Some people think that visiting a city is all about the major tourist attractions. San Francisco is chock full of them... Fisherman's Wharf, Coit Tower and anything relating to a bridge that has something to do with gold and gates.
Then there are people like me, who love to take risks and dig a little deeper and look outside the orthodox.
What did I find? A large cloud that has not left this city since the mid-1960s.
After some R&R and some discussion with my room mates I nearly went to bed! I was 'plum tuckered.' A burst of a second wind rushed through my body after finding the Bostonian dancer and a brief chat with Liz. I was not going to let any opportunities pass me by!
I came to San Francisco for good music. I was in hot pursuit of that last night- specifically jazz but I would settle for anything live and local. A couple failed attempts: one hotel bar I stopped in had "live jazz" but it was a woman singing patriot songs with a guy at a synthesizer playing block chords. The only consolation of that place was the woman who recreated the role of Joanne from Company. Had she busted out a rendition of "Ladies Who Lunch" the resemblance would have been uncanny.
Eventually I poured out in to the street in front of the Biscuit and Blues inquiring about jazz places. Then a woman named Rebecca offered me a ride down by where she lives- in the Mission District. We agreed to find some good drinks and good jazz together and prevent me from treading too much of my soles.
She was the sheer definition of San Francisco. She was a tiny yet demanding presence with her guitar in her hand and a look to her that resembled Ellen Degeneres. Her short, jet black hair pointed in little jaggers which punctured the sky. It matched her patchy long black skirt and black jacket. Artsy, intelligent, cheeky, enthusiastic and overflowing with vitality; and with a guitar slung over her shoulder.
New friends, looking for new adventures.
Another couple of failed attempts, but overall she felt proud of her good luck- meeting me randomly on a night that she wanted to go out and available parking spots at each place we stopped at. Eventually we found our way into the Mission District at a bar called the Revolution Cafe. What a place! A little hole in the wall but with a small dixie and standards jazz ensemble with a singer wearing one of those 1920s inspired outfits... yes, a throwback to the great Renaissance before the Depression. It was complimented with clientele who screamed 1960s though... sitting with Rebecca while a Rastafarian music producer passing around a 'cigarette' around with all his posse. I, obviously, passed on the substance; I was too enamoured with the sweet stylings of the group. People were swinging, the bartenders were busy and above all of this commotion was a little white cloud which pervaded the entire dive. Not a care in the world was the overall feeling of everyone...life will catch up with them tomorrow. It was quintessential San Francisco.
My new friend, obviously coming down with the mean case of the munchies, wanted to stop at a hot dog stand several blocks from the cafe. Ready for heart failure? Picture it: a hot dog wrapped in bacon in a bun with grilled peppers and onions overtop and coated with ketchup, mustard and mayo.
Before she dropped me off we had a lengthy discussion about why she was here in the first place. Rebecca was a fashion designer but switched to music to pursue what she really loved doing. She had been writing songs all of her live but she never had the opportunity to seek her dreams of playing them. After brief periods in New York and London her heart brought her to San Francisco- the city she loved. I interrogated her- "yearning for a city could not be the only reason you would quit higher paying jobs and bigger locations could it?"
"No," she admitted. "I fell in love for the first time...and he is still my best friend."
"Are you still together?"
"Five years. But I have been married to this city for my entire life."
Awake in bed this morning with more dots than I can even connect. This would be a good time for Pat Woodward to interject with his philosophical wisdom. What, as humans, makes us settle in one spot? Can one actually multi-track and channel 'love' or will love of one thing effect the other so deeply that one would sacrifice their entire being for it? Can a love for one's upbringing be so addicting and comfortable that it will always bring you back?
I left Rebecca with a hug. And with a list of things that she wanted us to tackle before I left on Wednesday. She knows about my singing plans later in the week and so she wanted to discover things 'San Francisco but Sober." Also my mouth tastes like onions and drugs.
I am ready for a couple touristy things now.
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