California blog series, part I: San Francisco

Well, here goes. The photos are still in process, but there are so many of them anyway that I'll probably just do a Prilstar-esque post about the photos alone once I finally get them sorted through. After all, my main impetus for beginning this blog was to pontificate on my worldly meanderings and so far, California is the closest thing I have to that. With the impending Cuba trip being a resort experience, it might not even topple it.

Anyway, to this point, I've been comfortably mum, for the most part, on the 10-day vacation I took in late August with my dear friend Erin, that was a very necessary and appreciated period of rejuvenation bookmarked by a crazy summer working three jobs and playing endless baseball and a term dominated by countless hours in the Cord office, two mindbending fourth-year seminars, and my part-time Record work. Basically, I wanted to have a chance to sort out my thoughts and provide something worthy of reflection here, but I'm always happy to discuss my wanderings in person if these posts don't answer to your every curiosity. So, here goes. My thoughts on the experience, complemented by italicized portions from the completely impromptu 22-page travel journal I ended up keeping (I blame the fact that Erin sleeps a lot more than me and I needed something to do in the gaps *laughs* ... and that whole notorious verbosity of mine, I suppose).

Anyway, our trip began in San Francisco, so that seems like a reasonable place to start recounting it. We arrived on the 22nd (of August, that is) and left on an 11 pm bus departing the city on the 24th, an eight-hour drive to LA that saved us both the daylight sightseeing hours and the cost of a hostel for the night. In between, we rode the cable cars (an experience that made me feel strangely connected to the city, even though I remain almost certain that the only people to ever use them are the tourists), walked across Golden Gate Bridge (both ways - took about an hour and a half. Turns out it's big.), meandered Golden Gate Park, spent a morning at the Aquarium of the Bay, an afternoon in the Haight-Ashbury district (where the hippies and beat poets once roamed), checked out Fisherman's Wharf, and did a 3.5-hour evening tour of Alcatraz. I'll let the pictures (when they come) speak for most of that, and I'll post on Alcatraz a little later, but for now, I think one of the most interesting parts of San Francisco was the second evening we were there. Erin was exhausted (she'd been on vacation with her mom in Pennsylvania just prior to our trip and I think the constant movement was catching up), so we went to bed at 8 pm. However, after an hour, I was wide awake and got up to meander the city alone. Here's what I wrote upon returning to the hostel three hours later.

My evening … was delightful. I spent far too much money and probably earned myself the hypocrisy crown by traveling alone, at night, in the drug addict/homeless centre of a major foreign city – but it was stellar...

I meandered into the Mission District, where I stumbled across the San Francisco Chronicle’s office – an impressive building to say the least. This city, unsurprisingly, seems to have a great writer’s niche; I’ve also picked up two of the many plus-sized Echo-esque weekly papers I’ve stumbled across.

After shooting a few pics of the Chronicle building – which I’m sure will turn out poorly, as I was fairly nervous to be sporting such an expensive camera in a pretty poor part of town – I wandered a little further into the Mission, where I met Alan, a 40-year-old Detroit native who is black as night. This was the highlight of my day. We shot the shit on how racism bleeds America and he was a very interesting guy. He claimed to have attended university at my age, though I’m not sure I believe it since he was clearly only semi-literate as he attempted to read my email address. He did admit to nearly killing himself with drugs, though, and spoke very eloquently with a fairly sophisticated vocabulary, so maybe he did.

I realize these people immediately try to forge a connection and be your friend before they ask you for help, but I haven’t bought into the numerous others. Alan, if he gave me a legit name, seemed embarrassed to ask me for money, as though his pride prevented him from doing so but also from sleeping outside. In the end, I gave him both my email and the $7 to sleep at the YMCA, and while I never expect to hear from him again, it’d be neat. He also insisted on giving me his favourite gospel CD as “collateral” (see – decent vocab), so maybe I’ll just have a religious experience out of the whole deal. A smart person would say the odds he did anything with my money besides drinking or drugs are slim to none, but I pride myself on never having put much stock in being smart. Anyway, all the best to Alan from Mission and 6^th Street. If nothing else, you gave me one more Detroit connection with which to build my street cred.

Here's a shot of the Chronicle building - poor, as promised.


Anyway, there's much more to be said in the coming posts, but I just felt that my night of wandering really put me in touch with the feel of the city and it was a neat experience that I wanted to share. Stay tuned.