She moved the slider to the right. Nothing. She moved it further still.
Processing…
And when loading stopped, it still wasn’t enough. Tired after a long day out in the woods, Susan kept moving the slider to and fro, aiming for the sweet spot. Her roommate peered over her shoulder.
“Uff. Will you ever learn?” She sighed.
Susan turned to her, quizzical.
“Add a faint orange tint. It’ll make those leaves in your hands pop with autumness.”
Susan did without comment. She earned ninety-five likes—three more than yesterday’s photo. She was elated.
Rounds represent completion, encapsulation, and to an extent, closure. And that’s why this week’s photo prompt reminded me of cookies—round cookies baked to a crisp perfection, gooey on the middle and crunchy on the edges. As I heaved a huge sigh just thinking about cookies and the closure they offer, I remembered something else that had the same effect on me in San Francisco: It was the experience of looking down at the city from a vantage point. I was at the de Young Museum observatory, observing the false silence if the city below me. Looking down from one side, I saw tiny grass patches, water bodies, and walkways around the museum for visitors to enjoy. And from up above, I tried my best to round them all in one picture.
While in Pleasanton, I asked my colleagues about places I could look around, walk by, and just spend a quiet day. In a unanimous voice, most of them responded with: Lake Merritt. I looked in to it. It was a huge lake in Oakland, California, and—according to my maps—lots of space to walk around.
That was more than enough to hook me in. Although, I realised as I prodded my map further, I would have to take a 20-25 minute train ride to get there. Lucky for me there’s a train station right by the lake, making it easier to get to and from the lake. Everyone I spoke to agreed the lake would be worthwhile indeed.
The heart-shaped lake is a 3.4-mile (5.5 kms) walk around.
It happened to be the day after I visited the Golden Gate Park. I had walked about 23 kilometres at the park and woke up the next morning with my legs stretched out in an awkward angle. My thighs were sore, my feet were tired, and yet I was excited beyond words to see the lake. I left my hotel at about 7:30 and reached Oakland’s Lake Merritt station at about 9:15. It was a bright summer day and the sun showed signs of warming up later. I walked on to the street.
The first thing I noticed was the silence. Then I realised why: lack of people. I was at the Oakland Museum of California and I saw no one in sight. It exuded the feeling of a narrow dark alleyway without the stink or the unfriendliness of it. My first impression of Oakland was that it was a weird combination of a welcoming and, yet, human-deprived place. I loved it.
Following the map on my phone, I stopped when I saw the lake stretching out in front of me. I had arrived at a main street juncture. With long and tall buildings flanking either side of me, lots of greenery extended in front of me. Beyond it I could spot a streak of blue that’s Lake Merritt.
Vehicles whizzed past, people going to do whatever they had to do on a Sunday morn. Even then, there were fewer vehicles than in San Francisco. Oakland yet again presented a smaller, quieter, city. The massive open space in front of me housed railings and benches, glittering in the morning sun bearing early walkers and joggers. I crossed the road and approached the railings. It was 9:30 and all around me people stretched themselves, talked to each other or into their earphones. Some walked with children, some walked with parents, and even a few dogs walked their humans.
Finding no sign or guide lines about walking the lake, I took to my right and started off staring at the lake and at the buildings that loomed over it. Although Oakland didn’t compare to the glamour and rush of San Francisco, it’s in no way secondary to the high-rise buildings it prides upon. Towering structures made me pick up my jaw many times over. And I stopped walking every few minutes to try and encapsulate entire buildings into the screen of my minuscule iPhone 6.
Lake Merritt is huge, and beautiful. It was still early in the day when I started walking around the lake and the moon from the previous night lingered until about 10:00 am. For some weird reason I felt so at peace seeing the moon hovering on the left side over my head while the sun shone on my right. It was as if I stood in between the best of two worlds. The lake, I later learnt, is in fact a lagoon, and was formed in 1870 and is home to the oldest wildlife refuge in the United States.
As I walked around the 155-acre lake, I experienced mainstream life of Oakland. Everywhere I went in the US with fellow travellers, we were tourists. But on that day, not only was I alone, but I also had a backpack like any college student. I strolled for a while, stepped up my pace in some places, and stood gazing at the water in most instances. And as I walked, I encountered people going on with their lives unperturbed by this scrawny person unfamiliar with their town. A couple discussed alternative running locations for the following week while two older women fed pigeons in silence. Parents dragged kids in trams, and a teenager argued with her mother on the phone. Glass buildings floated on the water and elegant trees, twisting from the ground up, posed for cameras without a shame.
Those pillars bear short stories from young writers
Corporate buildings line the lake
No one noticed a duck doing a backflip. They’d seen in hundreds of times already.
It was all new for me, though. It was a glorious day to spend outside, and joy from inside of me. It wasn’t until I finished a complete round of the lake that I felt the pain in my legs return. But it was nothing—numbing physical pain was no match to the soul-touching experience of inhaling fresh water breeze.
Life had been good to her. She had a job, she had a home, and she had enough money to pay off her debts without the weight of it crushing her down. And now a stroke of luck at work had brought her to Amsterdam. She had no complaints.
She stepped onto the street, expecting warmth and welcome. Instead, a chilly morning breeze stung at her skin causing her teeth to shiver and her ribs shudder. Smiling to herself an the unexpected weather, she pulled out her jacket and reached for her phone. She’d better book a cab.
Her ride arrived in minutes. Settling in the back seat, she leaned back observing the traffic of working-class Amsterdam. The car fell into a race with the rest of the vehicles, and even as she looked on, cars, mini hoopers, SUVs, and XUVs zoomed past without slowing down for a second. Her driver followed suit while she grabbed the door to steady herself. Despite the seatbelt, she moved around a lot.
Through the window she saw drivers of all ages. Middle-aged women clutched coffee cups on one hand and the wheel with the other. High school kids sang along as they cruised by, and a tensed semi-bald man mumbled while he gripped his steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to show. On another side was a tall man stroking the hair of the retriever on the seat next to him.
Karen watched, amused how none of the cacophony of the outside world reached her. The only noise she ever heard was a mild hum from her head. Life had been good to her deaf self.
