Time to move on - Day 7

For most people, taking a vacation means leaving home turf and the associated work/chores/monotony and visiting an exotic location with a hectic daily timetable of things to do. I have always felt that the act of being on holiday, which implies a state of leisure is totally contradictory to the goal-oriented touristy approach that we take when we are in a new place, armed with cameras and water bottles. An easy solution would be to take a break and visit a known place, a location where the sights are not exactly new but familiar and welcoming, with no rush to be everywhere at the same time. Our San Francisco trip fell into this category. We had lived here before, the major tourist attractions still needed to be seen but there was no long to-do list. In theory, it was the perfect holiday getaway. In practice, it was another story altogether.

We did check off the most essential tourist activities including
• Golden Gate Bridge
• Lombard Street
• Fisherman’s Wharf
• Cable Car Ride
• Museum (California Academy of Sciences)
• Aquarium (Monterey Bay)

What I had on the list in addition, were multiple business meetings including dinner with my past colleagues at an Indian restaurant and visits to the homes of friends who still lived in the area. I also wanted Aparna to try some new activities and she attempted bowling and tock climbing with different degrees of success.

While it feels like a lot was accomplished, if you look at it from the perspective of a tourist who had seven days to spend in the Bay area, there was so much more we could have done – Half Moon Bay, Point Reyes lighthouse, Sausalito, Angel Island, Alcatraz, Berkeley and Carmel… the list is endless. The San Francisco bay area is truly one of most scenic places to visit and like a gourmet meal which is delicious; it always leaves you wishing for more. There will always be more meals in the future. The way to hold on to an experience is by savoring each tasty morsel as it rests on your tongue, not focusing on the previous such meal or anticipating the next one. At many times during this week, I had that feeling. Moments which were complete, discrete pieces of happiness, not yet falling like jigsaw pieces into the complete canvas of my life, but each holding the promise of more, if I would learn to find them. I know the moment we reached the top of Crooked Street after climbing up 3 steep blocks from Van Ness; and the instant before taking a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge in all its glory, framed by the generous clear skies untouched by the notorious fog. Perhaps it was in the few minutes we waited for the Hyde-Powell cable car as it was manually reversed, taking bites from the decadent Ghirardelli brownie ice cream sundae when I felt light as a dandelion blown free from its stem. I was suspended in mid-air, free from the burdens of past unhappiness that had lurked in the corners of my memories of this beautiful place where I had been fortunate to live. My fortune lay in my experience of both the natural beauty on display round the year and in the contrast provided by the dark days I had seen, illuminated occasionally by the bright spots that had been my life here for over 6 years.

In the final analysis, it was a great vacation. I had ventured out into the known. I came back; not quite whole, but a little more complete. Sometimes we fear what we know, more than what we don’t.

Monterey Bay Aquarium - Day 1

Spring weather implies great variation in a short while as the earth wakes up from winter slumber to the warmth of summer sunshine. But in sunny California, popularized by TV shows, you expect bright skies and eternal warm weather at all times. Alas, northern California is not Bay Watch country. As Mark Twain put it aptly “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco”. So we carried ahead with our plans for a visit to Monterey Bay although the skies got duller as we approached the scenic highway 1, passing fields of artichokes and stalls selling early cherries, plump and juicy.

The normally blue ocean reflected the dull, dirty grey of the sky and a nasty wind blew across harshly. We entered the Monterey Bay Aquarium located on Cannery Row, a street made famous in this sleepy seaside town, by its Nobel laureate son, John Steinbeck when his novel by the same name was published. The aquarium itself is located in the Hovner Cannery, a flourishing business during the second world war when sardines were harvested in large numbers from the ocean, canned and shipped out to troops. However, as the war ended, so did the number of sardines, perhaps due to natural causes, or excessive fishing, and the twenty odd canneries on the street were forced to shut down. The building remained vacant for a long time before it was bought by the Packards (of the Hewlett-Packard group) through their foundation and ultimately used to build a center to study local marine life.

The aquarium is celebrating 25 years of education and conservation this year. While many exhibits have remained the same since I visited it last, there were “Hot, pink flamingoes” this time, along with “Seahorses”. We had the benefit of signing up for a behind the scenes tour where we literally were shown places that are normally barred to visitors, like the top of the Kelp forest and behind the shark tank. We looked at coral reefs that are not displayed, food that the fish ate and how the pipes are kept clean with “pigs”. Lookup www.montereybayaquarium.org for more information.

Watching the smooth, easy progression of the jellyfish as they effortlessly made their way across the glass chambers that displayed them authentically, I wished I could glide through life without hindrance from self-generated baggage. Each jelly was unique; egg-yolk jelly, lion’s mane jelly, moon jelly and the deadly black sea nettle with tentacles that can reach a length of 20 feet. The kelp forest reflected the microcosm of the universe with its varied inhabitants on their journeys; some swam in schools, like the silverfish, while others stubbornly kept to themselves, inherent loners. The penguins had it easy. Dressed formally in their black and white uniforms, some shedding their fur, they were tagged individually and hand-fed, too lazy sometimes to dive into the water and get their own food.

The best of the lot was one industrious little otter. He played a one-otter game of water polo, tossing and catching a green plastic ball until hunger pangs called. With a careless shrug, he let the ball drop and dived deep into the water, coming up to get some air and enjoy the tasty bite that had been planted in the water for him. Like a polite schoolboy, he would finish the morsel, pat his tummy and clean his whiskers. He repeated this act several times, enabling all the amused onlookers to get him on camera.

The tide-pool allowed access to docile starfish and sea cucumbers, who allowed themselves to be stroked and picked up by little hands. The water was freezing cold, same temperature as the ocean outside, we were assured. The aquarium has many employees but counts on the 1000 or so volunteers who spend their time here. The volunteers feed the fish, clean the tanks, rescue creatures, treat sick animals, interact with visitors and do all those unaccounted chores that go unnoticed.

There was one place in the aquarium where you step into a circular anteroom and as you look up, you feel enclosed in the glass cylinder above your head. Thousands of silverfish swim in unending circles, round and round, again and again, moving as one, but not really, since they are so many; unique but undistinguishable from one another as they swim, swim, swim. You feel dizzy as the scene flashes in a continuous roll of film and you blink to break the monotony of the view, trying to gauge your own position, although you have not moved, dazed and disoriented. Then you notice one fish moving against the tide, bullishly forcing its way amid the masses who move clockwise. But this one is focused, slowly but steadily, unaided by the momentum of his brethren, he swims alone, defiantly pushing forward, towards an unknown goal. Not knowing that the tank is cylindrical after all and he will reach the same destination as the rest. This does not seem to deter him, while he may reach the same place, his journey would be uniquely his. Brave little fish. I wish you all the best.

Seven Days in San Francisco - Getting there (Day 0)

We stood in the security line at Seattle Tacoma airport holding the boarding passes that I had printed earlier in the day. The agent guarding admission to the serpentine queue checked our photo ids. Before we could load our plump suitcases onto the ramp, we had to first undress – jacket and shoes, watches and belts, cell phones and laptops, chargers and cosmetics, all had to be laid out in full view of the staff for visual and X-ray inspection. The airline charges $25 for each checked-in bag. We choose to split our stuff into two smaller carry-ons which meant even the shampoo and moisturizer had to be pulled out. I thought of George Clooney in the recent movie “Up in the air” that I had watched on the British Airways flight to Seattle. In a few scenes, they show how an experienced traveler packs, the appropriate size bag, the right combination of clothes and most important, slip-on shoes, not the kind I was wearing, with hard to operate laces. Travel within the US underwent a sea change since 9/11 and with it, the joy of moving around freely in a free country. The next thing to go was airline service. First they started charging you for food, now for checked-in baggage. What will they charge for next? There are rumors about pay-per-use restrooms in the aircraft, charges for oxygen masks and even for aisle or window seats!

The San Francisco Bay Area was the last place where I had lived and worked, prior to moving back to India in 2003. It is one of the most blessed regions in the country with its pleasant weather, spectacular scenic beauty with cold, blue Pacific waters and mountains that rest side by side. It is also a place known for innovation, home of the famous Silicon Valley. I had enjoyed wonderful personal moments and professional successes in the 6+ years I lived there. I had become a mother, a boss, a teacher and a writer in this area which had previously been the birthplace of civil unrest and “hippies”. I had a bitter-sweet past buried in the freeways, offices, classrooms and apartments. I was going back there to show Aparna the places she had lived in during the first 6 years of her life. But I was also aware of my personal demons that waited for me there.

Our plane touched down ahead of time and I stepped out into the familiar terminal. See’s candies, sourdough bread, bookstores and coffee-shops. How many times had I boarded a flight here? I don’t remember. But I do remember being nine months pregnant, waiting to receive my mother who had travelled alone, all the way from Bombay to be with me for my big day. I thought of the customs agent in the international terminal who correctly identified me as an Indian and promptly asked if I had any spices in my bags. I calmly pointed out that I was flying in from a business trip to Switzerland and had plenty of chocolate, in case he wanted to look.

We waited outside the terminal for my long time friend Jeyanthi, look out for blue Highlander, she had said. Sleek black limos pulled up to the curb and whisked away privileged customers. I remembered the limo ride to my interview at Roche. People watching is always fun. We made up stories about the people who had travelled to San Francisco. Were they tourists? Or residents returning from a business trip? Or like us, tourists now but one-time Bay area residents.

We were finally found by our hosts, Dinakar, Jeyanthi’s husband escorted by teenage girls. Introductions were completed as we approached the parking garage, eager to get home and meet Jeyanthi. But where was the car? F31 said Pallavi, the older one. F28 said Sruthi. Dinakar said it was straight in front of the elevator. We looked all over with no luck. Ten minutes after the initial search began, we figured out why we could not see the car. It was on the wrong floor! F31 it was, but on the upper level. Eventually we made our way over the Bay bridge on a crowded Friday evening towards our home for the next week.