Mi despedida a San Francisco

"It seems like everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know..."

I woke up this morning to a bright burst of Sunday sunshine, blue skies and the quintiessential manicured green lawns that exist in sleepy streets of the suburbs of North America. This time, I’ve landed back in Oakville to the familiarity of Mumsy’s modest bungalow tucked within the labyrinth of small, Pleasantville-like side streets in this notoriously excessive suburb of Toronto. This week of preparing for India has been a welcome blessing; providing stable lily pad of which to launch off of into the unknown of India this Tuesday.

I left San Francisco almost exactly 7 days ago, on a dark Sunday morning before the sun had even bridged the horizon. The big blue airport shuttle (BART wasn’t running at that hour) came to collect me as their last stop before the airport, totting a full bus load of sleepy eyed travellers to the impending departures at SFO....

My last weekend in SF, mi despedida, ended up being a grand adieu to the city that has begun a transformation in my mind, my heart and approach on life, and to what has helped bring the Year of Passion to a reality.

That last Friday afternoon in SF, circa 3 pm, I received a text from a new friend, Bryan, I had met that week at Ritual Coffee house on Valencia that previous Wednesday. I soon found out that Bryan is a San Franciscan native, born’n’raised, and thus a rarity in this transient city, who renovates Victorian-era houses by day and photographs musicians and bands by night. Not a bad combo. The text read: “Wanna go surfing?”. End scene. WHAT!??! Last weekend in California and am getting an opportunity to go surfing – POST WORK!!! My little heart could hardly believe it. Fast forward 2.5 hours, and the surfing plan has been kyboshed:

Friday afternoon traffic + setting sun = raincheck.

BUT in its place, a bike ride and ice cream at debatably one of the city’s most unique ice cream joints, Humphry Slocombe on Harrison @ 24th street. One scoop of Jesus Juice sorbet (aka red wine and cola) for me and a double scooper of whammy of Cayenne Cantaloupe and Prosciutto (as in the salted meat)

for B.man, before we made our way to Precita Park for a chit chat

before parting ways for the evening: I to my newly Friday tradition of red wine and friends and him to a shoot with some “picky and last minute” musician friends who were going on tour and needed some pics before doing so.

When it rains, it pours…Brian’s I guess, because soon after, I met up Brian, a former roommate and the Puerto Rican acupuncture student whose current living situation with a middle-aged Sci-Fi author and owner of 2 fat, old cats at a 2 bedroom flat on Treat Street has him hounding the pages of Craigslist for alternate "arrangements". The remainder of the evening consisted of a $4 bottle of wine, great convo and a plethora of ridiculously delicious, authentic Mexican food from La Oaxaqueña, a little gem on Mission Street @ 16th with amazing, authentic food, sweet smiles and a welcome BYOB policy (or in our case BYOW) policy. Pollo y mole (a cocoa/chocolate based smooth and salty sauce from the south of Mexico) corn tamale wrapped in plantain leaves...

a taco (bison, maybe?)and 3 Salvadorian Pupusas (a corn dough “patty” stuffed with anything from spinach and goat cheese, mixed veg to pulled pork or chicken)...

Thirsty for more, we headed to the infamous Café Revolution on 22nd and Valencia. With happy, tipsy souls overflowing onto the sidewalk and streets, the inside of the café was full and two spirited performers were singing, drumming and strumming Spanish music in the corner.

The minty cool of a freshly made mojito, my often-forgotten-favourite drink, complimented the warm air, smooth music and cha cha cha of the songstresses’ handheld shaker.

The following Saturday morning, my eyes were met again with sunshine, and the excitement and unease of fitting in a super Saturday to my last weekend in SF justice. Thankfully, it was not too difficult to do when surrounded by friends and great people, beautiful sunshine, an amazing city and positivity in your mind.

Waking at just past 8:30am, I attempted to finish up packing up – one for my bag to go back with me and another box (or 2) to reside temporarily at Lauren and Sean’s place. A bike ride, a spicy chai coffee @ Haus and trip to the Alemany farmers market with Karla, the capoeira dancing chica

from Puerto Rico who is a former room mate as well, and teaches new media at an inner city school’s after-school program. A few hours later, we collected Caleb from the house, and as the 3 of us peddled our way to Golden Gate Park to join forces with 25,000 spirited, peaceful people at the free Power to the Peaceful music and yoga festival happening that weekend in the park.

An annual event held on September 11, there is no cover fee, just by donation only, and this year featured a 5,000 person yoga session on Saturday morning, a main stage with 5 hours of non-stop music, including the cheerful Cali tunes of Michael Franti.

Just saw he's apparently also caught Obama fever too...

A San Francisco native, Michael Franti is an SF native and recently has been walking barefoot for 10 years to experience what 300 million kids who don’t have shoes feel like...

As we arrived to the centre grounds for the festival, a sea of people, beautiful music, plumes of smoke and rows upon rows of bike racks awaited us. You could honestly feel the energy as you approached.

After a sun soaked afternoon of dancing, hoolahooping, snacking and enjoyment, as the music stopped promptly at 5, the signature fog of SF rolled in and ushered the crowds through to their bikes, cars and sidewalks to head to their next destinations. Karla and I met up again with Caleb and Laura at Laura’s place in the Haight for a warm tea. I came home, made dins, finished packing and moved my bags, bike and self to the place it all began – the Goddess Vortex on Harrison – aka my old house, for my last night, although this night would be spent on the familiar cushions in the living room.

I took a shower 11pm, and in the spirit of seizing every moment, met up with Cliff at just past midnight, despite a 5 AM wake-up that morning for an 8am flight. A dreadlock-ed music teacher also born’n’raised in SF, Cliff and I met for the first time last Sunday, as we passed each other on the street in the Mission last week on a Sunday night.

That night we went to Karla’s recommended hole-in-the-wall dive bar The Attic at 24th and Mission. A vodka soda for me, a Jim and Coke for him, easy conversation ensued and his love of SF, teaching music and life was an eye opener as he brought to the forefront that despite a past of extensive travel, he’s loving life as is now, and couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else, such as some of his friends are doing. To which I replied, perhaps people are moving to new cities to try to find what you seem to have found – happiness, balance and fulfillment in the present. (Ok, I didn’t say that last part, but in reflection, perhaps that what it is.) It’s interesting because this conversation was the first one in a while of which someone has really been truly immersed and fulfilled in what’s in the present – not what has happened, or will happen, or coulda woulda shoulda happened, but what is NOW, present in this moment. Like a tall glass of water, he was refreshing, and the cherry on the YOP goodbye SF weekend.

Harps, Hikes & Home in San Francisco

Home. What a concept. What does it really mean? We know its not just bricks and floors and ceilings with leaks and creeks and other miscellaneous idiocynracies that can stick in our minds like honey dripping on the side of a glass jar. This week has been a revealing week about creating a quasi homebase foundation in a new city. A new city with a transient population, where everyone is either just arriving, just leaving or decided to “just stay” because, you really can be who you want to be.

This song came about 2 Saturdays ago, when San Francisco was “baking” in a delicious stew of “hot” sun and mild winds (aka 23 degrees delicious). After a lazy sleep in, a friendly room mate Brian, and an even friendlier Mission neighbour Matthew and I enjoyed some eggs with kale, tomatoes and red peppers and a coffee on the back porch of the Goddess vortex…aka my house.

Brian is a Puerto Rican acupuncture student at AIMC in Berkeley whose father from NYC, has adorned him with a hint of Puerto Rican on his neutralized accept that certainly doesn’t scream latino (as if the name Brian didn’t already do so). A musical man at heart, he recently came home with a vintage brass trumpet from a yard sale, then 2 days later, a small gorgeous wooden harp, his musical A.D.D, as he says, serves the household beautifully as just 1 day later, I awoke to the sound of his new harp being played down the hall ---almost a surreal awakening.

Matthew, a Colorado native with a heart of gold and smile that glows when making a cameo, works for Transfair, the NGO that certifies Fair Trade – he’s on the coffee, wine and beers side, although once referred to himself as possibly being a “peon” at an NGO.

(I mostly noted this last part as I like the word “peon”) A travelling man, has studied in Paris, worked in Ghana, and among other neighbourly invites, was my local host 2 weekends ago for the infamous Pride festival with his fabulous visiting friend Jeff.

After a hike up Bernal Heights that afternoon, I came back to the ranch to sun bake a bit, read the paper, and apparently join Brian in a sing-along to this song “Home” Which subsequently has been stuck in my head as the default track on the ibrain while riding my bike to work. Bernal Heights is the neighbourhood just a few blocks south of mi casa and named after the grassy-topped hill that divides Mission & Bernal Heights with Outer Mission on the other side, and provides a spectacular view of the city. Lucking in for a sunny day, the views from the top were blissful point of view of this enchanting city...

After a toss of the Frisbee at Precita Park, I returned home with no plans for the rest of the avo, but perhaps the reading of a book in a park, the paper on the back staircase or even a , or even a blog post musing about the flurry of activity with the YOP. The latter option was what happened, until the sing-along with Brian that is.

And as I begin to let my mind follow its intention and will, I am faced with the occasional moment of stillness - no plans, no net, no default activity to distract as I continue to set out each day to lap up this life of growing honesty and sincerity of what passion looks and feels like for me. At times vulnerable and feeling rather exposed to the whims of seemingly insignificant occurances, its amazes me that even the kind smile of a passing stranger can re-instil a wavering blip in self-confidence. No deposit, no return. Smile at someone and they will smile back. Amazing. Say good morning and you'll have one in return. Amazing. Amazing how maybe anything we're looking for could be realized if we just provide it first. mmmmm.....

Home is a strong word indeed, and has nothing to do with where we put our bed, furniture or keep our possessions...inevitably there's too many of that in any case anyways. Making a place feel like home, become home, or serve as the landing pad of safety, doesn't happen overnight, not even really over weeks or months. However, like all delicious parts of life, its a journey, a relationship that changes and evolves as we exchange time and energy while rotating around the blazing sun. I've been at the Goddess Vortex for over 3 weeks now, and am realizing more and more each day, that making a home requires patience, an exceptance of sometimes feeling alone, the openess to look far beyond previous horizons and yet to still listen, with a soft ear, to the voice of our own soul.

So although it’s taken me a few extra days to post a long overdue entry about mi casa stay tuned on Friday for a deep look inside the Goddess Vortex, the colourful souls that create this urban oasis and the revolving door of characters that are making an appearance in the Year of Passion…