Within a few blocks of wandering from the hotel, I was peering down side streets, wandering into courtyards, wondering where a staircase might lead, and stopping to notice flowers spilling over white stucco walls.
The road to Mendocino curves inland and out again, the light changes often, and the temperature drops just enough that you reach for a sweater minutes after having taken it off.
Northern California is generous with its beauty, but the romance here reveals itself in increments: fog fingers drifting down into a valley, the smell of salt and eucalyptus in the breeze, a long lunch that turns into dinner.
