San Francisco

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San Francisco Weather Report: Cherry Blossoms Confused

cherry blossoms

If you haven’t already heard, California is in a drought. We’ve had unseasonably dry, warm weather this winter, and it’s confusing the plants. Cherry blossoms, which usually bloom in early spring, have arrived in full force. They are everywhere and they are beautiful. But I’m afraid they won’t last. The sun was nowhere to be seen today and it’s supposed to be more of the same this week.

cherry blossoms against a blue house

Michigan is known for their cherries. Traverse City in Northern Michigan boasts over 2.6 million cherry trees. And someday I want to drive up there just to see the miles and miles of orchard trees in bloom. I have no doubt it’s a sight to ooh and ahh over.

But there’s something special about seeing them in the City. There’s a wonderful element of surprise…their bright pink flowers against vivid Victorian colors or dull concrete buildings… it’s pretty magical.

And it’s little things like this that I don’t realize I’m going to miss until I come face to face with them. It seems like every other day I find something new. It’s bittersweet. I love that there are so many great things about this city and I love that I’m grateful for all of them. Of course it will make leaving that much harder, but better to have loved, as they say.

cherry blossoms against a blue roof

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820 Jones Street: My First San Francisco Apartment

Apartment Building

Photo Credit: Anomalous_A at Flickr (Click to view his full photostream.)  Number 56 is on the right (with the window open), second floor from the top.

I moved to San Francisco at the end of 1996. I had been living in Reno, Nevada for two years and was itching to get out of its eerie strangeness (if you’ve ever been for an extended amount of time, you know what I’m talking about). I worked as Publishing Coordinator for Addi Galleries’ publishing division (limited edition fine art prints). When they announced that a new location (now occupied by the Martin Lawrence Gallery) was being built in Union Square, I jumped at the chance to relocate as the new gallery’s Administrative Director (for a cool $13 per hour).

366 Geary - former location of Addi Galleries.

366 Geary. Addi Galleries’ San Francisco location. Photo: Martin Lawrence Gallery

In one extended weekend, I set out to find my new apartment. My whirlwind search was a success (reminder there was no Craigslist yet); the rental agreement 820 Jones Street, #56 was signed at the end of my trip.

I believe the rent was $875, which covered 420 square feet of studio space, including a separate-ish kitchen, huge walk-in closet (which some tenants used as an office) and tiny bathroom. The basement housed a coin washer and dryer, and also the garbage bins, which more often than not had huge roaches scurrying about. (I have a phobia of roaches. No, seriously. Have you ever woken up to find yourself squishing a flying cockroach just inches from your mouth? Didn’t think so.)

The ad in the paper (the paper!) said the apartment was in Nob Hill, but some would say it was really in the Tenderloin. I think technically it’s Lower Nob Hill, (“Tendernob” came into use in the early 2000s, a term I’ve never liked nor used), but I always told people I lived in Union Square, as it was a short three and a half block walk to the actual Square.

map820

I had the corner unit, so I could see across the street to Sutter. Back then, the Commodore Hotel (now a residence hall for the Academy of Art) ruled the block, with its popular Red Room nightclub (all red decor, as one would guess).

Commodore Hotel

The Commodore Hotel. Photo credit: Phil H. via Yelp.

Next door to the Commodore was the Titanic Cafe (now the Cafe Bean), a small diner that served breakfast and lunch only. Sometimes on weekend mornings I would sit at the bar and treat myself to a their buttermilk griddlecakes for $5.75. It was the first time I saw the sign, “Tipping is not a city in China”.

titanic.logo

My first few days in the apartment were spent trying to keep warm (one of the windows didn’t shut and my radiator was jenky) and to function on very little sleep. I didn’t yet have a futon; I slept on a bed made of my bathrobe and towels, and used my comforter for covering (why did no one tell me about heating blankets!? I would have bought one in two seconds!). I also didn’t have curtains for I can’t remember how long.

I arrived during the week between Christmas and New Years, so the city was even louder than usual and had a weird energy that made me uneasy. On New Year’s Eve, the the town went wild with people yelling, honking car horns and throwing calendars out windows (a tradition that has since stopped).

Inside view of 820 Jones Street

The inside of 820 Jones Street #56 on move-in day.

Soon I was sleeping through the 5am garbage collections, the wailing fire engine and ambulance sirens and the late-night revelers (whose sidewalk voices sounded like they were in the apartment). I looked forward to watching the transgender prostitutes walk the streets on weekends, getting into cars with their “dates” and arguing about who was on who’s turf. (This weekend ritual only lasted a year or so. I faintly remember some movement to “clean up” the area, which pushed the girls from Jones Street to Polk.)

820 Jones Street building

One last look.

Coincidentally, 820 Jones was also my third San Francisco apartment. In 2000 I lived at #51 for about five months. This was during the dot-com boom and the rent was up to $1100. I saw an online ad dated October 2013 for a 3rd-floor unit. The rent was $1895.

I drove by it the other day on the way to get my hair cut. I pulled over and got out to take a couple photos and say goodbye. I had forgotten it was painted my favorite shade of pink – a realization that made me suddenly so happy. I smiled all the way back to my car.

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Batteries to Bluffs: My Favorite Presidio Trail

Presidio: Batteries to Bluffs Trail

South end of the trail.

When we started considering leaving San Francisco (around late summer, I think) I began appreciating my surroundings a lot more. I wanted to burn the beauty of this place into my memory and also not take it for granted. Plus, I needed space away from the kids, away from everything, to think clearly and get into focus. So I started going for small walks (which eventually turned into runs) in the Presidio. My goal was to take every trail on the map (and I think I’ve pretty much done that, except for maybe a small stretch of the Bay Trail.

batteriesbluffs.trailstairs

First set of stairs.

All the trails have something special to offer, but the Batteries to Bluffs Trail is hands down my favorite. The trail itself is a short .7 miles,  which can be easily extended via a number of other trails, if you want a longer trek. I usually start at Baker Beach and take the Coastal or de Anza Trail back.

Presidio: Battieries to Bluffs Stairs2

Another set of trail steps on a foggy day.

According to the Golden Gate National Parks site, the trail has over 500 steps, but other trail sites puts the number closer to 470. Regardless of the exact step count, it’s a decent workout and takes about 45 minutes both ways if you’re walking at a decent clip.

Marshall's Beach

Marshall’s Beach

About halfway up the trail, you can take a very short detour (100 feet-ish) to Marshall’s Beach. I’m always amazed at how few people are on this beach. Its views of the Golden Gate are spectacular, and to the South you can watch the waves make their way towards Baker and China Beaches.

Note: If you’re contemplating a tough decision or need to solve a mind-boggling problem, come here. If you don’t find answers, at the very least you’ll leave believing they’re out there.

Marshall's Beach and the Golden Gate

Marshall’s Beach looking North.

When you are almost to the North end of the trail, there is a small lookout with a stone bench, where you can look down on Marshall’s Beach. Even though it’s a beautiful view, I normally don’t stop here because A) there are usually one or two nude sunbathers at any give time, which is fine but ruins my zen and B) I’m too busy trying to finish the trail at this point, that I don’t have time to rest.

Yesterday, however, I noticed a bunch of people looking out towards the water so I stopped to see what the fuss was all about. Dolphins! There were at least two, maybe more, frolicking very close to shore.  Given my fragile emotional state (we’re moving – did you hear?), it was enough to send me over the edge. I had to choose between weeping and dry heaving in front of strangers or pulling myself away from the dolphins. Had to go with door number two.

Question: Was it really a dolphin or was it a porpoise (both of which have been spotted in the Bay)?
My short answer: Who cares?

batteriesbluffs.trail2

The North end of the trail.  Continue North along the Coastal Trail to reach the old Batteries and eventually the Golden Gate Bridge toll plaza.

The most people I’ve passed on the trail is about 30 (and 15 or so of those were in a tour of some kind), but usually the number is more like to four to seven. If you go early enough, especially on foggy days, you may likely be the only one on the trail the entire time, which is both invigorating and frightening (for paranoid me, anyway).

Presidio: Web

Spider web on the trail.

In late summer on hot days (if you’re lucky enough to experience a hot summer day in San Francisco), lizards will scurry along the trail, scaring the bejeezus out of you in the process. You’ve been warned. There are also tiny little birds that dart across the path, inches away from your feet. It took me several shrieking incidents to discover that these are indeed birds and not rats. Still. I don’t need that. My heart is beating fast enough already with the steps and the stalkers hiding in the bushes. In the fall, there are hundreds of spider webs and cocoons that look like something out of a sci-fi novel. Creepy in a beautiful kind of way.

batteriesbluffs.trail

Looking down on the Batteries to Bluffs Trail (standing on the Coastal Trail).

Why so many tourists flock to Fisherman’s Wharf instead of the Presidio is ludicrous to me. Well, fine. Let them eat their overpriced crab while bumping elbows with a million other people wearing “I heart SF” sweatshirts. I’ll be here, on the Batteries to Bluffs trail, taking my deep breaths and searching for dolphins.

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Eliza’s Pot Stickers

Pot Stickers and MenuIf you’ve never had pot stickers from Eliza’s, I’m feeling very sorry for you right now. I grabbed some of these in the middle of a frantic errand-running morning and devoured them in the car. And maybe I brought a container of rice vinegar from home so I could add the sauce packets to it because I am that obsessed about how a dipping sauce should taste like. They are perfectly flavored with ginger, pork, scallions, garlic (could it be that simple or are there secret ingredients?) and are juicy on the inside without being soggy on the outside.

My love of pot stickers started when I was a kid. Growing up in Hawaii, I had access to a variety of dumplings: Korean mondu, Japanese gyoza, Chinese won ton, pot stickers. I loved them all. I’m one of those people who gets food cravings, and pot stickers is at the top of the list (along with steak, which is totally random). When I was pregnant with Lucy, all I wanted were pot stickers and hot and sour soup from Eliza’s. If dumplings are on the menu, they will be in my belly.

Restaurant 18th Street

Eliza’s old location next to Chez Maman. Photo credit: airbnb.com

I’ve been going to Eliza’s since the late 90s, back in my SF Weekly days, as I now call them (as many of us do). They used to have a location on 18th Street on Potrero Hill, sharing a wall with Chez Maman.  Whether there were just two or a whole crew, we always ordered the pot stickers, aka “pillows of love.” While we were waiting for our orders, we would all mix our own dipping sauces using our preferred combination of the three condiments on the table (soy sauce, vinegar, chili paste). They didn’t give you little bowls for the dipping sauce, so the only thing we had for our sauces were flat appetizer plates. What this meant was that every time someone lost part of their pot sticker (which happened often, especially given the slippery plastic chopsticks), it would splash onto their plate, splattering the culprit and sometimes the whole table.

My love for these dumplings run deep. How am I going to satisfy my pot sticker, my Eliza’s pot sticker craving in the middle of the Midwest?! Does Detroit even have a Chinatown?

Abandoned building

Image credit: detroit.curbed.com

Yup. Here it is. According to Curbed Detroit, vacant for 14 years, Chinatown can be yours for just $500k. Although someone wrote in the comments section, “I didn’t know Detroit had a [Chinatown]. Where did all the Chinese people go?!? Troy?!?” Great.

I’m not sure Operation: Find the Best Pot Sticker in Detroit is even going to get off the ground. I could try to make my own version, sure, but it won’t be the same. *Sigh* Eliza’s, you will be missed.

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Welcome to the Blog: the What and Why

the Golden Gate A quick Google search reveals that Grosse Pointe is a 10.4 square mile “coastal area in Metro Detroit…that comprises five adjacent individual cities.” Its dwellers are “urban sophisticates” who benefit from a “small-town atmosphere” and “strong sense of community.”

Scroll further down and you’ll find this:  “GP, as it is called by some, is a hotbed for money, teenage marijuana smoking and a prodigious amount of alcohol, thanks to expensive fake IDs.”  And “rich white people” and so forth. Did I mention Detroit? I started this blog as a way to process our family’s move from San Francisco to Grosse Pointe, my husband’s hometown.

When we first tossed the idea around, I was elated. Get me the bleep out of this child-hating, downstairs-neighbor-yelling, summer-is-winter-but-winter-is-also-winter, no-parking-spots-ever city. Enter the panic attacks. I’d be on a run in the Presidio looking down at the stormy grey Pacific Ocean…and in front of me the ever majestic Golden Gate Bridge. Then BOOM. Weakness, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, nausea, tears, etcetera. The truth is that I looooove this place. I freaking love it. I love its insane beauty, its crazy people (hippie, yuppie, techie, LGBTQ, homeless, I’ll take them all), its quaint and quirky neighborhoods, its progressiveness, its intensity, its demand for equality and betterment…there’s no place like it.

Map of Detroit

Note: Lake Huron is mislabeled. It is Lake St. Clair.

Still, I sanction the move. I’m ready for a change. For the comforts of suburbia. A suburbia that shares a border with one of the most turmoil-ridden cities in the country. Let’s do this thing.