traveling around the world within San Francisco

Until this weekend, I have been cradled in small town and lived remote for the last six months, so when Victor dropped me off at the BART station to ride it into San Francisco, this born and raised city girl found herself terrified of people and stimulation. Here I was again, weighed down by heavy bags and fumbling along public transport systems. I was resistant, in my moody and ornery manner, wishing for solitude, the wide open land and no possessions but the clothes on my back.

But to my surprise and complete delight, the BART was easy, I quickly eased back into city kid mode. I exited the BART at 24^th and Mission and entered the essence of Paris with a new age, funky twist.

The city is equipped with elevators in the subway, making the ascent far calmer than the multi step climbs with heavy luggage required in European cities. This is the essence of San Francisco—everything you could possibly need, right at your finger tips and with a smile; Paris with elevators and people who even appear like you.

Mid November and hot temperatures, the streets are filled with a mélange of characters. When I arrive at street level, I hear French, Spanish and Thai swirling around my head.

It is like a cultural costume party on the streets. A man walks by in a cape and a sword, two girls in white wedding dresses, a man in a huge sombrero and cowboy boots with a guitar strapped to his back, dreaded hippies, a women in a sari, a couple wrapped up in patterned African fabrics all pass by me within minutes. When I see my cousin who I am visiting, I comment, “Dude, what’s up, is Halloween still happening here?”

“Everyday is Halloween in San Fran!”

We stuff the VW bug with my bags and zip up and down the hills of San Fran to the Mission district, a once predominantly Hispanic area, now invaded by hipsters creating a melody of trendy scene-sters and Mexican families upon the sidewalks. Taquerias sandwiched in between wine bars and espresso joints are the backdrop for this mixed community. Every one seems to miraculously fit.

All the bars are open with people over flowing out into the streets with drinks in hand and openly smoking pipes as if it were Amsterdam. Perhaps San Francisco still is what it used to be; a free and liberal city where anything goes.

The street aromas are reminiscent of Bangkok, Istanbul and Paris all at once. I feel what it must be like for the country dog visiting the city, overwhelmed by the millions of smells permeating out of every crack and corner for in this one city I have olfactory reminiscence of every land I have traversed from New World to Old— walking through the streets of San Francisco was like a scrap book for the nose. The man who passes me smells of European man cologne, the fabric softener on well put together woman’s clothes remind me of Scandinavia, herbs brewing in China town brings me back to the back alleys of Shanghai, that putrid smell reminds me of garbage cooking in the humid heat of Bangkok, wandering through the Mission district, smells of corn and produce markets take me to Nicaragua, incense of myrrh remind me of living with the Nyabinghi rastas, then there’s the eucalyptus that brings me to Turkey and to my most recent home of Napa and the salty ocean air reminds me of life on the West Coast from Seattle to British Columbia and all the way up to Alaska.

Having been remote for many months, I am over stimulated by the extroversion of the city, bathing in options, style and liberality. I am silent, observing, but deeply enjoying the melody of artistic and eccentric peoples.

We start out at a little cove of a café with live jazz and rhythmic chatter streaming from the open front. I feel like Kerouac must have felt, observing the wild scene full of fire and passion, on the edge of being swept into the late night hour explorations of community, music, thought and art.

My cousin leads me through a tight forest of these unique people to the bar and orders me a glass of wine. I am listening to the jazz band, catching up with him, and meeting new people all at once. Every step we take, my cousin is greeting another person like he is a long lost brother with a warming embrace and a smile. I feel as if he knows the entire city.

After a midnight dinner of fancy Indian food on Valencia street and dancing to Balinese bells accompanied by a DJ, we sleep deeply and awake to a trip to Philz coffee where apparently my coffee obsessed Turkish uncle spent many a morning getting highly caffeinated and "shootin’ the shit" with Palestinian owner Phil. Having inherited the Turkish gene for the ability and desire to be highly caffeinated, I knew my city buzz was about to be fully rocked to all new levels.

Each cup is individually handmade with one of the 20 blends that Phil has spent the last 25 years perfecting.

Filled with hipsters, free wifi and thrift store couches we stood and waited for our “Tantalizing Turkish” cup of coffee. Dark and sultry with a touch of cardamom—we could have been at the Istanbul spice market drinking coffee with our family.

San Francisco continued to be a sensory trip around the world:

We ate family style in China town, forgoing the temptation to order the thousand-year old egg, with Chinese families.

We sat in parks, drinking wine and beer publicly like they would in Norway.

We danced the night away to a Senegalese man passionately playing the kora as if the instrument where an extension of his body and soul.

We ate Indian, Chinese, Thai, Japanese, raw foods, and of drank plenty of wine and coffee!

It is as if one weekend in San Francisco summed up my past fives years of traveling, connected me with family, kept the menu intriguing and the appetite desirous, and brought me to new and yet to be seen lands.