SFO: the Luck of the Few

Life could have been quite different. Before heading out to live and work in Moscow, I had a place at Berkeley to study Political Economy. In a parallel universe perhaps I am an academic and a published author on the process of democratization and macroeconomic stabilization in the former Soviet republics. Or maybe just a surfer. No regrets, though, however much I love the Mediterranean lifestyle out here. It's worked out to be a rich and rewarding ride so far. I have a lot that I'm grateful for. 

The Mamas & The Papas will tell you that "If You're Going to San Francisco, Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair... You're Gonna Meet Some Gentle People There". You will also meet some people seriously down on their luck. 

Many American cities I imagine have their socio-economic contrasts, given the extremes of income inequality that this fine nation has managed to achieve. In San Francisco, though, a lot of unlucky people seem to be still tripping on the afterburner of the Summer of Love. 

There are a lot of things that are free in SF, and I suspect that and the (mostly) mild weather make this town a lot more tolerable for the marginalized than many other US cities. Striking though to see the black buses of Silicon valley, with their battalions of young Zinga and Google techies, weaving around the homeless in the Mission. Even on Market Street, you have to dodge the Jesus freaks and hobos with shopping trolleys like something from Cormac McCarthy's The Road.  

We hop on a tram there, a Philadelphia special. There was still an operational tramway in Chestnut Hill, a suburb of Philadelphia, when I was a kid. And they've been reinstated in parts of Milan, though they have to compete with sleek bullet train designs now. Here in San Francisco you have them salvaged from defunct tramways all over the country, and imported from all over the world. You can spot the orange Milan carriages a mile off, looking buttoned up and uptight alongside the art deco numbers from Chicago and Baltimore. Nice way to ride through town. 

 

On our last evening, we're woken at about 4am by the swaying of the bed. At first I think the neighbours upstairs must be practicing nocturnal acrobatics, but then realize we are on the top floor. It's an earthquake, 4.0 on the Richter scale we later learn. What did Fabrice tell us about earthquake drill in Lima? It's all evaporated from my mind... 

Time for us to move to solid ground. Manhattan, built on rock, and able to withstand even the shock of Lehman Brothers, next stop. 

Goodbye Pacific, Goodbye San Francisco