The rewards of grand-parenting are many and varied. They bring exposure to different environments, new sets of people, baby bottles, little fingers, bowed legs and of course nappies.
Having completed the early shift and despatched mummy off to work and the younger "pair" to the nursery we took to the streets for a late morning coffee and a re-familiarization tour of the local surroundings.
A little walk, down to 16th Street, over to Mission and then back home along 24th would suffice. Well exercise is always good for you and it helps to reduce the jet lag.
More or less immediately we pass our first bit of America-the-different, a skateboarding dog walker. What else would you expect at 10.45 am. Alsatian and skateboarder quickly disappear by crossing the walkway over the thundering 101 freeway. A quick glance at the six lanes dispels any British Airways story that San Fran is "Eco city."
We casually drifted down to 16th Street passing many bodies talking loudly to themselves. I finally noticed that all the talkers have wires plugged into their ears and also, obviously, a microphone on their chests. Handsfree mobile phone usage is apparently the latest rage. Well its progress of a sort I suppose, even if I, a non-mobile owner, have to suffer other people's conversations.
As we begin to enter the ramshackle down trodden Mission district a couple of cop cars scream past with sirens wailing. Nobody bats an eyelid. After all the American dream passed through this area a long time ago and only left behind the menagerie it is today. Many more, probably hundreds more, pedestrians suddenly appear. All shapes and sizes surround us. Crossdressers, multi tattooed individuals, a woman with green hair, plus “normal” people bounce in and out of the secondhand shops and their Chinese competitors, filling the sidewalks.
The barbers, the beauty salons and the nail-shops have fewer customers, but "Ria" the money transmitter is queued out through the door. It is Friday and the world far from here, (Seoul, Buenos Aires etc), waits for some money to fly in.
I notice amongst this chaos one place where the money magic has not yet worked and that’s the renovated old cinema plot. The new building is empty and still offers "Amazing new space for any new business." Obviously they have had no takers. It said the same thing six months ago. By the time we reach the corner of Mission and 24th we have passed many eating establishments, ranging from Sandwich Delis to Mexican Tacqerias, from Ice Cream parlors to the local versions of German beer kelders. We choose none of them for our favourite stopover is McCafe, and its two Arches. This is an establishment I have often frequented and can thoroughly recommend. Not for the food but for its ambiance. After all who wants a “100% Sirloin third pounder.” Surely sane folk would be satisfied with a smaller, 1.3 ounce smaller, ‘quarter pounder.’
The place is full of all shapes and sizes. There is a rumble of noise from all 50 tables. It is mostly of South American origin. But at regular intervals Far Eastern vocal chords squeak in with a different melody and overcome the Spanish backing. No spoken English /American penetrates the buzz. English is only used when ordering at the serving counter.
It is just after midday so the doors are in constant use. Observation shows that the majority of the customers are fiftyish, (perhaps a further small confirmation that America-the-younger is, at last, leaving the two arches
behind).
Baseball caps dominate the room, supporting nearly every baseball, football or basketball team in the South West Conference. Wheel chairs and the walking wounded come and go with surprising regularity, along with several members of the 10,000 calorie per day crew. Special benches and reinforced chairs are dedicated to these heavy-weights.
Amidst all this activity I notice on two occasions, a very diligent Cleanerguard employee of circular proportions, sweeping the floors and then gently moving the dozing, non eating clientele, out through the exit door.
We slowly sip our scalding coffee, absorbing the noise and viewing the newspaper being read around us. At the adjacent table the “Manila Mail” offers an exclusive interview with the defeated Manny Pacquiao. Wow!! Whereas the back page of the San Francisco Examiner tells me and the world that the Hustler Bar is, “Very happy to have been voted the best Strip Club in the state.” I also notice that the “Chronicle” readers tend to lay their papers flat. So I am unable to trace its lead story.
Coffee finished and more than satisfied after our close encounter with “The American People,” we move on. (I’m always bemused when I hear prominent senators and congressmen talking about “The American People,” what they want, during TV interviews. Surely they can’t mean, can’t be referring to, this miscellaneous collection of man and womankind I have been observing).
On 24th Street we are immediately confronted with art deco murals adorning several 3 and 4 storey dwellings. They are really very good, colourful and demonstrating excellent technique. Their colour and quality stand out amidst the overall lowkey ambiance of this downtrodden neighbourhood. Two blocks later we find the shop/office offering its services for painting murals. It’s empty.
Humanity starts to thin out as we traverse the 24th street blocks. And during the last slow half mile, past the hospital and up the hill, we are alone. Feeling at ease with the world, after our re-affirmation that the Mission’s uniqueness has been preserved since our last visit, we settle into the sofa to recuperate. After all an avalanche of energy will coming through the door in about two hours time.
HIB
