Bay Area

Landed in Oakland, it was late and the airport was empty. First stop, In-N-Out burger, I wasn't hungry, but I downed a double-double with fries (animal style) because you have to do these things when you land in a place, to remind yourself that you're elsewhere, to brag about it on your blog. Drove to Berkeley in the dark with my aunt and my mom.

Berkeley: Woken by a tea kettle blasting from the house next door. I forgot where I was. Do things like this happen in other places? The sky was grey and after some time, I drove to San Francisco to meet some friends. The sun came out and the DJ on the radio commented on it, like it was a lunar eclipse. He thanked the gods, which must have angered his audience.

Golden Gate Park is like Central Park except nobody gives a shit when you make an excursion to a park in San Francisco. It's not some noble mission, it's just a regular part of life. On the other hand, Dolores Park (with friends and some fifteen dollar sandwiches from Tartine) felt less like a park than a petri dish of subculture. The near-naked on blankets, young boozers, readers, dog-owners, a man waving a baton crowned with a beehive of marijuana as a prop for business. Sellers, beggers, nappers. It was almost hot in the sun, a man came by with beers, 1/$3 and 2/$5. Like an idiot, I asked him what kind of beer he had. He replied "I got ice cold beer." I had no choice but to buy. It was Pabst. We were happy.

The next day I went up to La Loma Park in Berkeley, where I read in silence and only saw one other person in the hour I was there. The park was atop a hill and had a view across the bay into San Francisco. Like many do, I felt stupid for not living there.

The farmer's market in Berkeley was odd. There was authentic Himalayan food and more things to list than I ought to. In between two stalls selling--between them--herbs, oils, mushrooms, seaweed, and echinacea was a man was perched on his amp, playing Tracy Chapman's Fast Car (an insanely chicky song) on his acoustic guitar without a shred of self-doubt or irony. In that instant, I realized that Berkeley is too enlightened for me.

Family events and dinners and galas complete, I went to San Francisco and spent the night in my friend's gallery in an uncolonized part of the city. A place that pulled duty as a home, art gallery, garden, music studio, party venue, playhouse for a zealous and affectionate all-white cat, and guesthouse for travelers. We smoked pot and had vegetarian Indian food for dinner. I couldn't believe where I was. I left in the morning.