The mountains shone a bluish-green in the distance, fading into nothingness. And beyond that, I could see the outlines of more peaks and valleys. The breeze that danced on the water smelled clean and sweet, like sheets that have been hung to dry outside.
We stayed there for hours, until I finally gave in to Chuck and headed on the road to Emerald Bay. Mrs. Laura Knight purchased the land in 1928 and designed a 38-room Scandinavian mansion on the bay called Vikingsholm; although I was too exhausted to make the mile trek to view it up-close, I now regret my lack of perseverance, as the pictures I've seen today are absolutely stunning. I imagine large parties filled with guests sipping Gin Sours and Mint Juleps, and I wish I could travel back to the 1930s, when this land was an unknown treasure.
After taking lots of pictures (of course) and meeting people doing the same, we went to The Bar of America for dinner and both ordered pizza, he having one topped with blue cheese, arugula, granny smith, and pecans, and I having a classic Margherita. Both were good, but I missed my place in Rochester, Rocco. While Chef Mark's crust at Rocco is crispy, chewy, and slightly charred, this was pastry-like with a sour, almost over-proofed flavor. I was again reminded that I need to steal his recipe! But the day made up for this. And I was again amazed at the server's' positivity as she took the time to chat, rather than rushing off in annoyance at my over-talkative excitement.
We eventually left, getting home at around 10:30. I took a shower, washing all of the dusty Tahoe air off my sandy skin. But my mind seemed to keep rattling and running through the film of the day. And then, like a wind-up doll, I stopped and fell asleep, dreaming of the sun.