and fans overhead, you can guess where we spent every night in Savannah before heading out to dinner. We'd sit for two hours each night, wine or champagne in hand, Dan smoking a cigar, either reading, dreaming together, talking to other visitors at the hotel, or watching the sun set and the bustling crowds go by on River St.

Street musicians were top notch, our favorite being two African American guys, one middle-aged playing a guitar, one grandfatherly with a doo rag, sunglasses (at night) and a big white beard only along the sides his face. They had deep, sonorous voices bellowing out blues in harmony. The dancing of the grandpa was almost robotic mixed with a bit of sheer groove. He 'worked it' while the other guy mastered slide solos and smooth licks. We cheered them on from our porch one night which led the younger guy to come up and ask where we were from and why we were here. When we said for our anniversary, he said we had to come down and sit in front of them so they could serenade us with an "anniversary song", as he called it. We came down and sat face to face along the water as it got dark while they sang us a medley of Billy Ocean and Lionel Richie, blues style, complete with smooth groove robot dance moves from grandpa. We tried to contain the laughter, just loving every moment.

The graveyards! Oh, the graveyards! Straight out of the movies, they are the gothic, eerie dream you envision in any Poe tale or vampire story. Moss laden, elaborate statues either morbid or angelic, headstones faded since the 1700's, one headstone grew out of a huge oak tree, the creepy Little Gracie statue, Johnny Mercer's grave ... all in the unbelievable Bonaventure Cemetary a few minutes drive from downtown. A huge acerage peacefully quiet and still, it went on and on in the grey, misty midday light, holding death of the centuries in its earth.

Some our favorite meals were in Savannah: Bistro Savannah on Congress St. was the quintessential gourmet, neighborhood restaurant. Perfection. It would succeed brilliantly in San Fran as it was probably the best, most creative meal we had our whole trip. My duck with confit (juicy, flavorful, tender) had sweet potato squares, dried cherries, walnuts and a rich cherry sauce drizzled atop it along with fried collard greens (crispy and melt-in-your-mouth). It was heavenly. Dan's chicken was likewise tender and stuffed with gorgonzola, prosciutto and arugula. Our crab cake starter was all crab meat (no bread) and in a spicy green curry sauce with mango relish on top. Oh, I am dying to go back as I remember it! Sapphire Grill was our anniversary night dinner and almost as excellent as Bistro Savannah. I had a perfectly crusted halibut with lobster dumplings and an addictive sauce. Surprisingly the calamari appetizer was the best we'd ever had: fried ever so lightly, with a ginger coriander pesto ponzu, spicy peanuts & fresh lime juice. The Lady and Sons, of Food Network queen, Paula Deen, fame, was such an experience, it would require a separate story (the long early morning lines just to get a same day reservation, the cattle call to get in, the "come and get it!" lady, the overly buttered, but heavenly tasting Southern food that was probably the best traditional Southern cuisine we had the whole trip). Hoecakes, garlic cheese biscuits, fried green tomatoes, chicken pot pie (with huge phyllo mountains atop), massive crab cake, rice and beans cooked in ham hocks... it was all 'heart attack central' AND worth the hype. Gryphon Tea Room was an 1800's dining room with stained glass ceiling, modern decor and impeccable teas and coffees. We whiled away a couple hours journaling there.

For drinks and live jazz, we found two most incredible spots I wish I could take home with me. I would frequent the incomparable Planters Tavern in the basement of the Olde Pink House, built in 1771 with a pink stucco exterior and colonial British, partially underground bar. Low ceilinged, fire places on either end of the room, brick, wood, antique furniture and couches... it thrilled me immediately.

We sat on a couch by the fire listening to local legend, Gail Thurmond, who has been playing there almost nightly for over 15 years. A local book describes her as "endearingly elegant" but Dan and I would say more 'endearingly quirky' with such a smooth, elegant tenor to her vocals that belies her appearance. She's grey-haired and comfortably plump, looking like a midwest mom, except for her shaded heart-shaped glasses and red dress hinting at her inner 'sass'. Her voice flows out in soothing, clearly-articulated waves ... her piano stylings are completely her own. I could have watched her all night. As it was, with nowhere to be other than where we wanted to be, we sat there with our wine and Jack & Coke (guess who had which?) for a couple hours savoring Gail's gifted, unique interpretations of many of my favorite jazz standards as well as as jazz renditions of Beatles tunes and other eclectic offerings. She had a hilarious way of raising her fingers when she would recieve intermittent applause after her songs. When she raised two fingers (gazing out over her glasses) it was with a smile and nod as if to say "thank you kindly". When she raised one finger, she had a more serious look as if to say: "Hold off - I'm not done", or "Wait..." Odd and delightful. In the course of the hours, Dan and I became expert at interpreting her minimally alerted expressions ("this is something, this is nothing" as the SNL skit goes). I had to pull myself away from the cozy cellar tavern that will remain fondly preserved in my memory.

The second spot was the unreal Mansion at Forsyth Park ("this is where we're staying next time!" says Dan): Casmir's Lounge, upstairs in the 700 Drayton restaurant - it must be seen to be appreciated. A stunning mansion full of history, grand staircases, chandeliers, ridiculously high ceilings... like an art museum full of massive, eclectic paintings, decorated modern with tactile velvet, fur, marble and gold. Extensive leopard print appeared in pillows and paintings, accompanied by reds, purples, browns, greens. Each room proclaimed itself lush, unique, striking! (a small taste of the bar: www.mansiononforsythpark.com/700drayton/casimirs.asp - it looks much more intriguing in person, candlelit at night). The jazz band playing that night was superb: trombone led, with drums, upright bass and a brilliant, young pianist. Half white/half black, the band had chops AND style. There was a cozy patio outside on the second floor off the Lounge, packed with smokers and men in suits. We explored the house, marveling at the decor and layout. Downstairs was a Bosendorfer Lounge with three Bosendorfers in a wood paneled, nautical modern, water running down glass walls, tree branch decor bar with brown, hip couches. Dan was giddy about the Bosendorfers - but we missed the nightly music as it plays early as opposed to the late night upstairs jazz.

The night at the Forsyth Park mansion was our anniversary and it was haunting and beautiful... just like this city built over graveyards, full of quirks, oddities and a checkered past. We would gladly return.

Enchanting Charleston

On October 7, we said goodbye to dear Adam & Kate and drove to Charleston in the pouring rain, passing through Columbia, SC, (yet another bleak city), where Hootie & the Blowfish are from (hilarious!) We had a laugh singing 'intensely' to "Hold My Hand" on the radio. They are proud of their Hootie.

We arrived that night around 9pm, heading straight to dinner at the cavernous, bar-like Coast; thrilled immediately by the mouth-watering, seafood heavy menu. We ordered a creamy crab dip, juicy lobster tails, and delicately prepared halibut. Everything was perfection! Our excitement for the coastal cities of 'meat' ... something we never tire of (though we did find we can get very tired of it FRIED). And Charleston does seafood right!

Indigo Girls were playing a show at a theatre right next to Coast (in the same alley), so we were able to hear the show crystal clear outside the side doors next to the stage. We listened a few minutes, sang along then walked the city streets.

The magic began (if it had not already with the meal) when I saw a gorgeous Southern mansion, ala New Orleans style with wrought iron balconies, brightly colored pink, and mossy oak trees packed in the yard. The patio and trees were covered in white lights, gas lamps lit up the balconies where people were mingling with cocktails. Live jazz filled the air while people walked in and out of a stately gate dressed in suits and cocktail dresses past a security guard.

"Oooh, Dan, this is just what I dreamed the South might be like! I want to go to this party SO badly!!" I jumped up and down. It was a party fit for a movie in New Orleans, the old South, slow-paced, dreamy and elegant. If only I could have crashed.

From then on, I knew I loved Charleston. It was confirmed in the following days as we explored this small city. There are some down sides: only downtown where the wealthy reside and tourists visit is beautiful. You pass Mary St. in the northern part of town and it's run down, decrepit, poverty-stricken, as is much of the state, SC being one of the poorest states in the US. This would make living there frustrating (not because it's poor but because of the dramatic disparagement and inequity of the city, more so than anything I've seen in other US cities. There is literally no more than a couple square miles that are gorgeous and the rest of the entire area is not, other than the islands).

But Charleston is so well-preserved, historical, colorful, clean and uniquely laid out. The homes are stunning. The harbor a welcome outline to this peninsula city (sounds like another city I know?) Wedged into alleys between sleek modern shops (or chains, such as Banana Republic, set in 1700/1800's buildings), was outdoor seating for cafes, gardens, or overgrown graveyards. Palmetto trees everywhere added an exotic Southern island feel while the architecture ranged from New Orleans style to colonial British. Pubs and seafood spots were plentiful. Bookstores and breakfast spots were not. Mystery and history abounded.

Getting caught one night in a wild thunderstorm was as exciting as it was annoying. We stood in a doorway all dressed up, waiting for an abatement. Though only a couple blocks from our hotel, it was raining so hard we were soaked. We took cover after a brilliant meal at Anson (she crab soup! One of my favorite foods of the South; the best shrimp and country ham hominy grits) at the plush Charleston Place hotel in the bar of their restaurant. A lovely jazz duo serenaded us as we drank and ate dessert... and kept laughing. We tried to control our volume in this elegant, wood-walled bar but Dan was acting up, we were both in giddy moods and everything seemed hilarious. I love those times between us - we're like children or overly animated actors who can't contain it.

We stayed in Charleston through October 10, had sweet, cool weather after the storms but it warmed back up to the muggy 80's by the time we left. There were many favorite spots and meals in Charleston. Just exploring the city was pleasure enough. We visited all three islands right outside the city: Mount Pleasant (the best she-crab soup at Locklear's and a divine sweet potato pie at the authentic Gullah Cuisine), Isle of Palms (playued in the ocean, walked the almost deserted beach), Sullivan's Island (enjoyed Fort Moultrie). We drank atop goregous rooftop bars: Vendue Inn for a watermelon margarita on a warm day, and Pavilion Bar atop the Market Pavilion Hotel for a romantic sunset glass of wine. We had a cozy, late night dinner at the Italian, Il Cortile del Re; lunch at the impeccable, scrumptious Magnolia's (best fried green tomatoes!); breakfast at the popular (and justifiably so, after tasting that shrimp & grits casserole) Hominy Grill.

I would return to these beautiful streets and anticipate it with pleasure. Here I found the South I had dreamed of.

The Smokies and North Carolina

The road trip began as we left Nashville on October 4th and made our way through dreary Knoxville, Seiverville (with a statue of native daughter, Dolly Parton, in front of City Hall!), tacky, over-the-top Pigeon Forge, faux ski-resort Gatlinburg, on into the Smoky Mountains with streams meandering through the peaceful, fall-tinged woods.

As we drove further into this national park, we were hit with a stunning display of color, peaks, earthy fire smells, and the fabled "smoky" vapor dimming the outline of the hills. We drove to the highest peak, Clingman's Dome, a mere 6500 feet, too hazy to see far but still exhilarating.

The mountains were alive in red, orange and yellow with a greyish tint to the air... we kept our windows down even as it was cooler than our hot, muggy Nashville days. We much prefer fresh, invigorating air, which enlivened our singing to CDs of Dolly, Keb Mo, Johnny, Waylon, Loretta.

Leaving the Smokies, we drove through a Cherokee Indian reservation town as we crossed to North Carolina that had a sweet down-home, almost sad feel. After being assisted with directions from a dear Native American man with a Southern drawl who was heading into a Christian church, we had a tender spot for the area and its people.

We drove on into the Blue Ridge Mountains (known to be in Virginia but the Southern range is in North Carolina) which were likewise gorgeous and literally blue! Perfect silhouettes against the pink, smooth sky. The setting sun and intimate twilight hour made for a magical drive.

We stopped in the wonderfully hippie, organic, college town of Asheville. It was more my 'scene' as far as towns go: local cafe and restaurant lined streets, town squares, parks, intimate but with personality. After days of fried Southern charm, it was comforting to be in a place that prided itself on its produce, vegetarian food and hippie lifestyles. Reminded us of home...

A delicious vegetarian meal at Laughing Seed Cafe was perfect after a meat-heavy week - a needed interlude before hitting the road for the last two hour stretch to Winston-Salem.

We spent October 4-7 in Winston-Salem with Adam and Kate Davis, one of Dan's lifelong best friends - a dear friend of both of ours from the past decade. We adore Katie - they're amazing people. Kate is teaching art after recently graduating with her masters in art in Greensboro and is an incredibly gifted artist. Adam is just finishing up seminary (getting his MDiv) at Wake Forest. They are about to have their first child next month (how's that for a bio?)

It was a lovely visit of long talks, time with just me & Kate or Dan & Adam, time for the four of us, visiting NC wineries, hanging out in Old Salem, eating at Sweet Tomatoes, visiting Kate's gallery display where 16 of her pieces are being shown, visiting the Weatherspoon art museum she worked at for two years in Greensboro, making big dinners both nights at home, watching movies, watching a thunderstorm come in, being cozy, having a smoke outside.

It was a relaxed, life-affirming, precious time. We ache with our closest friends spread around the country. Dan cried as we left saying: "I miss him so. I miss having someone I want to be around that much". It's not easy to find friends like this though you may look a lifetime.

Nashville

The South is like another world, though very much still the US. Back from a two week trek through the South with my Dan, we are exploding with images, impressions and experiences.

The kitsch factor was big, the history dark and sometimes shameful, segregation still present, varieties of authentic, quality ethnic or healthy food scarce (because varieties of ethnicities were sadly scarce!)... and yet mystery and uniqueness seeped into each state, the seafood and rich, Southern foods bordered on divine, the history so colorful it oozes out of city streets.

We took a road trip of sorts, flying into Nashville first, leaving from Savannah at the end of two weeks, driving everywhere in between. As swamps, strip malls, trees and Waffle Houses drifted past us and "The Man Called Cash" (Johnny, that is) audio book played in our CD player, our troubles and stresses fell away onto the pavement somewhere on Highway 40.

Nashville, September 30-October 4: As a girl, I dreamed of moving here, "heading down 40 with my old guitar", singing in sleazy honky-tonks, knocking down radio station doors while sleeping in my car (ala Loretta Lynn), until someone played my record. There's always been a strong fascination I've held for this world though it's tragically a time past - when making music and being discovered was a raw, dramatic event, often transforming poor, redneck pasts into international celebrity icons (Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Pasty Cline, Loretta Lynn, etc...)

The music history is rich in Tennessee but the present age of glitzy Faith, Tim & Shania pop country is a far cry from the raw simplicity and talent of early days. I thrill to country history but was unimpressed by the blandness of the city and its typical suburban-but-for-a-handful-of-highrises-downtown feel. This was not the place I secretly hoped it would be.

Driving Nashville was nothing short of a huge pain in the ass. For a 'directions queen' like myself, it was a nightmare as we kept taking wrong directions because of the idiotic 'wagon wheel' layout of freeways circling the city, making it impossible to tell north from south, east from west, as you're moving in circles and changing freeways every 1/2 mile.

Christian subculture seemed to have taken over from the massive Lifeway office buildings and complexes lining blocks of downtown, to the endless run of churches, to the business men praying at tables in restaurants. It felt hollow and empty, clearly lacking transformative power for the culture at large: predominantly white, well-off, similar to other parts of the Bible belt... and the US. The 'Christian thing' was a cultural, comfortable, even 'normal' expectation.

The best spots in town were in veritable isolation from each other: you have to drive everywhere (not a walking city with cafe and shop-lined streets) - a real pulse and "heart of the city" seemed non-existent. The closest to the 'center' of things is Broadway Street: a mere three blocks of boot stores, souvenier shops, BBQ joints, bars and the famed honky-tonks. The honky-tonks really only fill one block in entirety so the range is small but the liveliness broad. My favorite Nashville experience was walking this 'strip' on a Sunday or Monday night, drinking in the neon lights, drunken fools and rollicking music streaming from each doorway. Live music (and a cold drink) could be had literally morning till night, with some bars starting music at 10am until 2 or 3am. The late night options were plentiful and the vibe festive, to say the least. Tourists and locals mixed in a boozy haze of country rockabilly, Patsy-like swoons, acoustic mellowness or driving rock.

One night after hearing a slick country rock trio at Tootsie's (with a fabulous, driving rock, Cash Medley of "Folsom Prison Blues", "Jackson" and "Walk the Line"), we sat for what seemed like hours in Robert's Western World listening to the slightly more mellow but still driving band scaling musical heights from rowdy to romantically soothing. We shouted out requests such as my favorite, "Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way" (good ole Waylon), and the band would oblige with searing guitar solos and buoyant vocals.

A middle-aged couple, dressed in business attire (seemingly colleagues, not lovers), began dancing energetically, if not skillfully, to the band. They pulled is in to join them on the dance floor with encouragement from the band to 'git on out there'. An older couple, a grey-haired cowboy and his blonde middle-aged partner, took to the floor after we did. They sat next to us throughout the night, polishing off rounds of Budweiser with cigarettes permanently hanging from their mouths. They announced their honeymoon status, though he looked no younger than 65 and she at least 15 to 20 years younger. They were from Texas. Of course.

The place was seedy and friendly simultaneously: a trucker/redneck-like atmosphere full of country charms and good cheer. We could not pull ourselves away from the glow, even when the business couple asked me if I was the girlfriend of the lead singer of the band (I suppose because he kept singing at me and asked me to help them with their tip jar during one song)! In fact, at Tootsie's I had a number of men making passes or comments to me even with Dan there. I suppose excess drink brings the prowlers out.

Knowing me and my passion for authentic, local food, we ate quite well and found great spots all over town (due to my hours of research ahead of time). The best spots were found in the West End area which had a slight range and edge but still more like a glorified suburb than urban. Even the supposedly hip Hillsboro strip with its cafes and restaurants was not even half as cute or eclectic as any Marin town/main street. Hillsboro's organic, funky Fido cafe was great but like any coffee shop in San Fran (though a 'dime a dozen' here, it was an isolated, and thus 'special', option here). Musicians surrounded us and we casually eavsedropped on their funny conversations ("You know T Bone Burnett?" - what music lover wouldn't? He's mainstream! - "Well, I want to produce good albums like he does". "Yeah, let's do that - make a good album", responds the other guy. Ok?!)

Some of the best restaurants were Virago (surprisingly good sushi flown in fresh daily and a more than welcome respite from Southern food), Germantown Cafe (elegant, delicious - despite the drunk girl who walked into the glass door!), The B'oundry (more 'upscale bar' but so fun in its tiki, 'adventureland', outdoor, torch atmos), Bobbie's Dairy Dip (ice cream!), Hog Heaven and Jack's for BBQ, The Acorn for dessert (a warm night on the second floor porch with jazz playing, lamps and little lights - so romantic!) Tayst was ambitious and had a primo wine list of tastings and half glasses (we were impressed they carried Justin and, of course, had to get a glass - perfection!) but the creative dishes fell just shy of their vision. The famed Loveless Cafe was a disappointment in some ways: biscuits were 'out of this world' and fried chicken, although way too fried, was tender and juicy. But everything else was TOO fried, too salty, too much. We felt ill and discovered we don't enjoy food that has the shit fried out of it (we didn't get any more eager for it as the trip went on!) Pancake Pantry was a scrumptious breakfast: the sweet potato pancake with cinammon cream syrup was just right.

I do not wish to disparage Nashville as it held one-of-a-kind delights we could not find elsewhere. But The Grand Ole Opry, which I'd dreamed of attending since a girl, was a commercialized, bland disappointment. The format of three songs per entertainer would have been perfect (variety show-like) with great performers (we just missed Loretta Lynn by a couple of nights). Our performer list was rather sad and at times, downright awful. Ernest Tubb's Midnite Jamboree (we had the wonderful Rhonda Vincent headlining the Saturday night jamboree) was SO much better than the Opry: tacky, casual, rowdy, authentic and delightful. We were on the radio at midnight enjoying this fabulous local tradition. The Opryland Hotel was fake and Disneyland/Vegas-like but a 'must see': almost thrilling in it's scope and detail. I ate up the exhibits at the Country Music Hall of Fame - such a delight to study a history I love so well. Line dancing at the Wildhorse Saloon was a fun experience, especially in our spiffy new boots we bought on Broadway (3-for-the-price-of-one - how could we resist?!)

It was a memorable few days in Nashville though Dan and I both know it's a city we could not love but are glad to have seen what it's like. It felt right to put my young girl's image of the place to rest and know I am a California New York girl with Oklahoma cowboy roots who could never be a whitebread Nashvillian but will always respect and love the music the place has birthed.