We come here twice a year, and each time my body breaks down, somewhere between the third and forth day, from all the driving. Everything is just so far apart. Getting a bottle of organic milk back in Brooklyn is a matter of a few blocks. Here, we get in a car and drive for half an hour to the nearest Whole Foods. My shoulder and upper back are sore and stiff.
We drive around and sometimes fantasize about moving back here, into a spacious house with a backyard. I don’t think I can ever get into driving.
We were coming back from lunch with cousins yesterday in San Carlos. I decided to skip the major roads and just drive around the smaller ones. We ended up on Route 84 and then Route 35 – a winding, distractingly scenic route through the mountains. My life here in the Bay Area has been spent in the valley, and never in the surrounding mountains. I thought I was in a different country.
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