When you’re driving a nineteen-ton, 30-foot motor home, it’s always a little nerve racking if you don’t know the road. Several years ago, we turned off I-5 at Williams and headed for Calistoga down roads that seemed fine on the map, but turned out to be not so fine. The last part was a steep, no shoulder, very curvy descent that had Linda nervous and me sweating, but we made it, even it was Friday the 13th.
Calistoga is one of our favorite motorhome sleep over places. You can find us most mornings at the Café Sarafornia. It a friendly place, where the servers and the manager are actually glad to see you. We usually sit at the counter and strike up a conversation with the people sitting next to us. The counter is also a good place to encounter the “local characters.” On one occasion, the little old lady next to me seemed a bit addlepated and way too occupied to talk to me. She spent most of the time making weird sounds and talking gibberish to invisible people. At one point while I was looking at a pamphlet she announced to me, “I want to see that.” Before I could hand it to her, she grabbed it away from me. Three minutes later she tossed it back, and once again made the strange jerking motions, fidgeted with a pile of newspapers and barked words at no one in particular. At first I was amused by her antics and then feeling ashamed of myself, I felt sorry for this grandma who had obviously gone “over the top.” Speaking of being addlepated, sometimes people who have had one two many can also get a little confused. That may have been the problem with a Calistoga’s pioneer, one Sam Brannan, a rich San Francisco businessman, who named the town. He was fascinated by the area’s natural hot springs, so he reached into his back pocket and bought 2,000 acres in order to develop a spa. He wanted to make it just like the famous spas in Saratoga, New York. Legend has it that one night after throwing back a few too many, Sam declared, “I will make this place the Calistoga of Sarafornia.” The name stuck and now you know how the town and our favorite café got their names. Some historians, not buying into the legend, insist the name was more a calculation by shrewd Sam Brannan, than it was spontaneous.
Our time in Calistoga always has been well spent. We love going there, parking the motor home at the fair grounds, having breakfast at Sarafornia’s, walking the main street, sipping wine at the many wineries, eating dinner out and just enjoying the RV life. Would I ever consider moving to Calistoga? You betcha! But like all things, the thrill of wanting something is often dulled when you finally actually have it, so maybe it’s best that it remains just a dream.
P.S. Does anyone know anything about this colorful breed of cow? Strange, the whole time I was photographing it, it never moved.
Q
