By Jane Vick 

Oakland is great and all, but the noise and grime of a city can wear on one, and in those moments, I fling myself into my car and retreat to the gently murmuring streets of Corte Madera and Larkspur.

I’m seeking nature, a touch of the nautical, coffee, food, wine and culture. And I find it all, in spades. See below.

CORTE MADERA

Corte Madera is a little town with a lot to offer. I like to start outside, because I don’t get nearly enough outdoor time in the asphalt and streetlights of Oakland. Ring Mountain Preserve off Paradise Drive is a beautiful beginning to any day. Not too trafficked and with spectacular 360 views of the Bay, Ring Mountain is the outside boost everyone needs right now. Rock lovers will enjoy the wide variety of geology to be found, from serpentine to garnet crystal, and birders will appreciate the year-round presence of rock wrens. Doggos, leashed, are welcome.

Nothing hits the spot better than a post-hike brunch. After a few hours cavorting amongst the wildflowers and minerals, I make my way back into town and head for brunch at Pig in a Pickle, a brunch, lunch and dinner spot that more than lives up to its name.

Brunch usually puts me in a sleepy, contemplative mood, optimal for the leisurely perusal of a bookstore. Book Passage is my go-to spot, reminding me of simpler times, when I saw Bill Bryson read from his then new release, Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid. It’s a great place to slow down and explore the literary side of life. And Book Passage has an ongoing lineup of author events well worth attending.

Post book shop is an optimal moment to stroll the Northwestern Pacific Railroad trail. It’s a little over a mile, and flat. An easy post-meal walk, built along the railroad tracks.

For some later-in-the evening fun, dinner at Il Fornaio is always tremendous. The fusilloni al pesto e pollo is mouth-watering, as is the ravioli lucana. It’s a dinner spot to enjoy a My Dinner with Andre-like conversation with a friend.

If Italian isn’t on the menu I highly recommend Burmatown, an exceptional mother and daughter-owned Burmese and Asian fusion that I truly die for. The BBQ pork garlic noodles are one for the books.

After dinner, season permitting, I like to participate in one of Corte Madera’s more recent attractions, The Lark Drive In Theater. New as of the pandemic, when the Lark Theater was unable to host in-person events, the drive-in movie theater in Corte Madera Village has become so beloved it’s staying on. Films like Jumanji, Grease, Harry Potter and Indiana Jones all grace the outdoor screen. For some reason, seeing a movie in the car remains one of the best ways to see a movie.

LARKSPUR

There is a lot to enjoy in the town of Larkspur. If I’m making a day of it, I’ll start with a cappuccino and a pastry or baguette from Emporio Rulli, an Italian-style coffee and pastry bar that transports patrons straight to Europe. Enjoy a bustling morning surrounded by full pastry cases and the whirring of the espresso machine over a book or a newspaper.

Those looking for the outdoors, as I often am, can take their coffee to one of the many delightful parks Larkspur has to offer, including Piper Park, a personal favorite, a 2.2 acre park that offers sports and activities year-round. I’m a tennis and pickleball fan myself, and often make use of the courts with friends on a weekend.

The more bookish and those who appreciate history will enjoy exploring the Larkspur Library, which was founded in 1913 by the Larkspur Women’s Club and is represented by “Larky,” their “book-devouring” hippopotamus mascot.

History buffs or just the curious are also encouraged to take a self-guided walking tour of the town, using a book entitled Larkspur Past and Present: A History and Walking Guide. Part of Larkspur’s downtown has been designated a state and city historic district, and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places because of its untarnished turn-of-the-century California architecture. This is a delightful sojourn through the confluence of California past and present.

One such historical landmark is the Lark Theater, which produces the Lark Drive-In in Corte Madera. The theater itself is a refurbished building from 1936 which looks and feels as deco as it has ever been, from the red velvet seats to the art deco murals.

In terms of food, there’s no shortage in the little town of Larkspur. Live opera screenings from the Met, as well as current films and musical programming, can all be found there, and the popcorn never fails to delight.

Dinner-wise, Larkspur leaves nothing lacking, and my favorite spot to stop, pre- or post-show at the Lark, is Farmshop. Revel in their wild mushroom pizza or buttermilk fried jidori chicken. Always fresh and sourced from a farmers’ market, Farmshop is a Marin County jewel of which we’re all proud.

The Larkspur Ferry is a delightful way to head to the city, for those looking to expand their sojourn into San Francisco. Enjoy stunning views of the bay, and purchase a bag of peanut M&Ms to take to the top deck.

By Christian Chensvold

As we came out of the tunnel and the bridge came into view, the busload of kids let out a roar, but not my friend Craig seated next to me. He started to squirm, clutching the empty box of Milk Duds, which he’d announced, when we were passing through Novato, that he was going to use to throw up in when we passed over the Golden Gate Bridge.

It was 1982 and we were on a field trip to the aquarium. I’m guessing the only reason I remember the moment was because I’d never seen anyone have a panic attack before, certainly not for riding over the Golden Gate Bridge, which for me was always a source of excitement.

But now here I was, 40 years later, coming out of the tunnel to the sight of the crimson towers, and my own anxiety alarm going off. I’d returned to my hometown in the North Bay after a dozen years on the East Coast, and this was my first trip to the city, and suddenly the expectation of imminently crossing the bridge triggered a fight-or-flight response.

An earlier version of me would have tried to brush it off, which only would have made it worse, and left me writhing in agony just like my schoolmate, with the difference that I was in charge of operating a vehicle. Older and wiser now, I respected the inner siren bells and pulled off at Vista Point to figure out what was going on.

After a confused stroll over to the observation spot, I looked across the sun-dappled waters at the magnificent City By The Bay, and all my agitation evaporated. I was feeling emotions, just like back in the pre-digital days, and they weren’t even negative.

I was back home in the Bay Area, and was realizing just how vital crossing the Golden Gate Bridge has been through all the divergent chapters of my life.

While tourists took photos of themselves with the bridge in the background, I reminisced about how the bridge was always the passageway to some obscure object of desire on the other side. It was grandma’s house for Christmas, then comic book shops, then record stores and rock concerts, then skateboarding, fashion and training at the Letterman Fencing Club in the Presidio. After college there was opera, museums, swing dancing and seeking out rare tomes at City Lights Bookstore in the days before Amazon.

But after that it was 20 years in Los Angeles and New York. And now here I was, again in search of some obscure sought-after thing, except that this time that thing was myself. I needed a time-out to pull over and take it all in.

For five years I’ve been working tirelessly to get my life story straight, and how I went from being a happy 12-year-old on a field trip that day to a hardened man of middle age who’d been forced, with the greatest reluctance, to face his demons and re-orient himself after having been hopelessly lost in the forest of life.

Standing there at Vista Point, looking at the bridge and the amazing city on the other side, my mind began writing the transitions between all the disparate chapters, and gained new insight on the bizarre, higher logic that had been working itself out all along, despite my ignorance.

I’ve heard that today people in the North Bay are reluctant to cross the bridge, and perhaps their reasons are not so different from my nerve-wracked schoolmate. The demon behind it is always the same—the ego’s fear of its imminent destruction—even as it adopts a thousand guises, depending on where your soft spot is.

But the fear of getting your car broken into, being robbed or stepping in excrement is likely exacerbated by your own catastrophic imagination, as that of my friend, who thought the bridge would collapse and he would be swallowed into the sea. He did not actually have to face this danger that day when crossing the bridge; what he did have to face was fear itself, and there’s a reason the wise man said that there’s really nothing to fear but fear itself, because it acts so irrationally upon the imagination on which it feeds.

After stopping to figure out what I was feeling—and, more important, to let myself feel it—I ended up having a wonderful day in the city, walking around with nothing else to do except simply feel once again what it’s like to just be in San Francisco, the big-city home-away-from-home.

No, the city isn’t what it once was, but neither are you—you’re better than before, or at least you ought to be. You don’t have to cross the Golden Gate if you don’t want to, but don’t let your imagination stop you.

Maybe just tell yourself you’re going to take a drive to Vista Point, have a look and see how you feel. You might find that a lifelong love for crossing the bridge, and the thought of what obscure object of desire you may find on the other side, is its own kind of irrational delight.