Without really looking at the ingredients, I ordered the “Armageddon.” Pastrami, avocado, cheddar, jalapeno, honey mustard. Slightly warm and wrapped in deli paper, I added it to my backpack where I had a hoodie, a thermos full of coffee, two books of poetry, and a notebook. Everything I needed for my walkabout.
I spent this past Sunday walking through Golden Gate Park. It had been a few months since I spent any time in the park and I had read somewhere that a lot of the flowers are starting to bloom. I thought I’d walk and sit and read and write.
With a light mist falling on my face, I ate my sandwich on Hippie Hill where I listened to the drum circle and watched the people coming and going. The most interesting person, by far, was a guy with a pasty sunscreen face and silver nose ring who was wearing camouflage overalls and a bright red shirt. Though he was on the thin side, something about his get-up made me think of an angry version of Tweedle Dee. He carried with him a few small bags and a knapsack. In the knapsack, he had odd little noise makers: plastic hands that would clap together when you shook them, some metal objects he could bang on, one of those party horns that unrolls when you blow in it. He also had a bucket of colored chalk that he put on the sidewalk for people to use, a bubble machine that he set up to blow bubbles, and some sort of ball toss game that he also set up for the passers by to play with.
I’m not sure how long I sat there – long enough to eat my sandwich and drink most of my coffee and take a few notes in my journal. The sun came and went, the clouds rolled on. I got up and started walking west towards the ocean – stopping every so often to check out the calla lilies that seemed to be blooming everywhere and to people watch (Lindy in the Park dancers at the bridge, roller skaters, loafers). There’s a joy in seeing so many people out enjoying the park. Not only is it a reminder of how active and vibrant the city is, but it makes me feel grateful that I have all of this within a few miles of my doorstep.
After passing the bison paddock and the windmill where the tulip garden was in bloom, I made my way to the beach. That’s where I thought I’d sit and read for a bit. The wind and whipping sand had other plans. I didn’t stay long.
Walking back – I couldn’t decide how I wanted to get home (walk or bus) or what I wanted to do for dinner. I knew I didn’t have any food in the apartment, and I was feeling too lazy to get groceries and cook. I couldn’t think of any restaurants that I was dying to try, and I was feeling a little tired from the walk. I had already walked the length of the park (a little over three miles) and to walk back home would be another six miles. Normally, I wouldn’t balk at the walk back, but I had also done five- and six-mile city hikes on Friday and Saturday. My legs felt beat. When faced with indecision like this, I tend to keep walking until an option presents itself. I remembered a new smash burger place that I had heard good things about – which, after stopping, proved to be enough of a reprieve to convince me to walk the rest of the way home.
When I got back I felt like I had been in one of those Richard Scarry “Busytown” books or Family Circle cartoons where a dotted line shows the circuitous paths the kids had walked. More than that, I felt a sense of pride in the city I call home. I got to see the ocean, the flowers in the park, the hippies playing drums, and people dancing and having a good time. It was a great way to spend the day. Later that night, Facebook reminded me that exactly a year ago on March 16, I also walked through Golden Gate Park and marveled at the spring colors in San Francisco.