NorthBeachChinatownPolkGulchNobHillRussianHill

Grant Avenue

Day 143
Co-Walker: Monique
Neighborhoods Covered: Financial District, Jackson Square, North Beach, Chinatown, Union Square
Streets Completed: Columbus, Vandewater, Richard Henry Dana Place, Nobles, Wentworth, Newell

There was that house on Jackson Street. I can't remember who lived there first: DaveG? Dan? Shayne? D? They all passed through at one point, though I have it in my head that Dave was there longest--and at any rate, it's DaveG with whom I most strongly associate that place.

Otis and I still laugh about this: whenever anyone would ask Dave where he lived, his reply would vary depending on his mood, who was doing the asking, the day, the weather, and any number of other factors. Often, it was North Beach, and just as often Chinatown, both of which made a good amount of sense, as Jackson between Powell and Mason could be considered part of either (if perhaps leaning a bit more toward the latter).

But sometimes it would be Nob Hill--a bit of a stretch--or Russian Hill (ditto), and sometimes Polk Gulch, which seemed to be thrown in there just as some sort of ringer.

There was, of course, a kernel of truth to Dave's shifting neighborhood claims. In that part of the city, the lines between one 'hood and the next weave and blend and blur, sometimes to the point of non-existence. So within a handful of choices, he could more or less rightly claim to live wherever he felt like saying he lived.

I thought of this as Monique and I walked the length of Columbus while she was here on vacation. (Yes, this all happened more than a month ago; clearly, life has gotten in the way of all things WSF lately. But there you have it.)

Columbus starts (or ends, depending on your perspective) in the shadow of the Transamerica Pyramid at Washington and ends, somewhat abruptly, at Beach Street, in the shadow of 10 billion tourists looking for Pier 39. It wouldn't be altogether inaccurate to say that Columbus is entirely in North Beach, as it is that neighborhood's main thoroughfare, but it also wouldn't be wrong to toss in more detail. At its southern end, it dips its toes into the Financial District, and comes within spitting distance of Jackson Square. As it meanders north, it sorta kinda maybe brushes Chinatown. And as it nearly butts up to the Bay, it officially sticks its nose into Fisherman's Wharf. Not quite DaveG's NorthBeachChinatownPolkGulchNobHillRussianHill, perhaps, but not too far off.

To a lesser degree, the same holds for Grant, which we took chunks of on the way back. But unlike Columbus, which maintains a fairly consistent commercial front for the duration, Grant meanders from strictly residential in Telegraph Hill to a blend of housing and commerce in North Beach to a riotous and insane all-out capitalist fiesta in (ironic, no?) Chinatown.

So it was that by the time we'd reached the Chinatown gates, I was 100% officially exhausted and done for the day: so many neighborhoods (and neighborhood-lets) in so few streets and so relatively little time. I was glad to head home and leave it all behind.

Back in the Day

Where Berry Street ends (more or less)

Day 127
Neighborhoods Covered: Civic Center, Mission, South of Market, China Basin
Streets Completed: 8th Street, Henry Adams, Trainor, Converse, Townsend, King, Norfolk

In 1997, BrainTrust was located down on Townsend, close to South Park, the site of the new Giants stadium, an RV park, a random smattering of buildings, and not much else. I'd found Braintrust online before I left Boston (which is to say, when the Internet was hilariously graphics deficient and less hilariously slower than slow), and it seemed like the best temp agency I was likely to come across in SF, aimed as it was toward, essentially, overly educated kids the agency could place in the dot-coms springing up like non-native plants all over the Bay Area.

When I came to San Francisco to visit in March of 1997, I took BART in from Oakland (where Jenn was good enough to host me) for the interview I'd arranged with BT. I so clearly remember walking from the Montgomery station down to Townsend, and being amazed by how much longer that walk was than I'd expected it to be when I consulted my map. There was south of Market, and then there was South of Market. This was the latter.

Fast-forward a few years to 2000. That BrainTrust interview begat a temp position in the Customer Care department of WebTV, which, despite my best attempts to hold out, became a full-time job with Microsoft. We were in Palo Alto for a while, then in Mountain View, and then, when I'd managed to get myself onto Sloo's team, awesomeness happened: he discovered that another division of Microsoft had office space in the China Basin Landing building in the city, and he arranged for Josh, Geoff, Eric, and I to work there.

Suddenly my commute shrank from a few hours to however long it took the N to get me from the Castro to China Basin. (Granted, that trip sometimes felt like a few hours.) Suddenly we went from an office park in Mountain View to the thick of things in San Francisco. Due in large part to the Interwebby money pouring into the area, SoMa and China Basin started to change, and we could see those changes on a fairly literal daily basis. But still, the RV park remained, there smack between King and Townsend. So did the vast parking lot that spread out before our building, and the equally vast swaths of empty land along the slough that pokes in from the Bay and stretches under the 280 on-ramp.

Over the course of our tenure at China Basin Landing, the pace of change quickened considerably. The CalTrain station got an overhaul. The RV park--somewhat unsurprisingly--was shuttered, and the land sold. The parking lot we could see from our windows filled with construction equipment, and for what felt like an endless stretch of days, we did battle with the sound of pile drivers sending supports for new buildings deep into the ground. New restaurants and shops and parking lots sprang up around the ballpark. Eventually, the division with whom we shared office space was transferred to Redmond. After a few quiet, eerie months in which we were the only ones there, we decamped to One Market to mooch off of another division, and I lost my main reason for keeping up with happenings in China Basin.

It will sound pat and overly obvious to say that the neighborhood now bears almost no resemblance to itself circa 1997, or even circa 2000. One thing hasn't changed: Townsend still offers no sidewalks between 7th Street and 4th Street. Beyond that, there's so little that's the same.

I walked around China Basin recently in something of a stupor. I've seen it since 2002, of course, and have seen the buildings spring from the ground as if they were nothing more than bamboo. But actually exploring things on foot made me realize the radical extent of the differences between then and now. It may as well be a different place altogether.

This will surely sound retrograde, and I can't argue with the need to put this land to use for housing and office space and what have you, but I have to admit to missing the old China Basin, if just a bit. Because for all of the neighborhood's current slickness, for all the appeal of actually having the sort of amenities (grocery stores, banks, restaurants) that were always, always in short supply anywhere south of Market, and for the ability to be there on a Saturday afternoon and see other people around, there's something empty and hollow about the place now.

It's a slippery slope, this ruing old San Francisco, or even not-so-old San Francisco. So much of what's changed here is for the good. But there's a tug, I guess, or a particular sliver of sadness when a part of the city that holds such strong memories of your personal history changes almost beyond recognition, or seems almost to disappear before your eyes.

Seaward

Irving Street

Day 122
Neighborhoods Covered: Outer Sunset
Streets Completed: None

Past a certain point, the Sunset stops feeling like it belongs in San Francisco. Nor does it really feel like a California beach town, as it's among the least likely to be sunny and clear, its name notwithstanding. The first time I ventured into the Outer Sunset beyond Lincoln Boulevard, I immediately thought, Wow, it's like the Jersey Shore in the off season. That impression has stayed with me, despite the fact that I've never actually been to the Jersey Shore.

From somewhere in the mid-teen Avenues (around 14th, maybe?), there's a slow but steady dip down toward Ocean Beach. Into the 30s, that dip gets more pronounced, and it's clear that you're walking downhill as you head west. It's also clear that the vast bulk of the city's commerce and services lie behind you, as there's precious little by way of retail once you cross Sunset Boulevard. There are a few rough-around-the-edges beach motels, a smattering of restaurants (including a sushi place I remember going to with Julie and Dana many years back, though why we ventured so far out for good but unremarkable sushi, I can't recall), a co-op grocery, a surf shop, and Java Beach--an institution, as far as I'm concerned). If you have greater needs, go elsewhere.

In part, it's this paucity of commerce that makes the neighborhood seem like a coastal town that's been drained, if temporarily, of its lifeblood. There are plenty of houses--in fact, they're as tightly packed as they are throughout the rest of the Sunset and the Richmond (although I must say that the O.S. is in the running for Greatest Number of Architectural Atrocities in the City and County of San Francisco)--but there always seems to be something oddly hushed about things out here. Come on a Sunday afternoon and you may hear the sounds of TVs escaping from a few windows, and may see a few people out on the streets, but you won't encounter much more. Come on a foggy, windy evening and you'll swear the whole neighborhood has gone empty.

Having lived my entire childhood in a beach town that went exceedingly quiet in winter, I can appreciate the beauty of that silence and solitude, but I also know the sense of desolation that can grow out of the quiet. As I walked today, I thought of the Jersey Shore (still, inexplicably), thought of Niantic, thought of how little I'd want to live out in the city's westernmost stretches, despite the possible preponderance of cute surfers. As much as I love the ocean, and would be a miserable git if I didn't live in relative proximity to the water, I don't think I could handle the sparseness or the silence.

So I took Irving to the Great Highway, walked a block south to Judah (past a sweet little mini-park bursting with beachy plants), and, not un-gladly, headed back toward parts livelier.

Back to the Beginning

Queen Wilhelmina Tulip Garden, Golden Gate Park

Day 48
Co-Walker: Jee
Neighborhoods Covered: Outer Richmond
Streets Completed: None, though we were one measly block away from knocking off Point Lobos

Last Wednesday I drove way, way, way out into the Richmond (as in 44th Avenue and Point Lobos) to walk and talk with my friend Jee. It had started out as an overcast and chilly afternoon, but by the time we reached the Great Highway, both of us had stripped off our coats and were wishing for sunglasses. That didn't last long--the wind picked up again a while later, and the sky started to cover over--but it was pleasant while it did.

Being out here again sent a few pangs knocking around inside me, because it was here at the western edge of the city, here on streets that I'd never before set foot on, here with my (then-) boyfriend at my side, that the idea for Walking San Francisco was born. I could've imagined at the time (and did) that I would actually adopt the cockamamie plan that was brewing in my head as we walked east from Sutro Heights in search of the pizza restaurant we never found, that I would indeed hoof it all over the city. What I couldn't have imagined back on that brilliant fall day (and, in fact, did not) was that with one brief and shining exception, that boy would opt himself out of my walking project, among other things.

So it was weird to be out at the edge of the world telling Jee the whole breakup story while simultaneously juggling memories of the pre-breakup world: that time at the Cliff House, that time at Sutro Baths, all of those sweet photos from Land's End....

But, of course, we don't live in the world of Memento, and I'm not relegated solely to returning to those memories I already have; I also get to collect new ones. So there's the nascent memory of Jee's hilarious and delightfully Jee-esque response to my claim that sometime soon I'll hoist myself back into the dating pool (a response that's unprintable here). There's the mental image of the bottom button of her jacket undone over her swollen belly. (Another boy!) There's the sweet thought of the Queen Wil garden explosive with tulips--a limited time offer.

And, as always, there's the sense of calmness and steadying I got--that I always get--as I looked out over Ocean Beach, past the surfers poking around in the waves, out to the unbreaking, unchanging line of the Pacific.