Dream trip #3 (driving from Napa to Los Angeles via Highway 1) - check. Adorable towns and beautiful weather and grapevines in the sunshine and oceanside cliffs - check. And...million-dollar one-bedroom cottages - check. Falling in love and knowing it's not reciprocal... check, California, check.

There was so much to love about this week in California. It was a week of sensual pleasure, quite welcome after the tedious traffic-and-strip-mall-filled days that had preceded it. Starting in Napa (one day) and Sonoma (the next), we soaked up just as much pale yellow sunlight as we did California Rieslings and Merlots. We even squeezed in a bonbon-cream-center tasting at a place where I bought a divine grapefruit-pomegranate scented lotion. Early mornings, we'd walk right out of our roadside motel room into the foggy, sea-scented air. Who would not fall in love when wooed through tongue, nose, eyes, and skin? (I was so smitten that I didn't care that we did a tasting at Beringer - yes, the $5.99-a-bottle supermarket giant. Perhaps we were supposed to be MORE snobby after visiting Napa county, but I think we left even more convinced that wine is for enjoyment - and who cares how much it costs? I adored the Beringer chardonnay.)

The love affair continued as we drove in our red convertible (okay, white Chevy Cobalt) south on Highway 1. This was unbelievably charming, especially since we apparently missed the massive traffic jam that is summer. Right around Big Sur, I proposed to California, hoping that the mist and cliffs and itty-bitty cafes would be mine forever. Alas, my heart would be broken yet.

Reaching Monterrey and Carmel, I met the rich in-laws and had the first inkling that maybe I didn't belong in this family. Carmel, especially, made me feel so conflicted. On the one hand, there were no sidewalks and no addresses and rambling roads, to the delight of this cottage-lifestyle aficionado. There were plants on the porches! There were colorful front doors! There were main streets with little shops! On the other hand, these cute little cottages were home to cute little millionaires. And I, a teacher with romantic aspirations but a cute little (little, little, little) bank account, could never, ever live here. Heartbreaking. (Incidentally, you must visit the awesome Monterrey aquarium.)

The disillusionment continued farther south into San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara, more enchanting places I could never afford. Why, California, why? Ideologically, I fit right in here. Walking-scale communities, outdoor living, vegetarian restaurants and farmers' markets downtown - this is me! I could be Californian! Everyone looks happy. Well, they all look tan and thin, and isn't that the same thing?

We finished up in L.A. (the exceedingly crappy area around the airport), ate at the requisite In-n-Out Burger and flew back home. Who cares? If that's the way you want it, California, that's the way it will be. See you in another lifetime! I'll find a new state to love. (But I'll still look back on our pictures together and weep for the sheer beauty you possess. And I'll still drop by whenever I can, hoping you'll look my way and invite me to stay.)