6-14-2017 Day 64. San Francisco Knights.

June 14th, 2017

Day 64

Santa Cruz, CA

Miles driven: 7263

Currently Reading: Banjo tabs.

Currently listening to: Crappy folk music in a Starbucks.

 

San Francisco Knights.

 

Saturday.

I had been in San Francisco for two days.  I had been staying in the Tenderloin area of downtown, a grimy place spotted with all sorts of riff-raff.  I had been warned about the roughness, but all I saw were junkies shooting up in alleyways and two-bit hustlers trying to slang a few Xanax to an unsuspecting fool.  I wandered the neighborhood on a Saturday night at the witching hour and saw nothing out of the ordinary.  There had to be more to this town.  Little did I know, I would find out how much more there was to this town later the next day.

Sunday.

It was late in the afternoon. 5:00 maybe.  I was sitting enjoying a beer at the Owl Tree bar on Post and Taylor in downtown.  I was watching the Penguins win the Stanley cup when a young blonde sat down next to me.  She was uninterested in the game, but was interested in the scruffy out-of-towner sitting next to her. 

We began chatting, noting serious, I just wanted to watch the game and drink a beer before I walked to my tiny hostel a few blocks away.  Her name was Nicole.  She worked at a retail shop in the tourist district of San Francisco only a few blocks away.  We had both stumbled into the Owl Tree bar at the end of our day.

I could have never predicted the adventure that Nicole and I would embark on in the next few hours as we made small talk sitting in a dive bar in downtown San Francisco.

After the game was over, she leaned over and asked me, “Want to go to The Mission?”

“What’s The Mission?” I asked her.

“My neighborhood.  If you want to see a real side of San Francisco, come with me.”

I looked over at the bartender, Amanda.  She was the only other person I had talked to in the building.

“What do you think Amanda?  Can I trust Nicole?”

Amanda replied, “I trust her with my life.”

10 minutes later Nicole and I were on the BART; the light rail that connects the Bay Area.

After a short ride, we arrived in The Mission.  It was dark.  Nicole and I walked casually to the closest pool hall, passing several groups of people hanging out on street corners and in dark alleys.  There was the usual rabble-rousing from those on the street; they were not too sure about the tall cowboy with the local girl.  We pressed on further.

Inside the pub, we played pool.  She was better than me; or at least had played a lot more recently.  I didn't mind losing.  I wanted to see how far we could get into The Mission and keeping Nicole feeling triumphant, as my guide, was the best possible move a stranger in a strange land could make.

A few games passed and we decided to head out.

We walked down the streets, twisting and turning through the city, stopping at different bars and speakeasies as I was whisked away by Nicole

Nicole whisked me away, twisting and turning through the city stopping at different bars and speakeasies with no end in sight and no known direction we were going.

At one point, we were walking past a club and I heard the sound of crisp, west-coast hip hop.  I stopped Nicole. 

“Wanna go in and listen to some music?”
“Sure,” she said.

We walked in, ordered some drinks, walked to the dance floor and found a spot to chill and listen to the music.  The music hit hard. It hit west coast hard.  Like the cold Pacific Ocean crashing into the rocky coast, the bass line and the hype in the club exploded in intensity.  I looked at Nicole.  She looked at me.  We hit the dance floor.

Up until that point it was a pretty calm evening.  This was the turning point.

We had been enjoying the dance floor for a while, dancing to the songs the DJ was spinning, when I started to notice something.  Nicole and I would dance for a little while and then take a break when the DJ transitioned by scratching the LPs.  However, the longer we stayed in the club, it seemed the shorter the time we would dance before the "skirt-skirt" sound of the record scratching would come on.  The DJ started to stop songs midway through.  In fact, I began to notice that they directly corresponded with when Nicole and I started dancing with each other.  Then I saw people making gunshot signs at me and I decided that it was time to leave.  We walked out soon thereafter, our time exploring the hip hop scene in San Francisco at an end.

After we walked outside, Nicole grabbed my hand. 

“Follow me,” she said.  “I want to show you something.”

I followed her.  She brought me down a few blocks to the opening of a dark alley.

“Would you like to see what is down there?” She asked.

“What’s down there?” I asked.

“Do you want to see?” 

She looked into my eyes.  I could see she was confident and excited.

I have a general rule while travelling not to go down dark alleys in strange place while drinking.  But Nicole was my guide for the evening and Amanda trusted her with her life, so I rolled the dice.  I would either be robbed and murdered, or something amazing would happen.

 

“Show me.” I said.

 

She took my hand and pulled me into the alley.  We walked through the pitch black for a while before I saw the glint of streetlights in the distance.  The lights lit up the alley as we walked through it.  There were chain link fences on one side and a large brick building on the other.  We walked further.  The chain like fence ended and a smaller brick wall began.

A few steps later and I saw the graffiti.  I looked as far as I could down the alley and the wall seemingly stretched on forever.  Every few yards there was a new picture, tag, work of art, whatever.  It was indescribably beautiful. The detail in all the artwork and the unbelievable variety in styles blew my mind.  We walked for a long time snapping pictures of the artwork, telling jokes and talking about life.

At the end of the graffiti wall, my stomach growled.

“You know a good taco spot?” I asked her.

“Follow me.” She said.

A few blocks later and we were in a taco shop.  The Mission was home to a large Latino community before it started getting gentrified during the tech-boom, but the key remnants remained.  This place was legit.  It smelled like home.  I hadn’t smelled a good taco shack like this since I left Houston.

Three tacos later and I was good for the night.  We walked out of the taco place happy.  It was a good night.

I walked her home.  She lived in a medium-rise building a few blocks away.

Once we got to her place and said our goodbyes, I kissed her.  “Thanks for the night.” I said.

“It was quite the experience.” She said.

 

I Ubered home to the junkie side of downtown and left San Fran the next day with a smile.