It is tempting to fill every day in the valley with wineries and reservations. But the house is built for the opposite, and the guests who stay longest tend to leave a day for nothing at all. Here is how that day goes.
Morning comes in through glass. Coffee on the terrace while the valley is still cool and the vineyards catch the first light. Someone swims. Nobody is in a hurry.
By late morning the sun is on the pool and the loungers, and the day settles into its shape — a book, a long lunch you cook together in the open kitchen, the record player going. If you would rather not cook, this is a good day to ask the concierge to send a chef, who will shop, cook and clean, and leave you the table and the view.
The valley saves its best for five o'clock, when the hills turn gold and then rose, and the whole west side of the sky puts on a show. Light the fire. Open something you bought that week. Watch the stars arrive over a place with no light pollution to hide them.
That is the day the house was designed for. Everything else — the wineries, the tables — is better for having had it.