Running farewell

Black sand still between my toes. For a last farewell to the city, I went running along Ocean Beach. I had not planned on that, especially since it had been raining the whole day. But when the rain stopped, I felt a "now or never" moment. I unpacked the sneakers from the suitcase and took the streetcar to the Ocean. There had to be a last enthusiastic good-bye. I thought running would express that.

It was a very special mood at the Ocean. An after-rain ease and bright light towards the Western horizon. The dark purple clouds were still hanging over the beach, but had lost their thews to make it rain more. So I ran, for the last hour before sunset (I should mention I am a very slow "runner"). I picked up a weird, beautiful seashell. When I wanted to rinse it, I was said hello by an underestimated waive, i.e. my shoes were under water. They would now squak.

I was there when the sun set. It was not visible (it usually dips into the water, right there), but the clouds would get just a little rose. The beach was dipped into warm light, and the high clouds gave it an almost artificial, tent-like atmosphere. Then it got dark, and the winds started blowing again.

Now, I am back home. Packing, feeling weird. I had my last imported "Sonntagssuppe" (Sunday soup) from Maggi. The sneakers are sitting on a garbage-can-phone book-tower-arrangement in front of the heater, so they can dry out before going on their suitcase-trip tomorrow. To San Diego.

So. That was it. I am most thankful for a wonderful time, in the Inner Sunset. I guess I have found what I had come for: Sun, solitude, inspiration, and a bit of San Francisco's magic that keeps me coming back here. My new discoveries, Duboce Park Café, Arizmendi's Bakery and the concerts at the Chinese corner store will be missed dearly. I also know there will be those moments in Vienna where I miss to just hop onto the street car for the stroll along the beach. The seashell will be my souvenir, in the best sense of the word.

Farewell, San Francisco.
Let's stay in touch.

Europe through the back door

It has been a slow Saturday. Around noon, I went downtown to have coffee in the Yerba Buena Gardens (photograph above). The weather was warm, but the sky was overcast, and it felt more like a late autumn day than one in February. But maybe this is my mindset, dealing with the approaching end of a spring spent in San Francisco.

My leaving is a bit easier as I look forward to a few days in San Diego and a car trip to L.A. before going back to Vienna. So, I spent two hours at Borders, taking notes on what not to miss in San Diego. Oh, and Vienna is a nice place too! When I came home, what did I find on TV? Rick Steves, from Europe through the back door, was in Vienna, proudly presenting our old street cars traveling the Ringstrasse. It feels weird to be presented the city I live in by an excited American who poses in front of the city hall - and my work place is almost in sight. While I am typing, Rick is still traveling. In the last two hours, he has been to Tuscany, and is now at the Tate Modern in London. It seems this program goes on for the rest of the Saturday. And slowly am I feeling I should really go visit Europe some time soon! :-)

The final spin

I woke up in a slight panic: There are only 3 fully days left in San Francisco! I spare you the usual cry-out of "how unbelievably fast this went by". Yet, it frightened me, because I am unsure if: 1) I have produced enough text? 2) Had enough sun yet? 3) Enough melon cakes? For the cakes, it is a definite negative.

For the text, I went straight to Starbucks and wrote a bit to a call cappuccino and an apple fritter. For the sun, I got some when I was walking back and forth between the laundromat and my house.

Washing! How easily I can still fail American daily life. I DO know how to generally manage an American washing machine. For a European, this is almost ridiculously simple: Open the lid, throw it all in, pour in some detergent, close lid, choose if you wash "colors", "bright colors", "whites" or "wool", and there you go. There is nothing like a temperature control (this works over the color selection) or spinning speeds, let alone a button to save water. It does it all by itself. Great. The countdown function told me to be back in 26 minutes. That's quick. But when I came back, it had stopped by 12 minutes, and in the display there was some blinking: "unbalanced", it read. - What do you mean, washing machine? Is the balance wrong, like you want more money? Are you broken, as in "disturbed", unbalanced? I walked around the 24 machines, looked for signs, by making sure I did not look like I wanted to steal anybody else's laundry. Finally, I found a sign INSIDE another washing machine (under the lid), explaining that "unbalanced" would require the washing individual to rearrange the laundry for its final spin. Great placement of the note! So, I opened the lid, "balanced" the laundry, it washed, and I collected it later. All is clean now.

There are still so many things I need to learn in that culture. And I fear 3 days will not do.

Which size, honey?

My communication pattern is very different from that in Vienna. Or simply: I talk less! There is no business conversation, no after work wine sipping chats, no phone sessions at night. Here, in the mornings, my first complete sentence is often formed at Duboce Park Café: "One single cappuccino, please". - However, America is the country of ultra-friendly, standardized shopping language. And as a customer, one is actually prompted to respond in many ways: "yes, thanks" - "no, thanks" - "It's to go". That gives opportunity to communicate, also for those like me, who browse the city without company. So, which words were spoken today, in my little anonymous life abroad? Below is a list of the questions I was asked today. It incluses an eating scenery (lunch), one coffee trip, and some store hopping downtown.

1. Which size, honey? (Ordering a sandwich for pick-up)
2. With everything? (same scenery)
3. For here or to go? (Buying a coffee at Duboce Park Café)
4. How are you doing today? (Asked about 25 times today when entering the store)
5. Credit or Debit? (Paying for earrings at H&M)
6. Do you find everything alright? (Browsing far too expensive summer dresses at Nordstrom)
7. Do you want to buy a second shirt for only 10 Dollar? (buying a t-shirt at American Eagle)
8. Do you want to save 20% with a membership card of Barnes & Noble? (buying the new book of Armistead Maupin: "Michael Tolliver lives")
9. Do you want to have coupons instead for your next purchase at any Barnes & Noble? (same guy, not giving up)

So, basically, the words I have spoken today, were those:

1. Medium, please
2. Yes, please
3. For here, please
4. Fine, thanks (25 times)
5. Credit
6. Yes, thanks
7. No, thanks
8. No, thanks, I am not a resident
9. No, thanks

After all, this is not so bad, is it?

Can't do without Vienna

I am always relieved when, after an "academic fatigue" (which I had yesterday), the good spirits are coming back and I can easily concentrate on what I want to do. Today was such a day. I finished the second revision of an article, registered for a doctoral seminar in the upcoming semester (yes, that qualifies as work!), and wrote some sentences on methodology.

In an 11am blueberry-scone & coffee-pause, I turned on the TV. I caught "Who wants to be a millionaire", and it was the first time I ever saw the American version. I sometimes like watching the German "Wer wird Millionär", mostly because I like the showmaster Günther Jauch. It is interesting to see the differences, e.g. that the American version has a time limit for the candidate to answer (20 seconds). In Germany, they can take their time, rethink their answer, get a hint from the showmaster (only if he likes them). They go back and forth, it might take forever. Not so in the American version: "B, final answer", they say, and in the next second, they get their result. Isn't this telling something about American efficiency? Right or wrong, no arguing, and no second chance. Also, the multimedia aspect is pushed. There is an expert who can be called via Skype! Skype is also the one who has picked that expert. Very interesting! In Germany (G), there is no such expert, and there is no Skype. In G, there is only the three "telephone jokers", apparently the equivalent to the "Phone a friend-option", and they show pictures of the people - which adds nicely.

Anyway, I do not want to compare the whole format - but conclude with this here: Comes the question for the candidate: "Which of these European capitals is located farthest South?". Unfortunately, the Gentleman had no clue (you can also tell from his face). So, that was it. He went home with 16,000 USD. Put simple: You can't do without Vienna! :-)

Once by the Pacific

Today I hopped onto my streetcar and have it take me to its final stop: Ocean Beach. Along Judah Street, the N muni train runs straight towards the West, block after block, slowly approaching the Pacific. Somewhen, the Inner Sunset District becomes the Outer Sunset. Small beach houses, a forgotten hotel, some burrito cafés, lost hippies, and a store selling "cheap liquors". The atmosphere is calm and simple, as if modestly opening the stage for the raving waters of the North Pacific Ocean.

Once I have passed the Great Highway and conquered the wall of dunes with green and reddish cactus-plants, the sound is massive. There is no such Mare Pacificum, no peaceful sea. I walk the beach, with many others. I-Pod joggers, dogs with their stick throwing significant others, beach-romantic couples, one meditating yogi, and other uncategorized persons ("sonstige").

I don't know what it is with shores and big waters, but don't they not always trigger some inner geography? The readjustment of the one's philosophical compass: How did I get here? Where do I want to sail? - For tonight, the street car took me back to my temporary home, the Inner Sunset. Soon will I fall asleep with the cheeks still red from sun and wind.

Bottle Shock

That Monday was good, intense, and it started with a sip of beer: a homeless guy spilled it on my pants (out of a Starbucks mug!) when he hopped on the overcrowded muni train. Oh, great! I go visit a Campus on East bay - and I smell like beer? I was doubtful that was a good omen but was proven wrong. I had a very good day on Campus, made some contacts, and worked in the library. It felt nice to sit there, in my niche in the "quiet area", right next to Anselm Strauss' Mirrors and Masks - their almost "home shelf", so to say.

We later went to Heidi's place, and the beer shock from this morning was solved by a nice evening with wine. While having some good Cabernet Sauvignon, we watched Bottleshock. That movie (US, 2008) is based on the Paris wine-testing from 1976, when a Californian Chardonnay won over the French one. A scandal for the French, of course. And the movie poster reminds us of the Sputnik shock (although I find this comparison a bit lame...). Anyway, the true wine lovers among us (Tina!) might know that winery: Chateau Montelana in Napa Valley. I, to be honest, had never heard of it. And it also seems like that movie never made it to the German or French movie theaters... Go figure! ;-)

Oscar for the melon cakes

On TV, the Oscar has just been given to best supporting actor and actress: Heath Ledger (posthumous) and Penélope Cruz. To be honest, I myself do not really get the hype about that event - but I like to see how people go crazy about it. I like that there are wiki-people out there who update the info for their favorite film instantly, once it has won an Oscar. I saw this for the film The Curious Case of Benjamin Button at the German wiki site, updated around 4am CET, in the middle of their Sunday night. Those are the real freaks.

When the first celebrities walked the red carpet in L.A.this afternoon, I decided for a spontaneous trip to Chinatown. I had come to think of the little melon cakes I had bought a few days ago. That was reason enough to leave the notebook home alone and go out in the rain. Yes, it is another day of 100% rain! But I have decided not to care anymore. Maybe because of the wet conditions, Chinatown was nicely emptied of tourists, and I zig zagged Grant Street. I browsed some more stores I had not been to. Clearly, my Oscar for best Asian toy goes to the wind-up sushi (sushi that walks). So funny! The day will come where I cannot resist purchasing one of those...

Another Oscar surely goes to the melon cakes of Eastern Bakery! I am home with two of them now, listening to Tracy Chapman and the rain.

Villa Villekulla, Haight-Ashbury style

Exactly 21 days into my stay, San Francisco feels like a good new home. The Asian woman at the corner store recognizes me as a loyal customer and gives a smile. I know the bread schedule of Arizmendi's. And I know the rules of riding the Muni trains and busses:

For instance, it is priceless to know about the transformation of the subway into a streetcar when it leaves the tunnel. This might include a sudden disappearance of passengers who stand too close to the doors, because the flat floor will unfold into a two step staircase. I have seen a dog barking on that phenomenon as I have seen an Asian girl disappearing while making a sound that only Asian girls are capable to produce. Social rules might include - yet only witnessed in single cases - that you do not talk to people you know, but you send them a follow-up e-mail ;-)

So, with the new Muni e-mail-friend we had an entertaining lunch at the Ferry Building. During a grilled Cheese Sandwich, I tried to "explain Vienna". In return, I learned more about pillow fights and also how to operate a straw dispenser. They are still there, the moments where I am completely lost and where I need people to hand me - if you wanna stick with the picture - the cultural straw.

The day ended with my shopping tour to Trader Joe's and a walk back home through Haight Ashbury. The colorful, freaky neighborhood where I always await Pippi Longstocking to suddenly pop up around a corner. At least you get a picture of a Villa Villekulla, Haight-Ashbury style.

Sharing a Pecan Roll

"Whether you have ten minutes or a life-time, there's always something new to see and do at the SF Botanical Garden." True, but until today, I did not even know I lived so close to that place! I discovered the garden on a lunch walk in the neighborhood. Outfitted with a coffee mug and a pecan roll of Arizmendi's (the roll everybody is crazy about), I walked into Golden Gate Park and took a new route. Turns out new routes are often rewarding!

It was warm (19C; 67F) and the cardigan had soon to slip into the bag. I entered the garden and looked for a bench. With that strong sun, it made sense walking through the lushious greens and flowers of sections like "Chile" or "Eastern Australia". I finally sat with the Feathery Hop Bush (Dodonaea Tenuifolia) to have the roll and coffee. Only to share the pecan nuts with an American squirrel. At that point, I was not aware this is forbidden. Also, I trusted the little fellow to be a nice one, but: once I stopped feeding, it got stressed and attacked from behind. I felt it jumping towards the bench, but it fell off again. Stupid little monster.

I came to think of a report that I have seen lately on German TV. The biologists were afraid of the American breed (the Eastern Grey Squirrel) which is now spreading out in Europe. They would ultimately survive the local one (The Red Squirrel). The American one would be more robust, more fertile, and less selective in their daily diet. And I am only talking about squirrels here... ;-) Until it attacked, the squirrel and I, we had a good relationship though. We traded food for picture posing: I would feed him the nuts, he would go sit in the tree with it to eat it off his little "hands", I took pictures, and he would come back for more nuts. So, I came to take about 20 photographs of the squirrel eating the nuts of the expensive Arizmendi roll. So, please, enjoy the precious pic!

Crissy Field and other magic

This place just holds some weird magic. Now that I have returned home from a day trip in the sun, I find this here in my e-mail: "You are in SF now right? I just saw you on the N-Judah muni train." This is from a guy I had short contact with, 6 months ago, on the web. I mean, what are the chances? Remember, this happens after I have already ran into one of my study subjects the other day. - I wrote back. We will have lunch Saturday.

Before that happened, I thought I would start today's entry with a love song to San Francisco - because everything was so beautiful today. I hiked an endles hike through the city, also along the beach, and can now barely feel my feet anymore. (And for the record: No, I did not do *anything* dissertation today. This can wait until the next rain will come.)

So, late into the morning, I started at Grant Street and walked up North around Chinatown. I had custard tart for breakfast at the Eastern Bakery, browsed the new designs of Chinese slippers, tried a watch, passed a place selling live birds, and went into a crazy convenience store that sells, for instance: giant thermos jugs, baby clothes, buddhas, but also Mother Mary's, or 10 tooth brushes for 99 cents. Then came the Italian neighborhood, North Beach. I am always amazed, how quickly the setting changes: you leave Stockton Street, turn around, and suddenly the street lanterns have a sleeve in green-white-red. The Chinese hustle turns into the tranquility of an after-lunch hour at a Trattoria: The guests have left, and now the waiter takes a little rest at the bar, while the emptied pasta plates and wine glasses rest peacefully in the outside sun. - I buy a single cappuccino and take it to Washington square. It is the first time I sit on a meadow this year.

My final destination for today is the North Shore, Crissy Field. Since my last visit here, it has become a special place to me, one that says: 'You really made it, you are here!' I simply answer 'yes'. And for the time of a long stroll along the beach, there are no wishes on the wait. It is just: IT!

Fortune Cookie for Germans

Since a few nights back, some strange noises had irritated my sleep. A sound like "knock-knock" had woken me up a few times each night. The first night, I really thought somebody was at my door. Then, I came to think of mice. Or rats (when I was really desperate.) But later, I figured it must be the giant fridge. It was. Upon closer inspection, I saw the fridge has the same brand like my first walkman had: a Sanyo. So, here we go: sound-producing artefacts. After that riddle had been solved, and after I had turned off the monster, I had the best sleep in a few nights. And then: I woke up to blue skies. The rain had gone. That would be a good day.

I started it at a newly discovered coffee place, Cole Valley Café in the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood. To a café au lait and another caramel macchiato, I revised an article and also wrote on the dissertation a bit.

Most meaningful today however was meeting Heidi. She has been my ESL professor when I went to College in Ohio. It makes me very happy we are still in touch - not only because she taught me that "v" and "w" should sound different, and not only because she was the one making me write my first American diary (a daily blog in print, if you will). So, we went to Chinatown and had an early dinner at Hunan Home's Restaurant, a place well acknowledged by Zagat, yelp, and alike. And yes, the food was good. It ended with the usual fortune cookies, and I learned that you should offer them to each other, for the luck. So, Heidi offered me this one here: "Be direct, usually one can accomplish more that way." Really? Me, the German - sometimes too direct - girl gets such a cookie? That made me smile. On the day the sun came back.

But not now!

Another day in the triangle of rain, bakery and Home Office. Today's daylight has not seen a single minute without rain, and it was just impossible to navigate any further away than Arizmendi's. I took seat on one of their two inside park benches(!), sipped coffee to a cheese roll, and read on a student's master thesis that I have to give comment on.

I cannot hear that sentence anymore which is echoing from everywhere now: "But we needed that rain". Such says the weatherwoman on Good Morning America, every day, right after the flooding report. And such says the Asian woman in front of me, when we wait in bakery line. Outside, it rains bubbles and she needs to raise her voice to be understood over the loudness of water disaster. Me, actually less in despair than her (because she had forgotten her umbrella, I had one!), say to her: "But not NOW!" She and the cashier (who also bakes, don't forget it is Arizmendi's) agree in the typical American "I KNOW!". Yeah, but do you really? I am not a resident. I have travelled one ocean plus one and a half continents to get sun. I am not so keen on saving water supplies for your city just now. Because I leave again. To Vienna, where we do not have a dryness problem.

Is this really you, San Francisco? Come on, spend a little sun tomorrow...

The paths of coincidence

I have written about the chances of rain, and about the chances to get hit by an earthquake. But what are the chances to run into a person I know? Here, of all places?

So, I am out on a little hike in Golden Gate Park, today at 2.45pm. Along my path, approaching two girls with small kids. When they get closer, I catch some German words. So, of course I check them out. And suddenly recognize one of them! I know it right away: she is one of the nannies I have interviewed 3 years back! So yes, she is one my "study objects" I am writing my dissertation on. - So I go (in German): "Hi! Don't we know each other?" She looks at me, a bit uncertain. I take off the huge in cognito sunglasses, and tell her I am Christine from that (name) study.THEN she recognizes me, laughs, and we are both mystified by that unexpetexted encounter. She tells me she is now studying here, a freshman at College. So, there we stand, in front of the baseball field. The one kid gets lost in a puddle, and she has to take care of him. So, with all the uncertainty what to say next (I mean, I know a lot about her life, I have interviewed her 3 times, for about 7 hours total...) - we give each other a friendly good-bye.

I walk in the park, up and down the trails of the very green little forest of AIDS Memorial Grove and just cannot get this one out of my head: "You always meet twice." - Or in this case: 4 times. The paths of coincidence.

On another note: I missed Lance (Armstrong) this morning. On its course from Sausalito-Santa Cruz, the Tour of California went by close to where I live. But we were dipped in heavy rain, so I did not end up watching.

Eat Read Write

There it was again: the 100% chance of rain. And Petrus took that chance. It rained one complete day, and it still is. It is *pouring*, 9:05pm local. Only for a short walk to the bakery did I leave my apartment today. So back home, there we were: the laptop and I. To the sounds of falling raindrops, I transcribed a big part of an interview, so that was good. In between, there was also a little eating (Arizmendi had "Brioche Knots" today), and some distraction reading:

I am reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love. It is a good biographical read on a New York woman who travels three countries to come clear with herself after a broken love story: Italy, India, and Indonesia. We are in India now, but I especially liked her first part, her time in Italy, and how she, the American, indulges with Italian food. I will not forget her friend Luca Spaghetti (real name!) and his calling American food "Amtrak Pizza". That made me laugh, especially on my first few days here, back with the nation of "do you want to have onion rings and a coke with your salad, Ma'm?" - Funny, she, E. Gilbert, is also 34 (or was back then when she travelled). Funny I read about Rome when I am here. But then again - not! For those who have not heard about that tiny story yet: The night before I left for San Francisco, there was this local train (Schnellbahn) at Wien Heiligenstadt, proudly showing off the destination on its digital screen: "Roma Termini". What? It was very strange.

Tomorrow, our chance of rain is 60%.
I wonder if there would be rain now in Rome now.

Rachmaninow, my Valentine. Or: The pillow fight!

Today is Valentine's day, a day much cared for in the US. I thought mine would turn out rather trivial. But it was not. Somehow, I got the spirit.

Saturday morning: For my usual supplies of Monet's water crackers, oranges and Diet Pepsi, I went to the Asian corner store, the one that sells affordable fruit and vegatables in the massive soundgarden of Classical music . I entered to Rachmaninov, piano concert no.2. That is a very special one to me, and amidst the broccoli and tofu, I got a bit sentimental. But there was also another girl who liked it, and she suddenly started to dance in that little Asian store. A few seconds later, she collided with an approaching woman from her back, and simply said: "Oh, I am so sorry. It is just so impassionate." But she stopped dancing then. Such would scare me in Vienna, but here it fits the spirit and made me happy. Don't ever say you cannot dance to Rachmaninow!

Back home, Mike called: "Hello. This is Mike. We are running a winter special..." - It was a recorded voice, that figured when I wanted to interrupt. At least, one man has called me on Valentine's day! ;-)

Then came part three of Valentine's day: The pillow fight! A crazy tradition in SF, and you do the following: Bring a pillow, travel down to Justin Herman Plaza (Embarcadero), and when the clock of the Ferry Building rings 6pm: Fight! Hit everybody with your pillow! So, of course I went - without a pillow tough, because I did not dare to bring one from my rented apartment (although I have *seven* here). Already in the streetcar, people were boarding with their pillows - to the confuseion of other passengers who, after about three stops, dared to ask what was going on with all the pillows. At the final stop, there were *masses* of people leaving the streetcar and it was truly an amazing picture for the photographer's lense to to see those hords of (mostly young) pepople walking towards the Eastern waterfront, while the sun was setting, carrying their pillow (yes, I took pictures). I was there exactly at 6, and when the hour struck, the fight started. I was amidst the crowd, getting hit, taking pictures, feeling crazily happy on that memorable Valentine's day. Only in America!

P.S.: In the picture, you see actually the feathers flying. I had a lot of them in my hair when I got home and felt the urge to caugh. Maybe I should have worn mouth masks like the two guys in the picture...

Troubled skies

"Wenig Neues. Dichte Wolken liegen über der Stadt". This is actually tomorrow's weather forecast for Vienna, which I find rather lyrical, especially for the Austrian national broadcast site ORF. It translates into: "Little new. Dense clouds lie over the city." That forecast does even match for San Francisco. We have heavy clouds right now. And rain. But we also had the brightest sunlight today.

The sun and rain of America... it seems like a metaphor for recent news: Obama brings spring to a long lasting winter under Bush. Yet, in terms of color - the most black follows the maybe most white president. And while this story seems to lean towards the sunny side, aviation is struggling. The "miracle of the Hudson river" is only followed by last night's plane crash in Buffalo that killed 50 people. The so emotional American TV news can hardly deal with that parallelism of joy and grief: Since Monday, America's hero, "Sully" Sullenberger III, the pilot of US Airways flight 1549 who saved 155 lives, had been touring the TV shows, with crew and wife. And while that happy hype is still going on, the crash of Continental flight 3407 is on "Breaking news" for the whole night, showing first interviews with family members, youtube videos, cell phone photographs... It was hard to find sleep.

So, this morning: sun again. I took a little trip to the North Shore. There it was again: extreme sun, black clouds, and blue skies at Pier 39, facing Alcatraz (see picture above). One moment I would sit in the sun, and the next I would be very thankful for the fake fur on my jeans jacket. I went to Barnes & Noble at Taylor Street (the only one in SF!), and studied my own book at their Starbucks. When I was about to leave, it was pouring with rain. So, I stayed for the 4th hour... I browsed the complete bookstore. It sat in the children's section and read a bit in Orwell's 1984. Later - you know what comes now - some sun again, and me riding the cable car, along with a lot of tourists in blue plastic coats. They look *always* the same.

Sensitizing Concepts

The truth is that I can work best at coffee places. To sit at a little sunny table, overlooking the streets of San Francisco while sipping a white moccha or just a regular coffee brings out the best of my "academic self". I don't know why this is. Maybe it is for the (paradoxical) company of other lonely laptop writers? This is my crowd, and we are a lot! We sit there for hours, often we wear big Sony headphones. David Brooks might call us bobos. Sometimes, we take a picture of our nice food and upload it on yelp.com, including a comment if we liked it or not, and how the service did.

Today, I spent almost the whole the day at two such coffee places: I started with Duboce Park Café which remains my favorite. It is the one next to the doggie park. After a much appreciated beet salad with pecan nuts and blue cheese (yes, I took a pic!), I wrote on my methodological approach. Later, I went to Café Reverie, another small café at Cole Street. I got the most lovely little table in the window corner, ordered a chai tea and read on Herbert Blumer's sensitizing concepts.

In contrast to that coffee-filled day, today's picture is not featuring that topic. Instead, I captured my close neighborhood how I saw it when I walked home, just an hour ago. I went westwards, with the Pacific Ocean in sight at the horizon. This is the end of California. Or, as my personal sensitizing concept: the sight for further dreams.

The seismography of catfish

After it has been raining, showering, drizzling and mizzling for almost a complete day... And after the writing and reading seems to lead nowhere today... It is tempting to dig for a dark thought inside oneself and to celebrate some little Wednesday blues.

So I pondered about my chances to get hit by an earthquake.

Of course, this is not an unusual thought here. After the big earthquake in 1906 and another one in 1989, everybody is waiting for The Big One. So, I googled the odds. The official statement is that there is a a 62% chance that before the year 2032, the San Francisco Bay area will be hit by at least one earthquake of the magnitude 6.7 or greater - says the U.S. Geological Survey, Earthquake Hazards Program (USGS). They provide real-time shaking maps for California. Above photograph shows the recent shaking map, indicating that there has been a microearthquake today, just when I composed that posting, at San Leandro (little red dot; http://quake.wr.usgs.gov)

But what if I want to know before it happens? Of course, I could purchase an online earthquake forecast. I can get it for my region for the next 5-7 days - but only after my payment of $3,000.00 has been received (www.earthquakeforecast.com). A true alternative is a study group that takes "moon phases, animal behavior, human behavior, micro earthquakes, seismic gaps (...)" into their extensive risk calculations. As we learn, monitoring catfish seems especially promising. Even if I sound a bit ironic here, I believe they have a point! (www.quakeprediction.com).

Earthquakewise, I live a bit on the dangerous side - especially while asleep. My landlord is either a true comedian or completely ignorant to Earthquake Safety: I sleep under a huge picture, plus there are two massive table lamps right behind my sleeping head. Oh well. According to the site with the catfish calculations, my risk of being shivered by an earthquake tomorrow is only 23%.
Good night.

Fitting (in)

TodayI found three things that fit me well: 1) a new coffee place, 2) almost a methodology, and 3) a new pair of jeans.

Fit 1) I really like Duboce Park Café! It is a little tram ride away from me, in the Castro neighborhood and I have often passed it on my way downtown. I tried it this morning. It is a very bright corner place with huge windows, the interior a somewhat Swedish-Californian mix. Their logo is an orange dog, sprinting. And you ask, why? Because it is opposite Duboce park, a huge hilly meadow for dogs. It seems to be *the* meeting place for Ms. Pudel and Mr. Golden Retriever - and for their owners (or dog walkers). So, the café offers water in a silver bowl at their entrance. Oh, and also my coffee was good.

Fit 2) Sitting in that café, I started reading the only book I brought from Vienna: Empirisch begründete Typenbildung (Kluge & Kelle, 1999). I have a feeling that this tiny, yet rich, book will lead me out of my personal jungle of how I reason "my" methodology. Their reference to Charles Sanders Peirce and his understanding of hypothesizing make me believe I am closer to the concept of abduction than I thought I was (sorry, this was for the insiders, who are, as I know, also following this blog).

Fit 3) Then I went shopping. I took the MUNI to Stonestown Galleria, supposedly the biggest mall in SF. Like always, I got a bit depressed in the mall. I cannot really tell why, but something about this abacterial circus of Corporate America just makes me sick. Why do I have to tell the girl at EXPRESS my name when she opens up the fitting room for me? (I tell her anyway and she is amused that I am Christine. Because she is Christina. That makes her smile.) Anyway: I find the perfect jeans (Christina thinks so too). In Vienna, the time for flare cut jeans has expired. But at EXPRESS, they still have those! I am happy and I buy it (Christina thanks for shopping with her today and wishes me a great day).

"It's a biscott!"

Nobody had told me before, but now I know: February is the wettest month in San Francisco. This is just great. Because, you know, before I went, I *did* check the historic weather reports, average temperatures, and I even compared the hours of visible daylight to those in Vienna (San Francisco is slightly better off). But I did not know about the rain. Only when it started raining yesterday and did so for about 20 hours straight, I knew something was wrong. Then I went to the grocery around the corner and the Greek old lady (who reminds me of Momo's Cassiopeia), says: "always so much rrrrain in Febrrruarrry, rrright?" I say "yeah", and smile. I don't know why I smile. Actually her comment makes me sad.

The more I am delighted for the sun to shine this morning! I am so happy for that unexpected change that I take a long walk along Parnassus Street into the neighborhood of Cole Valley. I have planned to have an academic coffee hour at La Boulange, a French place that I had spotted from the streetcar a few days ago. But by 8.40am, it iscompletely packed by the students from the Medical Center of UCSF. So I can only walk on and keep my eyes open for alternatives. I find a small Tully's Coffee at Cole Street. I want a coffee latte and a - well, what is this called? I try it with "that scone there, with the red berries". He looks at me, very serious: "It's a biscott!"

What is it with the vocabulary of bakeries? I hypothesize there is a universal arrogance of people selling rolls and pastries. Try buy a Johannisbeer-Teilchen (German) instead of a Ribiseltascherl (Austrian) in Vienna. You will probably get the same look. Same nasal tone when correcting. (By the way, both words refer to something that, at Tully's coffee, would probably qualify for a cranberry biscott.) When my German friends visit me in Vienna, they are scared to go to the bakery by themselves and ask for exact vocabulary before they dare to. Well, here I am on my own and learn the hard way.

When I leave Tully's coffee, I hold the door open to a woman behind me. She goes: "Thank you so much! You must not be from here!". No, obviously.

Arizmendi

I had an early Sunday morning and was happy the Inner Sunset allows me to stat it in a very European way: I went to a bakery! They are scarce, but the famous Arizmendi's bakery is just a 3 minutes walk from my desk. Arizmendi? Yes, it is a worker-owned co-op bakery and they honor the Basque promoter of the co-operative movement in Spain, Father José María Arizmendiarrieta Madariaga (or: Arizmendi). It is a cool concept: the bakery is worker-owned, everybody gets the same pay, people rotate in jobs (baking, accounting), and profit is shared. They are a spin-off from another co-op, the famous Cheeseboard that started off in Berkeley in 1967. It makes me happy that they are still in business, and obviously quite successful.

Honestly, my heart goes out more for the democratic business idea than for their fancy pastries (e.g. the "pear ginger cranberry scone"). I simply bought a sourdough baguette as this is all I crave for: an honest bread without sugar. And that wish was satisfied! I seldomly had such good bread in the US. So, I sit down in the window armchair, munch the bread and read the San Francisco Chronicle: John McCain has critisized Obama's stimulus bill as being "socialistic" (the ultimate offence). Well then, what has been so good about Corporate America? Come on, Mr. McCain, have a bite!

Greeting the Ox

So, I went to see it, the Chinese New Year's Parade. Mass transport in and around Chinatown had ceased service at 5pm and the streets were packed. The parade started at 5.30, shortly before the sun would set. I had positioned myself an hour early. Leaned against a huge garbage can at Post and Stockton Street, next to a hot dog stand, I greeted the year of the Ox, along with a few – what? thousand? other people who lined the curbs.

The parade was fascinating – but endless! It started off with some district senators, cruising along in Cadillacs and waiving to people. The mayor himself would walk the parade, shaking hands with the crowd (his bodyguards next to him). Then of course there were the many colorful floats and marching bands. The bands were my personal highlight, so accurate in rhythm, and so many tubas in just one band! Also, there were the dancing lions, little school kids walking in ox or other costumes, and there was a lot of firecracking. Oh, and not to forget: a UPS car with a Chinese female driver took also part.

As I said: it was endless. And after nearly 3 hours leaned against that garbage can, I felt the cold creeping under my jacket. I wanted to go home. Leaving the event was not an easy operation, as all the roads were blocked. But I managed and am now home with the heater heating on maximum. For those of you who understand German: it was a real "Ochsentour"! Happy New Year!

Around Union Square

Friday evening and I am returning home from a little stores' tour around Union Square. That is the more touristy, commercial area and primarily satisfies those who wish to buy a Californian license plate, have a laugh at the sexy books at Urban Outfitters (e.g. the sex coupon booklets for couples) - or be greeted by those here: "Welcome to the GAP, how are you doing today"? The Walgreens there actually sells Ritter Sport chocolate and Nutella, probably a tribute to the German au pairs here in SF. And sure enough, only one aisle away, one of those bumped into me. No offence, but it seems it is either the Germans or the Chinese who bump without regret.

So, do I dare to venture into Chinatown tomorrow? San Francisco's Chinese New Year Parade is coming up, truly a major event! Tonight at Union Square, TV stations were already preparing their broadcasting sets. See the floodlight instalment in the above photograph? Yeah, I think I will dare to go.

National Weatherman's Day

I woke up to the information that San Francisco would face a 100% chance of rain today, with the temperature dropping to 56F or 13C. Instantly I knew that this would be the day to fully devote to academia.

With the shades still closed, I started transcribing an interview I had recorded two years ago with a German exchange student in California. I spent the whole day writing her story, including her struggles with American culture. In between, I had opened the shades and reassured myself it was reasonable to stay inside today (it was). Then I went on writing, and by now, I feel like I have been in a one-day long movie with just one main character.

I want to give another weather information: February 5 is the "National Weatherman's day". Who knew? On www.holidayinsights.com we learn:

"National Weatherman's Day honors weathermen, and women who work hard to accurately predict the often fickle weather. Despite major technological advances and supercomputers, forecasting the weather is still a tricky, and ever changing business."

Also they give the advice: "If you see a weatherman today, give them your appreciation for a job well done." Okay. But tomorrow, please, weatherman, give us a chance for sun again!

Irving Street and David Corn

Above photograph captures an impression of my pretty neighborhood, showing Irving Street. It is so easy to like that place. There are many ethnic restaurants and cozy coffee places, making Starbucks to look a bit out of place there. Tiny stores sell funky T-shirts or "reliable drugs" (such goes the slogan). Somewhere I have read that the Inner Sunset suffers from the worst weather in the whole Bay Area (a lot of fog). Not since I got here. The sun is tremendously generous and I feel the urge to wear bright colors. Vienna's winter seems far away.

Today's discovery was an Asian run corner store, which is only one block away. It is much cheaper than the freaky gourmet supermarket that sells pink cauliflower and offers French raw milk cheese for 15 dollars per piece. Instead, I shopped with the Asian store that seems to have a thing for classical music. To the very loud sound of some Beethoven symphony, I walked along piles of rice and cookies, fruit and vegetables to finally purchase a bright purple slender "Chinese eggplant". I had never seen such a thing before but decided to have it for lunch. It cannot be more gen-manipulated than the pink cauliflower. And it was only 89 cent. A bargain. I cooked it with onions and tomatos and it was good.

For an emotionally delicious desert, I first watched the live coverage of Obama's signing the bill to extend health insurance for kids. Then, at Hardball, David Corn commented on Dick Cheney criticizing Obama's new negotiation policies. Together with Joan Walsh, he really got himself into the mood to give the following statement on Cheney's lamenting: "He is a comic book character. This is what he is." Payday.

Corona Heights Park

It is day three and I started to work on my dissertation. Looking outside in a tiny yet lush green garden, I sat down with the notebook and a coffee mug to officially commence my academic retreat. The instalment works, and also the internet has been stable since last night. Sometimes, a black cat with a red collar is crossing the lawn.

At 2pm however, I got jealous of the cat. Often enough, it is them who have to sit on fluffy cushions in the window while we humans walk by. Today, I was the one locked in. I changed that and took a spontaneous trip to Corona Heights, in Haight Ashbury. I had discovered that hill on my first evening, when I had watched the sun set from the opposite hill at Buena Vista park. So, I climbed up there today. Under way, I met various dogs, one photographer, and one Asian love couple hiding in the grass. Corona Heights is a unique spot, especially with the ocher bedrocks on top and the panoramic view of the city. It was probably the moment I realized that I am really here. I made it.

Obviously, Corona Heights has a heart for dogs. There is a dog park for them to play and next to it was a poster advertising a church blessings for "animal companions". The event was called "Bless the beasts". I like that. Also did I find a little graveyard on my way up – when I got lost in a literally dead end. One inscription of a grave read: "He loved us and hated other dogs!" Another one: "Jackson. He jumped into our laps and our hearts… literally". I only hope it was really a dog's grave.

SOMA

With South of Market (SoMa), I connect dear memories. I have stayed there during the whole summer of 1998. And in 2005, I have spent my 31st birthday breakfast in the Harvest Urban market, an organic supermarket.

Today, I returned because I searched for a laptop doctor. Last night, the apartment's wi-fi stopped working and threw me into a deep crisis of unconnectedness. No data back-up, no world news, no friends. Also: how to find any computer store or repair service without the internet? How to get there by public transport? For the first time in years, I flipped – not clicked – through the yellow pages that I had found beneath the TV set. And I was happy to have brought along my tattered old city map. Not zoomable, not 3D, but spread out on my queen size bed and to be read by the index finger. It even showed the Muni lines! I had found the address of a laptop doctor on Folsom Street. So, I travelled there, with the N Judah street car. During the ride I asked myself how much a computer problem could irritate me.

I got off at Civic Center. Walking Market Street was a thrill. I had forgotten about the racing wheel-chairs and people aggressively shouting prayers. The feeling of uncertainty about what to answer an old woman without teeth when she approaches and says: 'Hi Beauty'. On Folsom Street, another blond lady with a black hairnet asked me whether I had lost my car keys. She pointed to a bunch of keys in a window sill and kept walking by my side. I said all the nice words: "sorry", "thank you", smiled – and I was surprised when she did not ask for money but turned into a side street where she had spotted another homeless: "oh, she must have lost it, poor soul" - she said and walked away into little Moss Street.

I walked along Folsom street, between 6th and 8th, and found it very different from my memories. Less vivid and the feeling of a Saturday afternoon. Has it lost some spirit?

The laptop doctor at no. 1068 was never found. Actually, house no. 1068 does not exist. The neighbor, 1066, an Asian man owning a little mailbox store, has about no. 1071 as his next neighbor, no house in between! He said the business had been closed three years ago. This, in the best case, must be the date of the yellow pages which I found under the TV set. Good cache!

The wifi-problem is still not fixed, some incompatibility between the router and the laptop. Let's see how long I will be able to post here…

I always had a thing for the image of the lonely mind. Sunchair scribblings by a poet hidden behind dunes. A thatched cottage in Cornwall with a menopaused crime author writing murders next to a phlegmatic cat. The whiskey drenched nightly compositions of Tom Waits. But then, where does the urban sociologist go?

For long, I have been dreaming about a little time-out from my full time research job (work) and how I would then dedicate all daylight thoughts to my PhD thesis (hobby). And for long, I love San Francisco. This is how I got here. This is why I woke up happily today, upon my second Sunrise in the Inner Sunset District.

This blog is a spontaneous try-out though. An instant answer to a friend who, this morning, asked me to keep her updated on my little "Tales of the City". Britta, I cannot do like Armistead Maupin. But I will try to capture some of San Francisco's early spring spirit 2009 and deliver it to all who care for the city. Or for me.