Alright, enough about Hawaii.  All this writing about beaches and islands is making me pine away for a vacation, and I can’t take one at the moment, which makes for a crappy mood.  Instead, I’ll write about the here and now in San Francisco, where I’ve just moved.  Besides, I promised some tidbits of the risque variety, and SF is a veritable treasure trove of things that make you go hmmm. . .

So I moved here a little over a week ago, after spending the previous two years in New York (I’ll throw in juicy New York info here and there).  Why did I come?  Well, I was out here on vacation last June and fell in love with the place; the style of living is so open and relaxed, I was convinced I’d add five years to my life if I moved here.   Not only that, I realized that I was getting a tad New York-ed out.  The Big Apple is a great city, but the frenetic pace can be a bit much at times.  Plus, there’s just too damn many people in too small a place there:  I like to go for a walk at night just before bed, and when I lived close to Times Square, there would be about 9 billion people on the sidewalk . . . even at two in the morning.  It was too too, you know?  Here in SF, I can actually walk down the sidewalk with my arms held wide apart — and I don’t hit anybody!  And when I go for my nightly constitutional, there are nights when I don’t see a single soul.

For the moment, I’m staying in the Richmond, an eclectic mix of Russian, Asian and Hispanic influences in the northwestern quadrant of the city.  It’s not exactly the liveliest neighborhood in town (most restaurants close by 10), but it’s an easy trek to those that are a bit more happenin’.  What the Richmond does have, however, is easy access to San Francisco’s best beaches.  Baker Beach is just four blocks from where I’m staying, and it has the most beautiful views of the Golden Gate Bridge to be found anywhere in the city.  It’s because of those views, coupled with the tranquility it offers at night, that I do my version of meditation here almost every evening.  The far eastern end of the beach is ‘clothing optional,’ and I’ve found nudies enjoying their freedom at all hours of the day.  If I’m feeling a bit more ambitious, I’ll walk an additional twelve blocks to China Beach and get a similarly spectacular view, but with the perspective of a bit more distance.

Incidentally, can anyone tell me why most SF neighborhoods are preceded by a definite article?  For instance, one says “the Castro” and “the Richmond,” but never plain old “Richmond.”  I theorize that derives from the town’s history as a Spanish colony; in Spanish, virtually all nouns are preceded by an article, so I’m guessing the neighborhood nomenclature is an aritfact. 

I’m subletting my place from a woman I met on Craigslist, and she’s gone out of her way to show me the town.   A few nights ago we went to the San Francisco Opera to see “La Rondine,” one of Puccini’s lesser-known productions.  It was a lovely performance, and the fact that it cost less than half of what I’ve paid at the Met in New York made it more enjoyable still.  Afterwards, my charming hostess took it upon herself to take me to Martuni’s, saying it was “my kind of place.”  I’m not quite sure what she meant by that, because the crowd was highly varied in terms of age, dress, shape,  even size.  I understand it used to be an official gay bar; but that’s no longer true:  I’d say it was a 50/50 mix of gay/straight on the night I went, which is possibly why my friend took me there:  To see which side of the “issue” I’ve chosen.   : -)

It was the perfect way to cap off a night at the opera, which can tend towards the stuffy side.  There’s nothing stuffy about Martuni’s, let me tell you, what with all the drunken sorority women belting out pop tunes at the piano while drag queens swing their hips in time to the music.  Good San Francisco-style fun can be had here, and it certainly was by yours truly.  I hadn’t been there five minutes when a vision of loveliness swooped down on me and tried to take me home.  It made my heart go pitter-pitter-pat, and damn did I feel handsome in the face of all those blandishments . . . but my mamma raised me to be a gentleman, so I left with the one who brought me:  My lovely platonic friend and hostess.  Sigh.

I still think of what might have been, but that memory is probably sweeter than what would have actually happened had I lapsed into luridness.  Besides, it was the best “Welcome to San Francisco” experience I can imagine. 

 Thanks to Jordan and Heidi and chloemonster1 for the photos!

Posted on November 26th, 2007 by Thomas
Filed under: Opera, San Francisco