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The next day, in the middle of a February cold snap the temperature reaches only 60 degrees, down from its normal 80 degrees I head for the mud baths. Big, blue ceramic tile tubs sit under piney tamarisk trees. Peat moss and Two Bunch Palms’ exclusive green clay - soaked for centuries in these mineral waters--fill the tubs.

The main entrance of the San Francisco W is through a three-story glass rotunda. Across the shiny black and white marble floor is a café bar and to the right, a long lounge, the living room. It’s velvet, leather and chenille comfortable with huge chairs, soft sofas, martini-olive throw pillows and chess and tic-tac-toe boards inlaid in some of the large, low tables. 

The Grand Café feels like a turn-of-the-century European café-cum-art gallery. Once the ballroom of the old Bellevue Hotel, it now resides next to the very happening Hotel Monaco. Colossal columns and chandeliers gloriously dominate the room and are originals from its ballroom days.

The first time I stayed at the Prescott, it was to weasel my way into Wolfgang Puck’s San Francisco outpost, Postrio. The Prescott shares a building with the restaurant and their concierge has priority seating. A good plan, but I bungled it by getting sick. Taken to my Prescott bed, I was forced to have Postrio deliver cinnamon banana pancakes for a late breakfast and later on some soft scrambled eggs with lobster and mascarpone cheese. Then, a tad of Postrio’s intensely-flavored blackberry sorbet sent me off to dreamland. No one felt sorry for me.

Located just outside of the charming Napa Valley town of St. Helena - Meadowood is situated on two hundred and fifty acres of prime real estate. The Eighty-five cottages, suites and lodges are discreetly tucked among the pines and oaks giving the property an understated elegance. 

Cocooned in a coral and sea foam-green loveseat, the tranquility of a tropical afternoon seeps in with my first sip of silver jasmine tea; I look up and San Francisco, bridge to bridge, is before me. This is the Mandarin Oriental—exquisite details of the Orient juxtaposed against beautifully-bold San Francisco.

Silk’s desserts, be they rich or light, are indeed grand finales. It’s my companion’s birthday and she orders Silk’s Three Sorbets. They arrive on a large plate decorated with chocolate birthday wishes—festive, not hackneyed. Passion fruit is the star of the sorbets, all intensely-flavored, icy bites of the tropics. A warm chocolate cake oozing with molten chocolate is cooled by silken ice cream more than eases my wee craving. 

Highland's main building clings to the very edge of the continent. Much of it is in the original, locally quarried, golden granite. Two massive fireplaces anchor either end of the capacious central room with cantilevered beams supporting the redwood sky lit ceiling. The décor is rustic luxury--overstuffed leather sofas and chairs, mission style oak furniture, original art, and six-foot bouquets of exotic flora. A telescope is set up to assist with whale (and/or people) watching and a Baby Grand is there for the playing. 

Pacific's Edge is part of the equally delightful Highlands Inn. You may have your cocktails or cognac in their immense stone walled, double fireplace sitting room or out on the decks with the sea breeze. Inside has its own, but rightfully understated drama--crackling fires, rock hewn walls, fine linens, intriguing and colorful glass plates and genuinely friendly actors.