a letter from San francisco....M

M could be the Mission District, fabled Mexican quarter of San Francisco saved from the 1906 fire by the one fire hydrant that kept working in the city and which is now repainted in gold each year to honour the fact.

Then again it could be Mr President, in acknowledgement that only 13 percent of the metropolis voted for Bush and that the people, in my friend Rob's words, would probably kill him if he came to town. (For more on Rob see r)

Or conceivably, Monterey, a couple of hours south and home to Cannery Row, or what is left of it. Immortalized in the book of the same name and where I found myself on July 4th, Independence Day. Might need that for I though so.........

M.........Mist.

San Francisco is boarded to the west by the Pacific Ocean. Cycle through Golden Gate Park, and there it is. Cycle eastward down to North Beach and there it is too, you see the city is sandwiched between the Ocean and the Bay. The feeling of seaside permeates the town. You can feel it in the air and see it from the hills.

But lets go back to the park, and cycle through it again. There, look through the wind. There is nothing between here and, well China I guess, or not much anyway - so the wind is strong. Sand in the ears sort of thing. The wind stirs up the deep ocean water, which is bloody cold so I haven’t been bathing yet. It also condenses the warm air above it so just off shore there is a bank of malevolent menacing mist (three ms there). It looks like something Hollywood summoned up for a Monster From the Deep, B movie. The wind gets channelled through the Golden gate, the entrance to the Bay, and as the warm air inland rises the mist comes tumbling after.

This means that the city is always changing. You can wake up and the sky is blue. You step out and the sun beats down on you. A half hour later the wind picks up and the mist streaks by overhead, inconsistent at first and then suddenly you are in it and damp. Sometimes it lies all over Berkley on the other side of the bay; sometimes it’s all over you on this side. The top of the skyscrapers disappear; the golden gate bridge becomes invisible and things suddenly reappear. It makes the place very magical, always changing.

Ok some call it Fog but I need F for something else.