City by the Bay

“I left my heart in San Francisco” is probably about an older guy who decided he wanted to “walk the earth” in order to see the city and, after taking the hills multiple times, went into cardiac arrest, requiring a transplant, rendering his previous one useless and causing it to be disposed of somewhere in the vicinity.

As New Yorkers and people who consider themselves to be generally fit (though 3 weeks of Slurpees do take their toll) and despite the fact that I had visited the “City by the Bay” at least twice before (I was ready for the massive temperature shifts that occur every minute or so), we were quite worn out after 2 days in Ess Eff.

I had been lauding San Francisco as “my 2nd favorite American city” (after NYC, of course) since the time we left New Jersey and it had the unfortunate consequence of getting Tamar’s expectations so high that she would have needed to see a city full of people who can levitate on command in order to be impressed.

What’s more, on Friday morning when we first arrived, while I met with 2 business associates, Tamar went off on her own to see what the city had to offer. First, she saw the business district, which she described as ‘similar to New York, but a little more elegant.”

However, a few blocks to the south of the financial area is Market and 8th Sts., where she soon found herself.  This area is the San Franciscan equivalent to the more dangerous and dilapidated areas of Harlem or the south Bronx (or those seedy areas within any major metropolis.)

As the average number of homeless people per block increased to 5 or 6, she started to wonder what it was exactly that I found so intriguing about this city. And then, in the afternoon, after we settled in our motel, we ended up in the Fisherman’s Wharf area, which is across the Bay from Alcatraz (we did not go-you need reservations), and is basically an area devoted just to tourists (which is bad.) As my friend, Sarah Jordan, a local and valued tour guide said, “It’s the dregs of San Francisco.”

Well, by this time, S.F. was averaging about a D- in Tamar’s book, so over the course of the next 2 days, I did my best to elevate the city’s standing in Tamar’s mind.

We climbed to the top of the Coit Tower, which was built with the money bequeathed by Elizabeth Hancock Coit, a late 19th century S.F. socialite, whose parents died in a fire when she was young and ultimately became the mascot of the San Francisco Fire Department. Even as a little girl, she would never miss the call to go out with the fire engines to an emergency and thus earned the position of mascot for the city’s fire department.

She married well and after a few years in Paris, returned to San Francisco, where she died. Her funeral was attended by numerous firemen and she donated over 1/3rd of her estate (if I recall correctly) to create a monument that looks like the end of a fire hose as a way of demonstrating her appreciation to those who risk their lives to save the lives of others.

Coit Tower stands up on a hill and provides a wonderful panoramic vista of the Bay Area.  To the West is the Pacific Ocean. To the north, connecting with the Golden Gate Bridge (we walked halfway across it), is hilly/mountainous Marin County (home of the glorious, centuries old Redwoods in Muir Woods, where we also visited and where a tree’s rings can be traced back to events like the American revolution, Columbus sailing for the New World, and the fall of the Roman Empire. The only reason why these redwoods were not cut down is because they were too far removed from easy modes of transportation. Then, in the early 1900’s, a rich philanthropist purchased the land, donated it to the federal government and had them named for John Muir-a noted conservationist).

To the northeast and east are the cities of Berkeley and Oakland (keep in mind that this is across one of the largest Bays around) where you can see the two connecting suspension bridges that allow you to commute (slowly and with patience) from Oakland to San Fran and back.

Looking at the harbor, you can see why San Fran became so wealthy, important, and strategic.  The city is on a peninsula, with the ocean to the West, the Bay to the east, and only a thin strait, relatively that is, separating it from the land on the north (Marin county), and thus the avenue through which huge ships can come into the Bay and be protected from the natural elements of the Ocean.

After Coit Tower and the Golden Gate Bridge (which was probably Tamar’s favorite site, since it was a clear day, at that point, the wind was blowing, we got to see the whole city and the sailboats blow, and have the experience of being so far up in the air), Tamar’s ranking for SF had improved a little bit (it didn’t help, however, that we would look on a map to see that although the shortest distance from Point A to Point B may be a line, the map didn’t show 3 dimensional differences) and, as we ascended significant hills, Tamar’s fatigue (and mine to be fair) grew with the heights of the hills.

We did have some flat land to walk on, in the Marina district and the newly restored Crissy Field area along the waterfront, which was full of joggers, artists, sailboats (there were hundreds out on the water taking advantage of the very strong winds and clear skies), and through Fort Mason, an old brick fort built by the US Army and which was a part of a series of fortifications designed to protect the western US from enemy attack. It was used in WW II to help mine the harbor of San Fran and as a final port of embarkation for troops going to fight the Japanese in the Pacific.

The area to the south of the Golden Gate Bridge is called the Presidio. Now, I’m not sure what that means or what the area is supposed to do (it’s like a large park, but it has some houses and small buildings which are clearly in use. It could have some military significance.)

I had planned with Sarah Jordan and her boyfriend, Ted, to meet them briefly on the other side of the Presidio and be a part of the larger San Francisco community as the first game of the World Series between the local Giants and the Anaheim Angels was to be played. So once again, I consulted the map and said ‘ah-ha, straight through the Presidio.”

Well, that turned out to be a stupid idea, because the hills are STEEP and the roads are not so well marked, even though the area is quite nice.  By this time, the weather had shifted and I was wearing 3 layers on my chest and a ski cap on my head.

After a few roads that led us only up really, we did manage to make our way out of the area, I met up with my friends, and saw Barry Bonds hit a homerun. We also managed to climb to the top of the hill where Lombard Street descends in a diagonal snake-like way in between flower gardens in one of the more unusual streets in any city of the world, which is appropriate for one of the more unusual cities in the world.

All in all, I think the city has a lot of charm. It’s built on tremendous hills, has a variety of climates (within the span of hours), is full of interesting people (large Chinese and Gay populations among others), sits at the crossroads of the world and the exit to the Pacific Rim, and is close to so many different attractions. Tamar…well, that’s another story, but if there’s anything the two of us have really learned or shall I say, had reinforced during these past two weeks on the road, it’s that the saying ‘different strokes for different folks’ is something you just need to live by.

Before we arrived in SF, we stayed for two nights with the Foote family of Alameda, CA, who perhaps should be the poster family for “How to Raise Your Children Well.”  Their children are outgoing, friendly, interested, and good communicators, a real pleasure for us to share our trips with them and learn from them.

Hale Foote was a long-time colleague of my father’s when he and his wife lived in the DC area and they have maintained a good relationship in the 12 years or so since they moved out West. The Footes generously offered their glorious house as a way station on our travels and we took them up on it for two nights, where we shared stories, pictures (they saw our wedding video), and of course, the bonus- we did laundry.

Beth is studying at the Episcopal Seminary at Berkeley and we attended our first Episcopalian service with them, where Beth gave a presentation on Psalm 116. Tamar had a good time when she pulled out her copy of the Bible and followed along in Hebrew.

Earlier in the day, we had spent some time in Berkeley. Walking up and down Telegraph Road, I was looking for the signs of the activism for which Berkeley was quite famous and, while I did see one guy with flowing white hair, a beat up Volvo with a Nader sticker on it, and another fellow selling “Abort Bush” bumper stickers and displaying a Palestinian flag, I didn’t get as much as I had hoped for. It seemed like Berkeley had a contingent of die-hard liberals (I’m told the city council is still quite far left wing) that want to keep the 60’s alive, but when you get to the actual campus (yes, there are some activists), it’s really just a tremendous number of Asian engineering and sciences students.

I was hoping to get into a good political argument with somebody, but instead, I got very good, cheap sushi.
Our final stop in the Bay Area was San Jose, from which we set off for the coast. I got fond of saying “Yesterday we were in San Jose, but today we’re on our way to Monterey.” Tamar just barely tolerated it.

In San Jose, we had the good fortune to see my cousin Kevin Epstein, his wife, Lisa, and their two beautiful daughters, Sabrina and Jocelyn. It was nice to see the first California generation of the Epstein family take root and to see how my cousins were doing.  Also, another set of familiar faces after being so long in no man’s land (and no cell phone land).  Hearing about life in San Jose during the height of the Internet boom (San Jose is as close to the epicenter you can get) was very interesting, as was watching football at 10am on a Sunday morning (something I had dreamed about doing for years since I was a kid.)

We saw on the weather report how all of the parts of the country we visited last week are now receiving their first bits of snow for the year and we are continually feeling blessed for the opportunities we have had on the trip.

I am also feeling quite fortunate to count you and all of the other people who receive this email as a friend.  You know, it’s strange. Sometimes I wonder if people actually read this. I wonder sometimes why I bother writing these, or at least sending them out. I have moments of judging my self-worth about the number of responses I get to a given email, but then feel terrible that there is no way I can possibly respond to each person individually and in-depth. I guess that’s why I like to know as many people’s birthdays as possible. At least that way, I’ll be in touch on a personal level on an annual basis and what I’ve found is that when I find an article or something that reminds me of you, that’s when I forward it along to say hi.

I realize that I have been sending a lot of email, but hey, when you are driving across Nevada, there’s not much else to do.  I do hope that you’ll occasionally take the time to read these notes and share your thoughts, no matter how long or short, when you do have a moment.

To me, the value of these emails pays out over time. It’s being able to have a great dinner in Sacramento, or staying with a friend in Santa Barbara (as we are tonight), or having a friend from Tokyo or Toronto sleep on our couch, or sitting with a friend from Australia on a park bench.

Without these emails, in my opinion, there’s just no way I could or would keep in touch with people whom I have felt were “good value” (a John Mackay of Tokyo phrase) over time and distance.

I am writing to you and have included you on this list of “Friends of Jer”
(coined by Jen Fox Pearlman about 7 years ago), to tell you that I think you are “good value” and I expect that when I see you again, you will continue to be “good value.”

Next email:
The California Coastline and Hearst Castle How Tamar and I are polar opposites in some ways and similar in others