Of oysters, banks and beaches, Part I

I’m passing by a thousand shades of green. Lime and mossy grasses, peppermint hills, rich chai shadows, and olive stands of oaks. The only break in this color palette are the Jerseys, sheep and goats that dot the fields and hills.

My attention is split between the hypnotizing scenery and Google Maps. Where the heck am I?

The ultimate destination is Bodega Bay. But faced with $600/night hotel prices there, I searched farther afield and found a unique alternative. We are staying the next couple of nights in a bank. A former bank. Complete with teller windows and a vault.

The bank is in a blur of a town called Tomales. Not even half a dozen businesses here, even if you count the white steepled church.

It’s not hard to find our accommodation for the weekend. The sign high above the door reads “Not a bank.”

Inside, we find an artist’s loft. Baby grand piano. Funky art. Tall ceilings.

For no extra charge, there’s a bar right next door.

We spend 10 minutes walking from one end of the town to the other, slowly. There’s a nursery that propagates its own native plants. Friendly natives invite us to stroll through their greenhouses and we do. We chat with them about greenhouse materials and they happily oblige. Strangely, they already know that we’re staying at the ‘Not a bank’. And we haven’t been in town more than a half hour. Small town, right?

An early riser, I’m up the next morning seeking coffee as the sun brightens the horizon. The town is deserted and filled with the kind of silence that makes you hear it. The only movement comes from across the street, where inside a tiny bakery, a pastry maestro is behind the counter rolling out dough. The cases are filled with rows of options – crisp and soft, raisined and cinnamoned. At this point, coffee becomes secondary.

There is no seating inside the bakery but this is the community center. Outside are benches and chairs and by the time we’re ready to start our day, the area is full and the bakery cases have emptied. No matter. We've been there already.

Unexpectedly, we find that there’s a beach route accessible from Tomales. Dillon Beach is a long stretch of sand just five miles west of Tomales, up and over a winding hill. A cluster of vacation homes huddle at the entrance and then it’s all beach and dunes. We watch dogs catch Frisbees and surfers catch waves. My neck turns bright red as we walk and walk.

Bodega Bay was the destination but Tomales is the memory that lingers from this weekend.

What was just supposed to be a quirky overnight location turned into one of those ‘finds’ you want to keep to yourself.

Shhhh.