By Kat Barrow-Horth, for ROBIN RILE FINE ART

My 8 1/2 month pregnant belly endeavored to complete a battery of squats and lunges at our local gym, attempting to save what was left of my rear-end. Unsolicited, a passer-by said quite possibly the worst thing I heard while pregnant, “Everything changes. And you can kiss traveling goodbye“. At that point, it was hard to imagine the sensation of being deflated, (I hadn’t even seen my toes in months) But it happened. Transfixed, I stood like a spandex-clad sailboat, luff in a flat sea, with no wind left in her sails.

I didn’t want everything to change. I loved my life. I didn’t want to kiss traveling goodbye. I loved traveling. People act thrilled at finding out you’re pregnant only to bombard you with horror stories in the following breath: Emergency C-Sections, colic, babies that won’t sleep, illness, breastfeeding woes, loveless marriages, tantrums, etc. Despondent, I marched (well, waddled) back home to my husband Reed.

“He said everything will be different!” I pouted “He said we won’t travel again“.  Reed chewed on it for a moment, in his particular and thoughtful method of deliberation, and then said exactly what I needed to hear. “That’s bullshit“. Reed always knows what to say.

We had no idea what was coming.

New Years 2014 we spent in Interlaken, Switzerland, cheering with strangers, listening to live music and talking about how lucky we were.  “Aren’t we swell?!”

One year later I sit on the floor of a nursery, crying in a pathetic heap of self-pity.  Ronan Vander was born 8 lbs 3 oz in an easy delivery at the end of October. Then at nine weeks old, our son caught a serious virus while we were away visiting family over Christmas. Reed and I spent alternating nights sleeping on the nursery floor, startling awake each time the baby coughed. New Year’s came and went without us noticing. We were exhausted, distant and scared. Where was our marriage? What happened to our life? Maybe everyone was right. Maybe the life we knew and loved was really over.  Maybe we would never travel again.

After a time, the baby turned the corner and got better.  However, the experience left us considerably more traumatized than Ronan was. That week we started interviewing nannies so that I could get back to work. Reed and I own an art brokerage and have the luxury of making our own hours. After the baby was born this was ideal, as we could both be very hands-on. However, now required sanity in the form of a nanny. Reed simply handed me the phone and said, “They’re all good. Hire anyone. We need a break“.  Moments later I called Julie and, through sniffles, pathetically asked if she could start the next day. Getting Ronan sleeping through the night was the first smart thing we did in parenting. Hiring a nanny was the second.

In the meantime, we found out that the apartment-sharing website/app AirBNB was hosting a contest to win a trip to experience the “Real San Francisco”, all expenses paid, for up to 6 days. We simply had to write a short essay as to why we should win. It seemed too good to be true. Some time away to reconnect was exactly what we needed! Reed and I had used AirBNB many times in the past, renting apartments on our travels to Paris, New Orleans, Amsterdam, London and Vienna, among others. An apartment often provides the option to use a kitchen, washer or dryer, or just have more space for our luggage to explode like a jack-in-the-box. (Card carrying members of OA- Overpackers Anonymous)

Prior to having Ronan, we were avid travelers, having packed up our computers and our company and moving (somewhat haphazardly) to Europe for three months just after we were married. We then spent 112 days out of town in 2011, and left for 89 days the following year. We prefer AirBnB over hotels, as we like to stay amongst locals in order to really get a feel for each city and not be trapped amongst throngs of tourists. We enjoy getting lost on side streets, discovering an item of local interest or a haunt which only a local would know about. Our favorite times have come from being in neighborhoods off the beaten path. Reed and I have danced, drenched in sweat and covered in confetti on the streets of Barcelona with 1000 strangers. We have stood shivering at the top of the Swiss Alps and have sung Otis Redding tunes in a hosts’ apartment in Paris, while a bunch of drunk Parisians cheered us on. We left a lot of cash and our passports in the back of a toilet in Amsterdam and got into a snowball fight in London (I won).

There were few places we wouldn’t want to go and even fewer things we wouldn’t be up for. Now, with a baby, even going on dates was feeling like a luxury. Simply put, I asked AirBNB for a chance for my husband and I to go away for the first time without the baby. We needed to be a couple again. We needed to feel inspired. We needed to prove everyone wrong. We needed to prove to ourselves that our life wasn’t over because we had a baby, we were simply turning a new chapter. That chapter however needed to start from the beginning, with us… husband and wife.
Maybe the powers-that-be at AirBNB can relate. Maybe other people want to believe that a baby is an addition, not a subtraction. Maybe you don’t have to stop doing what you love, but perhaps modify it a little bit. Maybe there are a lot of parents out there who want to strap their babies on their back (or leave them at home) and see the world. Maybe other parents would rather their kids taste the pizza in Italy than see people make it on TV.

Maybe other parents are scared too.

I don’t know why it happened, but it did… And just like that… We won. Holy shit. We’re going away for six days, flying across the entire United States without our five month old baby. Are we FRIGGIN’ NUTS?!?

AirBNB kept the details to a minimum. Through a few emails with a woman named Caroline, we discovered we would be flying directly from Miami to San Francisco at the beginning of April. We filled out a survey of like and dislikes and heard nothing else until a few days before our trip. For a self-proclaimed Type A control freak, this was tremendously nerve racking, yet absolutely exciting.

As the baby would be staying with Grandma, I started packing as if we were leaving for a year. Our nanny would be there, helping out, with my sister and niece as additional back-up troops (Friends also stepped up to be back-ups to the back-ups). It’s very hard to trust anyone with your baby, even the people that you trust most in this world, but Reed and I knew that we would never again have an opportunity like this. As a couple and as business owners, we’ve learned that when the world gives you an option to say “yes” or “no”… You say “yes” and figure it out later.

Though I may need to be drugged, tied-up and dragged to the airport, we were going. And just like that, we were flying over the vast yellow plains of the central United States, two glasses of white wine sloshed in quivering hands. What the hell were we doing?

After the six hour flight, we landed in San Francisco and before the captain granted us permission to use our cell phones, I was calling my mom. “How are you? Is he OK? Is he asleep? What did you do today? Do you need anything? Did he eat? Did he poop? Did he….”

“Kat,” she said, cutting me off, “The baby is fine“.

She went on to tell me a few banal details of a day in the life of a 5 month old. I hung on every word. As she spoke, I would repeat everything to Reed. “He ate“, I told him. “He napped“. “He pooped“. (Parents spend far too much time being concerned with their children’s bowel movements).

We picked up our bags at baggage claim and Reed fiddled around with the new UBER app he had installed on his phone. We had only taken cabs in Miami – though they’re not at all reliable – because Uber had only arrived in a few months before in Miami. (We’re sadly not exactly a city that is hip to the times.)

Reliable public transportation… What do you mean?

Within moments we were picked up by Giovanni, a soft-spoken Italian who drove a silver Honda. Though small in stature, he was a beast when helping us shove our robust bags into the back of his small car.  (Unknowingly, we had selected the “carpool” option on the app and did not realize this until several rides later after meeting many charming people). We carpooled with a wide-grinned woman named Cynthia. As we barreled over hills and looked upon candy-colored shot-gun homes, we learned that Giovanni was from a small town north of Venice, Italy and Cynthia was an artist who owned a barn in Colorado built in the 1800s that they rented out for weddings. She explained to us that the neighborhood we were staying in, The Mission, was one of the best local spots:  Edgy, artistic and now quite expensive. She said it had been a seedy and dangerous part of town ten years earlier but artistic places tend to lead in the gentrification process, as has happened in the Wynwood District of Miami. People tend to flock to where the artists are then the prices drive the artists out. As we ourselves are in the arts, AirBNB tailored this selection of apartment for us perfectly.  We had mentioned that we don’t like to be in touristy areas and that we would rather mill about with the locals and discover things, The Mission, they knew, was exactly where we wanted to be.

A flurry of great conversations later, we arrived at our first apartment; A charming flat with bay windows and mid-century modern furniture situated between Noe Valley and The Mission in San Francisco. Giovanni pulled up to the apartment, helped with our bags and wished us luck on our trip. We handed Cynthia our card and promised to keep in touch. After negotiating the keypad to enter the garage, we proceeded up a short flight of stairs.

Short for me at least. I didn’t have to carry the over-packed bags.

The one bedroom apartment was like Mary Poppins: Practically perfect in every way. Original art from 3 Fish Studios staggered the living room walls. A vintage chair and ottoman in nubby fabric was positioned in front of a console with modern accents. Two large gray poufs sat in one of the bay windows. In the other, a white dining room table for four. The apartment was spotless and the bedding was an eclectic mix of patterns, colors and large fur decorative pillows. Our hosts had stocked the fridge with cheeses, fruit, crackers, wine and a box of shortbread cookies. We made embarrassingly short order of those cookies. Hungry and tired from our flight, we sat at the table and Reed poured us each a glass of wine.

“Grateful“, he said, raising his glass. “Grateful“, I said back, teary.

The five following days we followed a loose agenda AirBNB provided for us. The schedule left time for us to explore but also provided options to a wide variety of really amazing things that we may not have discovered on our own.

We took a sailboat tour which left out of Pier 39 and sailed us past sea lions, Alcatraz and under the Golden Gate Bridge. She is certainly an elegant, red behemoth of a bridge. The skies were perfectly clear and the air was crisp, colder than our Miami winter (which isn’t saying much). The catamaran glided effortlessly through the bay and we had a chance to experience the water-view of San Francisco, who earned her titled, “The Queen of the West“. The last time we were on the bridge was two years prior when we rode bikes across it with a group of friends. Stopping in the middle, I remember straddling our bikes, pointing to the Pacific Ocean and saying to Reed, “look at what we get to do“. This is a phrase we say whenever we’re somewhere noteworthy, or sometimes when we’re in a simple place that makes us happy. It is our way to get each other to stop and pay attention to what we’re doing; to be present.

“Look at what we get to do“, he said as we coasted beneath the wide shadow of the bridge. “Look at what we get to do“, I said right back.

Later that day, our sojourn led us to a crowed local rooftop bar, El Techo de Lolinda, covered with cafe lights and heaters, boasting an expansive view of the city’s peach-colored sunset. We ate generous tapas at the sister-restaurant downstairs, Lolinda, and had local tequila and craft cocktails. A notoriously picky eater growing up, I always vow to try new local dishes, no matter how unappealing they look. As we laughed over dinner and recounted our day on the water, Reed and I snuggled effortlessly into the couple, not the parents, we always were.

The following day, AirBNB had recommended visiting the Legion Of Honor, a gorgeous hilltop museum housing an impressive collections of sculptures by Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), one of Reed’s favorite artists. Reed walked me through the museum explaining the significance of each piece. “This bust was submitted to the Paris ‘Salon’ multiple times before it was accepted“. Then on to another, “These two figures were actually separate sculptures that the artist fused together“. A diminutive woman approached us saying that the museum offered a private docent tour, but clearly we didn’t need one. My own private docent is 6′-3”, bearded,  bespectacled and dashingly good looking. Further, he is not afraid to pay homage to Beyonce (and Bob Fosse) by posing in front of Rodin’s “Three Shades” in the (in)famous “All The Single Ladies“ pose.

(At least he wasn’t wearing tights…. This time).

Downstairs, we toured the High Style Exhibit, featuring over 100 years of women’s fashion evolution loaned from the Brooklyn Museum Collection. Sequined Dior gowns and vintage Haute Couture by Chanel, Givenchy, Charles James and Elsa Schiaparelli. I was whisked into an era of pure feminine decadence peering into trunks full of women’s shoes that were $10,000 a piece at the time. (Over $130,000 in today’s dollars). Gimmie some! The Legion of Honor allowed us to discuss  our great loves; Me, billowy chiffon and satin vintage fashion, and Reed, impressionist sculptors and painters.

Other fun excursions over the next few days included a night at the California Academy of Sciences (The museum opens to the public one night per month, with a hipster vibe of DJs, cocktails, science/art stations, and finger food). We were so inspired by our night there that upon returning to home, contacted the new Museum of Science that is currently under construction in Downtown Miami and suggested that they consider something along these lines.  We also went on an interesting  tour of the Heath Ceramics factory, where we learned first-hand about the decades-old company and were able to see how their wares were produced.

Additionally, AirBNB recommended a hike through wooded trails along the coast to the Sutro Pools at Land’s End which was a nice break from city and boasted incredible views of the Pacific Ocean. I may have been the first person to hike to Lands End wearing fake eyelashes, but won’t be the last! Finally, as it’s always about the food, AirBNB recommended a bevy of snugly restaurants and bars with delicious local fare. Needless to say, my skinny jeans did not fit so well after the trip. We explored murals on Valencia Street in the Mission, had spiced hot chocolate and perused vintage stores. We locked hands, took goofy videos, spoke in accents and made fun of each other relentlessly. One of us suggested that perhaps we make California our home the following summer, the other agreed. “Want to spend three months in California with the baby?”

“Yes!”

Reed and I had two weddings, one traditional and one 1920’s where all the guests dressed era-appropriate, drank classic cocktails and listened to the scratchy sounds of 1920s jazz. One evening, AirBNB had recommended we go to a bona-fide Speakeasy, which was right up our (literal and figurative) alley. We gussied ourselves up, me in a sequins dress and Reed in a black suit, and headed down to Little Italy. Without giving away too much, entry is not automatic, as it would never be in an actual Speakeasy. There is a process which, if followed, will provide private entry to a wonderful production company which hosts a series of rooms draped in velvet curtains, antique furniture and gambling tables. It was later explained to us that Speakeasy is a play, though that evening was a promotion. Actors and audience interact in a “choose your own adventure” production with drinks, drama and intrigue. While many people there dressed in vintage clothing, others didn’t. We had an incredible night speaking with many in the production and in the audience, playing roulette with chips they provided and having classic cocktails. Reed hit it big at Roulette when his lucky number 13 hit at 35/1, and I was coerced to play a horrible rendition of chopsticks on a vintage piano. Reed made friends with a group of aspiring magicians. At the outset of the evening I had told Reed that I was exhausted and might not make it more than a few hours. We were out until 2:00 AM and shut the place down. First to show up, last to leave. Mom and dad still got it!

The last leg of our trip was possibly the most amazing surprise that AirBNB kept under wraps until the end. We received an email telling us to pack our bags for a quick jaunt across the bay to the lazy coastal town of Sausalito. At the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge, Sausalito sits perched like a pretty bird, dappled with homes with large bay-view windows, pouring over her hills which tumble directly into the sea. On a tiny, private sliver of beach near the heart of town, AirBNB put us up for the night in a bungalow whose entrance was solely through an access gate along the wooden boardwalk. Reed and I live in the quintessential beach town; it isn’t easy to impress us in this way. But this wood clad home was best described by Reed as, “The most beautiful place we’ve ever stayed“.

The bungalow looked out into the bay with large windows on three sides looking out into the water. The décor was clean mix of distressed furniture, blue and white striped fabrics and wood paneling on the interior walls. Sea green glass lamps graced the side tables, jute rugs lined and floors and a pair of oars hung above the front door. An over-sized farmhouse table and heavy wooden benches provided seating for 16 and the pillow-top beds were soft and inviting. Nautical details were carefully placed around the house: Wooden boats, ship ropes and photos of sailboats. Neither of us felt the urge to leave. The view to the bay and the beauty of the home was unparalleled to anything we would find in the outside world. We sat quietly on the front steps looking at the boardwalk and the bay beyond, sprinkled with white sails cutting through the water. We stayed out there long after the sun set on the hill behind us, the gentle chop of the water filled the air. “Look at what we get to do“, I said

We sat outside until our eyes began to get heavy knowing that once we went to sleep, the trip would very sadly be over. As we went inside, Reed started humming a familiar tune then pulled the song up on my cellphone as he gently slipped it in the pocket of my pea coat. He took my hand and, for a few wonderful minutes, we danced alone and in the dark, listening to “Love of My Life” by Queen. The only sounds were the sound of the music and our feet creaking ever so lightly on the wooden floors. We held each other close. That’s where we feel most at home.

Somewhere between The Mission & Sausalito, Reed and I… The couple, not the parents… found each other once again.