Has San Francisco changed at all in the 35 years since my parents - then a newlywed couple - walked its streets?
Surely it has, but there's something of its freewheeling roots that is style alive and in action.
I spent 3 days out there this week and had the best of my 3 visits there since my brother moved to the city 2 years ago. It ended at a festival in Golden Gate Park - the Saturday "Power to the Peaceful" concert featuring Hot Buttered Rum, the Indigo Girls and Michael Franti. The lawn was packed with dancing hippies of all ages, with children, with dancing pregnant women and shirtless seniors. There were Iraq Veterans Against the War, organic doggie treats, massage booths, community art work, and yuppie targeted energy bars. We ran into a friend of Dans from work - who we bearly recognized (pun intended, since the guy was dressed in a big brown bear costume.) What seemed to loom over much of the crowd, more than in any other venue I've been to (including many Phish show) was the ubiquitous smell, smoke and presence of a certain green herb. I steered clear (not the least because I had an airplane to catch), but was struck by the lack of police presence or security of any kind. It felt like a peaceful, happy and very free gathering of 10s of thousands of people united by a desire for a better global situation, a belief in the power of peaceful demonstrations and a serious distaste for the current administration. Even the professional sign language translator was rocking out on stage, and the bands joined the crowd after their performances.
Other evidence of the freedom of this western city? At synagogue on Friday night I got to chatting with a 75 year old congregant. We reminisced about his hometown in the Boston area and he told me he'd fled to San Francisco to escape some gambling troubles. He went on to describe some of his intimate adventures in San Francisco, reminding me that this was "during the time of free love." After a quick shabbat shalom, I ducked out of the congregation. Remember, this conversation took place at the local conservative synagogue where a dedicated minyan of 10-15 people come regularly on Friday night. Dan and I were honored guests, as the only new people in the crowd. I sure felt honored! Honestly though, personal stories aside, we had a great time. I'm glad to know some of the people who will be spending the new year with Dan.
More highlights:
When I first arrived, Dan and I spend Thursday out on one of the properties he manages. With the forest fires burning only 5 to 10 miles away, the air was gray, thick and pungent with smoke. It was hot, and after a dry summer the ranch reminded me a bit of Joshua Tree. We measured the pastures for grass content (very little) and met with the very friendly rancher who keeps tabs on the property. Being the first rancher I'd ever met, I was shocked at how much he fit my image. Tight blue jeans, fringed and healed cowboy boots, button down shirt, thumbs tucked comfortably in his belt loops, I had to control myself from bringing up Brokeback Mountain. Very mature, I know. As my stomach growled with surprise at the turkey sandwich I had shocked it with at lunch time, the rancher and I skittered politely around issues of vegetarianism and meat consumption.
As Dan and I drove around the property, we took our 4 wheel drive rental car up the steep hills that lead down toward the central valley. We saw ground squirrels, red tail hawks, and tons of deer. I also spotted a beautiful coyote down by one of the sparse springs.
The final noteworthy incident happened on our drive up hill through downtown. Wearing an expensive looking suit and a crisp pink tie, a 30-something commuter grabbed hold of the bumper of our car. Riding on his classic white roller skates, he hitched a ride with us through the streets of the city. I turned to say hello at a red light, joking that we would charge him. In spite of the fact that we were riding the middle lane - during rush hour - he encouraged us not to slow down. "You can go fast. I've been doing this for 20 years." As we neared the top of a hill, he rolled off on to a side street with a wave.
