NO MAN IS AN ISLAND. Unless your name is Forbes Kuddoo and you own the
world’s only floating island restaurant. I half expected to see Tatoo
great me when I pulled up to this little slice of paradise just off Pier
39 in San Francisco, the other evening.

Instead of arriving by “de plane, de plane,” we came by boat with
Captain Kuddoo at the helm. “I had to get my captain’s license and learn
morse code to run this shuttle,” he said with a hint of Scottish pride.

You may remember Forbes Kuddoo from the celebrated battle to keep his
floating island moored off Sausalito more than a decade ago. Some folks
called his home, a houseboat decorated like a lush tropical island, an
eyesore.

He was finally forced to move — and like a true survivor — came up
with the plan to transform his palm tree-covered vessel into a
restaurant. The permit process took 10 years, but he accomplished his
goal in 1998 and has been buoyed by rave reviews ever since.

“If James Bond had a restaurant, it’d be this one,” said one reviewer
who was obviously impressed by the “tricked out, underwater mansion.”
The island not only has a lighthouse and waterfall, but a 3,000-bottle
underwater wine cellar (with a romantic table for two, if you choose).
The food is top notch, and you would expect this at the prices they
charge.

But you can’t put a price on the atmosphere. Warm and inviting — it’s
like an underwater Trader Vic’s — with portholes all along the walls
where you can see fish swimming by your table. The subtle movements of
the sea gently rock you as flickering lights dance on the warm wood
walls that Kuddoo carved himself.

Forbes Island is just one more reason we are the luckiest people on
Earth. We live near world-class venues and attractions that others can
only hope to experience. All you need is a little time to uncover the
treasure in your own backyard.

Getting along

This will drive a stake through the generation gap. Helen Neville of
Rockridge and Diane Clark Johnson of Piedmont have written a brilliant
book called “Temperament Tools,” which can help you identify and work
with your child’s inborn temperament.

If you and your child have control issues you can either butt heads all
the time, or give your child choices (within your comfort zone).

What if you’re outgoing and your daughter is shy? Or you have low energy
and your son has high? This paperback is like a workbook — asking
questions and offering easy to understand answers. No psychobabble here,
these ladies write so clearly that after reading their book I was even
“tweaking” my own temperament.

You can find Temperament Tools at bookstores everywhere and online at
barnesandnoble.com. Also, for parenting classes at Kaiser for members
and non-members, call 510-752-1456.

E-mail bag

Here come more responses to the Montclair improvement survey taken by
Friends of Montclair Village.

Jennifer Jackson says she’d like to see a bookstore in Montclair that
sells magazines and newspapers, along with a gourmet grocery and more
unique restaurants. Linda Brown wants the trash cleaned up along Highway
13, and she’d like an on-call van service (not free, but with a fee) to
pick up people in the neighborhood for Village shopping and to get them
to the #15 and #64 buses. W. W. Haskell says “What about a theater?” In
fact, several people who responded to the Village improvement survey
suggested this.

Then there’s the beef about a lack of after-hours entertainment. Ian
Tidswell thinks it’s too quiet after 8 p.m. and would like a nice
neighborhood wine bar or café. “How about evening music or other
festivals to keep the place going after dark?” he adds.

Marc Viale offers this idea for improving Montclair Village: “It needs
to be updated with shops that reflect the demographics of the area —
people that can afford $500k+ houses.” He wants the kind of restaurants
you find on College Avenue.

Everyone cites traffic and parking as major problems in the Village, but
some folks want more gathering places for walkers and cyclists. Rich
Edwards says “perhaps closing off Antioch Court to make a pedestrian
mall would be a good idea.”

W. R. Harmon admires the flowers hanging from almost every downtown lamp
post in Victoria B.C. He says the Montclair Village Association should
buy pots of flowers that the merchants (or local garden clubs) could
help maintain.

Juliet Rose Tessicini sums up the sentiment of many when she writes:
“Despite the quaint appearance of Montclair, there is no center there.”
She echoes complaints that the Village needs a central gathering place.
Whether that be a night club, a theater, a pedestrian mall, or just more
benches, flowers and outdoor dining — there’s a yearning here that
Village merchants need to help address.

Finding Faith

Weak from another round of chemotherapy, KTVU reporter Faith Fancher has
made it to another fund-raiser in her honor. Friends of Faith had a
cocktail party and cooking demonstrations at the elegant Purcell Murray
Culinary Center in Brisbane recently.

Fancher’s efforts to attend were heroic – applying make-up in the
limousine as she was driven from the hospital to the event. She shared
with the audience the financial details of her cancer treatment —
saying it cost $20,000 last month just for her chemo.

The money raised at the party went to the Berkeley Breast Cancer
Emergency Fund, helping low-income patients with skyrocketing costs.
Despite the evening’s serious side, spirits were high. One woman even
won a $3,000 diamond bracelet donated by Simayof Jewelers.

THE DOG DAYS of summer are here. It’s the perfect time to watch

“Seabiscuit” in an air-conditioned theater near you.

I cried a muck bucket of tears when I saw it last week, but I’m betting

attendance will be up when Golden Gate Fields runs its fall horse races.

I’m also betting you’ll like the interview I did this week with Petaluma

horse trainer Steven Haines.

Modest as the day is long, Haines doesn’t see himself as a horse

whisperer, or even a horseman. “I’m not there yet,” he says, saying that

deep spiritual connection between human and horse goes beyond the

physical and mental.

“It’s such an elusive thing. I see a real similarity between

horsemanship and martial arts,” Haines says. “It’s how you are with life

— how honest you are in expressing yourself.”

Haines is holding monthly horsemanship clinics at Oakland’s Anthony

Chabot Stables on Skyline at Keller. For some people, just watching him

work is therapy.

“I’m of the opinion that horses have more to offer humans than humans

have to offer the horse. They’re very forgiving and they offer love

without conditions,” he says.

But reading a horse’s signals takes time and patience. Haines picks up

clues in the animal’s eyes, ears and body language. He can tell whether

the horse is relaxed or troubled or in pain. He adjusts his response

accordingly — building friendship and trust with a steed — like the

trainer in “Sea Biscuit”.

“I haven’t seen the movie,” Haines says, “but from what I know, that guy

was a horseman.”

If you have a horse you’d like Haines to work with, call clinic

organizer B.K. Doyra at 510-339-3217. The clinic cost is $60 an hour

(for horse and rider), or $10 if you just want to watch and learn some

honest communication techniques. Sounds like good horse sense to me.

E-mail bag

Speaking of horses, my piece on Big Sky, Mont., was a big hit with

reader Albert Chiu. He writes: “I too came home to Oakland from Helena a

week ago Saturday night and had a culture shock after spending 18 days

in Montana.” He says he found folks there had a slower pace of life and

weren’t “into making lots of money like people here in the Bay Area.”

A note to Albert: I agree with you, but it doesn’t help that we have

record gas and home prices here.

It’s a bird…

If God wanted us to fly, he would’ve given us wings. But apparently,

that notion doesn’t hold water with the guys at the Berkeley Hang

Gliding Center.

The center charges a sky-high fee — $275 — and gets it, for a

2,000-foot drop off Mount Tamalpais and down to the shores of Stinson

Beach. All the while, you’re piggyback with the pilot, riding air

pockets in a harness with wings.

From liftoff to landing — the dips, turns and gorgeous scenery (if you

can keep your eyes open) lasts about 15 minutes. Air-sickness bag not

included. Call 510-528-2300 to face your mid-life crisis head on.

Coming clean

Call this guy “Mr. Clean.” Reader Nicholas Vigilante has come forward as

the man who donated the sidewalk pressure cleaner to the Montclair

Village Association.

Nick says he bought the machine to clean the siding on his house before

repainting — and never used it again. Seeing the grime on the sidewalks

in Montclair, he decided to donate the powerful pressure cleaner to the

merchants. As head of the Montclair Safety and Improvement Council, he

says there are a number of residents who want to help the MVA spruce

things up.

Mailbox muses

As Friends of Montclair Village works to get a drive-by mail box in the

Village, at least one reader remembers a similar effort many years ago.

Nancy G. says she never understood why parents put the kibosh on a

drive-by box in the little parking lot above Montclair Elementary School

(Mountain near Colton).

“I still think it’s perfect — even if the kids have to watch what is

going on around them for a change,” the senior resident writes. She adds

that any child who’s too young to know traffic safety is probably driven

to school in the first place.

Bad is good

Heard of the movie “Three Men and a Baby”? Well, this is three guys and

a stage.

Local actor Tim Orr and two other artists make up the theater group

“Three for All,” opening at San Francisco’s Bayfront Theater on Sept. 5.

They aren’t called the bad boys of improvisation for nothing. Given

nothing but a situation, these guys create a full-length comedy, night

after night. The best part is that profits from their opening night

performance go to a Berkeley-based sports program for wheelchair-bound

kids. For information, call 415-474-8935.

FOR MONTHS, I’ve had a running dialogue in my column about the sidewalk grime in our Village. I’ve aired letters and complaints like this one from Susan Garner, who says: “I am a 20-year resident of Montclair and have seen the shopping district go through quite a metamorphosis since 1983. I walk through the Village daily and am continually disgusted with the state and smell of the sidewalk outside Noah’s Bagels and Jamba Juice.”

Now for the good news: The Montclair Village Association has just hired an Oakland company to sweep the sidewalks twice a week and steam clean them once a month. There will be manual sweeping every Monday and Thursday morning, which is bound to make a difference — especially in front of the bus stops. And monthly steam cleaning will keep some of the coffee and dog urine stains from setting in.

But let’s hope this campaign does something else, too. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d like to see more merchants (in addition to the malt shop owner) keep their storefronts clean.

The business district has a small sidewalk steamer that someone donated, and it rarely gets used. But just today, staff at Italian Colors borrowed it.

Maybe the scrub-down will be contagious. Maybe dog owners and coffee drinkers and cigarette smokers will pitch in and clean up after themselves. In this regard, it really does take a village.

Mailbox murmurs

Now that the cleanup campaign is underway, let’s solve another problem in the Village. Reader Jane Herlihy writes: “What we really need, in my humble opinion, is a drive-by mailbox. These days it’s unsafe to leave outgoing mail in one’s home mailbox, so we must deliver it somewhere.”

Jane suggests a drive-up mailbox where you can roll down your car window and drop the mail in — without parking. If Movie Express can do it in Montclair, why can’t the U.S. Postal Service?

Well, Robbie Neely of the Piedmont Pines Homeowners Association says this issue is a top priority with her group and the new Montclair Safety and Improvement Council. Two sites that are now being discussed for new postal boxes: Scout Road at the corner of Mountain, and the north end of the Village near the tennis courts.

Robbie says the postal service has actually been very cooperative. Finding a safe plot of land has been the delay — but she says we’re almost there.

E-mail bag

Reader JoAnne Auerbach has a suggestion for parents and grandparents reading this column: She says Oakland author Armin Brott has written a number of books on parenting, including “Father for Life.” “He also has a weekly radio show (Positive Parenting at 8 a.m. Sunday on FM 96.5) KOIT, and writes a syndicated column on parenting issues. He knows his stuff and his books are fun and easy to read,” she says.

Mini Olympics

Dozens of Oakland’s inner-city kids have just wrapped up the opportunity of a lifetime. They competed in a national sports tournament, hosted this year by the city of San Francisco.

The U.S. Youth Games have been going on since 1966, with a different host city each year. Oakland fielded teams in volleyball, swimming, basketball and tennis, and some of the kids got to stay overnight in college dorms — with events from early morning until late at night.

In the end, most got medals and a big boost to their self esteem. Call it a mini Olympics.

I’M FEELING a little strange this week. You might say I’m shell-shocked, after returning from a trip to Montana. Landing at the airport in Oakland, Saturday night, I walked into a mob scene with long lines of people pushing carts of oversized luggage. Overworked and understaffed, the security folks could barely handle the rush of travelers.

The scene at the other end of my trip was almost surreal. Helena, the capitol of Montana, has an airport so sweet — you can walk through security and onto the plane 15 minutes before takeoff. You can leave your unlocked rental car in the parking lot next door with the key under the mat. This is post-Sept. 11, Montana style.

So it’s not surprising that all over the Big Sky State, there are California transplants. Helena is such a hip, artistic community now. There’s even a California flag flying next to the Montana flag in one shopping district. And Helena’s baseball stadium has our old bleacher seats, brought over from the Oakland Coliseum after it was remodeled.

At the 320 Guest Ranch outside Yellowstone National Park, Fred Kiemel likes to tell the story of how he moved to Montana. “I was on the Hollywood Freeway, Friday afternoon, six lanes of traffic — bumper to bumper and about 94 degrees, when Willie Nelson came on the radio with the song ‘My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys.'” That was all it took. Fred says he sold everything and bought a place on the Gallatin River.

The Gallatin is where Robert Redford filmed “A River Runs Through It.” It’s a gorgeous river that runs so clear, you can see the trout skimming the surface, looking for hoppers.

Fly fishing is a religion here, and it takes just one try to see why. Standing in waders in a rush of tumbling mountain water is a powerful lure. So is shooting the rapids in a raft or kayak, or a good old fashioned inner tube. At 320 Ranch, we even rode horses along the rugged riverbank, much the way wranglers did over a century ago.

It was the promise of adventure that brought me to Montana State University for college some 30 years ago. I formed a band that played at a supper club outside Bozeman, where famed broadcaster Chet Huntley liked to dance with his wife, Tippy.

The couple opened Big Sky Resort in 1974, and we were invited to stay and play. Chet died not long after that, but his dream of a world class retreat outside Yellowstone National Park lives on.

With 400 inches of annual snowfall and 80 miles of runs, Big Sky’s skiing and snow-boarding are legendary. But this resort holds its own in the summertime, too, with hiking and mountain biking and horseback riding and rafting. Arnold Palmer designed the golf course here, and I played every inch of it as I tacked like a sailboat back and forth across the fairway. But that’s a story for another column.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Montana’s a great place to visit, but you’d be bored to tears living here. Not enough excitement. Not enough culture.

Well, Montana’s changing. The whole state may have fewer people than San Francisco, but there’s no shortage of things to do. And the only airport stress is deciding whether to have free beer or wine on your Horizon airline flight over the those big, blue skies.

Tree tiff

Call them tree-huggers, but a group of neighbors in the Glenview is taking action to save their liquid ambars along Wellington Street. You see, the city wants to cut down the trees, and says it never should have planted them in the first place (some 40 or 50 years ago). At a recent town meeting, city staffers showed damning evidence that the ambars are evil — and presented a rather “iffy” plan for replacing them — providing the city has the money.

Ricky Jacobs is spearheading an effort to make sure her neighbors aren’t stuck out on a limb. She’s formed a committee to research which trees can be saved and what kind of replacement trees would be best, if it comes to that.

Jacobs says that while the city is threatening to cut some trees down immediately, the neighbors need more time. “There’s a mourning people have to go through. We’re deeply attached to these trees, living beings that they are.” And like most living beings, she says, they’re both beautiful and highly problematic. She says grief moves through folks more gracefully when they have time to prepare for the loss.

Handling ‘house-atosis’

Larry Hayden with Oakland’s Federal Building Co. had this response to my column on air pollution. “What made me chuckle about your article is that on really bad air days, it’s often safer to be outside the home than inside.”

He says out-gas from vinyl flooring, plastic laminate products, carpets, paints, etc., makes the indoors a toxic place. As a remodeling contractor, he urges clients to avoid using products that release toxins in the home and office, and says for information on the concept of “green building,” you can contact Alameda Waste Management (www.stopwaste.org).

E-mail bag

Reader R. Riess makes this observation about Montclair: “I have been reading your column about our Village, and was delighted to eat lunch on a bench near the Malt Shop and see that the sidewalk around the base of the garbage can on that corner had been cleaned. What a relief! Until I saw it clean, I hadn’t fully realized how awful and depressing it was to pass by that sticky mess daily.”

Mr. Riess, thanks for your letter. The owner of the Malt Shop does steam clean the sidewalk (you can imagine the mess, compounded by the coffee shops nearby) and is lobbying to get regular steam cleanings for all the sidewalks in Montclair Village.

Remembering a legend

A while back, I wrote about an Emeryville luncheon honoring legendary KSFO disc jockey Don Sherwood. Since then, readers have been sharing their memories of the man they woke up with, morning after morning.

Marilyn Parsons writes, ” As an only child growing up and getting ready for school, it would have been very lonely were it not for Don and Carter B. and Aaron (Edwards). Are there any films on video of them? Or even recordings of those old shows? I would love to hear Don’s laugh again.” Marilyn, you can find some old audio clips of Don Sherwood on Hap Harper’s Web site. Remember, he was Don’s airborne traffic reporter — the first in the world. Just log on to http://www.hapharper.com.

OF ALL THE THINGS I love about this state, it’s the people that make it most special. We tend to be big dreamers in California — and I like big dreamers. We play golf at Tilden and dream we’re in Scotland. We taste wine in Napa and dream we’re in Italy.

So I’m drawn to dreamers, who live large and voluptuous lives, full of richness. I’m drawn to people like Jim and Sue Hager.

Based in a warm Tuscan-like home with terra cotta walls and a sun-baked terrace in Crocker Highlands, Jim is a sculptor and works with his hands. Sue loves to garden and cook — and pluck lemons from the tree to make vodka Limoncello. Their eyes go dreamy when they talk about the little artisan village where Jim sculpts in Italy. They’ve re-created the feel in their home here in Oakland.

It’s a sultry summer night when we pull up for dinner. I can hear Italian music coming from the kitchen — the heart of the home. It’s the smoky sounds of Paolo Conte, filling the room with romance and melancholy, much like a Fellini film.

“We’re making our own pizza, so roll out your dough,” Jim says to my son. He puts on the toppings, and Jim shovels the pizza into an open-fire brick oven in the kitchen. Seconds later, it comes out with a bubbling cheese crown.

So food is art — and art is art — and this home is infused with both. Jim’s favorite sculpture is the delicate white marble piece he calls “Gaetano.” He created it just after his son’s birth, when Guy was sleeping serenely in his bed.

Gaetano is on display in San Francisco through October at 50 Beale St., in the lobby of the Bechtel Building. My guess is we’ll be seeing more of Jim’s work.

Camping in comfort

On the subject of living richly, did you that we’re just a short drive from America’s first luxury campground?

Costanoa is set in the wild, untamed beaches of San Mateo County — often described as a place forgotten by time. You can still find the quiet little towns here, and the wild windswept waters sending their spray over acres of artichokes.

Surrounded by several state parks is a lodging experience that’s somewhere between the Ritz Carleton and Yosemite’s Curry Village. At Costanoa, the canvas cabins have heated bedding and the outdoor bathrooms have saunas. The food in the general store is gourmet quality and can be served in the dining room or packed to go, so you can grill it yourself as you stare out over the vast blue Pacific.

For the first year ever, interior designers have decorated 10 of the tent cabins. It really brings out the playfulness of nature, as you surround yourself in the comfort of a little canvas cabin adorned in antiques and draped in rich fabric.

My favorite is the John Muir Base camp, decorated by designer Hilary Bond Read. It’s a cozy little cottage with a rich red spread on the bed and a journal for noting your deepest connections with nature. A globe in the corner reminds you that life is an exploration — an adventure.

One other thing impressed me about Costanoa — the nearby Blue Sky Riding Experience. Here, you can ride high above the rugged coast on a fine Tennessee Walking Horse.

What makes these steeds so special? They have the most wonderful gait — not jarring when you trot, but easy on the bones.

What’s even more amazing is that many of these horses were rescued from abusive owners. Given love and affection, these animals today are some of the best stable horses I’ve ever ridden. You can find out more about luxury camping and extraordinary horseback riding by logging on to http://www.costanoa.com or

Montclair mailbag

Thanks to the Friends of Montclair Village for sharing some of the results of their ongoing survey. They’re asking theses questions: What do you like and dislike about Montclair Village and how would you improve it?

Respondent Jill Broadhurst feels the Village could do a much better job of recycling. She’d like to see the kind of cans they have in Piedmont, with sections for paper, plastic and cans. (See story Page A6).

Regarding the idea of a pedestrian courtyard, Broadhurst says ” I firmly believe that this would increase the overall revenue of the businesses in town.” She envisions a place with more seating and a fountain, and says that, “while we all appreciate the benches that the businesses put out for us to sit on, I am afraid that most of them are at the breaking point and wobbly.”

Ship ahoy

Roosevelt’s presidential yacht, the USS Potomac, is back on the Bay again. After a five-month hiatus, the grand old ship goes out on two-hour tours, starting Aug. 9. It’s a chance to sit in the spot where FDR sat, surveying the waters from your high regal post.

Docents lead tours while the yacht sails under the Bay Bridge and around Alcatraz Island or you can explore the ship on your own. For information, call the Potomac office at Jack London Square at 510-627-1215.

“IT’S THE QUINTESSENTIAL summer day,” I think, as I balance myself on a low-hanging tree above Alameda Creek. The shade is delicious and the butterflies are doing cartwheels in the breeze. Just yards away is the reason I’ve come to this spot — to ride horseback in the sun-baked hills of Sunol Regional Wilderness.

Few people know about these nature rides, offered by the East Bay Regional Park District. Fiona Bogie, a Scottish woman, runs the Sunset Riding Academy, and for $17 she’ll match you with the perfect horse and send you off to ride with a ranger and learn the history of the land.

You may see hawks gliding on air currents and deer feeding quietly in the meadow. You may even get the sense that you’ve been here before, as you ride to a rocky grove called Little Yosemite. (The next nature rides take place Aug. 10 and Aug. 24.)

When I think of all the ways my tax dollars are spent, the park district ranks high on my list of worthwhile causes. I’ve taken llama treks through Redwood Regional Park, kayak trips on Lake Chabot and the Bay, and sushi-making classes at Tilden Regional Park.

Yes, for $35 dollars you can take a class that rivals those of any gourmet cooking school. It’s taught by my neighbor, Linda Yemoto, in a room in Tilden’s Nature Center with beautiful views of the trees outside.

Ranger Linda has everything set up for making seven types of sushi. We work in pairs — one partner stirring the sugared vinegar into the rice, and the other fanning it to give it a shine. Japanese music sets the mood as we hand-shape our sticky rice into balls and slip the balls into tofu pockets (my favorite). We make ebi (shrimp) and unagi (eel) and the ever-popular California rolls. Did you know that these rolls were invented by an El Cerrito sushi chef and are popular in Japan?

Half the fun of this class is what you learn from Linda. The other half is what you eat — and what you get to bring home. I made enough sushi for a party of 10 that evening.

There are two more sushi classes this fall, on Saturday, Aug. 2 and 9. For information on any of the park district’s upcoming activities, check or call 510-562-PARK.

Montclair mailbag

The dialogue continues in the wake of a new survey by Friends of Montclair Village. This grassroots group is gathering information on what residents like and don’t like about our little shopping mecca.

Like most people, respondent Arla Bonnett likes the variety of shops in Montclair. But she doesn’t like the way dogs seem to take over the sidewalk. “Montclair is becoming a destination for dog-socializing, as if it were a dog park.”

Vincent Jurgens says nothing is open late for teenagers. He’d like to see something like an ice cream parlor that stays open after 10 p.m.

For reader Fisita Rivera, the Village could be improved with something as simple as a public restroom on the southern end.

Then there’s Peter Grame’s idea for landscaping and irrigating the median strips at Thornhill and Moraga, which he calls “the gateway to Montclair.” Grame says he also would like to see open space in the Village and supports the idea of a courtyard at Antioch Court. He also wants to see more trees and benches and something many mentioned — clean sidewalks.

Rounding out the debate are these thoughts from Joy Bebitch: “Who says it needs improvement? If it ain’t broke, why fix it?”

She says she’s been shopping in the village for 45 years, and “(N)o amount of paraphernalia, i.e., decorative pots, trees, new trash cans, clean sidewalks (or) clocks, is going to increase the number of weekly trips we make to the supermarket or bank. Montclair is not Walnut Creek Plaza, Emeryville, nor a mini mall. If anything, I vote to minimize the amount of people coming in,” Bebitch says.

To take the survey, e-mail robbieneely@sbcglobal.net.

Stale air

If there ever was any doubt about global warming, this summer proves it. When I moved to Montclair in 1988, I could count on one hand the number of brutally hot days. Now I’m poised to pay outrageously high prices to cool my home — and don’t get me started on air quality.

Our auto exhaust is going right to our lungs, which is why reader Terry Lee with the Bay Area Air District wants your e-mail address. If you go online to http://www.sparetheair.org and click “sign up for e-mail notification now,” you’ll get an e-mail the day before each “Spare the Air” day, when air quality is expected to be unusually poor. That way, you can plan to car pool or take mass transit to work. You can get the same updates by calling 1-800 Help-Air.

And finally

Thanks to reader Marlynn Dykstra for bringing Craig’s San Francisco Moving Movie Tours to my attention.

After writing a few weeks ago about the Monterey Movie Tours, I got an e-mail from Marlynn saying she took one of Craig Smith’s tours in San Francisco.

“It was excellent,” she says, “showing customers many of the city’s famous movie locations.” The outing ends with a real San Francisco treat — not Rice a Roni, but ice cream at Mel’s.

“WHEN THE SPIRITs go in, the truth comes out.” So goes the saying in Ireland.

In last week’s column, I recounted the “now famous” Dublin rendezvous, when four deserving moms met under the clock at the Shelbourne Hotel for a week-long adventure. Jilli (the former Oakland-based writer, who turned 50), Affie and Sooze came thousands of miles for this momentous affair. I, myself, journeyed many long hours by plane, bus and foot — rolling my over-stuffed bags through the cobbled streets of Dublin.

The famed Shelbourne Hotel has seen many a reunion, but I dare say we made our mark. We left knowing half the city — at least the half that wandered in and out of the pub that night.

Squeezing into our little blue rental, we drove in the dark to the Bel Air Hotel in County Wicklow. Jilli had special memories of this 15th-century equestrian estate, having stayed here as a child, but nothing prepared us for the welcome we got when we arrived. “Come in and sit down, girls, and I’ll get you some drinks and grilled sandwiches,” said Fidelma Freeman, the kindly proprietor. She’d waited till the midnight hour for us to arrive.

What happened next couldn’t have been more perfect, had it been staged. Two guests of the manor, both local men, took it upon themselves to put on a show. They sang and danced and told tall tales — all to our great amusement. I especially enjoyed the kissing song, which was punctuated by two leprechaun-like pecks on my cheek. Sooze, an actress back home in St. Louis, was so caught up in the antics, she joined the men in an Irish jig.

Up at the crack of noon the next day, we took our tea in the lobby of the grand old estate, where cattle graze just beyond the front door and horses are saddled for the day’s ride. I brought my old Montana cowboy boots and jeans and assumed I was ready. “We’ll have to take you out separately,” said the stable manager. The rest of the group, including Jilli, would be galloping wildly through the forests and meadows of Wicklow.

In an English saddle, it was all I could do to hang on in a trot. But by the grace of St. Peter, I got out there and gave it a go. Through the fields of Fox Glove and Clover I moved to the rhythm of the steed. Up and down, clip and a clop, faster and faster we rode. I was high on a ridge overlooking green pastures and an ocean of azure and blue. I was doing what I’d come here to do.

I was also popping Advil into the evening, nursing both a sore neck and a sore bottom. But it did nothing to stop us from burning the midnight oil in Dublin’s famed Temple Bar district. Here, pubs like the Hairy Lemon and the Auld Dubliner play traditional Irish folk music late into the night. Fiddles, flutes and Elbow pipes stir the soul with the primal beat of the Bodhran drum.

Some of the songs you will know, like “Dublin’s fair city…cockles and mussels, alive alive-oh.” But the ballad that brought us to our feet was the heartfelt ode to the beloved River Liffey. You see, the Irish love their rivers, and liken the Liffey to a beautiful woman who stirs the flames of passion. So we danced round and round, arms linked and legs stepping high with strangers who felt like friends.

We had good craic in Dublin that night. Craic is pronounced “crack” and is Gaelic for conversation. You’d have to be dead not to have good craic with the Irish. They love Americans, and they love to talk. (Almost everyone in Ireland has a relative “in the states.” Many have been to the U.S., since it’s only a few hours by plane).

Often, the stories you hear are of hardships, which were evident all over Ireland until the recent economic boom. The Catholic Church is another favorite topic. Men have their stories of being “chosen” for priesthood and then falling from grace in the seminary. “I was rescued by the lady with me tonight,” one man told me. “She lured me from a life of celibacy,” he said with sparkling eyes. But more often than not, these days, it’s politics they’ll be talking about in the pubs of Ireland. If you engage in this topic, be prepared to stay a while.

As prolific as the pubs are the castles and ruins of Ireland. They’re part of the landscape, everywhere you go. On one misty day, in weather the Irish call “soft,” we explored the ruins of Glendalough, where St. Kevin built his monastery in 550 AD. From the round stone tower where the monks used to hide from invaders to the tiny cells where these early Christians lived, Glendalough is often called the cradle of religion in Ireland.

Every region has its castles, and some are open for touring and medieval meals. Malahide Castle is one of the favorites, only 9 miles from Dublin with the only medieval hall in Ireland that’s preserved in its original form. It’s a picture-book palace surrounded by botanical gardens and parkland.

Steeped in Irish history is the long list of writers who’ve been born on these shores — men like Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde, W.B. Yeats, James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw, Samuel Beckett and Frank McCourt, to name a few. Their sayings are on many a pub wall, and their books can be found in towns big and small. It was Wilde who wrote the words: “We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars,” a quote that seems to embody the spirit of Ireland.

To truly give life to these words, you should hear them spoken by the author himself or at least a good impersonator. The best place to do this is the Writer’s Museum in Dublin. Here you can see a one-man show where the actor reads passages from great Irish books, impersonating the authors and captivating the audience.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the gardens of Ireland. County Wicklow is renowned for its gardens and celebrates with a festival each May through July. The moist climate, tempered by the Gulf Stream and fertile, sun-kissed soil make Wicklow a lush land.

Two of the county’s best gardens are Powerscourt and Mount Usher. Completely different in nature, Powerscourt is one of the great gardens of Europe, with fountains and ponds and antique sculptures, all laid out grandly in the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain. Mount Usher, on the other hand, is a relatively small natural garden — a more modest showing of nature along the banks of the River Vartry. It doesn’t attract the hoards of people that flock to Powerscourt and for that reason, it is truly a restorative place.

Among the many changes happening in Ireland these days is the food. You can still find the traditional Irish breakfast of cured ham, poached eggs and black and white pudding. But all over the cities and towns you will see restaurants serving everything from Italian to Chinese cuisine.

The girls and I had a stunningly good meal in Ashford at Restaurant O Sole Mio, where the pasta was perfect and the vegetables were crisp and flavorful, not “done to a turn” like in the Ireland of old. Curry is big in Ireland, and you’ll find it served with fish and chips at a multitude of “take away” cafes.

But don’t make the mistake we made and wait too late to eat dinner. While the sun is up until well after 10 p.m. in the summertime, most restaurants and pubs stop serving food at 9:30.

Just a little about the traffic in Ireland, which can be quite bad in the environs of Dublin. With housing prices that rival the Bay Area’s and a booming economy, more and more people are moving to the suburbs. There’s highway construction all over the area, and traffic jams are now the norm. So avoid driving during peak commute times.

Also, be prepared to get lost, as some new highways simply stop with no signs marking detours. It’s part of the price being paid for prosperity.

But like everything else, it’s taken in stride for the Irish are survivors, and laughter and wit will carry them through.

This column is dedicated to all my Irish readers, who’ve come to Oakland to make a new life. Thank you to Mark Dunne and Tom Hennigan for helping me plan my trip, and for the guys at McNally’s Irish Pub on College Avenue for giving me “a taste” of Ireland before my travels. A special blessing to “Romey” White, a Montclair contractor who passed away recently. His friends took his casket all the way back to his homeland and saw that he was buried next to his family — in Ireland’s oldest cemetery.

God bless the people of Ireland and America. We are forever connected by a history of friendship and respect

IT’S DUSK IN IRELAND, and I’m looking out over the River Shannon. The steel gray waters that Frank McCourt called “a killer” in his heart-wrenching book “Angela’s Ashes” run clear now through Limerick City. There’s still a hard edge to this industrial port, but swans float on a Shannon once strewn with garbage. Flowers cascade from boxes in the windows of the old brick row houses.

“We were plenty mad when McCourt wrote his book,” said a policeman as we chatted on the walk from the bus station to my room at the Jury’s Inn. “We all had that kind of childhood back then. You get over it and move on,” he said in an Irish brogue that ran thick like honey.

McCourt’s memoirs may not have helped the image of Ireland’s fourth-largest city, but it is bringing tourists, who are eager to share in the sorrow of a town that was down on its luck for so long. It brought me here, to see the pub where McCourt’s pa drank away his government assistance, the national school where teachers regularly “knocked sense” into their young students and the dreaded River Shannon, which McCourt blamed for the tuberculosis that killed two of his siblings.

How times have changed, not just in Limerick, but all over Ireland. The country is shining these days with the glint of millions of Euros being spent by tourists and locals alike. But to be accurate about Ireland today, I need to go back to my arrival on these dew-kissed shores on the weekend of July Fourth.

I flew into Shannon and boarded the 9:30 bus a.m. to Galway. Mark Dunn and the “Irish contingency” at Montclair’s Colonial Donut Shop told me not to miss this west coast town. One of Europe’s fastest growing cities, Galway is known for its music and vibrant nightlife. It was perfect for me, as my flute was in tow and I planned to join in a few Irish jams (or sessions, as they call them).

But before I played one note, I needed a nap. Settling into my room at the Salt Hill Hotel, I fell fast asleep till a rumbling sound shook me out of my covers. Screaming past my window over Galway Bay were dozens of military jets from Ireland, the U.K. and America, practicing for a huge air show the next day.

“We love Americans,” a ruddy-faced local said later in a seaside pub. “We were all in shock over 9/11, and we know you did what you had to do in Iraq,” he added with a seriousness that waned with each Guinness he poured. Soon enough, I found myself playing the flute. Tommy Hayes and the boys were singing songs from our shores and someone shouted “let the lass play her flute.”

I sifted through the musical scores of dozens of Elvis and John Denver songs and chose “Green, Green Grass of Home.” I played with every ounce of passion and vibrato I could muster, seeing tears on the faces of more than a few men and women that night. When I finished, through the smoke of a 100 burning cigarettes, I could see the pints lined up on my table. It was their way of showing appreciation for a girl who had crossed the Atlantic to play her flute.

I arose the next morning to my first Irish meal — poached eggs and bacon and fresh fruit scones. There was something, too, called black and white pudding — little muffin-shaped sausage patties that tasted better when I dipped them in catsup.

I was starting to see the extraordinary hospitality of the Irish, in their smile and in what they were willing to do for my comfort. I wanted to see if the fish were the same way, a fairly ridiculous notion, but I had a theory. So, I walked down the seaside promenade to the National Aquarium of Ireland.

Sure enough, the petting pool was full of Thornback Rays who were craving a human massage. A freshly-scrubbed lad who worked at the place even picked up a Bull Huss Shark and turned it on its back for a good rubdown. The shark had its eyes half closed with this look of pure bliss on its face. My suspicions were confirmed. If Ireland wasn’t heaven — I was just outside the door.

Getting out of Salt Hill wasn’t easy. A great crowd was starting to amass for the giant air show and the All-Irish Gaelic games, which were just down the street. The main roads in and out of town were all closed. Blessedly, a young man at the Salt Hill Hotel offered to drive me on country back roads to the bus station. I thanked him profusely and boarded the No. 10 for Dublin.

This brings me to the real purpose of my trip: To meet three women, only one of whom I knew, under the old clock in the corner of the bar at the Shelbourne Hotel. We were coming thousands of miles to honor Jillian Quist, my writer friend who once lived in the Oakland hills and has strong Irish roots. She was turning 50.

Arriving in Dublin, my next task was to wheel my suitcases up Grafton Street to St. Stephen’s Green. This was no easy task, navigating my way through the hoards of people who were shopping and meandering on this famous cobbled walkway. The lack of sleep and the strangeness of hearing dozens of different languages made the mile long-trek so surreal. But I arrived just in time for my heralded meeting.

The energy in the air seemed to crackle as, one by one, the gals arrived. We were under the clock, the most prestigious place in the bar, drinking martinis at the Shelbourne. We were completely untethered from husband or child — as the Irish began to come out in us.

Jillian was the birthday girl, for whom turning 50 had become an event of international proportions. Having once hailed from the Emerald Isle, she had planned for us a most interesting odyssey.

In my column next week, I’ll pick up the story. I’ll tell you how Ireland has changed and how Dublin-area home prices now rival those in the Bay Area. I’ll take you through the brilliant pubs of the Temple Bar neighborhood, through the magnificent monasteries and castles built centuries ago, and through the gardens and greenery of County Wicklow — where we galloped on horseback in the hills above the sparkling Atlantic.

But first, it’s time for a rest. Not just for my weary body, but for my wagging tongue — which tried its best, all week, to match wits with the Irish. The cleverest people on earth.

WHAT KIND OF person spends much of her day in a dark, musty attic? A senior on a mission to save one of the largest collections of musical scores in the country. Montclair’s Jean Cunningham climbs the old, narrow staircase to the top of the historic Paramount Theatre several times a week — where she catalogs music that comes in from all over the world.

On the day I was there, a match was made. The drum and trumpet scores arrived for an out-of-print “pop” piece and Jean carefully added them to a folder with parts for the flute, saxophone and other instruments. “I believe that makes a complete set,” she said, like a puzzle-master fitting in the final, critical piece.

The Paramount Library of Popular Music has thousands of pages of musical scores — out of print and priceless. What it doesn’t have is enough money or staff to catalog and preserve them. But that may be changing.

Just days ago, Jean got a call from two members of the Stanford MBA Alumni Program, who agreed to help set up a master plan. It includes funding sources like grants and donations, as well as ways to bring in more volunteers for the massive job of cataloging and data base management.

For Jean, it could be a dream come true. In her days as a professional flutist for the Oakland Symphony, she played many of the songs that she’s now trying to save. There are scores from as far back as 1850, and they’re still in demand today. The library gets calls from conductors worldwide who want the perform these pieces. Jean is working to save a priceless treasure — and it makes her labor of love all the more melodic.

For more information, you can call the Paramount Theatre at 510-893-2300, extension ext. 810. Or you can e-mail Jean at jcunningham@paramounttheatre.com

E-MAIL BAG: Reader J. Orbis remembers the “good old days” of radio I’d written about in my column several weeks ago.

“There never has been, and never will be again, a morning radio show like the old Gene Nelson show, with you, Dave (Henderson), Hap (Harper) and the rest of the crowd,” he writes. “I listened to Gene faithfully from the time I discovered him as a high schooler until he retired from KSFO.”

Orbis says Gene was definitely his role model.

Thanks for the kind words, Mr Orbis. I’m saddened that the Federal Communications Commission has voted to further de-regulate the broadcast industry. When I was in Aberdeen, S.D., recently, I drove down a gravel road to a tiny trailer. Inside, was a handful of employees running not one, but five radio stations — all owned by broadcast giant Clear Channel. Five cookie-cutter stations running syndicated programming out of New York or Los Angeles or someplace where they’ve never even heard of Aberdeen.

Later, driving along rural highway 12 to Minneapolis, I searched the dial trying to find the hog futures, a farm report — any programming originating from South Dakota. All I could get was Rush Limbaugh. It was disgusting. And I like Rush Limbaugh.

MUST SEE: Imagine taking an 8,000-mile journey without ever leaving your arm-chair. It’s almost better than being there, when you see the giant screen film “Lewis & Clark — Great Journey West”. Narrated by Jeff Bridges, this National Geographic film puts you in the action, canoeing through perilous rapids, braving bitter snow storms and forging a trail from Saint Louis to the great Pacific Ocean. It’s a 45-minute history lesson disguised as a thrill ride — just months before the expedition’s 200th anniversary. For showtimes, call the Chabot Space & Science Center.

TRAVEL TALES: After sharing some of my travel tales, I’m hearing some great stories from readers. Scott Sanders still gets chills when he recalls his trip to West Africa. Driving through the countryside with his parents, he got out of the car for a rest stop. In the bat of an eye, he was surrounded by a pack of baboons — with the leader giving him threatening stares.

“It was a scene right out of the movie ‘2001: A Space Odyssey,'” he says, adding it was clear to him that we descended from these animals. How did he escape? He walked slowly toward the car, and drove off — no doubt counting his blessings for days.

Almost as freaky was the travel tale my husband brought home from New Orleans. He spent part of last Friday the 13th in the Voodoo district — where the Tarot card readers were working overtime. “It was creepy.” Chris Piganelli said. “New Orleans is a very haunted city and I could feel the spirits. Or maybe it was just one too many Hurricanes (the city’s popular rum-punch).”

EYES HAVE IT: What do you do if you don’t have insurance for eye exams? Reader Amy Moore says she goes to UC Berkeley, where the School of Optometry offers low-cost eye exams. It’s one of the best clinics in the country, you go through a myriad of tests for one low price — and they even have a shuttle service for patients who are temporarily “blinded” by dilated pupils.

EARTH HOMES: Deep in the woods of Canyon (on the backside of our hills down Pinehurst Road in Contra Costa County), a charming little Cob cottage is being built. The young man with the plan and the muscles to pull it off, is Jared Aldrich, an environmentalist who was born and raised in this bohemian enclave. What is a Cob cottage? It’s a home that you hand-sculpt with earth — an ancient technique developed in the British Isles that almost completely eliminates the use of timber. There are a few Cob Cottages in Berkeley and one in Alameda and soon — there will be a sweet little pat-a-cake cottage in Canyon.

IF YOU’RE NOT in the habit of looking over your shoulder — this story may change your mind. Oakland Police say a man was robbed in his driveway in the hills, the other night. He pulled up, got out of the car and was accosted by two armed men. This guy was lucky. He may have been mugged, but he wasn’t killed. Could he have prevented the attack if he’d been more aware of his surroundings? It’s hard to say — but police have this advice: If someone suspicious is following you, keep driving past your house, get on your cell phone and call Oakland Police Emergency at 777-3211. Don’t call 911 on your cell phone because 911 calls get routed to the Highway Patrol.

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E-MAIL BAG: Once again, I’m hearing complaints from readers about road rage in Montclair. Kay Cardenas writes that while her 15-year-old daughter was learning to drive on Thornhill Road one evening, a car came barreling up to her bumper and precariously passed her on a hill. The tailgater wasn’t some wild teenager, it was a man in his 50s driving a new Lexus. As if passing on a hill wasn’t bad enough, the guy made an obscene gesture as he raced past the nervous girl. “Was he late for a TV show or did he have too much to drink at dinner?” Kay wonders. Whatever the reason — if I were you, Kay, I’d get a big sign that says STUDENT DRIVER.

Returning soldier: Welcome back to Lt. Cpl. Billy Dorshkind, the young Montclair man who just returned from Operation Iraqi Freedom. Billy shipped out of Camp Pendleton last February and reached a milestone in the Iraqi desert. He turned 21. When he returned home to the hills the other day, he saw some of his childhood pals painting The Rock on Ascot for him. The greeting didn’t stay up long. Neighbors tell me that demand for rock space has become so great, the paint barely dries on a message before it’s replaced by something else. Perhaps Ticketmaster should take over with online reservations.

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JOYFUL NOISE: One of my favorite church songs is a piece called “Here I am, Lord”. Many of you have heard it and sung it yourselves. The brilliant man who wrote this, and dozens of other popular worship songs, is giving a concert in Piedmont next Sunday, June 22. San Francisco composer Dan Schutte is pairing up with local singer/songwriter Janet Sullivan Whitaker to perform at Corpus Christi Catholic Church in a benefit for FACE — (Family Aid to Catholic Education). The music these two make is so uplifting, you can almost levitate. The show starts at 7 pm and you can get more information by calling 510-763-0477.

Zoo news: The Oakland Zoo gets some ink in this month’s issue of Smithsonian Magazine. It’s a great article on the zoo’s groundbreaking efforts to save elephants from extinction. In Africa, the elephant population has plunged from 1.3 million in the 1970s to as few as 270,000 today. It’s even worse in India, where the Asian elephant population is under 48,000. What’s causing this alarming drop? Poaching for ivory and elephant meat, along with the destruction of natural habitat and stomping grounds. Zoo’s are trying to encourage more elephant births, but it’s a difficult process, as we’ve found out here. The last two African Elephants born at the Oakland Zoo both died, in part because their mother never learned the skills she needed to take care of a baby. You can learn more about elephants on the Web at http://www.oaklandzoo.org. Click on the icons and you can even hear elephant sounds.

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TALKING TO ANIMALS: Remember the old show “What’s my line”? Marta Williams would have stumped the whole panel with her occupation. She’s an animal communicator from Sonoma County. In a phone interview, she told me she often holds therapy sessions with people and their pets. If a dog is acting out, Marta has a little pow-wow with the pooch to find out why. Usually it’s loneliness — the dog isn’t getting enough attention. For cats, it could be a respect issue. But the strangest “therapy” session was with a den of rattlesnakes that insisted on slithering up the stairs of a family home. Marta explained to the snakes why their behavior was “freaking” the homeowners out — and they stopped. If you’d rather “talk it out” than move out — Marta will teach you how in her new book — “Learning their language”.

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HOLLYWOOD IN VALLEJO: Marine World isn’t just for thrill-seekers. Hollywood is making movies here. Not only was Sean Penn shooting a film last week, but the final scenes from the new Samuel Jackson movie “Blackout’ (coming out this fall) were shot there recently. In that one, the dolphin pool was made to look like San Francisco Bay. In fact, machines were creating such huge plumes of fog that the local fire department responded, thinking the place was ablaze. Oh — there was also an actors strike. The sea lions refused to work once they’d gotten their fill of fish.