Bob and Linda

James and I are traveling to N. California soon for vacation. We’re going to stay at a friend’s house in Napa for part of the trip. We’ve never been to the wine country before (since we tend to stay on the coast), so I’m excited about seeing some new sights.

Before realizing half our trip would be spent in Napa, I was checking out yurts and cabins for us to stay in near Point Reyes/Marin County. I read a lot of reviews of these places, trying to find one that would be the right balance of funky-yet-no-bedbugs. As I researched, there was a surprising (but maybe not) thread that seemed to run through many of these independently owned dwellings. Bob and Linda.

Bob and Linda (or Jim and Sally or Barry and Mel) are the owners of the yurt/cabin. You know their names because they are mentioned–frequently–in the reviews. As in, “Bob and Linda couldn’t have been more gracious hosts. They joined us each evening for a glass of wine and a chat.” Or, “We were a little nervous about staying so far out in the woods by ourselves, but luckily Bob and Linda stopped by to check on us and ended up hanging out for dinner.”

I’m sure Bob and Linda are perfectly lovely, and I’m sure they are full of stories about the time they went to the nudist resort or their commitment to veganism (helps move the bowels!). But going on vacation is like a long exhale. And if I’m staying in a yurt or other non-traditional dwelling, I don’t want to make small talk. I want to breathe green air and let my gaze go as far as my corrective lenses allow without being short-stopped by a building or parking lot or smog. I want to sit in comfortable silence or laugh with James or listen to good music or the ocean or the wind in the trees.

We’re in San Francisco for the other half of the trip, where I will be happy to engage with whomever and whatever awkwardness we come across. But that time out in the country is valuable stuff.

Here’s a simple pictorial explanation from our last trip to San Francisco/Big Sur:

standing in the Big Sur River breathing that clean country air = no Bob and Linda
getting drunk in a bar across from City Lights, high on books (and a bit blurry) = bring it on, Bob and Linda
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