i send my SOS to the world- this is my message in a bottle. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A View From the Top Today was one of those days that remind me of why I fell in love with this city so quickly, and why I feel like there are more cities to explore. After class I went to Go Go Cafe and had my obsession: Honey Walnut Prawns. I sat in my regular seat when I come alone, by the window, reading The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley which I checked out at the library today. The waitress was a waitress I've had before, but today she was friendlier than any other time I've been in before. She was all smiles, even hooking me up with a bowl of soup which was perfect on this cold NorCal day. After about an hour there, I decided there was more exploring to do and I headed out and down Lincoln. On impulse, I turned into Golden Gate Park, following no particular path. I ended up at the Conservatory, the large white greenhouse in the midst of the park. I wandered through the gardens, a good number of tourists dotting the path. A lone saxaphone player stood near the bridged underpass, his instrument creating a plaintive cry that echoed through the grounds. I found a spot underneath a willow tree next to the underpass where I could hear him play, pulled out my book and listened while reading. The music was a freeform of note, each one a river of music that wafted over the scene. Every once in awhile I would stop and listen, just enjoying the feeling, savoring it. The saxaphone was the perfect complement to the mood. The sky was white, a sky I always note as so different from the expressive blue of home. Here, the sky has a colorlessness, an unbroken backdrop, not of angry grey but of the softest silver of perpetual cloudiness from the northern Pacific. I stayed as long as my cold hands would let me, reading until a break in the chapters let me leave. I drove more and without aim, before spying signs for "Twin Peaks". I didn't know what that was, but I figured the only way to find out was to go. I followed the signs, climbing past Victorian homes of quintessential San Francisco charm, getting more and more excited by the moment. I could see flashes of the view to come through the homes as I drove, but part of me stopped myself from fully looking, knowing that the view would be spectacular once I got to the top. I drove around the bend as I reached the top, parked my car and drank in the view. Quick tears sprang to my eyes as I was overwhelmed. The city spread out directly in front of me, the lights of downtown, the rainbow flag in the middle of Castro, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay Bridge linking everything, the pastel colored homes, lights winking from Alcatraz. I stood transfixed for a long time, quiet. It reminded me in some ways of Mt. Soledad and of another world in other ways. I walked around and drank in the view from other sides, before retreating to my car and reading more of my book. I would look up every once in awhile and drink in the view again, amazed at this sense of...peace, the intangible feeling of being humbled by a place. I then drove down the mountain, wandering around trying to find Haight-Ashbury and a cup of cocoa. I wandered up and down the streets, buying a jaunty tan and teal scarf at Buffalo Exchange for four dollars, and some vinyl records; Sade-Promise and Stevie Wonder- In Square Circle. I bought Stevie Wonder's Songs in the Key of Life at the Berkley flea market last week- but I still haven't purchased a record player yet. Still looking for a good one. I walked down the street and a guy ran towards me from across the street and I quickly sidestepped so as not to get in his way. To my suprise he stopped in front of me, turning towards me. "Let's go on a pizza date," he said almost commandingly. "Excuse me?" I was flustered and caught off guard, if anything. "Right now?" I couldn't help but laugh. "Yea, right now," he said, smiling. He seemed nice enough, but I was so taken off guard that the oft-use lie rose quickly to my lips. "I've got to go," I said, smiling as I took a few steps back. "Do you go to school?" he asked, stepping towards me. "Yea," I answered. "What do you study?" he probed, making conversation. "Sociology," I said. "I like your hat," he referred to my cranberry colored newsboy cap, one of my favorite hats. "Thanks," I said in reply. "Name one hip hop group," he asked randomly, this white guy in the middle of Haight Ashbury, as it looked obvious that I was about to walk away. "A Tribe Called Quest," I said in response, as I made my way to leave. "Thanks though for making my day," I finished before making my way down the street. I smiled for no reason, my vanity tickled by this random stranger who felt the need to run across a busy street to ask me for pizza. I wandered into Ameoba and while I had heard stories of it's fabled scope, I wasn't prepared for the sheer magnitude of music. I wanted to spend days in there immediately and was sidetracked repeatedly, but I knew why I came: to find out about turntables. So I went to the information desk but was referred to the music store down the street. I tore myself away and made my way there, enjoying the feel of music again, but this time in the form of wall to wall guitars, drums and creativity. They didn't have what I was looking for, and I referred to another music store off Market, although the salesman made me promise not to go there during the evening because of it's shady-ness. I departed and found a cafe, the Blue Front Cafe for my long waited cup of hot white chocolate and my book. I sat there for another hour, finishing it up and savoring each word. I love the fact that this marveled diversity took place over one day, that creativity seeps out of the energy of this city like water held in a sponge. I love the fact that these adventures are mine and mine alone, that I can be excited, entertained, moved and touched simply by driving around. That there were people who affected me whom I did not know, the saxophone player, the guy who asked me out, the waitress at the GoGo cafe. No companion was necessary to be affected by this city. I think that in some ways, this place is a touchstone and whenever I get lost, it is a touchstone to remind me of every reason I am here. It exists past school or friends or acquaintences. It's the feel of being somewhere that can touch you without words. 1:40 a.m. - Friday, Mar. 18, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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