Little Trouble, Little Chinatown

Chinatown. I have always been intrigued by Chinatown. While on the bus that is. Walking through it is a whole different ball game. Like night and day, apples and oranges; more like pine cones and cotton balls. From a secluded window seat on the #30 or #45 bus, Chinatown is downright incredible. An entire group of people, recreating what I imagine everyday life to be like in China - crowded streets, the occasional traditional costume, neon signs in Chinese characters, fruits and goods unrecognizable to the untrained eye hanging from wires in store fronts, acknowledgment of neighbors, a sense of balance and purpose.

While it may be one of the more chaotic and congested areas in the city, Chinatown still seems to deliver a sense of calm and tradition, a sense of unity. Only there does the chaos make sense: double parking on a street of two narrow lanes, masses of people crowding shop counters and fruit bins with no sense of line or direction, CDs and storage bins being sold alongside dried fish and multiple-pound bags of rice, a mop hanging from a clothesline four stories up dripping on the sheets and blouses of the third story line below. I'm fascinated by this, and each time I ride through this bustling, quaint neighborhood I can't help but take it all in, be in awe, and smile.

Walking through Chinatown, as I said, is a totally different story. I really first experienced Chinatown when I was much younger with my aunt and a family friend, and I thought it was the coolest place ever. I could have actually been in China for all I knew, I felt so far away, completely unaware I was only 30 minutes from home. I was oblivious to the filth, the crowds, the rotten smell; I was mesmerized by the fortune cookie factory, the bright colors, the super cheap (neon) slap bracelets and mini Buddhas. The next time I walked through Chinatown was just a few short months ago, and I don't think I will ever do it again. In fact, I'm still trying to scrub that experience off of my skin and wine-wash the incident out of my memory.

I was with my sister, Melissa, and we were heading off to enjoy a nice afternoon of shopping down town near Union Square. Always having trusted my older and wiser sister for the most practical of solutions to any scenario, I believed that walking through Chinatown really wasn't "that bad" and that it was the shortest route. As soon as we turned the corner I wanted to get out. Mysterious puddles on the sidewalk and in the gutter on a warm and dry spring day were playing bath house to a flock of pigeons that looked like they'd been chewed up and spit back out, some with missing feathers, others with missing limbs. We pass the first produce shop; not terrible, smells like any outdoor produce shop - a little rotten - nothing too ambiguous on display. Then the further in we get the stronger the stench seeps out from curiously crowded store fronts, a scene reminiscent of an Italian bar during the World Cup finals, complete with shoving and yelling, unsure if its out of camaraderie or disagreement. The goods on display become increasingly bizarre, the sidewalks filthier, your personal bubble smaller to nonexistent. Repulsive odors, loogie lined gutters, uncovered phlegm coughs in your general direction that are convincingly fatally contagious, dogs and cats sitting atop a new shipment of cabbage and apples... and a pigeon in an Asian pear tree. I couldn't decide which was safer or less disgusting: option 1, plug my nose and breathe through my mouth. option 2, deal with the smell and keep my mouth shut for fear of catching some kind of rare disease. option 3, just stop breathing all together, pass out, and get the hell outta dodge. While option 3 was rather appealing, I went for a 1, 2 combo.

Why did I not just walk faster or run through the street? Because it's impossible. There's a stop light at every corner, all of which seem to be red upon my approach, however I'd plow through those and take my chances with the buses, delivery trucks and bad drivers if I had the chance. But the sidewalks are mayhem: no sense of 'slow traffic keep right', no separate lanes for opposite directions (I am a firm believer that the rules of the road should be obeyed on the sidewalks no matter where you are), stopping in the very middle of the sidewalk to stare at the sky, pick up a dirty penny or chat with your neighbor is widely accepted no matter who is walking right at you.

*Sigh...

Regardless of that horrific mistake of taking Chinatown on foot, I really do still think fondly of Chinatown and will always be amazed by it. Through a warm sunny Muni window that is (just look past the face grease and chewed gum). On my last bus ride from downtown back to Russian Hill I was so deep in thought (mentally scribing this blog post), all snuggled up in my blanket of dense afternoon sunshine, that I didn't notice that the woman in the snow jacket circa 1987 and the questionable dental hygiene I had been sitting next to had since gotten off the bus, to be replaced by a balding man who smelled like day old sushi. In fact I'm pretty sure his stench was the smelling salts that brought me back to consciousness. So maybe the smell will always seep through the window with the sunshine, but I will continue to be in awe of this neighborhood and the people in it. I highly recommend just going for a ride, and seeing the real beauty, and sometimes irony, of Chinatown.

Closing statement: Because of the world and San Francisco we live in today, I should clarify that this post in no way is intended to reflect upon the people in Chinatown. I harbor no ill feeling or disregard for any persons associated with or who identify with any of the above mentioned. In fact I happen to think that some of the most adorable and fascinating people reside in this city within a city. And I'll reiterate here, that I think of Chinatown fondly. :o) I should also point out that I find Market Street to be equally as disgusting and un-enjoyable to walk through.