I’m still in the middle of hell week. In-between periods of stress, I cope by eating. Very salty and very sweet. Chocolate milk for breakfast, peanut butter cups, yogurt (only because it’s so cheap at grocery stores). Then bags of Fritos, Dorritos. Last night I headed down the street to Kare Ken in the Tenderloin for fried-to-perfection chicken katsu that I didn’t hesitate to pour curry sauce all over. I also drink. Wine helps me wind down.
And I dream of far-away places. I got to thinking about all the places there are to discover in the world tempered by how lucky we are to live in the Bay Area.
Instead of going to Sydney, head to the Embarcadero. Same effect.
Martha’s Vineyard? Kinda like Sausalito.
I do love Tuscany, but we’ve got wine country an hour away. And our wines are exponentially better.
Bali? Quite like Hawaii.
Whistler? Tahoe’s a mini version.
But before all you Bay Area folk start getting smug, you can’t do these things locally.
Swim alongside sharks and stingrays in Belize.
Walk on an icefield in Canada.
Milk a cow, gather eggs, and make breakfast in Nicaragua. Now that’s straight farm to table!
Stand right next to (i.e., an inch away) from blue-footed boobies or century-old tortoises in Ecuador.
Pull teeth out during a medical mission in the Philippines.
Spend a night with the Maasai tribe in Kenya.
Get Shanghai’d in Shanghai.
Straddle two continents and paraglide in Turkey.
Where to next?