Ironically, perhaps it was that exoticism that kept me securely rooted in the familiar confines of Berkeley during most those four years, admiring San Francisco mostly from afar. And daresay, that exoticism even bred a bit of jingoism? I recall at one point claiming to be a full-fledged East Bayian--"They can keep their wine and cheese and clam-chowder-in-a-bread-bowl!" Fortunately, that intolerance began to soften as I moved from teens to twenties, and the 13.6 miles between me and the City shrank from insurmountable-oceanic-suicide-mission to annoying-but-manageable-BART-trek. But, since life is fickle, as the distance shrank between myself and San Francisco; as the feelings matured and developed; as I was moving in for that first kiss, I was summoned 8,000 miles a way to teach Engrish in The Land of the Rising Sun.
It would be two years until I returned to San Francisco. Unfortunately, my return was not for pleasure, but for the unpleasant business of getting a legal education. I won't go into all the gory details, but let's just say law school was not the most joyous three years of my life. Although definitely a net positive, there were enough dark moments to the whole experience where afterwards I needed to put some distance between me and my once-love. To be honest, I felt betrayed, as if all those childhood and then grown-up daydreams were a setup; a mirage; a sick practical joke. Thinking that I had seen the City for what it really was, I was done with that godforsaken Bay Area cesspool and could not wait to go home to Los Angeles. So I very abruptly put San Fran-sucks-co in the rear view mirror and headed south to the boulevards, beaches, and babes of the City of Angels.
That was about four years ago. I've been back a handful of times since then, but each time I still got that bitter taste of betrayal in my mouth, and each time I left thinking that I'd made the right decision to push the "EJECT" button after law school. This past weekend, though, things seemed different. It started during the usually routine drive up from the airport. Passing by the sketchy "South San Francisco" sign emblazoned on the hilltop, Candlestick park holding on for dear life, and all the other airport-to-City landmarks extracted from deep within a sense of familiarity that I hadn't felt in a very long time. I eventually got dropped off at the 16th Street BART station where . . . wow. Perhaps driving around in a car the past four years had desensitized me a wee bit because I was a little overwhelmed by the raw intensity of it all--mentally unstable homeless man hog-tied on the street while police looked on; strung-out runaways planning their next scheme; nonchalant hipsters clutching the lapels of their vintage coats a bit too tightly; the faint aroma of urine in the air; the accumulation of grime that accompanies life in the city. Quite honestly, the frenzy and the humanity of it all was a bit unnerving. But in a very good way. A very familiar way. Like when Dorothy first steps into Oz and all its Technicolor glory; when she steps from dream to reality.
Having received my unofficial welcome-back greeting from the denizens of the Mission District, my dear friend arrived shortly thereafter to take me to he and his fiance's residence, where I would be staying. G and P are amazing friends, and their hospitality only enhanced the feeling of home I'd had upon my most recent arrival to the City (albeit in a much different way!). Remember when I said law school was a net positive? A big part of what went into the calculus of shifting the equation from negative to positive was the multitude of amazing people I met (like G) and the good times spent together. So, a stimulating conversation with G and P over wine turned into a delicious home-cooked meal of shrimp and fennel that turned into Warren G's Regulate that turned into a reunion at Thieve's Tavern that turned into shots of whiskey at Elixir that turned into . . . Well, truth be told, things after that are a bit hit-or-miss, but I seem to recall: karaoke at the Mint, playing wing man, last call, last out of the bar, giving some impromptu love advice on the street, and a gyro. Although, the things I didn't recall turned out to be much more interesting (ahem!).
The next day, after some delicious crab cakes florentine in a greenhouse (ok, not really a greenhouse, but the patio of the Squat and Gobble, which I consider greenhouse-esque), I requested that we go to the Golden Gate Bridge. Of all the things to do in San Francisco, I don't know why I selected that, but it sprung to mind as something I needed to do (yes, needed). Before heading there, we made a brief detour to the top of Twin Peaks (were the Eye of Sauron lives). I'd never been there before, but the view is simply breathtaking, a panoramic 360 degree view of the entire city. And of course, that day the weather was perfect--sunny, crisp, and clear.
For whatever reason I searched for my law school from that magnificent perch above the City. After squinting for a good while, I finally spied 100 McAllister poking its head out between City Hall and the rest of the Civic Center. What was once such a giant, oppressive presence in my life was now so . . . diminutive; barely visible among the rest of the city. It was at that moment that I'd realized how much of a fool I'd been for taking that misguided view of San Francisco four years ago. It wasn't San Francisco that'd left such a bitter taste and a feeling of betrayal, but the law school meat grinder that had done so. Unfortunately, I'd conflated the two when in reality the one had very little to do with the other. This was crystal clear in looking down upon the City where the law school was such a small part of a much larger, must more beautiful landscape; a minor blemish. And in reality I'd only experienced a small part of what San Francisco has to offer while in law school. I suppose that should've been obvious to me much earlier, but it's funny how certain life experiences can dull the senses.
Anyway, I felt a sense of peace atop Twin Peaks that I hadn't felt in quite a while, and it was with that sense of peace that we moved on to the Golden Gate Bridge, which on a clear day is simply breathtaking. Someone mentioned that they probably painted the thing red to mask rust, but whatever the reason, it was a brilliant idea because the color makes this otherwise nondescript mass of steel radiate with beauty. It's a sight to behold and the envy of all other bridges (just go ask the Bay Bridge). We decided to walk across the bridge, which I highly recommend to anyone who hasn't tried it. It's fun to see all the boats and windsurfers skipping across the water right below you. I also like the unique view of the City from the Golden Gate Bridge because it's not the usual view you always see. Kind of like seeing your lover without any makeup on. But I'll tell ya, even au naturale she's a beaut'. And it was about halfway across the bridge while gazing across the water that I had a sense of deja vu. I was 17 again and standing atop the Campanile, gazing across the water to the beautiful, shimmering jewel pulsating with beauty and possibility. Time and a fresh perspective had washed away the stench of some bad years to expose the allure of the City that'd made me fall in love with it all those many years ago. As I was taking it all in, the "Excuse me!" of an impatient runner snapped me out of my daydream, and our party continued on its journey over the bridge. However, that sensation of deja vu resonated deep within and stirred something that lay dormant for a long, long time. The rest of the day was chill and included a delicious dinner at Burma Superstar (with no wait--a miracle!), some quiet drinks at Rye, and then The Unresolved Love Life of Evelyn Lee (that's a real bar name). Sleep soon followed with its dreams of childhood trolley car rides.
The day of my departure was cold and dreary. The clear skies and 70 degree weather having been replaced with low clouds, a biting wind, and a dash of precipitation. My mood seemed to match the weather, which is strange because I usually relish going home after a trip. But I suppose this time, I felt like I was leaving home for some foreign land called Los Angeles. As it turns out, the boulevards, beaches, and babes weren't all they were cracked up to be, not suiting my personality or my lifestyle. Square peg meets round hole. Now, don't get me wrong, San Francisco isn't perfect either--the pretentiousness that permeates certain sectors bothering me the most ("Look at my big brain, bitch!"). And let's not forget that damned baseball team. So there's that. But, all in all, I'd like to give the City another try, this time without all the complications, distractions, and distortions of law school. Whether that's going to be this month, this year, or this lifetime is yet unknown, but I do feel like I have some unfinished business to attend to. If nothing else, I guess I finally understand what Mr. Bennett meant about leaving his heart in San Francisco.
Home is where the heart is.
--KM
"But why should I resist when, baby, I know so well I've got you under my skin."
Glad you enjoyed your reunion! Also: http://goldengatebridge.org/research/facts.php#PaintedIntnlOrange
ReplyDelete