Secret Spots...

Welcome to my new favorite place to spend weekend mornings.

I promised not to divulge where this place is...

Some things, you see, are better left a secret.

(Finders keepers, but you are welcome to search for it.  It's worth it.)

Theatre Of Dreams...

Directly across the straight from Benicia lies a teeny tiny one-street town.  Port Costa is made up of a post office, a bar, a café, a letterpress studio, and an ephemera workshop- pretty much everything you need, right?

Coming here is always a special treat, like being in a private club, or stumbling across a secret fort.

Once in a while, however, a steady steam of traffic will make its way here for something special.  This weekend, that special occasion was the opening of Wendy Addison's Theatre of Dreams.

The little storefront, which opens but three times a year (once for Easter, once for Halloween, and once for Christmas), is stuffed to the brim with all sorts of whimsical decorations and artifacts, mirroring the quaint and magical quality of the town itself.  Inside, those blue doors is a cornucopia of fairies, toadstools and diving swallows.  My mom, a vertiable Wendy Addison enthusiast, was in German glitter glass heaven, and left with a big back full of sparkling stars, bees, and treasure boxes.  

After we finished gawking, Wendy suggested we go across the street, to this little place.

Home Again, Home Again...

As the view outside the cabin window became more and more familiar, so too did the mounting sensation that maybe I wasn't ready to go home after all.  Suddenly eight months didn't seem quite so long, and seeing the bay from above, looking very much the same as when I left home, put perspective on how little had changed while I was away.

Part of my longing to return home was a fear that everything was happening without me.  Being on the road felt like being on pause, frozen in a fish bowl while life continues on its merry way without you.

And though some things had changed (like the addition of this fantastic little parklettes in the Mission), most had not.  Tartine (my first stop when I got back!) hadn't.  Neither had places Camino, Port Costa, or Santa Cruz, neither had my friends, nor much of anything else that really mattered...

It was a soothing discovery, and one that I thought might have me regretting my desire to come back.  But it was quite the contrary.  Of everywhere I'd been, and everything I'd seen, San Francisco really had everything I had loved, and everything I had missed.  There is probably a city somewhere in the world made perfectly for every person, and I'm back home in mine.

Sugar Rush...

In the days leading up to my flight back to California, I kept the sight seeing to a minimum with only three trips to London and Brighton.  The rest of the time, I set about expanding my grandparents' waistlines as only a kitchen deprived baking enthusiast can do.  Rhubarb tarts, cardamom custards, lemon cakes...You name it and I was trying stuff another dessert on the table.  Finally, I got cut-off; banned from the kitchen in the interest of arteries, blood sugar, and simple nutritional health. 

 Left to my own devices, however, I would have kept going and going and going.

East London...

After a bittersweet farewell to the island that had been our home this month, we set off on the first leg of the journey homeward.  The time that had passed while we were on the road seemed, from this vantage point, both endless and lightning quick simultaneously.  Trying to think back upon the experience in its entirety is nearly impossible.  I've found that it's to remember things hour by hour, methodically walking myself back through a specific day, revisiting sights and sounds and sensations...  I was ready to go home, but I also knew that settling back into real life might prove a little challenging.  It is better, I think to sort of ease back into things.  London was the first stop in this transition.

 

Deborah and Morgan, our friends from Atlantis gave us the most compelling tour of London; by the end of the first day we spent following them around the East Side, I was just about convinced that I had to move to Shoreditch.  (And this thought even with cold weather!) 

Together we walked along the canals, through the Chelsea Flower Market, street food fairs, and bustling streets.  Sundays in London have a liveliness to them that's contagious and my fears of the trip coming to a close were trumped by an excitement to plan the next adventure.

On The Record...

Before we left the shop, we had one last task to complete.  On the ceiling above the register is a spiral of names; a record of everyone who has ever stayed and worked at Atlantis Books.  We added our names right behind Deborah and Morgan. 

So now we're official.  And we're leaving.  After seven months abroad, I've booked my flight home.  For quite some time, all I've been able to think about is how much I need to go home, and how much I need to be warm.  I was so excited about coming back to California.  Until I bought my ticket.  Only seconds after pressing the purchase button, I began to have a bit of an anxiety attack.  What had seemed like months now seemed like only a matter of days, I had lists and lists of things that I still wanted to do, places I needed to go, things I was dying to eat.  I wasn't ready to leave, I hadn't been here long enough yet!

And even though the months now seem like days, I did have to admit that really have done quite a lot.  

I had the best oysters in the world, every Sunday at the marché in Bordeaux.

I ate at the best street food in Morocco, rode a camel across the Sahara Desert at dawn, and spent the night on a train.

I fell in love with Madrid, and Barcelona.

I roasted pizza in a three hundred year old wood burning oven.

I thought about home.  A lot.

I met up with this boy I really like, and went back to my favorite place in the world.

We went to Spain, and ate ourselves silly.

Through a series of serendipitous occurrences and good friends, we went to places we never thought we'd go and finally, found ourselves here.

I went to places I loved, and to places I hated.

And now, I'm going home.

I'm so glad that I have kept this blog as a record of those experiences.  It began as a way of keeping in touch with my family but now, it's really it's more of a time capsule for me.  Even though I'm a bit worried about going home, this will be a means of remembering this trip and inspiring future travels. And hopefully, those travels aren't too far away!

Sunrise...

Oia is know for its sunsets. But I find sunrise decidedly more captivating.

On our last morning at the bookstore, we woke up early to watch the sunrise from the roof terrace.  The air at dawn is so fresh and everything looks clean and alive.  I think that waking up with the sun really adds an energy to your day, and this sunrise kept me glowing for hours.