Not Quite Tuscany...

Recently, I initiated the organization of a wine tasting/dinner for a German colleague who was recently visiting the labs. Incidentally, I also happened to sit within his close proximity. My colleague was eager to return back to his country after a long trip in California and the conversation got an interesting turn in the course of the evening.

We, northern Californians, native or not tend to think that Bay Area is one of the best places to live in the world. Who could argue, we think. We are told that we have the leading culinary city in the US, San Francisco, where wasabi potatoes are ah so many years old news. It also elected to be the best city for singles (I am not one but I can understand why after an evening in Supperclub); we have gorgeous sorroundings and rolling hills of Napa and Sonomawhere we flock to drink gobs of wine and enjoy good life, or rather whatever we can sneak in a weekend or two to escape our busy lives related to the silicon valley where worlds greatest minds and many people from all over the world convene. We are sorrounded by the best, the brightest, wonderful weather (not so hot, but not so cold) and ah the non-stop action. Further, this is cosmopolitan open minded place is one of the remaining places in the US for liberal, progressive thinking that promotes creativity, arts and innovation. That is what we tend to think.

Not according to my colleague, though. He dismissed the beauty that we are so proud of while gazing out with ave in our convertibles driving on 280. For him, nothing can compare to Italy and the beauty of Tuscany. He also went as far to say that he could understand why imigrants from India and other parts of the world can look for a better life by coming to California but he could not envision the necessity of doing so. After all, after being sorrounded by great minds and access to Italy, why would one think of the advantage of living here? Oh, by the way, San Francisco is so darn cold that who wants to go there.

When one is confronted by strong opinions, it tends to bring usually not the best or the mildest of responses in people. I have noticed this in my long standards career, and I must admit I was getting slightly disturbed with the way this conversation was going. ("irritiert" would probably be a better choice that my German colleagues use frequently). I do not know what bothered me the most, being one of those immigrants who happened to move to Northern California or just because I like it here (despite its problems) and I needed to need to defend it. However, some people have made up their minds and they need to convince themselves that you are simply wrong. Besides, I had the disadvantage of being an immigrant from one of these supposedly underprevileged places, it would take me a long time to prove to my colleague that my parents probably have a better life than I had achieved and thus I want to live here, etc. I thought of it though. Did he have some truth to his criticism at least? Is Italy at least more beautiful than Northern California? Is this not that great here?

Beauty is a funny thing. It can change. It can capture you in fleeting moments. I know I may be biased, Istanbul in places is more beautiful than San Francisco but the reverse is also true. While you can not sit outside on a hot summer evening in a restaurant on the Bhosphorus or arrive your destination on a boat, one would not bear to be stuck in a traffic in Kadikoy in public transport during rush hour either. A stroll in a SF neighborhood with Victorians may beat Istanbul as old houses are quietly dissappearing (if not turning into restaurants or hotels). I do not know whether I prefer Paris over Rome, or Barcelona for that matter if I were to compare notes for notes. All places have the best and worst, the trainstations and prostitutes. They are beautiful nevertheless, but could I say it is not quite Tuscany?

As I was looking out to Napa Valley in the weekend celebrating an anniversary at Auberge, I was still thinking of my colleague. The green valley was expanding on the horizon, the sun was setting on the west. The harvest was hinting to arrive sometime near soon. Sipping bubbly and thinking of a drive to Pride Mountain vineyards, I was thinking that I was quite lucky for that moment enjoying a warm summer evening on the restaurants porch.

My German colleague was tired. He was away from home for a month. He probably missed his bed and he was grumpy. I recalled how I was eager to get back from my trip several weeks in Italy after not being able to find the products that I am used to in the grocery store or the corner Wallgreens. He probably did not have dinner at Auberge and probably had to haggle with sweatshirt sellers in order to keep warm in San Francisco. He could not love the fog that most likely ruined his short vacation. He did not have my view or the private trip to Pride, Ridge, whatever. I could not fathom living near Walldorf and have a second house in Italy. He could not think of living in SF and have a second house in Napa valley.

We probably knew something the other one did not know about. However, I know one thing is sure. Home is where the heart is.