People

Perplexing People of San Francisco

San Francisco is a city like many others, full of poetry and progress, hipster cafes and desperate street vendors, tech industry businessmen and bartenders just trying to make the rent. Add the hills that keep the tourist population under control, the bridges that span thousands of postcards, and the cable cars strung with lights and beaming faces, and you know you are in Tony Bennett's 'I Left My Heart in San Francisco.' But San Francisco is more than any one sappy song could express, more than just another city of bright colors and blooming dreams. 

I recently laughed for hours with a friend over the encounters we have had with the people of San Francisco--the self-proclaimed hippies, the mustache-twirling writers, the chatty individuals on public transportation. In the course of the conversation I realized that these encounters are among some of my most cherished memories. Each offers me two invaluable gifts: a story, and a reason to smile. 

Here you will find a regularly updated list of my encounters with those that embody the city I love. 

The Bubble Couple

I encountered this couple along the bay by Crissy Fields, a public park and picnic area that stretches under the Golden Gate Bridge. A friend and I stopped to watch the incredible show they were putting on, waving their bubble-makers like wands to create fantastical shapes that floated sluggishly over the San Francisco skyline. When I talked to them, I discovered that they invented the combination of rope and wood that births the bubbles, and travel around the city to different scenic locations every weekend to display its magic.

Mirrored Women

San Francisco has a wonderful cafe culture, perfect for my life as both a college student and an aspiring writer. I can lean back, scribble notes in my journal, study reading materials intently, and survey the passerby over the tip of my coffee cup. I found myself at a cutesy cafe in Hayes Valley, an up-and-coming neighborhood of overpriced boutiques, elaborate doorways, and intertwined trees. As I settled drowsily into my sun-dosed window seat, I found myself looking at a Norman Rockwell composition. Two women sat outside, each with short grey hair tucked behind their ears, three-quarter length sleeve T-shirts, straw fedoras, and knees angled towards each other--a perfect mirror image. I could not help smiling to myself at the animated conversation of reunited friends that bubbled into the restaurant. Ah, how beautiful is the friendship that in some ways remains the same through the test of time. 

Trolley Dances

I attended the Trolley Dances, an annual series of public contemporary dance performances in the Fall of 2015. The show began in the outskirts of town, at a quaint, vintage Sailing Club off of a somewhat shabby, industrial pier. We were first led down a path through a struggling garden and told to wait behind a splinter-ridden wood fence. Sure enough, on a small concrete platform below us, a couple that I truly thought to be enjoying a picnic with no relation to the Trolley Dance event broke into their choreography. What had moments before appeared an abandoned, shabby series of platforms became a romantic getaway, overlooking the ocean and the Bay Bridge and the edge of the city beyond.

Afterwards we were led away from the pier and through a park, only to find ourselves surrounded by dancers wearing torn, knotted red clothing. They ran along side of the crowd, herding us towards the courtyard of a nearby church. Once there they climbed on dangling bells and pedestals, moving in slow motion as they surveyed the audience quizzically. The dance, as well as the expressions on the faces of the performers, wove an intimate, vulnerable scene that invited viewers in. Such is the nature of San Francisco if you know where to look.

A Picture of a Picture of a Picture

I spent an afternoon at the beach and witnessed the staging of this art piece. The artist would occasionally run forward, impassioned, to position the wrist of the woman or the flow of the shiny gold cape. Each model stared resolutely into the distance, lips twitching to prevent upturned lips at the whimsical nature and appearance of their task. Why not live in a place where a stroll on the beach can render you in the background of a tortured artist's afternoon vision? 

The Magic Eight Ball Poet

Every year San Francisco hosts one of the biggest literary events in America, known as Litquake. It is comprised of two weeks of readings and literary events. One of the biggest events is the Lit Crawl in the Mission district, at which crowds flock from reading to reading hosted in various book shops and cafes. I attended a reading starring who a now know as "The Magic Eight Ball Poet." I happened to be sitting in the front row for her performance. She stumbled in front of the overflowing room, grabbed a Magic Eight Ball from her bag, and said to me "Would you mind holding this dear? That's real important, take care of it--I'm going to need it later!" She then proceeded to recite her poem in a quivering, musical voice that grew more and more impassioned. A drummer and a guitarist accompanied her as her voice became more and more rhythmic. Suddenly, she once more turned to me and asked for the Magic Eight Ball. The rest of her piece was a series of questions asked to the ball, which she raised above her head.