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Somewhere on the western edge of North America, covered
by a thick moistlayer of insulating fog, lies a city that some would say is
unlike anyother. Surrounded by water, on a peninsula, which sometimes feels like
theedge of the world, San Francisco is home to about 800,000 individuals.
Likemany American cities, San Francisco is alive and vibrant, but unlike therest
of the country, it possesses a mentality and population, which iscompletely
unique.
My love affair with San Francisco began in December of 1989, when
Iimmigrated, with my family, from Odessa. I remember seeing the illuminatedcity
skyline through the window of an airplane that had brought me half wayacross the
world. I remember being filled with awe, amazement andexcitement. Even then I
somehow knew that I was coming to a place that wouldnot only shape me as a
person, but also shelter me and protect me from someof the harshness of a
typical urban life.
Our first house in San Francisco was in the heart of the
Sunset, aneighborhood populated in the 1950's by mostly middle class white
families,but now filled with multitudes of mostly Asian immigrants. My
parents,coming from the extremely homogeneous environment of communist
Russia,experienced great discomfort at having to share their living space
withpeople so utterly different from them. The diversity of the Sunset, and
ofSan Francisco as a whole, was quite a shock to them.
For me, at least in
the beginning, it was a much smoother transition. ThoughI knew no English,
nothing about my multicolored and multi-culturalkindergarten class really
frightened me. I was mostly in awe of all that wasgoing on around me. In those
early days, San Francisco for me was alandscape of aging, sun-bleached wooden
houses, constant fog, and newadventures.
When it came time for me to go to
Middle School, my parents opted forprivate school in order to give me a fuller
and more developed education. Iwas sent to the rather pompous Katherine Delmar
Burke's School, a smallall-girls school. It was there that for the first time I
experienced, notculture shock, but discrimination. Though over the five years
that we hadbeen in America my parents had made enough to send me, with financial
aid,to a private school, I was one of the poorest kids there. I entered into
adifferent world, where my peers owned million dollar homes and ranches inthe
Napa Valley, and status was assigned by the value of your clothes
andaccessories. Not all the girls succumbed to this elitist attitude; therewere
a handful that came from modest means, like me, but in order to bepopular in any
way you had to know the right people and wear the right,expensive, things. My
years at Burke's weren't all bad by any stretch of theimagination, for I
received a solid education and I got to experiencethings, like outdoor ed trips
to Yosemite and the Southern Californiadesert, that my friends in public school
never could. But I learned whatmoney could do to a family and to an individual,
and I started to learn whatI did and did not want to become.
The summer after
graduating from Burke's I discovered two moreneighborhoods of San Francisco.
Asserting my independence, I boldlyventured into the downtown Financial
District. There, wandering through thestreets, dwarfed by the massive high
rises, I rediscovered some of the awethat filled me when I was a tiny
5-year-old. Downtown was both appealing andrepulsive. The skyscrapers attested
to the power and grandeur of modern man,while the ubiquitous businessmen and
homeless people attested to humanity^ñsmonotony and inability to provide for
all.
That summer I also discovered the Haight-Ashbury. Once the center of
thehippie revolution, this bustling six block stretch was now occupied
byvagrants, drug addicts, cheap restaurants, and incredible second handclothing
stores. On the weekends, the streets were filled with eccentric andcolorful
characters ranging from good-looking women in leather bondagepants, to unwashed
young men begging for money in cow costumes. In theHaight, I not only discovered
an affinity for those on the fringe, butgained an awesome and cheap new wardrobe
as well.
When I began to attend a large public high school, I became awareof
two new neighborhoods of San Francisco ^… The Castro and TheMission. In ninth
grade with the realization of the fullness of my ownsexuality I began to be
fascinated by the Castro ^… the main lesbian and gaydistrict of the city. It
was there that I encountered and embraced aflourishing subculture, volunteering
at the Lesbian and Gay Film Festival,going to Pride Week events with my
girlfriend, and meeting young people atLYRIC (lavender youth recreation and
information center). And it was thattime that I developed my undying love for
sushi, spending many a happydollar at Osaka Sushi on Castro and Market. That
year I found a strangesense of connection and community that drew me to the
Castro again andagain. Knowing that at any time day or night, the Castro would
be there,opening its arms to me, was a great comfort, and many times I felt more
atease in the Castro than I did anywhere else in the city, including my
ownhome.
Recently I have also been venturing into the Mission, infamous
forits gang activity and yummy Mexican food. There are several reasonsfor my
exploration of the mainly Hispanic area. Going to an enormousand diverse public
high school has given me the opportunity to meetand befriend Latino kids who
live in the neighborhood. My visits totheir homes are always a cultural and
culinary adventure. Not heeding myparents advice about dangerous drug deals and
gang warfare, my friends and Ioften walk around the Mission at night, reveling
in the loud drum and basscoming from the bars and dance clubs, the smells of
refried beans from thenondescript tacquerias, and the sight of others like us,
wandering around,enjoying all the spectacle of the street.
Another reason for
my journeying to The Mission is the various jobsI^ñve had the past few years.
The rapid growth of what are commonlyknown as "yuppies" and "dot-comers" has
pushed many artists andcompanies out of downtown and into the seedy South of
Market/Mission Area.To get to work at The Bay Area Video Coalition, Alternative
Design Studios,or the KQED offices I have to take the 33 bus through the heart
of theMission, all the while getting a kick out of watching the colorful
sceneryas I pass by. My trips to The Mission have taught me that rumors about
adangerous area or neighborhood, though not unfounded, are often
grosslysensationalized and blown out of proportion, and that underneath the
sadlyprevalent poverty that is often found in social enclaves, the Mission is
avibrant community, full of life and emotion, that has much to offer not onlyme,
but the rest of San Francisco as well.
To say that San Francisco is diverse
would be a laughable understatement.San Francisco posses a distinct spirit and
individuality that some peopleonly dream of. In the midst of all of this is a
widespread tolerance thatamazes me every single day. Whether it's a meeting of
the Boy Scouts, aGreen Party rally, a midnight mass at Grace Cathedral, the Gay
Pride Parade,or the International Film Festival, San Francisco has it all, and
it^ñs opento everyone.
I also believe that San Francisco has a degree of
safety that other citiesjust do not have. There are very few places in the city
where I feel unsafe,and none of my close friends nor I have ever been mugged or
assaulted. Sadlyin this day and age the presence of fear for one^ñssafety and
livelihood in an urban landscape is inevitable, but I think thatliving in San
Francisco I've been able to avoid some of the harshestrealities of city
life.
If I told you that I've seen all of San Francisco I'd be lying. There
areneighborhoods ^… Bayview/Hunter's Point, Viscitaion Valley ^… that I have
notyet explored, but I still have time to do so. My task for the time that Ihave
left to spend in this amazing city is to explore all the nooks andcrannies I
have yet to discover, and learn more of the city's secrets andmysteries, so that
I can carry them, like precious pebbles, with me on myjourney to
college. |
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