Birthday in Northern California, Day 2

"Can you spare me some change ma'am, like a boob job?"

There's nothing like waking up super early to get your dibs on the bathroom, trying not to wake up the five hung-over strangers in your hostel room. They say Virgos are planners so I had my shower things and a change of clothes laid out as not to trip around the dark room making too much noise. The cramped hostel was already starting to get to me. A line had formed after I rushed my shower. An old german man caught me on my run back to the room to point out I dropped my underwear. Uuuuuggggh.

Down in the basement there was free breakfast, which consisted of a very diverse selection of carb-heavy options. Bagels, bread, english muffins, croissants, and of course a large vat of margarine and Nutella (of course! We have Europeans in this place).

I start my foot journey to North Beach through Chinatown, which I recommend to anyone visiting San Francisco. Stockton Avenue in the morning is full of groceries getting their shipments in and you can watch what items are 'hot' in Chinatown. Surprisingly the meat markets had lines out the door and it wasn't even noon! The smells were wonderful and the people fun to watch but it was even more crowded then the touristic times to visit!

I made my way to Washington Park and decided to take a rest after stupidly walking up one of the steepest stretches of streets in the Bay Area - Powell Ave. What was I thinking? I found that I had stumbled upon the daily Tai Chi practices of the Chinatown residents. Whether in groups with outfits or like one man completely solo on his work clothes, they did the most gracefully but sometimes humorous moves. Talk about free entertainment.


I started down Columbus to City Lights Books, a historical setting for the 'beat writers' (Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg both had their earlier works published there...). The store was amazing, with controversial fiction, consignment poetry section, a "banned books" section, and tons of biographical material. I started to realize that despite how much of a bohemian I view myself, I had never ever been exposed to this movement. Despite the parody references to poetry readings, bebop jazz, berets and goatees, I had no idea about the players and the beat culture and suddenly I was inundated with a movement of writing I knew nothing about! What better way to learn more about it than to hop next door to the Beat Museum?

(Photo One: City Lights Bookstore, Photo Two: A sign in the corner of the bookstore, Photo Three: Banned Books section, Photo Four: Quote from the store owner in the alley)

With a $5 admission, I was set free in an area full of documents, books, art, a short video, and a very comprehensive exhibit of the beat writers. In the gift shop I must have looked incredibly lost, having absolutely no idea where to start. Luckily the nice employees of the store came to my rescue and literally talked to me for quite some time about their recommendations. I bought a book on the Beginner's Guide to the Beat Movement and a poster that says "Fuck Hate". Why not?

Paintings in 'Jack Kerouac Alley'

I then went to Vesuvio Cafe, which shared the "Jack Kerouac Alley" with the bookstore and apparently where the writers used to hang out a lot. It was a beautiful little place that was dimly lit, full of faded colorful bohemian decorations, and best of all affordable drinks. I planted myself in the balcony room with nooks of booths cleverly named things like "Lady Psychiatrists Corner", and had a beer while writing a few postcards. Very rarely, except when traveling to Europe, that I feel like I have had a truly cultural experience. This far this has been that and the day was early. I decided why not head down to the Haight-Ashbury district to get a taste of 'hippie' culture?

(views from my seat at Vesuvio's)

The best way to get across town was to take the BART system. I don't too much like to be on the subway in a place so prone to earthquakes but alas I made it to the closest stop to Haight-Ashbury. I walked the rest of the way but the entire time was admiring this large mountain. Now I had hiked up Powell Street and was convinced I still had some muscle left, so I hiked up this gigantic hill, I later learned was Bueno Vista park. Along the way I had peaks of views of the entire bay area and hardly anyone around except some kids smoking pot and quietly playing guitar. I laid down at a clearing at the very top and enjoyed the great view and cold breeze, reading some of the books I just purchased.

After a while I realized I was there to see Haight-Ashbury, so I hurried down the hill and delivered right into Haight Street. Immediately I was approached by a group of young punks drinking in the street asking me for change. Block after block this happened and I started to get very defensive... like I was just an object for them to pick on when I was a nice person and would gladly talk with them if they didn't confront me in such an exploitative manner. I have heard from many people this place wasn't like it used to be. My dad once told me the real death of the hippie movement was drugs, and what brought healthy young loving peaceful individuals to become desperate to fund their addiction. Perhaps I'm being very judgmental of these strangers (i.e. the people who hung out on the streets in that area), but I hardly took out my camera to take photos of the beautiful murals of the past. It wasn't worth the hoard of junkies coming up to me asking for change or to ask if I wanted to buy hash. I also realized I had spent the entire day wandering around on my own and minding my own business without being bothered. That can spoil you.

Best tee-shirt I saw at the Beat Museum said in plain text:
"Stop bitching and start your own damned revolution"

That afternoon Matt, the young man from Belgium, called me up and wanted to join me for drinks at Vesuvio Cafe. I thought at first it was going to be a stressful night with having to deal with language barriers but I came to learn how incredibly quick we started to adapt to each other's dialect and soon after personality. I talked with Matt about everything from complex philosophy, racism, spirituality, and general responsibilities of humans. He told me his situation, having chosen to not return to Belgium with his family after a visit here and his dire struggle to find a job or direction to live here. As a good looking, fit, extremely intelligent and open minded person as he was, it really put into perspective how amazing our country is that someone would be willing to struggle so much to stay here.
On a side note, Vesuvio's at night is extremely charming. Old men were playing chess, young couples were sipping on absinthe, a few people had the bohemian look going, and it felt like something right out of the 50s or earlier. Definitely worth the second visit!

Now on every vacation I go on, there is always one extremely awesome and random event that occurs, and on our walk back to the hostel was that event. In a completely deserted Chinatown, I saw three young black men and a bohemian white guy get out of their car that was blasted old school hip-hop. In the street, they all congregated in a line and I knew exactly what they were going to do and jumped in to join them. At 1am I did the Electric Slide, something I have not done since Elementary school, with complete strangers. We all gave each other high fives and they totally thought it rocked that I 'got' it and joined in. Matt stood there almost dumb-founded and I could only assume that he was thinking 'Only in America...'. Back at the hostel the conversations continued. For the lack of company during the day, it was so nice to have such good company into the late night. Very successful day!