Almost a decade ago I remember standing on the overlook in Sausalito, just above the Coast Guard Station and watching fog stream into San Francisco Bay from the Pacific Ocean. The interior of California was baking hot, over 100 degrees, and as a result the cold sea chilled air was being pulled under the Golden Gate Bridge in a steady gray stream of clouds. Above the bridge the sky was clear blue. To the southeast from my vantage point I could see a silver veil over Alcatraz island. I stood there with a couple of junior staffers and just took in the view. This was northern California at its best. Magnificent was not too strong a word - at least on that day.
A week later I would find myself heading home, suitcase rolling behind me down Powell Street, in a scene that stood in stark contrast to the near glimpse of heaven I got in Sausalito.
Powell Street is tourist central, or at least was the last time I was there. It has world class art galleries displaying original Miros and Picassos in the windows. There are tourist trappy type places too. A trolley makes its way up and down the steep hill filled with delighted visitors.
It’s what most people think of when they think of San Francisco - the city.
But adjacent to this area is an area called The Tenderloin. It’s an area that is filled with homeless people and hard drug users. During the day they can be seen sleeping under store overhangs and in city parks. In the evening things get weirder.
San Francisco is the only place I have ever been where I’ve been chased into a restaurant by a street person who demanded, DEMANDED, that I buy her a slice of pizza.
“You’re gonna buy me a piece of pizza.” This woman said as she trailed behind me and as I approached the counter of the pizzeria.
“No I am not.” I explained.
“You WILL buy me a piece of pizza.”
“No I will not.” I stared back at the pathetic emaciated woman.
She glared back, turned, and left, thankfully not to be seen again.
I ate my pizza and briskly made my way down to the BART train which would then take me to the airport and then home.
On the plane I reflected on the incident. What if the lady had done something horrible? It could have happened.
San Francisco is a city I have spent considerable time in a few times. It’s a city that I had really come to appreciate. I liked its weirdness. I liked that weed periodically wafted on the breeze. I came to love the fog, and the food, and the views, and the generally almost southern style warmness of at least some people. I enjoyed the little island of Wall Street in the financial district. I enjoyed people watching from the top of Hippy Hill in Golden Gate Park. I loved the plants (which given the unique climate of San Francisco can be really spectacular, think giant poinsettia bushes, almost trees.) I enjoyed drinking hipster crafted beers in The Haight. I liked and LIKE San Francisco. But that lady gave me pause.
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