Plus Ca Change

Larkin and Broadway (-ish)

Day unknown (I have officially stopped counting; I do know the date, though: April 4, 2009)
Neighborhoods Covered: Civic Center, Tenderloin, Russian Hill, North Point, Polk Gulch
Streets Completed: Larkin, Polk

Preamble
Those of you with a keen sense of time by now have realized that my Quixotic plan to finish this Walking San Francisco project in a year became null and void approximately, oh, four months ago. There are big swaths of streets I've finished, but there are even bigger swaths I haven't even looked at on my map, let alone set foot on. So the walking continues.

And although I've been hideous about updating this blog for the past *cough cough cough* months, I have actually been walking during that time, though in random spurts. What appears below is the post I meant to put up, oh, 3 months ago. Following this one, I'll post another belated report (from June), and, finally, will get myself up to date by writing about today's walk. Thanks for sticking around.

April 4, 2009
Perhaps because it forms the heart of San Francisco’s Little Saigon, with more small stores and businesses in its southern reaches than its neighboring streets have, Larkin presents less of a Midnight of the Human Soul experience as it wends through Civic Center/the Tenderloin than do Polk Street, to its west, or Hyde, due east.

That’s not to say you’re unlikely to encounter the usual suspects (human and/or animal waste on sidewalks; staggering individuals, possibly dressed in a manner that allows for easy and rapid undressing; grime; &c), but, to Larkin’s credit, they’re slightly less abundant than you might otherwise expect.

As with so many of San Francisco’s streets, both Larkin and Polk hit the extremes of income and, if we might extrapolate, human happiness as they coast from one neighborhood to the next. One the one end, the ‘Loin, where unhappiness and things gone very, very wrong are often on display. On the other, Fisherman’s Wharf via Russian Hill, where you can almost smell the money in the air. (What you smell on the southern end is markedly NOT money.) Roundabouts Geary, things can go fairly rapidly in one direction or the other depending on, well, which direction you take.

My trip up Larkin and back down Polk was in sharp contrast to the last walk through the Tenderloin I did, which was, like the perennial 7th grade challenge, grosser than gross. This time around, things seemed fairly staid and normal. On Larkin, the most excitement I witnessed was a waitress literally running two blocks to hand back a sweatshirt a patron had just left in her restaurant. On Polk, I saw a line of tourists on Segways and mobs of Russian Hill dwellers spilling out of coffee shops and bars all along the street. In all, pretty tame stuff.

My only direct interaction with Polk Street’s seedier side was the young woman, clearly messed up on something, who took way, way too long deciding what kind of donut she wanted at Bob’s (for the record: my pick for best donut in San Francisco). When I finally reached the counter, the woman behind it sighed and said, “She’s not well.”

Luckily, and not surprisingly, the donut was worth the wait, and it made me happy enough that my return trip along lower Polk left me unfazed, standard ‘Loin miseries on display notwithstanding.

Bayward

Dinghies near the Aquatic Park

Day 66
Neighborhoods Covered: Civic Center, Nob Hill, Russian Hill, Fisherman's Wharf
Streets Completed: Van Ness

For much of its length, Van Ness is a markedly unexciting street. Pass Symphony Hall, City Hall, and the opera house down around Grove, head north, and watch as you slowly ascend (at a gentle grade) into boredom.

This is not to say that there's not a lot happening here. It is, after all, technically a freeway (Highway 101), and it has plenty of apartment buildings (and more going up all the time), stores, restaurants, hotels...even a few fancy-pants car dealerships. But perhaps because it's so wide and so busy, all of that kind of blends together into blah.

Stay with it past Lombard, though, where much of the traffic heads toward the Golden Gate bridge (and some toward the Not-Really-Crookedest Street in the City) and it livens up considerably. Not so much in terms of surroundings, though there's a stretch around Bay and Francisco that looks like it's been plucked straight out of Paris or Milan, so boulevard-ish is it; rather, it gets better because of what's ahead.

And what's ahead is the Aquatic Park, the municipal pier, and, beyond, the Bay, Alcatraz, Angel Island, and the hills of Marin. On clear days (like Sunday was), it's a pretty stellar sight.

I walked Van Ness to its very, very end--not North Point, not Beach, but the very foot of the pier--and then kept going onto that pier, which I'm really surprised is open, considering how decrepit it is: actual chunks of the wall have totally worn away, leaving exposed rebar and a clear view to the water beyond. But there it was, so there I walked, past people fishing and families picnicking, all of us being battered by the wind.

I didn't linger, both because I was getting tired of attempting to keep my hair from blowing straight up from my head and, more importantly, because I'd gotten the idea to go to the Ghirardelli store for a free chocolate square and was thus losing the ability to focus on anything else. I did linger a bit near the beach on the edge of the Aquatic Park, marveling at the fact that there were people actually swimming there (some of them without wetsuits--how and why, people??), but then was on my way.

I did the quick Ghirardelli walk-through (free square: chocolate and peanut butter--totally delicious) and then took North Point back to Van Ness, where I walked a few blocks and then got on the 47, which took me back south, and back to the bland.

Cracked out

Krims Krams Palace of Fine Junk, Turk Street

Day 52
Neighborhoods Covered: Western Addition, Civic Center, Tenderloin
Streets Completed: Dodge Place, Olive, Myrtle, Hemlock, Ophir, Trader Vic Alley, Cosmo, Shannon, Isadora Duncan (Adelaide), Hobart, Derby, Elm

The Tenderloin may not be the most hideous neighborhood in the city (What is? Check back in December.), but it's definitely up there on the list. Though there are some lovely old buildings, a good smattering of mini parks, good cheap restaurants and dive bars, and several places to catch live music or theater, there are also many, many examples of what happens if you throw your life away and don't do much (if anything) to try and retrieve it.

On Sunday, I headed out from home and did a weaving back-and-forth on the short east-west streets running roughly between Van Ness and Larkin, then headed into the 'Loin. Although the parting of the clouds and the sudden, bright arrival of the sun made for some warmer strolling and some striking photos, the improved weather did nothing to help the neighborhood as a whole. It was still deeply, seriously grungy and overwhelmingly redolent of urine.

Perhaps because it was Sunday afternoon, I passed several families with small children as I was out and about, often right before I passed (or stepped around) folks weaving down the sidewalk or sprawled out on same, incoherent and messed up on something. At the corner of Hyde and Turk, I passed a woman and a man sharing hits off a crack pipe literally moments before I nearly walked into a couple pushing a stroller and leading two slightly older kids by the hand--and that just depressed me.

This might be a borderline Republican thing to say, but I have such limited sympathy for the inhabitants of the 'Loin who cause and then wallow in their own misery, and I feel so much for the people who make their homes in this neighborhood because, by and large and like it or not, it's where they can afford to live. There are complexities and subtleties to addiction such as it's manifest on these streets, and I don't dismiss them easily. But still, it's so incredibly frustrating and sad to see the polarities of existence in this grid of city blocks.

Eleven years in the city have shown me many things, and I've long been inured to most of them. On Sunday, though, long after I'd walked home and moved onto other things, the image of those two groups at Hyde and Turk stuck with me. I hate to think what those parents have to teach their kids not to see.

Unexpected

17th Street at South Van Ness

Day 43
Neighborhoods Covered: Pacific Heights, Civic Center, Mission
Streets Completed: South Van Ness

There are some markedly unlovely stretches of South Van Ness. In fact, it's probably not wildly unfair to say that much of the street is not actively, charmingly beautiful. But get beyond the freeway on-ramp and feeder lanes and beyond whatever we might call 14th to 19th, and lo, it's actually not bad. There are even some strikingly pretty and very stately homes, which the rest of the street certainly doesn't lead you to expect.

Friday evening's rain, which started as a drizzle and picked up heft as I walked, deterred me from pausing too long to check out these houses in detail, so I did the next best thing: finished off South Van Ness at a brisk clip, walked back up Valencia to Papalote to fetch a burrito, and went to Dana and Brad's to discuss the progressive sketchiness (or de-sketchiness, depending on which direction you're headed) of the north-south streets in the Mission.

First, though, an aside. You didn't really think I'd make it through an entire post without one of these, did you? At any rate, please, someone explain to me the preponderance of young, loud, obnoxious college kids at Papalote on Friday night. Where did they come from? There's no campus--excepting a non-residential City College branch--anywhere remotely near Valencia and 24th. Were they bused in from somewhere? How did they decide on Papalote? And does this mean I'll never be able to go there again on a weekend night without finding myself in the middle of a conversation being held, loudly, from one side of the room to the other, a conversation accentuated with the international "raise the roof" arm movements and other interpretative gestures?

But I digress.

Anyway, after waiting for approximately seven years for my burrito, I made my way to Virgil for wine and chatter. When I mentioned to Dana and Brad the few really lovely houses I'd seen on South Van Ness, Brad told me the street used to be a fairly posh one, until the 1906 quake happened and what had been a fairly undeveloped area became a magnet for rebuilding, broad and flat as the land down there was. So the richies hauled tail to Nob Hill, leaving their mansions behind. Some of those houses still stand, and several of what are now homes on the streets between the main thoroughfares were once carriage houses or other outbuildings.

What all of this doesn't quite explain is why streets like South Van Ness, Folsom, and Harrison are so bland and semi-industrial where the teen streets (13th, 14th, and so on) cross them but get (relatively speaking) much nicer toward the 20s. Was the destruction of the quake worse along the lower streets, and the redevelopment more dramatic? Were those areas always more industrial, with the residential sections huddled farther south? Or has there just been an invisible fire line of sorts somewhere around 19th, above and below slightly different worlds sprang up?

Rapid Development and Urban Wastelands

Terry A. Francois Boulevard

Day 31
Co-Walker: Scott
Neighborhoods Covered: Mission Bay, Dogpatch, Central Waterfront, Bayview, India Basin, Western Addition, Japantown, Civic Center
Streets Completed: Hollis, Western Shore, Lottie Bennett Lane, Inca Lane, Bertie Minor Lane, Zampa, Cleary, Peter Yorke, Daniel Burnham Court, Cedar, Starr King

Today's award for Most Accommodating Friend goes to Scott, hands down. Not only did he agree to walk with me despite having a slight hangover, not only did he drive us down to Mission Bay (thus sparing the wait for the T), and not only did he cheerfully stroll random stretches of the San Francisco waterfront and step through the chaotic construction happening there, he also was the best possible sport when I led us directly into the middle of the city's industrial wasteland.

So, see, we walked along the water for a while (and not, I might add, quite the most scenic stretch), then headed south along 3rd Street until we hit Cesar Chavez, at which point I claimed we should head west in order to reach Jerrold, where we'd find a Ritual Coffee outpost in the Flora Grubb Garden Center. As it happens, of course, Jerrold in fact east of 3rd, and the more we walked, the farther away we got. We turned off of CC and onto Evans, but really, that was of no help whatsoever, and by the time we reached the corner of Evans and Rankin--where the street signs actually creaked as they swung in the wind and, as Scott said, "I expected to see a tumbleweed roll by and to run into some old guy saying, 'You all aren't from around these parts, are you?'--we knew Ritual would no longer be in our plans.

We made our way back to 3rd and retraced our steps until we got to 22nd, where we swung west again, but accurately this time, and stopped for lunch at Piccino. It was a stellar, mild day, so we sat outside lingering over lunch, dessert, wine (for me), coffee (for Scott), and a long conversation about relationships. As we finally wended our way back down Tennessee to the car, I realized that for the first time in several weeks (almost precisely four, in fact), I was actually effortlessly happy. That's not to say I haven't had good moments in the past month, but rather that they've all come with an asterisk of sorts. For a few hours this afternoon, that asterisk disappeared.

After Scott dropped me home, I took a short break and then decided to head out again to take more advantage of the day. This time I went north, taking Webster to Geary and tackling the tangle of streets in and around the St. Francis Co-op. (Much of this was, strictly technically, trespassing, but I managed to make my way back to public streets without incident.) I spent some time walking around the Washing Machine Church at Geary and Gough, which I've driven by a billion times (approximately) but have never before seen up close. It's fascinating, and must be stunning from the inside on a day like today. I was content to shoot a few photos and move on.

Something heavy is starting to lift. Though I still often feel like I'm wearing one of those back bracing belts that's been fitted with weights so that there's a downward pull on everything unless I redouble my efforts, on days like today I get to take the belt off. And looking out over the Bay through a chain-link fence, or walking (very rapidly) down a street that's totally new and strange to me, or stopping in the square of an apartment complex to watch the moon come out on one side of me and the sun slowly start to lower on the other, I feel a flutter of calmness.

I've missed that.

Back to the Streets

Berwick Place

Day 10
Neighborhoods Covered: Civic Center, SoMa
Streets Completed: Birch, Ash, Redwood, Grace, Washburn, Dore, Sheridan, Ringold, Heron, Berwick, Gordon, Bernice, Isis, Kissling, Lafayette

Things cleared up a bit. It was an odd and difficult day through the mid-afternoon, and for much of it I didn't think the rain would actually let up. But it did, and by the time I got back from Trader Joe's it was hysterically windy but dry, so I put the car in the garage and headed out on foot.

I started by knocking off a few runty streets around Civic Center. Redwood was the tough one. It starts (or ends) at Franklin, dead ends into the back of a building, and continues on the other side of Van Ness. Per the rules of this insane venture, I had to walk this jag, and so I did...only to encounter a guy coming out of the apartment building that backs up to the alley. He had a bike and appeared to be off on a ride. I was on foot and appeared to be walking purposefully toward a concrete wall, only to discover--will you look at that!--that the street down which I was striding ends abruptly! I reached the wall, walked along it, and then headed up the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Bike guy watched me the whole time, no doubt (and understandably) assuming I was up to no good. Luckily, the whole jaunt took about 35 seconds and I was once again on my way.

I crossed Van Ness to finish Redwood (open-ended in this stretch, I'm glad to say) and then went south.

By this point, you may be weary (as I'm growing) of SoMa adventures. It is, to date, the most wildly over-represented neighborhood in this project, and I've barely scratched the surface. But unlike, say, the Richmond, where alleys don't spring from every single street, below Market those suckers are everywhere. I finished 12 of them yesterday, and hells if I haven't only just begun. The Mission has its share, too, but nowhere near the staggering preponderance of SoMa's.

And so it's sort of lather, rinse, repeat: oh, is this a vaguely sketchy one-block alley that clearly runs directly into an insurmountable obstacle (building, chain-link fence, combination thereof)? Don't mind me. And this one--it appears to be one street broken into chunks that require me to dash through traffic to complete en masse. Please, allow me. Over and over and over again.

All of this kvetching isn't to say, though, that there aren't delightful things to see and smell (not kidding!) down here. Berwick Place--which, believe me, you would never casually happen upon--is essentially one big, colorful, varied mural. In the middle stretch of Dore Alley, home to an annual Folsom-esque street fair (albeit on a much smaller and more focused scale, inasmuch as Folsom can be said to be unfocused, which it really can't, but I digress), the smell of baking cookies hit me so strongly I had to look around and wonder whether I hadn't wandered in the wrong direction and hit the back of the cookie factory on Folsom. (I hadn't. And yes, there's a cookie factory on Folsom.) On Division, in the shadow of the freeway ramps, where it's seriously imperative to watch your step should you not wish to make shoe contact with unpleasant substances of various stripes, the wind made the eucalyptus trees rustle and filled the air with their scent. I never even knew there were eucalyptus trees on Division.

William Styron once wrote an essay called "Time out of Mind" about his struggle with depression. For him, time out of mind was something not to be hoped for, something uncontrollable. But when I thought of that title yesterday as I walked, it had a different meaning. My time out of mind (and, equally importantly, out of heart) was "This American Life" on my iPod, the wind so strong it felt almost physically cleansing, and, for a little while, the need to do little more than put one foot down, and then the other, and try to take in what was around me.