It’s a walk by the lake

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.

Lake Merritt 3 — 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.

Oakland Museum of California

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.

Lake Merritt 2

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.

The Castro

Having spent a couple of hours in Haight Ashbury, I moved on to the next place on my list: Castro District in San Francisco. Although I had had a peek at Castro during my hop-on-hop-off tour, I hadn’t spent much time there. And so when a colleague suggested I spend some time looking around Castro street, I was happy to oblige.

I grew up amidst people who don’t discuss gender as anything aside male and female. Where I’m from, we have an isolated gay community. Sure, I’ve heard there’s a strong vocal presence and representation for the gays in my country, but I’ve never seen it or heard about it. As a result, I walked into San Francisco’s Castro without any previous interaction with the LGBTQ community.

Castro 3

Although I do have friends from work who identify as LGBTQ in the US, and it was with their guidance that I found out about Castro. To find out more and to experience actual gayness, however, I had to explore the streets on my own.

Oh my, what a day that was.

Castro 1

I can’t recall the first thing I noticed. Everything seemed new and grand. Right from the sloping streets to the rising flag poles, everything vivid caught my eye. It was even more exciting to see cable car lines over my head and street car tracks under my feet. I saw the gigantic rainbow flag, fluttering in the warm September afternoon. And I saw plenty of smaller flags swaying along. It meant only one thing to me: declaration. Never before have I seen someone asserting their identity with such pride. It was the ultimate claim of authority, although far from authoritative. It was welcoming. Walking into such a neighbourhood, I felt no discomfort or fear. I saw people being themselves without the fear of judgement. I saw Castro and its people emit a sense of belongingness that anyone could relate to. I didn’t have to dress a certain way or wear make up to be a girl. I could walk around sporting short hair and shorts if I want and people still smiled at me from the bottom of their heats. It was all obvious from the way people walked and conversed.

Dancers in Castro

As I walked further I noticed a group in the middle of the street, dancing. Every street lamp in the area housed a flag. It could because it was pride week, but it could also be Castro’s characteristic. The dancing men spun about as the DJ played in the corner, and older men sat around chatting yet making meaningful conversations. A banner on the DJ table told me it was an organised celebration. Talking to one of the men in the cheering lot, I further learnt that gay organisations in Castro rent out public places and often set up celebrations — just for the hell of it.

I smiled. Then lingered, wanting nothing more than to linger longer. But I continued. There was more of Castro to see.

Trying to balance between the map on my phone and the splendour around me, I found myself standing at a crossing, staring at the crossing. While fellow pedestrians crossed the road onto the other side, I looked with wide eyes at the lines that stretched out from my feet.

Castro 2

And at that moment, I concluded that Castro is one hell of a place to live. It’s not only for the lesbians, gays, the bisexual, transgender, and queer who know how they identify themselves, but even for those confused souls bordering in-between. Who’s to say, perhaps there are more, better, gay villages in other parts of the world, but from my sample of a gay village, I’d say it’s worth cherishing such a vibrant community.

I discovered a marvellous face of San Francisco that day, and it was a discovery I had to make on my own. I already feel like I’ve grown up a little. And that’s always a good sign.

Golden Gate Bridge: An inexplicable romance

For decades now people consider the Golden Gate Bridge as one of the greatest monuments in the United States. It’s the identifying icon for every soul living in the Bay area. Not only is the Golden Gate Bridge the most photographed bridge in the world but it’s also one of the most overrated.

Yes, I said it.

Having grown up listening to so much hoopla about the bridge, there was no way I’d skip the bridge during my visit to San Francisco. Besides, a trip to the Bay area is incomplete without a lame photograph reminder of the bridge. And now that I have plenty of photos to prove I’ve been there, I’ve also acquired some knowledge about the Golden Gate Bridge that’s made it less impressive in my mind.

To be clear, I don’t hate the bridge. And no, I didn’t hear some grotesque story about the bridge’s history. But I did realise that the Golden Gate Bridge isn’t the only awe-worthy construction in the city. In fact, there are more attractions in San Francisco than people give it credit for. Speaking of bridges, though, there’s the Bay Bridge.

When I first saw the Bay Bridge, I was still high above the sea level. I stared down at the bridge through the window in my flight. From up there, I, like so many other tourists before me, mistook the Bay Bridge to be the Golden Gate Bridge. After all, a typical misinformed tourist to San Francisco only hears about the towering Golden Gate Bridge that they have to see. My neighbour in the flight explained my blunder to me, and to pacify me, he also commented I shouldn’t feel bad because so many people make the same mistake as I. That only made me feel smaller.

Even when I trudged to the Coit Tower about a week later, I saw the Bay Bridge more times than I did the Golden Gate Bridge. It was so massive that it popped up at every clearing. The Golden Gate Bridge, on the other hand, was shrouded in mist.

The more I learnt about the Bay Bridge, the more I felt bad for the injustice we’ve inflicted upon it. The bridge is the direct road running between the cities of San Francisco and Oakland. It’s a two-deck bridge that carries upto 260,000 vehicles a day, and was opened in 1936—about 6 months before the Golden Gate Bridge.

The Bay Bridge’s international orange-coloured rival, on the other hand, has always been the perfect spot for tourists and suicidal folks alike. And the fact that the mist from the ocean’s heat hides most of the bridge from view is only an additional attractive feature.

I won’t deny that the Golden Gate Bridge is beautiful. I will look at it all day if I could. But I will also look at the Bay Bridge all day. If I had to choose, I’d choose the Bay Bridge just because it’s more interesting. It’s interesting how much we humans under appreciate it despite the fact that it’s as deserving as the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s much like an under valued older son in a family of two boys.