A Gorgeous, Restless Summer

I cannot believe it's September and my mums have bloomed already. Some blooms are actually already dried out. 

Where has the summer gone?! I don't know whether it's because we are getting visibly older and they say time just slips from under you when that happens, or what ... but this whole year's been nothing but a dream ... Here and gone before you knew what's what ... 

This summer's been busy beyond words with all its summery events and long, languid days of dolce far niente - if that can be ever busy ... 

We visited the cool mountains, hiked alongside fast springs and calm, deep, cold lakes; we drove on steep, twisty green roads, framed by roadside waterfalls and rhododendron-covered cliffs; we sipped sweet (or dry, but mostly sweet) Southern wine right from the wineries; we made some smoke in the back yard cooking meats, or in the woods while camping; we scouted numerous farmers' markets in search for just the perfect fruit and tomatoes. 

We listened to live music in the toasty evenings, and marveled at the gorgeous sunsets at the end of hot days. Have you noticed how sunsets are more colorful because the days themselves are literally burning in the summer?!  We chased butterflies and breathtaking rainbows after hot summer showers... 

We are lucky to be here, to be mobile, to be healthy, to have the energy and mind and willingness to explore and learn another thing about our town, our state, ourselves, to have each other and to live another day to tell the tale ... And all this with almost no vacation days. Just weekends and national holidays. Time is always here for us to fill up, and for that, I am so grateful! 

Here's to a long and hopefully gentle fall, and to more summers to come ... 

Some of the sights of this summer: 

Sunset on Smith Mountain Lake, VA

Camp fire on Smith Mountain Lake, VA

Chasing dragon flies in Natahala National Forest, in Highlands, NC

Sitting by Mill Creek in Highlands, NC

The dam and rhododendron at Cliffside Lake in Natahala National Forest, NC

Grilling in the back yard

Listening to Booker T at the NC folk festival in Greensboro, NC

Chasing birds at Duke Gardens, in Durham, NC

Chasing butterflies ... everywhere ... 

Relaxing on the patio of our neighborhood bar after a hot day

Chasing rainbows on Haw River - Pittsboro, NC

Sunset in Hickory, NC 

The view atop Grandfather Mountain, in NC

Out of all the wineries we visited this summer, this was our favorite: Grandfather Vineyards outside Blowing Rock, NC

Return to the North Carolina Mountains

A haunted hotel, a rainy week, a tall mountain, puppies, sweet wine, an old Southern manor, an artsy town and a whole bunch of hot-as-the-blue-blazes watering holes can pretty much summarize our Independence Day Weekend. But if you want details, you can keep reading.

I used to drive to Blowing Rock for the day during my first habitation in North Carolina. Of course, from Greensboro, it was slightly closer. It’s my favorite getaway spot, the silhouettes of the mountains, the quiet artful shops, the fresh trout, the smiling faces of mountain people in coffee shops - they all bring me to a place where my heart is whole and peaceful.

Blowing Rock has gotten more cosmopolitan over the years I have been gone. So did Boone. Lots more options to eat vegan, or gluten free, or …what have you … It accommodates just about every appetite and preference. It’s always been good Southern cooking at its best, but now it’s more varied. I loved to see that it’s growing still. Some part of me still wants to see it remain a small, off the beaten path area, but it’s good to see that it’s doing well, too … Parking is the worst, especially on a busy weekend, as July 4^th. But parking far and walking across the downtown is good for the city, good for your health and it makes for great people watching and window shopping. Stopping for a cup-a-joe, some fried pickles, a cold brew, or some Kilwins ice-cream ain’t so bad either.

We had a few days to spare there, so we visited some of the adjacent areas, too. We went up Grandfather Mountain, to cross the mile high swinging (if you ask my husband, not so swinging if you ask me) bridge. Last time we tried to see it (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2007/11/asheville-trip-thankful-trails.html) we were not so successful – pretty much a white-out in November made for an adventuresome day where we could see no peak and no bridge and the wind almost blew us off the mountain. This time, it was clear as far as you can see, with only some poufy clouds to make the pictures more interesting. It was almost like our Grandfather Mountain curse, or something, was following us, because about 15 minutes after we climbed off the peak, they closed it because thunder clouds were gathering and the bridge was no longer safe to cross. Lucky ducks, us.

We tasted wines at two wineries in the area – I am always surprised how easily you can find sweet wine pretty much anywhere in North Carolina. It is definitely not as prevalent in California and it is hard to find in restaurants. I know, ‘cause that’s how I take my wine and it’s not easy to find. They had some great sweet glasses at Grandfather Vineyard and some smooth middle-of-the-road ones, still tasty at Banner Elk Winery, too. Grandfather Vineyard was our most favorite hang-out spot on July 4^th: so festive, everyone in their red-white-and-blue best, wine glass in hand, sitting on the large covered porch or in Adirondack chairs by the river, listening to a cover band and people watching while their puppies were pooped with heat, laying lazily at their feet. It was an intimate and yet lively joint – a big surprise to find and it already beckons us back. I wish all wineries around us were that good and varied and welcoming …

One day, we visited the Moses H. Cone Flat Top Manor outside Blowing Rock (https://www.blueridgeheritage.com/destinations/moses-cone-manor/). We drove partly on the Blue Ridge Parkway to get there, which was framed by white and pink splendor: the rhododendron was in bloom right about then, and it looked as if the mountains were having a wedding.

The manor is a beautiful place, full of history and the grounds are amazing – they reminded me of the Biltmore grounds: there is something peaceful, pristine, lush and mellow about The Smokies. The soft curves of mountain tops, flowing onto one another like elegant ripples, the steam from all the vegetation gathering up in thick, low clouds, lingering onto their slopes, as if haunted, there is a mystery and wonder about them like no other mountains. The place now belongs to the National Park Service, and it’s free to visit. But the lack of funds unfortunately shows in the lack of care to maintain it. While the grounds were almost perfectly manicured, the house was in a sad state of disrepair.

The house was not open to visit, except for the first floor. There was a movie playing in what seemed to be the former drawing room telling the story of the Cone family and of the house. There was an artist turning wood on a lathe, and there were many artful projects already finished from various media in the gift shop – all locally made. There were things of beauty in there, and the people were incredibly kind and welcoming yet again. I know, I should stop repeating myself: we’re in The South and we should expect this, but having been everywhere across the land, I never take this for granted. I am glad Southern gallantry is still at home here.

Back to food: I had read in one local magazine (could have been Our State, but it could have been something different, too, I cannot remember) a review about The Ridgeline Restaurant in Blowing Rock. Since it was pretty much across the street from our hotel, we wanted to check it out. Although the promised “best restaurant view in Blowing Rock” absolutely delivered times a hundred, the atmosphere was kinda blah – lots of jaded, morose drunks hanging off the bar, and too many kids for our taste (I know, weird combo, right?!) and the food was solid, but not exceptional. I still much prefer my absolute favorite, my first and still biggest Blowing Rock love – The Speckled Trout. I was as giddy as a five year old on Christmas morning to find that it’s still there, beautifully renovated and still delicious and still locally stocked. We also much preferred the atmosphere at The Town Tavern in downtown Blowing Rock – another old timey (for me) joint.

For breakfast, we had lots of options and all good. Village Café in Blowing Rock has a unique setting, in a dark alley at the end of a thick garden in an old-as-the-hill one room house and amazing Argentinian bread with fresh preserves, but Melanie’s Food Fantasy in Boone was my favorite – their vegan “potato madness” plate was invented just for a potato lover like me.

One thing all these places had in common, though: they don’t believe much in air conditioning in this town. We were under fans but dripping sweat the whole time. They think that it  gets “cooler up here in the elevations”, but 80F and 90% humidity with the sun baking your skull is still darn hot … Took us forever to find an off-the-Marriott-trail-and-speaking-a-more-local-accent hotel with a/c for this trip, and even this one had an old, rusty window unit, and yes, another fan above the bed.

And now, about the hotel …

That would be the Green Park Inn. Well, the long and short of it is: it is haunted. If you’re into heavy antiques, sleeping in old, musty wood beds that rock and creak, finding the lop-sided bedside furniture piece “charming” and the rusty mirror frame “full of character”, then this is for you … It has “character”, all right. Especially at 1 minutes past 12 AM when a bright red shadow watches you sleep from the side of your bed and then it disappears into thin air when you try to wake your husband and ask him what the heck … No, seriously – look it up: this place is haunted. I do believe it now, although it did not occur to us to look that up before we booked … Even before I saw this, there is a feeling as you walk towards your room, on uneven, noisy floors, that there is someone behind you, following you. The silence in it is surreal. The red shadow vision happened on our first night, so after this, we tried to make the most of the town and what was around it rather than spend any time in that room … I guess it was a great incentive to get out more and make memories … or maybe the town’s evil plan?!

The hotel is built on top of the Eastern Continental Divide and maybe that’s a space full of energy or something, I don’t know … The name of the hotel bar is The Divide, to honor that. It is the first hotel ever built in Blowing Rock (1880) and it hosted the only Post Office in the town when it was first built. Furniture from that establishment still exists on premises. One night, we had the world’s most hilarious waitress at this bar: a middle-aged woman with her curly dirty blonde hair in a knot held together by a pencil, laughing the most incredulous laugh there ever was uttered … Her name was Roxanne, but it could have been a stage name, too. She jumped between stories about her daughter and her two year old granddaughter, houses blowing up somewhere, and her life in Ohio, Florida and Charlotte where she has lived before – she puts down roots for 2-3 years then she moves right on, she said – she laughed herself to tears after every sentence she finished with an eerie laugh that resembled a “lamb’s voice”, my husband figured. He was not totally wrong … We laughed more at the laugh than the stories.

She kept reminding us that although she loves for us to stay as long as we want, the management team will make her close the bar “soon” (it was around 9 PM which seemed early for a vacationing crowd, but …). She never did close, but with that kind of invite, no one wanted to really stay. We did, though, because her stories were funny. So much free entertainment, you know?!

She was so scatter-headed that she served a customer a burger with no meat on the bun. The plate looked nice and well-put-together, except the bread was opened, one side - lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, and the other side, naked. When her manager brought it to her to show, in front of all of us, she laughed her usual laugh and didn’t seem to mind a bit. After all, we all agreed, it was fairly hilarious. Appropriateness of things, or reality herself did not seem to faze her …

I wondered after some time if she was real or maybe she is the ghost?! I never want to know, really. Although we will be back to Blowing Rock and probably soon, we won’t be staying at The Inn.

See, I didn’t even tell you about he fact that it rained almost the entire time we were there, because that was irrelevant. We did so much, saw so much, ate and drank till we could not breath anymore, looked at people, puppies, art, and the great Smokies that we will not remember the weather part … The ghost part we will. Always. The weather part – ephemeral as it always is – will drop in the deep blackness our forgetfulness …

I still hear Roxanne saying as she did the dishes ('cause yeah, she did do them in the creaky, shaking dishwasher right under our noses, 'cause she was about to close, you know): “I don’t believe in death and taxes. I believe in dishes and laundry … (bw)hahahahahaha … We do, too, Roxanne, we do, too … 

Click the rhododendron to see the photographic journey of our adventures

A City Alive - Postcards from Seattle

Greetings from Seattle! I am not sure if all of the people who read here remember postcards. But I do. Even as a child, I was the only one in my family who always sent them to our friends from our family trips. Everyone could count on me letting them know where the family went that summer. I still browse the postcards stands in gift stores, and I dream about the days when I would pick just the best ones that would summarize the vacation spot just perfectly.

Nowadays, of course, we have Facebook. And phones with cameras and web connections, to post that telling shot of where we are and what it’s like to be there to let all of our friends know. Nowadays, I have my own camera, too. And instead of one postcard, I come home with 1000+ shots of the place. I send the link to my friends, and boom!, they are there, too: they can even feel the heat or the cold, they can almost taste the food, and hear the street noises or the quiet of the surrounding areas.

The recent trip we took to Seattle over Thanksgiving was no exception. Looking back through the pictures, I see just what my first trip to Seattle means. It means gray, of course. When we got there, there was a misty rain in the air, for which an umbrella would do little. We were told by one of our guides that umbrellas are not popular in Seattle. The rain never pours, but it usually feels more like that mist the hair dresser uses to spray your hair before she cuts it: “poof-poof” and you’re wet! The sky was gray and the roads were shiny. It was cold – bitter cold and wet. After all, this is the Pacific North West, right?!

Another snapshot in my mind is Seattle inside Pike Place Market on Black Friday. I know, sounds suicidal, but it’s actually pretty fun. So much life. Everyone’s coming or going. You feel the pulse of a big city and it’s pounding! For the most part, Seattle has a slower pace than most large cities I have seen, except for its Market. Despite the fact that the vendors are there year round and the market is probably hopping year round, too, they are always friendly and actively selling their stuff. They talk to everyone who stops by, and describe their products in detail. They are nice and never look bored, tired, or just indifferent, like most trinket sellers in touristy places. Their active involvement is really an attractive marketing tool.

My favorite thing in The Market, was not the fish throwing, as everyone would think. It was not even the overcrowded original Starbucks store, either – although that one did make my heart stop for a minute: it was that feeling of “wow! This is where everything started”. But my favorite market place was this corner stand where a woman was selling things made of lavender. The place smelled beautifully, and she had a “culinary wreath”, made of all sorts (I think 10) of herbs, that you just hang in your kitchen and peel from year round, to use in your foods. The wreath was as gorgeous as it was practical and for some reason it spelled "Seattle" to me: green, fresh, clean, delicious, unique and hippie-sh.

On the second day we were there, there was not a cloud in the sky! I thought I died and woke up in Atlanta! Blue skies and blinding light – perfect for pictures, and a boat ride. The view from Elliott Bay towards Seattle is much similar to all the skyline views you’re familiar with. Of course, not two skylines are alike. They each have their trademark that makes them recognizable – whether tall or interesting in architecture, these one building compounds put them on the map: New York has the Empire State building. San Francisco has the TransAmerica Pyramid. Toronto, the CN Tower, and Seattle – the shipyard and … the Space Needle.

The Space Needle is not the tallest, but it definitely is one of the strangest buildings I have climbed (along with Montreal’s Olympic Stadium leaning tower) to get a bird’s eye view of the city. It looks like a flying saucer landed on a skinny pole and it’s balancing just so. It’s one of those miracles of human dreaming and ingenuity.

The architecture of the town is a mix of old and new. I was shocked of how old Seattle really feels, although it’s a very few years over 100 years old! There are skyscrapers and cobble stone streets right next to each other. Horse drawn carriages and the airlifted Monorail train, side by side. The trip in the Underground will make you feel like it’s thousands years old. It’s a clean city, and although it feels like a metropolis, it’s not crushing you under its fastness, or clutter. It’s busy, but with breathing room. Not as oppressive as NYC, nor even Boston, for instance.

I think the most unexpected thing about the Seattle landscape for me was the fact that all the streets are incredibly steep! OK, they are not quite San Francisco steep, but they are a breath stopper, after you have climbed about 10 of them in a row! And that’s the good thing – you can really walk or take public transport to pretty much anywhere. I don’t think you must have a car to live in Seattle!

Another thing that will stay with me from this trip is all the restaurants – great, fresh food, incredible service, and good beer and wine! It’s a miracle to find a Riesling on most of the restaurants I visit, anywhere in the country. Seattle always had a Riesling and a moscato at all times! Even moscato champagne! The beers might not be as diverse, I suppose, as Portland’s, but they surely are plenty of choices and they are tasty! I am not a microbrew fan, but I did find some microbrews that were not too offending at all for my very soft palate. The foods are always fresh and just enough with a twist to make them unforgettable, but not too strange.

The town feels like a river of coffee flows through it. There is a fast food restaurant at every street corner in America, but not in Seattle. There is a coffee shop at every street corner here! Tully’s, Seattle’s Best and of course lots of Starbucks. Also, stand alone, independent ones, too. And when you are finished with your meal, you’re asked: “would you like a cup of hot latte to go, by chance? I’ll double cup it for you. It’s really hot!” They have invented their own language for coffee drinks here. A language that everyone speaks, of course. People walking down the street and holding cups of hot drinks from 7 AM to midnight! It might be what keeps them smiling?!

One thing that blew my mind was the fact that all the wait staff everywhere was so helpful, fast and so polite and just happy. Yes, Seattle has happy people, I would say! I have always thought that with that much rain, you must be a nature prone to depression to be able to live in Seattle. And yet, I have never seen so many smiley and cordial people and just plain content as Seattle folks! It was always a treat to sit down for a meal or just drinks. Just like visiting with old friends, we felt totally welcome.

The ultra-modern hotel. The picture book would not be complete if I didn’t talk about our very unique hotel room! We stayed at Hotel 1000, about two blocks from Pike Place Market and one block from Pier 56. Our suspended, flat screen tv was turned on when we entered the room, and there was a welcome message on the screen in our names. We had a fixture free (well, except for the drain) tub that had the downspout mounted in the ceiling above it. Instead of a solid wall between the bedroom and bath, you had an all glass wall, with a shade operated by three buttons in the wall – like a light switch. You could sit in the tub, and have a view to the harbor, across the room. The toilet and shower were in their separate all glass enclosures. The sink and fixtures were Kohler and counters solid granite. For those of you that think that granite is so overrated, I disagree! It’s clean and elegant. Period.

The décor of the room was modern minimalist, but intricate, too, without being uncomfortable. Some pieces looked like they were chosen from an art gallery from the Seattle Museum of Art, down the street. Molton Brown smellies gave the air a lavish and fresh aroma. Nothing was random. Everything was pieced together just so, to make it classy and comfortable at the same time. We also had a light switch by the entrance door, that we turned on – this put a “do not disturb” light on on the other side of the wall, next to our doorbell. Very discreet.

And because Seattle is Microsoft, our hotel lounge had a virtual game room, with Microsoft game tables. Chess, checkers and many other virtual boards were the centerpiece of many seating areas in our lounge.

The Boka Restaurant downstairs kept in line with this feeling of modern and chic. We ate on burl tables and sat near towers of sculpted glass. The food, again, was good without being too pretentious.

Yeah, we ate and drank a lot on this trip! I have not done this since probably my last trip to New Orleans, another feasting town!

The feeling that people are environmentally conscious in this town meets you at every pace. There are typically anywhere between three and five trashcans in every public establishment. You need about 10 minutes of deliberation of where your waste needs to go before you (hopefully not!) give up and just chuck it in the one that’s fullest, labeled “trash”. You can order almost everything free of … whatever… milk free, fat free, gluten free, meat free – you name it. I think even without our cameras in hand, we would still have stood out to restaurant staff as out-of-town-ers, for always ordering the “real” things.

That’s Seattle for you: fresh salmon, good coffee, sweet wine, steep streets (bring good, comfy shoes), full body beers, health conscious freakishness, history, rushed people that smile a lot, wine and coffee shops in one, sometimes with a bookstore thrown in, clean and safe-feeling, calm waters, gorgeous mountain ranges, tasteful art, all spinning around the Space Needle, under a mostly gray sky with occasional rays of sunshine. It has a heart, a mind and a style all its own.

Till next time, Seattle, I greet you ‘stay awesome’!

A deconstructed image of Seattle, from the Monorail - courtesy of my husband.
Click on it to experience the whole adventure. I hope you can see, feel, touch, breathe and taste Seattle, even if just virtually.

My Drinking Problem

“Hi, my name is Alina, and I … don’t believe I am an alcoholic. Not quite. Really.”

I grew up with dad making wine every fall, my mountain relatives making beer every summer and my uncle making tzuika (close to “moonshine”) every year. And I can never remember a New Year’s at my parents' house, when even us kids didn’t have a sip of real champagne. Or a summer barbecue where we, as kids, didn’t sip mom’s “foam” from the top of her beer.

Alcohol had been part of our daily “diets”, if you would, forever. And just like we’re not all gourmands for eating every day, I don’t think I’m an alcoholic because I have, or even crave, a glass of wine every now and then.

I have never seriously thought about having a drinking problem before (well, not in my adult years, anyway) until it’s become a chase to “where do I get the next good bottle”, when I moved to Utah.
What used to be an every day passing thought is now very much a conscious, deliberate, much planned project, since here, alcohol comes at a price. And I am not just strictly talking about money.

My parents were once again right: the more you forbid one from doing something, the more they’ll yearn to do it. And I find 100% truth in that statement since I have moved here: because they make it so hard and rare to get “good stuff” here, we want it more.

Every day, I am trying to discover a new store that “sells good beer and wine”, or a new store “with a better selection” of both, or a new bar that sells “my beer”, or … It’s my obsession now, it seems. Mine, and a few other friends’ too who come from other parts and are used to drinks-a-plenty. Every time I find “something good”, I want to do a little happy dance – it’s like Christmas has come. Or my birthday. Or both in one day! I screech with pleasure when I see alcohol anymore! Just like Adam and Eve must have done it when they saw “the fruit”.

Now, don’t get me wrong: compared to 10 years ago, when I first visited the Beehive State, the drinking rules are much, much, much more lax! Kudos to the Utah folks who fought to change some of the old laws, and to the Utah government who approved them. You can buy (weak) beer in any grocery and convenience store, and you can even buy it on Sundays. All Sunday long. Now, that’s even better than The Carolinas, right?! You can find any kind (wine, liquors, liqueurs, mixed drinks, etc) of alcoholic drink in the State Liquor Stores, but these are closed on Sundays. Also, you never need a membership for a pub to be able to order liquor, like you did 10 years ago.

But alcohol is still relatively “hard” to find, and the selection is way low in stores. I am saying “hard to find”, because the state stores are very few and far between, for one. There is no liquor store in our town. We just got a new one in the town adjacent to ours, which is about 7 miles away from our house. Before this store was opened, this past Christmas (and my husband was the very first customer, thank you very much!), the closest store to our house was a couple of towns over, about 11 miles away.

Grocery stores only sell beer that has an alcohol content of 3.2% by weight; in other words, you drink 10 beers and you’re still waiting for a buzz! If you want “regular strength” beer, you will need to visit the liquor store. There, you have a broader selection of import beers, wines and such. But you’ll have to plan for the trip – make a point out of visiting the neighboring town, and remember that Sundays these stores are closed. Also, as of recent times, they open at 11 AM. So if you have a lunch party on a Saturday – stock up on Friday. And since you have to drive so long to get there, you can’t buy just one bottle. You need to make it worth your gas money, right?! Planning. Planning. And more planning.

Buying drinks is never on the grocery list when you live here. It’s always a special trip.

Today, I visited our new (and closer) liquor store. And once again, I was like a kid in the candy store, jumping up and down with joy. I think it’s because they are new and they are trying to still test this market, and see what people would buy, but they had EVERYTHING! I have seen things in this new store that I have never seen in a wine store – here or elsewhere in America.

I could seldom find my most favorite wine in whole world, Moscato. I always have to “settle” for Riesling, or Pinot Grigio instead. And when I do find it, it’s usually from only the same two wine makers (Gallo and Sutter Home). I have said this before, but I believe most Americans have sharper palates that Eastern Europeans. So Moscatos are not very popular in The States.

Well, the new store has not one but TWO separate sections for Moscatos. I would have taken a picture if I were not the only customer in the store and the cashier was not eyeing me like a hawk. Usually, you find the rare two Moscato wines under the aisle heading “other whites”, or “Riesling”, or even “Sauvignon Blanc”. But in this store, they are their OWN wine, as they should be, of course. They have not only several Moscatos from California that I have never heard about, but also another one from Australia, and even an Italian one!

I once asked a wine store bar tender in Greensboro for Australian Moscato, and they promised me Australians don’t export such things. That they are famous for their dryer varieties. Well, when I saw this today, you can imagine my surprise – right here, in the wine forbidden Utah state, discovery of all times: my “candy” does exist and from Australia, nonetheless! Still no Kilkenny beer , however, but this is a start!

I browsed aisle after aisle (the place is huge and they are still stocking up, with plenty of aisles still empty and awaiting varieties), and I marveled at the diversity of the inventory and at the very affordable prices. It felt good! And thus, I caught myself: I am feeling good, happy even, about drinks! About alcoholic drinks, at that! So, you see, that prompted me to ponder upon my possible addiction.

I also feel sort of an embarrassing kind of guilt when I enter a liquor store around here. Especially in the middle of the week, in the middle of the day! I feel like even the cashier wonders what my problem is to be there that early. Even if they don’t really give me “the looks”, I still feel like they do. I should just come out and say it – “I am not an alcoholic, lady. I am just Romanian. Now point me to the sweet wines, please”.

Cranky Saturday

The Life is good saying of the day is timely and fitting: “nothing is happy proof”.
But I wonder sometimes, after a day like today, if that’s really the case … Hmm… still debating. But let’s see what happened today to make me doubt this!

We were looking forward to this weekend, because we both had crazy weeks. So, we set off to a fun day, we thought, of harvesting and shopping and eating out and just being together. And the day turned out a bit stressful, to say the least!

We stopped by Sundance , where the Harvest Market was going on. They advertised on the site that there will be a local wine and beer tasting at this market, so I was hoping that kids would be scarce, since you know, alcohol is still the devil in Utah and such a bad example to youngsters, thank God!

Well, I was wrong. The whole place was flooded with them!

When we reached the upper parking lot (which seemed like a mile away from the actual market!), we almost ran over five or six of them, because they were roaming free, with no adult supervision, all over the overly full and rapidly filling parking lot! My husband stopped maybe half of a foot of a three year old girl, not even seeing her, because of her shortness, before she looked all surprised that she was that close to a car. The mother was smiling at the sky, and adjusting her purse strap somewhere not nearby enough …

When we reached “the market” there were no written signs of where and what was going on. We saw food being cooked, we saw people with wrist bands, but we had no idea where or how to get either … We roamed about, looked at crafts and found out the workings of the place, only after we asked a person with a name tag.

And we found out pretty soon that the name “harvest market” was loosely used: there was no “harvest” related merchandise or décor there – the only “harvest”- like tent (only ONE!) had tomatoes and peaches in it. No pumpkins, no gourds, no corn, no hay, no wreaths! NO harvest!

When it was time to get food, both the chicken and the burgers were not done yet. Sure, the barbecue and the hotdogs were, but that’s not what we wanted! So, we had to wait “for a minute” (that is a relative term in customer service!!) for the coals to be added to the grill, and for the food to cook while we were baking in the heat and listening to our waiting partner, an older man, who seemed to be following us around.

When we were done barbecuing … we went to check out the wine and beer tasting in The Owl Bar. OK! We arrive at the bar and there are again no signs about any wine tasting, nor people with samples of anything liquid. There were people sipping real drinks and ordering food, but … no signs. Again, we ask. I guess they offer it, but it’s not very visible, because, again: alcohol equals devil! But it’s a BAR!!!! So, we ask! They have two beers and one wine to taste. $2 for EACH of the beverages! They were advertising it as “local wines and beers”, and they had some Michelob Wheat and some other Michelob beer and also a Parducci white “sustainable” wine from … California! “Local” - my toes!!

We do taste some “sustainable” wine, and then, off we go … After a neat stop at Cabela’s, where we looked at dead creatures and shopped for camping gear – fun, fun!

And then we went shopping at the mall. We got hungry, so we went to Winger’s, which, according to Aa. “have everything”. And they do. So, we sat down, we looked at the menu – I knew I wanted a beer, a glass of cold water, a bowl of soup and some chicken wings! Well … hhmm … sat down we did, and we waited! For minutes on end. And no one showed up to even acknowledge we were there … So, off we went, after about 15 minutes of being ignored … Hungry and pi…ed, but definitely not in the British sense of the word!

I suggested to go to the Winger’s in Spanish Fork, closer to home, since we already knew what we wanted and we could skip the whole “looking at the menu” part. And so we did. Only to find out that the Spanish Fork Wingers … doesn’t serve alcohol! Smaller town, no liquor license, I suppose. Oy!

But we got great service in Spanish Fork, although they were much busier than the Provo mall folks! With stomachs full and still craving beer, we headed home next, only to almost hit another little girl in the parking lot, while leaving Winger’s! Our hearts jumped again: the girl was about 3 with no adults watching her !! I swear I could kill parents most days!

We decided we should stay in tomorrow! Too hazardous out there! And I have not said a thing about the crazy traffic we have been through all day, people with no direction, no signals, no common sense, breaking, cutting off … being stupid!!

But even on such a day, we come home, where it’s peaceful and quiet (for the most part) and we get to just enjoy each other, and the blessings of being alert enough not to kill two kids today! And that, my friends, is happiness!

Life is, indeed, good.

A Sip of This, a Bite of That ...

A journey through Northern California

California has haunted me for most of my life. I have always wanted to go see it, but I guess I share that dream with a lot of folks.

Growing up, all I knew about America was California and Dallas. OK, MAYBE The Statue of Liberty, but it was not till probably in first or second grade that I knew that was in New York. Everything, to me, was in California. California and America were perfect synonyms. What?! They are not one and the same country?! Well, as I have discovered in this last trip – they are very much not the same country. Most times, anyway.

We started off on a Saturday, on a road trip towards the Western state. On I-80 West of Salt Lake City things are flat. And salty. The Salt Flats fit their name to a tee. Yes, I did have to jump out of the car and taste the soil, just to make sure all that whiteness is salt. It is. The huge mountains of salt being harvested from basins on the side of the roads testify to that also.

Onward through Nevada we had again that Dorothy-like, deserted feeling we experienced in Kansas this year: lost. Just vast lands, big sky and nothing much more than dust. One would tell you that there are only two colors, yellow and blue, for the sand and the sky, but there are so many shades of those colors your eyes hurt! I guess if Eskimos have 100 words for “white” (or is it “snow”?!), Nevadans should have 100 words for “yellow”. In Nevada, because of wide spaces and infinite horizons, you get to see the beauty in the simplicity of the desert. The vegetation is scarce, but the land is vast and overwhelmingly present.

Once you cross the border in California, you literally feel like you are in a different country. People drive faster, traffic thickens and roads are horribly, horribly worse than anywhere else I have ever been. The landscape is different, too: lots of pine trees and junipers are now adorning the sides of the rocky mountains everywhere. Whereas in Nevada the dimension is horizontal, in Northern California you flip your vision by 90 degrees to vertical: there is only one way the eye can look, and that is up, from the winding, narrow valleys of the highways and you see the blue skies. Everything is close up and personal there!

We planned to make Napa Valley our main base for the short stay, and travel around it, for wine, food, sightseeing and photo opportunities, and of course people watching. I guess I can safely say we accomplished all that. We spent a couple of days winery touring, one day in San Francisco and on our way home, we stopped in South Lake Tahoe (for some WEIRD reason my tongue continues to call it “Lake Taco”) for lunch and lots of photos. It was a beautiful journey, one that I hope I can make another day, a little less rushed, and a little bit longer, so I can see all the beautiful adjacent places to these spots we saw this time.

A few travel notes for next time and for those interested in following in our footsteps.

Food in Napa and around is amazing. Yes, we did spend a bit more for food, because this was a special occasion for us, but even when we didn’t, when we stopped at a hole-in-the-wall kind of place, food tasted delicious. We had lunch at Armadillo's, in St. Helena, a Fresh Mexican food place, and it was like nothing I have ever tasted before! All the ingredients tasted like what they were not like melted cheese under a broiler.

The resorts do a fantastic job of cooking everything gourmet and everything familiar with a gourmet twist. Some of my favorite finds were the cold corn and lime soup at Solbar at the Solage Resort in Calistoga, as well as the herb French fries at Siena, the restaurant at Meritage, in Napa, our home for the trip. Now, two words of caution here: Solbar changes their menu daily, so the soup might be a one day event there, but everything they do is out of this world, so, you're in luck anyway. Siena (our “own” restaurant) has absolutely horrible service for dinners, from what we have experienced. Morning service was OK, but dinners – not so much. Unless you planned to spend at least two and a half hours for dinner and 30 minutes waiting for someone to show up to take your order, I would not recommend Siena. All I could figure was: well, they have you there! You stay there, you come in for dinner because you probably are too tired (or too tipsy) to drive anywhere else, they can make you wait forever – where else would you go?! Definitely below par from what you expect from a highly rated resort.

I WILL have to say one word (OK, maybe several!) about Morimoto Napa Restaurant. For those of you who watch Iron Chef America, you know who Masaharu Morimoto is: he’s this Japanese “iron chef”, one of the original “iron chefs” from the original Japanese show by the same name. You will see him cook on the American version of the show, and as one of our friends put it “he is the one who is always perfect”.

He has a restaurant he owns in Napa . I am not too sure how this whole thing works, whether he comes up with the menu, or ever cooks it, or supervises the chefs through video conference from New York, or even has anything to do with anything in there at all other than putting his name on the place and grabbing a check every month. Not sure how much of Morimoto is involved in the food is what I am saying. But the foods on the menu are pretty close to the tradition he’s cooking in: Japanese, lots of fish, fresh ingredients, original pairings of flavors.

The dinner we had there was definitely an experience of a lifetime! We looked around and no two plates looked alike! Every food had its own kind of plate or bowl, various colors to complement the foods, and various shapes. I had a crème brulee that had blueberries and Earl Grey tea in it, and lemongrass ice cream on top. Now, lemongrass is something you eat in your fried rice dishes, or your glass noodle Thai soup, as a veggie … The whole thing was exploding with flavors and just melting in my mouth. And I hate desserts, mind you! But this was not a dessert. It was a journey.

I had to have some sushi, as Morimoto describes himself as a sushi chef, primarily. I had flying fish roe and then king crab sushi – fresh, sea-like and simple! My fried rice and yellow tail came in this 400F Dutch oven kind of bowl – everything in the bowl was uncooked, except for the rice – the waitress cooked everything in front of me by mixing everything together and allowing every bite to touch the hot walls of the bowl– it was sooo fresh when I tasted it! There were ingredients in there I never had in fried rice before: mushrooms, nori, spinach all “fried” in sesame oil. Again, the rainbow of flavors was amazing: the salty fish with the woodsy mushrooms and the green spinach, the sweet sesame oil and again salty, sort of pickled nori – your mouth didn’t know where to go to describe it all!

My husband had a ginger and peach “martini” that was pretty boozy and surprisingly tasty, for ginger, in my opinion. He also had miso soup and pork chops with kimchi and ginger – in he Japanese tradition of perfect balance, they balance heavier meats (pork) with a smaller, leaner side (kimchi). In an American restaurant, you’d get pork chops AND potatoes AND fried onions on top! His dessert was tofu cheesecake with maple and coffee reduction sauce and maple ice cream. The cheesecake was like chewing on air – so light!

We didn’t have any bad service to speak of at Morimoto’s – the place runs like a scientific experiment – we were waited on by several people and we were showered with attention, although the place was incredibly full! The décor is something else too, but I don’t want to take too much longer here, so, just, please … visit the pictures .

The wine, of course, is plenty in Napa. And that is all I am going to say in the adjective department. Wine, much like any taste derivative, is a personal choice. And my mom always said don’t ever argue about taste! And I won’t. Some wine was good and some was not so good. To us. Some of the wineries we visited were: Domaine Carneros (my first “sparkling wine” winery), Artesa, Folie a Deux and Napa Cellars, Sutter Home, Freemark Abbey, V. Sattui, Joseph Phelps.

I have read a lot before I headed out there, but unfortunately not before we booked the trip: they tell you that Sonoma is a white and sweet wine place (more South, longer summers), and Napa is a red wine place, and a dry wine region – for the most part. Of course, there are various things to be found in both. But yes, they are right: Napa is predominantly “red”. We are mostly sweet white wine drinkers. OK, we’ll give a Riesling and a Pinot Grigio a try once in a while, but we like our “Kool-Aid” on the lines of Muscats and Ottonels . Sutter Homes and V. Sattui had the sweetest Muscat wines, the most perfumy ever! And thus we tasted the difference between Moscato, which is what you can typically find in any grocery store in America (well, except Utah, of course), and Muscat, which is what I grew up with, back home: fuller body, in the sugary content. All grapes, sun and deliciousness!

At Joseph Phelps we had a beautiful surprise because their grounds were by far the most serene and spectacular: just simple, quiet beauty. We were there on Harvest Day, September 7, and they were all looking forward to a wonderful new season, as these folks really get into their trade. The winery is by far the most upscale, and most "technical" of all of the ones we saw - not for the pleasure drinker, for sure: they talk about their wines in “points” and percentage of wines that make a blend. And they offer private tastings with a wine specialist in this beautiful, all wood tasting room. Definitely “up a notch”.

They are off the beaten path of the Hwy 29, but so worth the short trip. Whereas all the wines were anywhere between $5 and $25 at all the other wineries, Phelps’s bottles started at $45 and stopped at $225. They make mainly Bordeaux style wines, Merlots, and Cabs, very “full body” some say … but to us, they are “full of chalk”. And yes, I said that to them, and of course they stopped paying attention to me.

I personally don’t believe in the absolute in wine! There is no such thing as an absolutely great wine. I think it is such a subjective matter of palate and taste that you cannot tell me a full body Cab is the best wine ever produced and a fully aromatic Muscat or a perfectly balanced and smooth Pinot Gris is junk! Because what makes a wine great, after all, if not the taster?! I believe strongly that wine, just like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

Phelps also reminded me that price has nothing to do with what you like, either. If it brings you pleasure and you only spend $.50 on it, more power to you, I say! A $225 bottle tasted worse, to me, than any $5 bottle of Muscat I ever bought.
Beautiful place, though. Definitely worth the trip, for the grounds, the trellis work and the largest wisteria in the world hanging off of it. Just don’t mention their wine is chalky if you want to make friends!

I think the funniest memory I’ll have from the wine journey will be the fact that when sales people were asking us where we’re from at the wineries, and we said Utah, they would make this very sad face and add “Oh, I am SO sorry!” – because they knew about our silly alcohol rules up here. But I will have to say, we got out of being upsold on memberships and “wine clubs” by telling them “hey, we’re from Utah, you can’t ship alcohol there”. And they can’t. And they were bummed. And we weren’t. Although the Muscat from Sutter Home would make my day every time it would arrive in the mail! For sure.

And speaking of Sutter Home – they also have beautiful grounds, although on Hwy 29, smack dab in the middle of traffic! They have the most gorgeous gardens. And that’s the thing about California: the vegetation is amazing! You get thousands and thousands of acres of vineyards, of course, but then you get olive orchards, and orange trees and lime trees and bushes, and lemon trees, and pomegranates, and palm trees and cactuses, and … pine trees …and what NOT?! It’s beautiful, and diverse, and lush green and fresh! The roads leave a lot to be desired, for sure, but what a delight for the eyes the hills are!

Till you get to San Francisco that is! Well, maybe I am once again biased here! You see, I am not a big city girl! I am one of those people who’ll tell you that NYC is “great to visit but not to live in”. Same thing in San Francisco! Man, what a zoo! And yes, surely: part of the zoo was the fact that we drove into it on Labor Day (Monday) and the place was abuzz with tourists, but part of it is just San Francisco: traffic, and more traffic, and pushy merchants, and crazy hills to drive on, and no parking and … metropolitan jungle at its worst! And I said nothing about the tourists everywhere – because the only other place I ever saw that many tourists, their bikes, go carts, kids, strollers, dogs and funky fashion styles was in New Orleans. Very colorful!

We had lunch at Lolli’s Castagnola’s in the Fisherman’s Wharf, and we had the world’s weirdest waitress serving us. We were perfectly sober, but we could not tell whether she (“Jennifer”) was a man or a woman, nor whether she was sober, drunk or high … She was something else … She started by saying she will make us “the world’s best Long Island Ice Tea”, as she is a world renowned, award winning bartender first, and a waitress next. And everything after that was “the best”, “the mostest” that we ever had, according to her … She had to “flirt with the chef for extra shrimps on my sandwich” and that alone almost killed my appetite. The seafood we had was definitely fresh, but not spectacularly cooked. The Long Island Ice Tea, however, was apparently amazing, according to my husband who did take her up on the offer.

We took a boat tour of the San Francisco Bay, and floated by The Golden Gate and Alcatraz Island, and just peeked, away in the distance, at the San Francisco – Oakland Bridge. I always love bay cruises, because they put things into perspective for you. I do enjoy riding through a city (or walking it, like we did a bit, too) to get a feel of what that city is, but I love seeing it from afar, too. After all, when you see postcards from New York, San Francisco, Chicago, etc – it’s always some skyline shot from some body of water, isn’t it?! So, seeing it in real life for yourself kind of gives you the feeling of “Wow! I have made it there!”.

The bay tour was great, I thought. Gave us perspective and a nice, relaxing way to look AT the city. And they don’t call it “the Fog City” for nothing! It IS foggy! All our pictures can tell you that! We didn’t visit Alcatraz, but I was shocked by the amount of decay we could see from the boat. I visited Ellis Island, and I was moved at how everything looked like it must have been many years ago, when it was a working island. I don’t know the history of Alcatraz that well, so I am not sure why it could not be preserved, but … it felt very depressing, and not just because of the fact that it’s a prison island. It felt like staring into a skeleton.

On our last day, we drove back home through Lake Tahoe. And what a beautiful trip back home that was! The Tahoe area is gorgeous. I am not sure how else to put it – but it’s just one of those places you just NEED to go to before you die! It’s beautiful mountain landscape at its best – breathtaking, raw and wild. Between the simple and tall beauty of the pine trees and redwoods, and the bareness of the rocks and the clear of the lake, you don’t know where to look for simple amazement!

The California part is nice and landscape - coordinated, all log cabins and stonework. No building almost violates the beauty of the land. You cross over into Lake Tahoe-Nevada, though, and as my husband said “you get lots of cheese in a hurry” – casino signs and billboards out of this world!

Nevertheless, the beauty of the mountains and the lake endures, and no human cheese can really temper that!

We had lunch at an Irish Pub and just drove along the shore of the lake for pictures. We stopped in the canyons for more photo opps, of course! It was like an extra breath of fresh air (in more ways, literal and not) before our long and relatively boring drive through Nevada, back home. But as any traveler will tell you: any corner of the world reserves a surprise, and we were lucky enough to once again be speechless when we almost found the “pot of gold” in the desert . Must have been that Irish blessing we got at the pub in Tahoe.

We loved our trip, and if we were to do it again, we would do it in a heart beat! We would like to go back to Tahoe right away, just for a longer weekend, or so … California was naturally gorgeous, but humanly weird, I guess. People are not friendly. They are always in a rush, and always want to sell something. Whatever it is about Napa, they’re trying to sell you on two things: wine and spas! And they’re really pushy! The roads are horrible and in a state with toll roads and 9% taxes I am not sure why they can’t fix them … The overpopulation feeling definitely kicks in in California. I come from North Carolina which does seem more crowded than Utah, but California is like Time Square at the size of a state. OK! I have not seen the whole state of California, but everything between Sacramento, San Francisco, and Tahoe is way too tight, population wise.

Another characteristic of the area is that there is a lot of “green initiatives” – more than I have seen in any other states: lots of solar panels on the houses, traffic lights, wineries, lots of windmill power, lots of “green” in restaurants (no ice, tap water, real, cotton towels to be reused, etc).

Like anywhere in the Southwest, there is a huge Hispanic influence here – and that was actually one of my favorite features! All our Hispanic waiters and waitresses were by far the best, friendliest and worked hardest. Just a side note, but an important one to me, when I will look back!

The small Western towns are a gem, if you can navigate the traffic to get into them. Old buildings, and lots of live oaks and palm trees. Nice houses, sort of Mediterranean in architecture, with overgrown gardens that offered much needed shade and privacy. These settlings are an oasis of small town feel in the middle of madness. St. Helena and Yountville were very quaint and quiet.

And what is California without star sightings, right?! So, apart from being in an internationally renowned chef’s restaurant, we also were seated at the table next to Tyler Florence , another chef, and his entourage, when we dined at Solbar. I will not go into the details of our eavesdropping, but suffice it to say, the conversations involved cooking with “aromatic herbs”, the kind some people in Amsterdam smoke. Or so I thought I heard.

It was definitely a fast forward trip, with the long drive and the not many (five) days we spent there. But it was an experience in more ways than one: cultural, culinary, oenological, geographical and definitely psychological!

I cannot find a better ending to this than the statement my husband summarized California in: “The experts have determined that Pluto is no longer a planet. California is in no danger of such a re-classification - it is a planet unto itself.”

Just GO! It’s worth it! And remember to take a camera, too. This way, you’ll end up with 2000+ pictures, like we did. Enjoy some of them here .

Old Traditions, New Customs ...

I have thought lately of all the traditions the various “families” I have been fortunate to have over the years follow for Christmas … I have thought about how I want to have a piece of every one of them, and yet make my own. I think this year was a good start for this.

Aa. wanted a log cabin for Christmas. I wanted snow. I know – always hardest to please! And as luck, or fate, or just chance would have it, we got both. We rented a log cabin on the grounds of Autumn Creek Vineyards, in Mayodan, NC, and about a week before Christmas, we had lots of snow. After that, we had lots of cold-cold days that ensured we still had snow on the ground when we got there.

Our faerie - like living room at the cabin.

We didn’t go crazy with gifts. Just some things that we both knew the other liked, that represented us, or that we needed. We went away on December 23^rd, and returned on Christmas Day. I cooked a couple of dishes, and I had the traditional Romanian cold cuts and ham plate with bread all made up, we took drinks and of course we bought wine at the place we stayed. We had the cabin all to ourselves, complete with a fire, and a Christmas tree. We had dinner out the first night there, but we had all the breakfasts in.

For the first time in a long time for me, we hiked in the snow, in the nearby Hanging Rock Park on Christmas Eve. The hike was beautiful! A perfect, cloudless day, with squeaking snow under our feet and nothing but the sound of wind in the swishy, paper-like ruffling of dry trees.

The woods had a Robert Frost - like majestic quality about them: their frozen beauty and serene silence made our souls as pure as the snow and as fresh as the cold that enveloped us. We took our time on the icy trails, played with the cameras, watched for weird paw or foot prints everywhere, and admired the beauty of the simple nature gone quiet for the winter. The usually vibrant rhododendron was sad looking, but stoic, nonetheless. The snow was solid mercury, under the strong light of the sun – unbothered by clouds.

We climbed several of these steep, treacherous stairs, full of packed snow and ice.

We went home with red cheeks and chapped lips and we turned on the fire. Aah, the wonders of advanced technology: we can “build” a fire no longer. I guess we cannot have everything.

I prepared the Christmas dinner, which is another Romanian tradition: we typically eat that on Christmas Eve. We had warm and fresh dishes that complemented the cold endured during our hike that day well. Then, we opened presents and had some more sweet wine. If you do like sweet wine, the Autumn Creek Mayo River White Muscadine is to die for! And since we’re both word people, we also played Scrabble.

The cabin was wonderful, too! Everything in there was so nicely done! Very tasteful, and not “loud” , nor cheesy– just nature shades of brown, green and gold and natural textures of wood (mainly), ceramics and leather. I loved how they use bark to decorate the inside roof, the crown molding and the base boards. It was like being in the tree house I have always wanted but never had.

The master shower was luxurious and complicated – not something you’d think you’d find at a rustic retreat, but somehow it fit the rest of the high end and classy fixtures, as well. The smell of the wood logs took over our sinuses as we walked into the simple mud room. That was exactly what I lived for all year: that smell!

I used to open the train car’s windows when I went to the mountains as a kid when I knew we were getting closer, just to smell the fresh scent of lumber. That’s how I knew we had but mere miles to go! That smells still remains imprinted in my brain as the most soothing scent of home.

The next day, on Christmas, we had breakfast and headed back home in the rain. And I must say: it was perfect timing, too. Great to wake up with the soothing sound of the rain on the metal roof while you’re enveloped in the warmth of wood and heavy comforters, and know that it’s your last day, so you’re not missing much, since you would not be able to play outside anyway.

It was a short distance from Greensboro (less than an hour), but miles and years away from its crazy pace of every day chores and engagements! It was a warm getaway for the two of us, a priceless retreat for our new love, and new family, and a beautiful spot to start our new tradition.

No matter where our real or symbolic log cabin will be every Christmas from now on, whether in our own home, or rented, whether with other friends or family, we will try to always have our table bountiful and glasses filled, our hearts open and to be surrounded by peace, quiet, love and hopefully, if we’re good that year, snow, too.

Thank you for a wonderful Christmas, honey! The first one of innumerable ones to come, I hope!

I love you …

Our first Christmas together. Please click on the picture
to view all the shots from this trip.

A Convert, a Common Passion, a Great Find

To my best friend, my travel buddy, my love and my partner … Thank you for the journey. Always.

It’s not the first time when you hear I love wine. I love drinking it, smelling it, I love watching grapes grow, and learning about all wines. I grew up where people make their own wines like you make your own pies – it’s just routine.

My boyfriend, Aa., can take it or leave it, for the most part. Whereas I passionately drive long distances in search of the next sweet wine, he is comfortable with what he knows he likes, and that’s not much, I’d say, judgingly.

Saturday was being forecasted as rainy and gray and no good. So, it was not open to much outdoors gaming, and I planned a visit to a winery or two instead. It was a risky endeavor, since as I told you, his passion is not wine. To be cooped up in a car driving to get tipsy on wine tasting is definitely not his idea of passing the time. But … I ran across the perfect compromise (thank you, Google!).

I googled “NC wineries map” and I came up with a couple of wineries that are not too far from Greensboro – and as any wine drinker knows, that’s not too hard to find.

This way, I found one winery I knew he would absolutely flip for! It’s Autumn Creek Vineyards , in Mayodan.

Autumn Creek Vineyards tasting room

Both Aa. and I are log cabin people. We love wood, the smell of it, the fibers, and structures, we would inhale it, if it were possible. Autumn Creek was the most amazing “a-ha” moment of the year for me, when I saw their website: not only is their tasting room built in a log cabin, but they have several cabins for rent on their property. And we both have been looking for log cabins for rent around here, lately.

They all looked well built and the surroundings looked pristine: woodsy, wild, untouched, and just beautiful!

The place is even more amazing experienced first hand. It’s hidden, and there are no highway signs, but they do a great job with the website: good directions, and inviting pictures, to call your name. Once you know the address and you tell your GPS, it is not hard to find, but don’t expect to just roam about the countryside and run into it. It’s tucked away! As the wine “coach” said “if you get lost in these parts, you might could find it”.

The place is really, really an oasis of beauty and simpleness. These people didn’t skimp on anything when they came up with this cabins-in-the-woods-and-wine idea! Everything is well done and well made. Real wood, real bark, real stone, real fixtures. The inside is a mixture of rustic and comfort. Solid wood walls shelter the stainless steel appliances and leather couches.

The buildings complement the surroundings, and not violate them: the woods, and the pastures, the old tobacco barns and the dirt roads, the red Carolina clay. The wine has the North Carolina Muscadine presence through it, full of flavor and body, but it will appeal to dryer palates, as well. The people working there were friendly and knowledgeable, not pushy, but welcoming and helpful. And honest.

Aa. is typically harder to impress than me, but he was taken by the easiness and uncomplicated beauty of it all, as well. We visited a couple of the cabins, and kept making plans for our future home. I was floored when he bought two, not one, of the Mayo River White Muscadine bottles. And I giggled inside when he picked a sweeter rather than a dryer wine. This shall be a good match, after all.

I had brought him up there nervously, hoping he won’t hate it, but his enthusiasm about the way the place was built and managed, as well as about the wine was surprising and welcome.

Later in the day, we took a countryside ride, towards another winery of the Yadkin Valley – Shelton Vineyards. I loved their Riesling ever since I ordered it at Printworks Bistro in Greensboro, so I have wanted to visit them ever since. Turns out that their Riesling is their best selling wine. Shelton, by contrast, is a big business affair, with a wine store and three distinct wine bars for tastings. We took a winery tour and did the sweet wine tasting (of course!), and walked about the property that had a craft show and a bluegrass concert on the menu that day, also. In other words: a perfect North Carolina day, clouds and drops of rain and what not …

The way the whole (wine) world should function: keep the reds and the whites separate, folks!

Shelton Vineyards tasting bars

It turns out an impromptu planned day trip is not ever wasted arrangement. We came back with wine, pictures, memories, plans for the future, and ideas on how that future will be built. Literally. Not bad for a rainy, fall day, after all.

PS: Thank you, Aa., for your always good eye in shooting some of these pictures.