EVERY HILL A NOVEL

(RVs line the bluff of the SF RV Resort)

SAN FRANCISCO RV RESORT
JUNE 27th, 2010

"San Francisco itself is art, above all literary art. Every block is a short story, every hill a novel. Every home a poem, every dweller within immortal. That is the whole truth."

William Saroyan, Author

Now that surfing was done and the sun was beginning to slip down the seaside cliffs of the San Francisco RV Resort, it was time to revisit the pages of the past in my ol' college town, San Francisco.

Oh, Heart of the World, I have missed you!

When I moved to the City to begin film school, I just KNEW I was finally coming home. Ironically, it was a place I had never even visited, but one where I felt I would be amongst true friends: artists, poets, musicians, and activists. It's a delirious city, where beautifully insane people are never more abroad than when
they are at home.

So, excited to have an adventurous blast from the past, I drove to the BART station and took the next train from Pacifica into an area of the city called "The Mission"; the footloose stomping grounds of my college days.

Unknowingly, I had booked my stay during the "40 and Fabulous" Gay Pride weekend. I had already missed the performance of the Backstreet Boys (so sad), as well as the big parade, but as I stepped off the train, the city was still roaring with celebration.

Traveling without a plan, as I like to do, I picked up a discarded SF Weekly and began to read. Two "ragtime blues" bands where playing at a bar called "Amnesia."

(The Amnesia Bar, Mission District, San Francisco)

Lucky me because this show was utterly fantastic!

First up was Frank Fairfield, from Los Angeles, although I'd never heard of him. He's a street musician who plays the claw hammer style of banjo, fiddle and guitar. His live performance is awe-inspiring; he seriously channels an old mountain man or back porch blues singer from the 1900's.



I have to admit I developed a huge crush on Mister Faifield, but I think he's married. Rats!

Next was Pokey LaFarge and the South City Three, and I fell in love all over again. Sorry Frank! (Can ya'll guess which one of these cats caught my eye?)



I had so much fun at the show that I refused to leave at midnight to catch the last BART train back to Pacifica (15 miles south). I regretted this foolishness as I closed the place down and prepared for a hellish ride on an overfull city bus to the "end of the line."

The folks at Amnesia said it would be no problem to then catch a taxi for the remaining five miles back to Pacifica, they even said there would be cabs lined up and waiting, but I began to get nervous when I was the last and only passenger dropped off on a dark and deserted street by an indifferent bus driver. There wasn't a taxi to be seen, in fact, there wasn't a single restaurant open or even another human anywhere!

Luckily, I wore comfortable shoes as I hitched up my skirt and began hiking up and down those remaining San Francisco hills towards Pacifica.

A novel on every hill, indeed!

Chryss

(P.S. I didn't walk back the entire five miles. Eventually, I found a "by-the-slice" all-night pizza joint open and I had a piece as they called me a cab. It was the best pizza I've ever had!