In October of 1995 I took my Powerbook and my pal Smith and made my way from Chattanooga, Tenn., to San Francisco. Instead of doing traditional postcards, I decided to do electronic ones to my friends back in Chattanooga, turning those friends into a bunch of vicarious email tourists.

Date: Mon, 02 Oct 95 09:50:01 EDT
Subject: Postcard from SF #1

SUNDAY -- Two dollar Buddha's and Beat poets

Postcards in Chinatown are 12 for a dollar. But since neither Smith nor I could come up with that many we liked, we ended up with none. I decided electronic postcards would be easier.

We both did end up with small Buddha's made out of suspect substances, the oriental version of the plastic Jesus. Chinatown was an incredible ebbing mass of humanity Sunday. Grant avenue -- Chinatown's main drag -- had been closed off and dozens of stalls were in the middle of the street, surrounded by people sorting through all manner of stuff from the aforementioned Buddha's to bamboo backscratchers to Chinese editions of Playboy and Penthouse ($30, Hong Kong).

In an herb shop window, I saw a bowl of "sang," the first Ginseng I've ever seen for real. Funny that I had to go to California to see what I've heard people talk about gathering in the Appalachian hills all my life. I wondered in any of this batch had come from back home.

Out of the crush of Chinatown, we strolled into North Beach (home of SF's Italian community) and ended up at the City Lights bookstore, owned by beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti. City Lights was probably the first paperback bookstore in the country and a focal point for the beat generation.

We wandered among stacks were Jack Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg once hung out. I bought a copy of Ginsberg's Howl and Smith bought a Kerouac poetry edition, both published under the store's own imprint.

Then it was a steep climb up Telegraph Hill, where the sidewalks are stairways, to Coit Tower. That's the tower you always see in shows like "Ironside" and "Streets of San Francisco." There's a magnificent view from the top with the houses of the city stair stepping down to the bay and the Golden Gate and Bay bridges shooting off in different directions.

As always the bay was crammed with bright white sailboats and honking ferry boats. We scouted Alcatraz, our destination for Tuesday. This is one of the great views of the world. It's a damn shame it's all going to fall in the ocean.

On the way back down we walked through the "adults only" section of North Beach. I now have a stud earring with a peace sign on it (groovy, man) courtesy of a biker shop. You'll be glad to know I passed on the silver spiked black leather wearables, the inlaid pot pipes, and the nipple rings.

We wound down the afternoon with good capitalistic shopping and a stop in a gallery with a large Peter Max show (cheapest work available, $400; most expensive, $60,000; and they do take American Express).

The weather has been California perfect, sunny and breezy 80s in the day, cooler at night.

See ya --- T

Date: Tue, 3 Oct 1995 10:22:45
Subject: Postcard from SF #2

MONDAY -- BART and Berkeley

Monday was our day for experiencing the Bay Area Rapid Transit System (BART). The cars aren't quite as shinny and new as when I first saw them in my fourth grade Weekly Reader, but the system still works. And seems to be safe.

The problem comes when you step outside the stations. There's always seems to be a gauntlet of panhandlers to run whatever the station, and then there's the neighborhood beyond. Yesterday in our attempt to find the Castro/Noe Valley area, we turned the wrong way out of the 16th Street BART station and found ourselves in the one of the seedier sections of the Mission District, two overdressed over scrubbed boys like radar blips on the local screen.

After a couple of discreet map checks, Smith got our bearings with his trusty watch compass, and we were on our way to Castro, hub of the city's gay community.

One interesting thing you notice right away in Castro is the tour buses that pass through the area. Here are the "normal" people safely enclosed in their red double-deckers gawking out at those "others" loose on the streets. As was quoted in a newspaper feature on the area: "We just smile and wave," said a gay friend [about the tour buses], "and then they can go home and say they saw one."

We stopped in the Cliff's Variety store, which had everything from designer teapots to plastic babies and flies in jars. We had to have some of the latter. And I bought a robot. But we passed on the shop displaying the leather body harness with chrome codpiece. Being neither, I had Smith take my photo in front of the Hot and Hunky burger joint.

In the afternoon, right smack in the middle of rush hour -- smart move -- we BARTed to Berkeley. The train takes an ear-popping route under the bay, and I pointed out to Smith that the train-stuck-in-the-tunnel-under-the-bay is always a big part of any earthquake movie.

We did Berkeley in a hour, having to make sure and catch the last train back to the city. It's certainly one of the more aromatic campuses I've ever been on; the eucalyptus trees make the place smell like a craft store at the mall. And the streets surrounding campus are filled with a fascinating mix of pierced body parts, green hair, and street entrepreneurs.

See ya --- T

Date: Wed, 4 Oct 1995 02:48:51
Subject: Postcard from SF #3

TUESDAY -- Streetcar named "Get off!"

We took a streetcar from near our hotel to the wharf area. We had to stand on the side and hold on because we boarded it as it slowed for a red light. We thought this was a clever move, rather than trekking to the turnaround place with the rest of the tourists. Little did we know that our smugness would later get us embarrassed before an international audience in what would come to be known as The Streetcar Incident.

But in the morning, hanging on the outside of a rumbling car as it went up and down these incredible hills, bells ringing, the wind in Smith's hair -- that was a thrill.

You know how there are certain defining moments in your life, how you remember where you were when JFK died or the Challenger blew up? Well, I was standing in line waiting to board a ferry to visit one of the world's most famous prisons when the OJ decision was announced over the loudspeakers. There seems to be something profound in that.

Once underway, I stood right in the front of the ferry, leaning over the bow, watching the spray. The "Rock" may be a tourist thing to do (some 4,000 people a day visit), but it is a fascinating place. I highly recommend it.

The self-guided audio tour does a good job of giving life and atmosphere with sound effects and actual prisoner and guard voices. One prisoner, who spent a lot of time in solitary, did this: Although they were supposed to be left on, the guards turned the lights off in the solitary cells. To pass the time in total darkness, this man would rip a button from his shirt, toss it in the air, and then search for it in the dark. As soon as he found it, he would toss and search again, for days, weeks, however long it took.

Back on shore it can safely be said that Fisherman's Wharf is the Gatlinburg of SF. For some reason, old car tags are on sale ($5-6 each) everywhere there are tourists in San Francisco. Smith and I decided that foreign tourists must buy them. We can't think why anyone else would.

With enough of Gatlinfrisco under our belts, we decided to take a streetcar back. Again we weren't near the turnaround, so we waited at a intersection. Smith and I had to let a couple go by because they were full, but then one came up the hill that had a couple of standing spaces we decided to hop on. The car initially didn't seem to be going that fast, but then apparently started to accelerate through the intersection.

We grabbed on anyway and were promptly jerked off the pavement and into the laps of a bunch of startled foreign tourists. The enraged driver slammed on the brake in the middle of the intersection and started yelling for us to "Get the fuck off the car!"

Hardly fitting language to use in front of our foreign friends I thought, but we had obviously violated streetcar protocol. Accepting our punishment, we slinked away and took the No. 30 bus home.

Of course the bus stop we picked was beside a Chinese children's school, which let out simultaneously with our boarding the bus. We then began a sardine-like ride back through Chinatown, stopping every block. Only after the trip was almost over did I realize that I had been banging some poor Chinese woman in the head with my loaded backpack most of the way. Stupid tourist boy!

The night ended on a great note, though. We found a little back alley French restaurant -- probably could hold 30 people -- with a jazz band in the corner and great food. Smith picked the place for its atmosphere, but when the waiter handed us menus with not a word in English we realized we wouldn't be ordering Big Macs.

Not to worry, I asked the girl at the next table to interpret, only she didn't know French either. (She always got the same thing.) Our waiter had a serious attitude problem, exasperated by our ignorance of the one true language.

But we just lumped it in with all the other attitude we've been given than day and enjoyed our tasty supper.

See ya --- T

Date: Thu, 5 Oct 1995 00:00:51
Subject: Postcard from SF #4

WEDNESDAY -- Big wooden trees and big wooden vats

Wine country. Today we drove across the Golden Gate to Sonoma and Napa to see that part of California famous for it excellent wines and beautiful rolling hills.

On the way north, we detoured to Muir Woods National Monument to check out the ancient redwoods. This turned out to be a miscalculation for me. Smith was driving and the road was extremely curvy. By the time we had passed the Zen retreat, I was car sick as a dog. The solid ground of the monument parking lot was welcome underfoot.

The trees, well ... there are some big trees here. A 250-foot tall, 14-foot diameter redwood that's been living as long as civilization as we know it, that's a pretty awesome thing to me. It just baffles me how anyone would be able to cut one of these babies down and not feel some remorse.

For the rest of the trip north, I took the wheel and a some Tums to help get my stomach back under control. The woods detour cut into our time, and we only stopped at three wineries. I'll touch on Sebastiani, where we actually took a tour.

According to our guide, Sebastiani is one of the few wineries that still stores wine in huge 6,000 gallon oaken vats. The room is dark, the vats are connected by spider webs, and the seams seep wine, making the air smell red.

During prohibition, Sebastiani was allowed to continue to make sacramental wine for the churches. In fact, their business skyrocketed, and they had to get more huge vats. Guess where from? From Tennessee's own Jack Daniels, who -- apparently lacking a permit to make sacramental whiskey -- was in need of some quick cash.

I had my picture made with the country's oldest living grape vine. It's got about 20 years on me.

We ate at Bistro Don Giovanni in Napa where I had sea trout crusted in polenta served on cranberry beans. Yes, cranberry beans. Never heard of them, but they were great. In fact, the meal was excellent and the place first rate.

Tomorrow, we visit the offices of HotWired, one of the web's coolest sites.

See ya --- T

Date: Fri, 6 Oct 1995 12:29:20
Subject: Postcard from SF #5

THURSDAY -- HotWired and wired art

We left SF on Thursday to head south, but not before visiting Jeff Veen at HotWired. The HotWired offices occupy one half of the fourth floor of an old warehouse building near downtown. Wired magazine occupies the other half.

The room is filled to capacity with young computer jockeys and their trusty machines. Trunks of orange cables network all over the ceiling. There are no partitions, and it's stuffy warm from all the machines. A dog wanders around, waiting to be petted. It's the modern electronic equivalent of one of those industrial revolution scenes, but without the coal piles and steam clouds. These guys only shovel electrons.

Jeff, whose title is interface architect, generously spent almost an hour with us answering my many questions about web design. HotWired, which started out with about five people a year ago, now has a big room full and expects to have quite a few more in another year. I richly rewarded Jeff for his trouble with a Chattanooga's Dam Triathlon T shirt.

On the way back, we toured the SF Museum of Modern Art, newly opened and designed by architect Mario Botta. In one room we found a display of suspended rods and transformers that randomly fired arcs of electricity over cones filled with pools of mercury. The description referred to the erotic use of electricity. Not exactly the erotic use of electricity that usually comes to my mind, but an exciting art work nevertheless.

It was my intention to get out of San Francisco in time to beat the rush hour traffic in San Jose for our drive south, but the car rental guy took forever, and we were late getting started.

The rental car shuttle bus driver to the lot was an Asian-American gentleman whose English was sort of phonetic at best. He kept making announcements that were unintelligible. Finally, after one of these, we all looked at each other with exactly the same puzzled expression. The whole bus burst out in simultaneous laughter, prompting one woman to say, in a very British accent, "I don't understand a word he's saying."

That's California. And that's San Francisco for now. Having survived the San Jose rush hour traffic, we've made it to my brother's house in Salinas. We'll spend tomorrow tooling around Monterey and Carmel, then it's back to SF for the flight out.

It's been a great trip. See you when I get back.

Bye --- T

Self portrait: Me, bay, boat, and bridge.

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Terry Hamrick
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