San Francisco Intersections
When planning a trip in the spring of 2007 to San Francisco, I asked a friend to list places that she never misses when visiting this historic city of bridges, bays, harbors, hills, culturally diverse neighborhoods and magnificent vistas. Knowing this was not my first time in the city, she cut to the chase—“The renovated Ferry Building at the foot of Market Street, a ferry boat excursion to Sausalito and Nordstrom’s shoe department.”
I packed light, knowing that I always need to reserve space for the books that I inevitably discover when browsing urban bookstores. I was also hoping to find a classy pair of comfortable dancing shoes. Space would be needed as well for travel materials I love to accumulate on trips—brochures, schedules, menus, ticket stubs, maps, and other sundries. Together with photos, postcards, and journal notes, they provide additional details woven into a story of the trip once I am back home.
Before zipping up my suitcase, I tucked in a 1944 cookbook/memoir written by George Mardikian, an Armenian immigrant who owned Omar Khayam’s—a famous San Francisco restaurant that was a favorite of writer William Saroyan half a century ago. Mother had recently found this out-of-print treasure at an estate sale in San Antonio and thought Kit and I might eat there during our visit if it was still in operation.
BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) provided our transport from the airport to Union Square, as well as under the bay to Richmond on the evening we visited our daughter Heidi. In a neighborhood Thai restaurant, the three of us sampled pumpkin curry while Heidi filled us in on her life as a college English professor in the East Bay area.
Our hotel was the Serrano, a small, Italian-style hotel located between the Theater District and Union Square—a lively area with no shortage of restaurants, art galleries, shops, bookstores and theaters. It was also conveniently near the massive Hilton where an international geographers conference was taking place. Fortunately, Kit’s fairly open conference schedule allowed for hours of exploration in the city.
Remembering my friend’s suggestions, we headed to Nordstrom’s shoe department immediately after our arrival. There I found a pair of red leather, Murano, made-in-America-but-oozing-Italian-flair boots that will hopefully cushion my dancing feet for years.
Afterwards, we walked along Market Street to the historic Ferry Building—what San Francisco columnist Herb Caen once called “A famous city’s most famous landmark.” Newly renovated as part of the revitalization of the San Francisco waterfront, the building is now an upscale marketplace dedicated to the artisan food community—with shops celebrating cheeses at the Cowgirl Creamery, locally raised meats, fresh local fish, exotic mushrooms, local wines, organic produce, fresh-cut flowers, garden shops and local farmers market two days a week.
The building is an impressive showcase of regional producers that practice traditional farming or production techniques. At Frog Hollow Farm’s shop, we ordered an organic cafe latte, sipped fresh blood-orange juice and shared a delicious Asian pear pastry while imagining how such a cooperative venture might play out in our local Columbia and Ashland downtowns.
On our return walk, Kit struck up a lively conversation in Mandarin with Cheryl Chin, a Chinese-American selling her handmade Tibetan turquoise and red coral jewelry from a table on a busy corner of Union Square where she’s done business for twenty years. The square was filled with food stands, so it was not long before Kit gravitated toward a Stanley Steamer hot dog stand in front of Macy’s. Amidst the frenetic cacophony of shoppers, streetcars, tourists and traffic that intersect at Union Square, we enjoyed a fine San Francisco hot dog before continuing on to the Theater district.
It was there that I had my favorite boots restored to life at Azzolini’s Shine stand where Joe, an Italian-American, has manned his closet-sized operation next to the Curran Theater for over 40 years. A block from Joe’s one-man operation, we bantered with a homeless man who has lived on the streets for 48 months, a troubling urban reality that you face on every corner of this city of economic extremes.
Our final day, I stopped by the Christopher-Clark Fine Art gallery located near our hotel. Zovig Garabedian, the gallery’s associate director, slipped comfortably into the role of museum docent, providing historical commentary as I perused walls lined with works by 19th and early 20th century masters. Intrigued by her name, I asked its origin. “Armenian,” she replied. I then hurried back to our hotel to retrieve the book Mother had given me.
Zovig, an Armenian-American, now has George Mardikian’s cookbook in her kitchen. When Kit and I returned to Boomerang Creek, an email was waiting for me. “Dear Cathy,” Zovig wrote, “Your mother buys the book in Texas, sends it to you in Missouri, you bring it to San Francisco, then you meet me who knows all about the Armenian restaurant which used to be just around the corner from the gallery where we met. What a small world.”
Zovig, my new friend, then shared a saying of her Armenian grandmother. “Mountains don’t meet, but people do.” In San Francisco, memorable intersections with fascinating people happen all over this hilly city of many neighborhoods if you take time to explore the spaces in between. And now that Kit and I live in Nevada City—just two hours east of the bay area—you can bet there will be many more explorations of San Francisco in our future.