Wanderlust in the Time of Coronavirus (A GeoEx eBook)

Wanderlust in the Time of Coronavirus

Bay Area Road Trip: A Glimpse of Future Travel

on both sides of the road. After 10 minutes, off to my right, an alluring stretch of water shimmered in the distance. Behind the water rose a dark green, densely pine-cloaked hillside. This looks like the brochure cover for a summer vacation getaway! Though I had driven this route perhaps half a dozen times for the past five years, I had never seen the landscape in quite this way. A few minutes farther on, I passed a sign saying, “Portola Expedition Camp, Next Exit.” Portola. Of course! That’s the historical figure who gave his name to the town where the lush greenery and fecund flowers hide, waiting! I still have so much to learn about this area where I’ve lived for four decades , I thought. History is all around us; we just don’t have the knowledge to see it. When I exited the highway to pick up my package, I began to notice the brilliant flowers that lined the country lane—bright orange California poppies, deep purple lupine, red geraniums, golden roses. Again, it was like a world I’d never seen before. This phenomenon continued on my return trip home. Shortly after getting back on the highway heading north, I looked to my right and was astonished to see a house I’d never noticed: a rounded red and orange single-story home with a purple dome and a red dome, and rust-colored dinosaur statues arrayed in its back yard. There was a stegosaurus, a tyrannosaurus, a brontosaurus, a woolly mammoth, and a, well, giraffe. Situated around these statues were a multitude of small, plump, mushroom-like sculptures in a rainbow of colors. How have I never noticed this? After a few minutes, another stop-worthy roadside attraction appeared: This was a gigantic statue, perhaps 30 feet tall, of a priest or a missionary in a hooded cloak, kneeling on one knee, with an out-thrust right arm and hand pointing dramatically toward the west. How many times have I blindly passed this fervent sight?

came up with this? So beautiful, so breathtaking. Signs in the sky? Fabulous! More sky-signs followed, each one clever and engaging. I was touched by the effort these signs were making to reach out to me, to connect with me. In pre-pandemic life, I had never once stopped to think of billboards as anything but a nuisance, but somehow, now, they represented the presence and promise of a world much larger than the neighborhood I had been inhabiting since forever. These are like messages from another planet, I thought. Amazing! I kept driving south, beyond San Francisco. After about 15 minutes, I saw, painted on the side of a building to my right, “Welcome to the Portola: San Francisco’s Garden District.” San Francisco’s Garden District! Imagine! The lush greenery and fecund flowers those words conjured were obscured from view, but I was sure they were there, just out of sight. Shortly after that, my heart began to beat more quickly, and I could feel anticipation building in my stomach. For a minute I was confused, then I understood: I was approaching San Francisco International Airport! Dearly beloved SFO! In another lifetime , I reflected, I would come here a dozen times a year. Suddenly a succession of images flashed through my mind: getting out of a Lyft and wheeling my suitcase into the International Terminal, walking to the United Airlines desk, going through TSA, scanning the departures board like a global dream-screen of possibilities, striding past the shiny shops towards my gate, stopping for a latte at Joe & The Juice. I began to get just a little teary remembering all these cherished rites that seemed so exotic and nostalgic at the same time. When I spotted a control tower and planes lined up on the tarmac, the image seemed as poignant as a vintage travel poster. Then I turned onto Highway 280 and suddenly I was in another world. There were no office high-rises, warehouses, or even homes here; unencumbered hills stretched greenly away

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