I arrived in San Francisco in 2006 after spending three years in Japan and two in Vietnam. My buddy Phuong who convinced me to move to Vietnam is also the reason I came to San Francisco. He had always wanted to live in the USA and rented an apartment in Berkeley.
I loved living in Vietnam but after two years I didn’t feel as though I could make much progress in the business world. I couldn’t speak Vietnamese and all the international companies brought their own employees and hired locally. What would there be for an expat who didn’t even speak the local language?
Phuong invited me to stay at his apartment and check out the Bay Area. I’d never been there but I’d be in a better position professionally and what was the harm? I could always move back to Asia.
I remember that first day, arriving at SFO after a very long flight and then taking the BART to Berkeley. I remember how much I disliked the metro here with its harsh robotic announcements and general uncleanliness. It was quite different from what I was used to in Tokyo where everything is clean, they have pleasant jingles for each station and there aren’t any homeless or beggars in every other car.
I arrived in Berkeley and my first memory was walking with my suitcase about 10 blocks to his apartment. I walked past a young African American guy in a wheelchair who asked me for money. I shook my head no and then he called me a bunch of profane names. This was my first major experience returning to the USA and I thought that the Bay Area was certainly different than my hometown of Ohio. I remember even telling my Dad such and he agreed.
I reached Phuong’s apartment and to my surprise he let me know he’d be returning to Vietnam in two days and asked if I could put almost all his stuff in storage. He also said I could stay at his apartment as long as I wanted. I thought that was pretty odd as I thought we might spend some time together and he could would show me around (the little that he knew anyway). But I was on my own.
I didn’t like Berkeley very much. It was dirty and there were a bunch of weird people around. I learned that it is a college town and Berkeley is a prestigious school but that did little to mitigate the feeling that I didn’t belong there.
For the next week I took trips into San Francisco to look at apartments as I’d give the Bay a shot. Again, I had another experience in the metro which became my second major memory of the Bay. I was trying to buy a metro ticket at the Powell Bart station when another African American came up to me and it was obvious he was gay. He asked for money telling me he had aids. Again, another shock to me as this was something that had never happened to me in Ohio. I was learning that SF certainly was a different type of place.
As I had no transportation and only knew how to use the metro I walked everywhere and learned how hilly San Francisco is the hard way. I walked all the way to the Fillmore to check out an apartment and was appalled about how dirty that part of town was too! The apartment was also smelly, dank and thus gave me a bad feeling. On the way back however, I came across a building with vacancy that became our future apartment. I didn’t even have a cellphone at that time so had to ring the bell and was lucky they actually answered. The only other thing I remember about those few months were when my girlfriend (now wife) had to stay a few days in a crappy hotel since Phuong stopped renting his apartment and our new place wasn’t ready yet. I’m starting to see how many references I have to SF being ‘dirty.’ I wonder if I’ve just gotten used to it?
It has now been 18 years since then and the time has flown by. From ‘Berserkely’ to a dank hotel, to four good years in an apartment, I’m now on a porch swing overlooking the Pacific ocean and we have a family complete with a dog.
The decision to stay in San Francisco instead of returning to Asia was a major life crossroad that my subconscious reminded me about in a dream many years ago. In that dream I was discussing our options of staying or returning to Asia. The was a very heavy, oppressive atmosphere which I believe my subconscious was regretting my decision to stay. I never wanted to return to the USA but had no good prospects in Vietnam and I knew what would await me in Japan which was a life of overwork for little pay. Still, I was giving up my dream of living overseas and being an expat for life as I had always wanted. It was a sad dream but being awake I realize it was the right decision. I’m more in control here, everything has gone really well but at the sacrifice of my great desire to spend my life overseas.
The first good memories here are of our new apartment on Bush Street not far from Union Square. It was clean, bright, and we were in an excellent part of town. I had my desk facing the windows and would spend many a night drinking wine, listening to music and soaking in the atmosphere of a sophisticated and beautiful San Francisco instead of the dirty first impressions.
For this post, I won’t be writing my history in SF but just a few memories that are special and unique.
We’ll return to my desk where I spent much time as we really didn’t have a lot of money to go out. It was Friday night and I had bought a bottle of Toasted Head wine from the small market a block away, and drank while listening to “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” and was taking in the sounds of a San Francisco night. From my perch I could see the upper floors of the Grand Hyatt and saw a young man getting ready for a party on the top floor as disco lights were flashing and his movements indicated a bit of excitement for something about to happen.
I’ll always remember wondering who he was, what he did for work and what type of party it would be. San Francisco is full of wealthy people and here I was in my modest apartment, drinking mediocre wine and never having been to any parties yet in San Francisco. I’d just returned from Vietnam where I’d been to plenty of parties running the spectrum of extremely fancy to smelly bars full of unruly expatriates. San Francisco was on another level and I wondered what the future would hold for me here.
At 47 years old, I get invited to plenty of parties and it is funny to realize that I don’t want to go and have declined quite a few fancy business events recently. There was a good meme recently that shares my feelings.
“When you’re young you sneak out to go to parties. When you’re old you sneak out of parties to go home.”
As for me I prefer not to go at all.
I remember being quite intimidated looking for a job. I did what I knew best and that was to head straight to the “American Chamber of Commerce.” Silly me, I was in America, what I needed was the “San Francisco Chamber of Commerce.” I found it, explained I was looking for work and was welcomed by a gay guy. I had never come into contact with so many gay people and was quickly learning that San Francisco had a reputation as a gay town for good reason. The gentleman was nice enough and told me to buy their directory (which I still have) that might aide me in my search. I remember looking at all the members and hoping that one of their companies could find a place for me. Interesting to think that 18 years later very few of those people would be with the same company with quite a few having passed away already.
Another early memory is venturing out with my girlfriend to the most popular darts bar called Eagle’s Drift.” I was the captain of our darts team in the Saigon darts league in Vietnam. That was always so much fun as each bar had a team and. you’d gather for a match and plenty of booze each Tuesday night. There were beautiful bar girls all around and you were with fun expats from England, Australia, Germany and many other countries. I was missing that experience a lot as drinking alone in your apartment, doesn’t provide the same level of enjoyment.
What I found at the Eagle’s Drift were overly competitive Irishmen who acted like winning and losing were a matter of life and death. I got pared with one and had the lead but his level of anxiousness ensured I couldn’t “check,” or hit that specific little double box to end the game. There weren’t any beautiful girls around that I can recall and why were there so many Irish?
The biggest memory was of trying to get home. It was around 1:00 AM, the famous San Francisco fog had rolled in and we realized that the streets were deserted, completely devoid of taxies. We might be in trouble as the bar was located in the Sunset District, very very far from our apartment when you don’t have transportation. Being dark, cold and damp from the fog we saw a bus stop and were able to catch the last bus thankfully. That feeling though of complete isolation upon stepping out of the bar was something I’ll never forget. If you step out of the bar in Saigon there is still a decent amount of activity and I was never worried. I felt worried, and although with my girlfriend, very alone in that dead quiet neighborhood at 1:00 AM.
Let’s return to our apartment and another pleasant memory. We discovered we had a Japanese neighbor on our floor right next door. His name was ‘Kaz” and he’d play beautiful, soft, Hawaiian melodies on Friday nights. I heard them best when using our bathroom and always appreciated it. I wonder what happened to Kaz. He was one of those Japanese who escaped the strenuous life of Japan but only to amble along without any direction. He was single, about a decade older than us and was a bit aloof.
The neighbor in the door across from us was named Alen. We were the same age and he had a beautiful Japanese girlfriend who we’d greet but who never seemed open to a conversation. Alen on the other hand would chat and he and I went out for drinks one night. I thought it strange that the first question he asked me was if I liked my ‘wife,’ then still a girlfriend but soon to be. I remember something was off about him and asked point plank “Did you have a tough childhood? I have excellent perception and can read people pretty easily and I had hit the mark. He was silent for a few moments and I learned his parents were from Romania and his childhood was quite rough.
A few weeks later it seemed they were moving out and seeing the Japanese wife learned it was just her moving out, they were getting a divorce. Over the next couple of months Alen was out every night dressed for success and bringing home many girls. He eventually moved to Los Vegas, had another dysfunctional relationship but has now been with a beautiful Korean girl for a couple of years. I never spoke to him again after moving out but discovered I had his blog bookmarked (we spoke about our passion for blogging that night out) which lead me to his Instagram. I’m certain he doesn’t remember me but my mind works in such a way that I rarely forget anyone.
The only other experience with the neighbors I’ll mention was of the Chinese boyfriend/girlfriend who lived on the other side of us after the elevator. I never spoke to him but could hear his shouting at his girlfriend which was so loud even the people at the hotel a building away could hear. One of the customers was leaning out the window and me looking out mine we made eye contact over all that shouting. It was then that I’d had enough and knocked on the door to no answer as they probably couldn’t hear over the screaming. So I kicked the door very loudly to which the screaming stopped, he answered and I began yelling at him. He just slammed the door so I called the cops. I believe the boyfriend was from mainland China and was probably one of those spoiled “only child” kids that never realized the world doesn’t revolve around them. They’ve got problems as I saw from their behavior many times in Vietnam. Their narcissism causes problems but when confronted they always back down since even as grown men they’re nothing but spoiled little boys who don’t know how to treat others especially when those ‘others’ are perceived to be ‘below’ them. Single Chinese businessmen in Vietnam were always the worst, easily seen when they’re drunk at the bars and there are girls around.
I had many profound experiences in those early days and I could write a novel about all the SF experiences in total. But these are the ones that came to mind as I sat recently on my porch swing drinking much better wine than Toasted Head.
I realize that I’m past middle age when I think more about the past than the future. In 2006 I was in an apartment, drinking Toasted Head wondering what my life would be like in San Francisco. Now, 18 years later I’m in a beautiful house with a family and even a dog, overlooking the ocean on my porch swing reminiscing about the past and rarely thinking of the future. The wine is infinitely better than Toasted Head. However, it comes to mind that the best part of life are the experiences rather than what we own. Although I’m in a great situation with a wonderful family the experiences are no longer as vivid and exciting as they were in those early days. And so I’ll spend some evenings on my porch swing with a bottle of Tooth and Nail, put on “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” and reminisce. Sometimes I’ll write those thoughts down and then write about them in my journal like I’m doing now.
Life goes too quickly and I miss those early chapters.
