San Francisco

“We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough.  We want something else which can hardly be put into words–to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.”
– C.S. Lewis.

A month ago, I took a weekend trip down the coast to Santa Cruz to visit a friend and escape from the city life for a couple days. On Saturday morning, I found myself on my own in Carmel-by-the-Sea with a few hours to spare. I walked down to the beach and walked along the shore to one end of it. On my way back, I stopped to just stand still and look at the ocean.

I watched the water come forward and rise and circle towards itself and recede. There is something miraculous in the curvature of the waves. And there is a release of tension that can come with the assurance of the cycle. To really be present at the ocean or in the nature of your choice is a kind of therapy.

As I stood there reveling in the scenery, I remembered how I used to do the same thing as a kid in warmer climates. Except my feet would’ve been in the water. And as the water repeatedly washed over them, my feet would slowly be buried in the sand until I was grounded in the earth up to my calves. I’d eventually pull my feet out and start again.

A woman walked by me and brought me out of my memories. “Did you see them?” she asked me with a huge grin.

“See what?”

“The dolphins… there they go again!”

I missed them. But it was just moments before they resurfaced, their fins momentarily poking through the top of the sea in unison. They were so close to the shore. I watched them, mesmerized, until I couldn’t see them any longer.

Dolphins never interested me as a kid. My thoughts of them somehow were limited Marine-this or Sea-that where sea animals do tricks for you for the payment of fish. There was a day camp I would go to where we would visit one of those places once a summer. It was a field trip I dreaded. I can’t really say why I felt that way back then, but I hated marine parks. It wasn’t until I saw dolphins in the wild that I started to really love the creatures.

A little over a week ago, I was on a boat in the San Francisco Bay to celebrate the marriage of two friends. We started near the Bay Bridge, passed huge military ships that were docked for Fleet Week, went past Alcatraz, and underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. But as we returned to the center of the bay, before it could become entirely a tour of man made feats, we spotted dolphins.

At first, I thought the guy who was trying to point them out had visited the open bar one too many times. But then I saw a school of fins appear in the distance, headed in the direction of the shore of the Presidio.

Dolphins in the wild aren’t guaranteed to jump out of the water and do tricks. They can be elusive. You may only get to watch them for a minute. But to see nothing more than the graceful backs of dolphins emerge in unison for a few moments can be immensely special.

On that evening, they were a beautiful sight during the winding down of a lovely day. And a nice reminder that the wild can be closer than we think.

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One night when I was in the Mission District, I decided to take some quick shots of some of the Christmas decorations I came across. There was nothing fancy, but it was charming to see a little bit of holiday color added to windows and sidewalk trees and gated doorways:

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We walk across the Golden Gate, trying to imagine the way the area once looked. The absence of a bridge and buildings, the abundance of vegetation and wildlife, the grizzlies that adorn our flag but have long since vanished from our state.

Wind pushes the fog over the bridge like waves, splattering our faces with condensation. Tourists who didn’t anticipate the cold walk by in newly purchased jackets, socks worn with dress sandals, and some are unprepared in flip flops and shorts. It is August, after all.

I turn to the east and see where the fog meets the sun and look forward to heading towards light and tiny bit of warmth. I turn to the west to see and the ocean and the horizon. As always, the curvature of the earth sends a surge of wanderlust through me as I think of the places to explore beyond it.

The sounds of hundreds of cars driving by combine and become white noise.  In my head, all I hear is this melody:

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It’s just before 8am on a mid-May Sunday morning in San Francisco. A girl stumbles out of a bus and loses the most recent meal she’s eaten on the sidewalk as if it’s a Saturday night. You see group after group of people in coordinated costumes role playing as if it’s Halloween. As you walk towards the bay, you see little corn tortillas covering the ground as if several tortilla-filled trucks collided and spilled their contents all over the street. What the hell is going on? It must be Bay to Breakers.

Bay to Breakers (B2B) is San Francisco’s annual race from the bay to the ocean. After the real competitors take off, it is one of the city’s most notorious WTF? events where people congregate to celebrate and indulge in absurdity. After years of not making it to the event, I finally attended my first B2B this past weekend. Now that I’ve been, I concur with the masses that everyone should try it at least once. Here were some memorable parts of Bay to Breakers:

Naked people

The Bad:
You’ll see exhibitionists at any large event in San Francisco, but at B2B, they are sometimes running.

The Ugly:
Someone in a trench coat may appear to be dressed, but to your surprise, he will give you a full frontal reveal when he turns around.

Baby strollers without babies

The Good:
Baby strollers equipped with stereos and loudspeakers blaring upbeat music for everyone around to enjoy as they walk or run.

The Funny:
A baby stroller full of little jello shots to share with fellow revelers.

Bathrooms every block or so

The Good:
Most people are not at B2B to race, they are there to party. No one stands a chance against the Kenyans anyway. The people who plan the event know what most people are there for, so they put up Porta Potties every block or two along the way.

The Bad:
Even with bathrooms everywhere, the lines are incredibly long. And as you start to get close to the front of the line, someone in a viking costume might invite five fellow vikings to cut in line with him.

The race course

The Good:
The race is almost entirely flat except for one hill on Hayes Street that goes by the Painted Ladies of Full House fame. This allows the people who are not racing (the bulk of the participants) to put forth as little effort as possible and focus on what they came to do: party.

The Funny:
Many do not make it to the end of the race at the ocean. By the time you reach Golden Gate Park, crowds have dispersed and people have headed home to pass out or have gone somewhere else to continue the party.

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The first round of contestants come around the corner.

One of San Francisco’s secrets is that Lombard Street is not the city’s “crookedest street”. Vermont Street, between 20th and 22nd Streets, is the true winner of that title. But unlike Lombard Street with its highly manicured vegetation and showy homes, Vermont Street is largely unkempt, “out of the way” and hard to photograph. With not a lot of traffic going down the street, it’s a great location for San Francisco’s annual “Bring Your Own Big Wheel” Race (BYOBW) which was formerly held on Lombard Street.

The event happens every Easter, rain or shine. This year, it happened to be raining sideways on Easter Sunday. Relaxing in the warm indoors sounded like the most appealing way to spend the afternoon. But at the last minute, I decided I couldn’t miss out on the once a year event. So I bundled up, grabbed an umbrella and took advantage of the rain to wash off the mud caked on my shoes from the previous Monday’s hike.

Approaching Vermont Street, I could see that plenty of people were not deterred by the weather. Many were in costume and carrying their own plastic tricycles. Being Easter, the most common costumes were bunnies, but some other notable costumes were hot dogs, Wonder Woman, and of course, men dressed as women.

As soon as the race began, I knew I’d made the right decision to go. Words, pictures or even videos can’t fully describe the hilarity of it all. Try to imagine grown people in ridiculous costumes trying to navigate sharp curves in little plastic tricycles made for someone a fraction of their size. And some had most likely had a few too many mimosas at brunch earlier in the day.

Tricycles were not the only “vehicles” present– there were carts that looked like they were meant to be underbed storage, surfboards on wheels, and somehow a few were maneuvering around the corners on garbage bins with two wheels. The most important rule is that your wheels are not made of rubber. This allows for a maximum amount of wipe outs.

There are many different riding styles. Some racers are all about speed and getting down the mountain first. Some are more into the show and interested in playing the character they dressed up as. And others use the turtle’s motto, “slow and steady wins the race.” The stragglers were either heckled or encouraged with cheers as they timidly made their way down the hill.

BYOBW isn’t always a spectator sport. If you have a front row location, you’d better be on guard. I learned this the hard way. As I was taking a picture of some racers coming around the corner, one of them smashed right into me and I went flying. A bonus of having the festival on Vermont Street is that San Francisco General Hospital is right around the corner.

As if the rain was not enough, some people try to sabotage racers by spraying them with silly string and dropping bananas on the street. A woman dressed in a pink rabbit costume appeared to be innocently spreading bubbles with a bubble machine, but her main goal was to distract the racers and slick up up the road even more with soap.

The race didn’t seem to be for time, it was more like a race to the end. At the end of each round, plastic tricycle parts were scattered about. Some people lost key parts of their vehicles and had to bow out, while others started to exit the race as it began to rain more heavily. As I began to start dripping with water and my umbrella couldn’t resist the urge to flip inside out, I decided it was time to head indoors. I can’t think of a better way I could’ve spent the afternoon, and it was completely worth getting soaked for.

A storm trooper wipes out.

Contestants who've successfully made it through a round carry their big wheels back up the hill.

I never imagined I'd see a pig riding a tricycle down the street.

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