Entry #29

Entry #29

Sunday, January 1

Happy New Year! We disembarked the plane about a half hour before midnight and drove back to The Woodlands just in time to see fireworks exploding from both sides of the highway. Not just rinky-dink fireworks either—some were show-stopping, light-up-the-sky varietals. Seems that explosives of any kind are here for the taking, where you can legally shoot-‘em-up, light-‘em-up, and even blow-‘em-up. There’s no mistaking that we’re back in Texas.

Having spent the last two weeks in Berkeley and San Francisco, I can now safely say that the Bay Area is as different from Houston as two places can be. I think I was beginning to forget, having lived in Texas now for a whopping four months. (According to Noah, time moves more slowly here, so four months in The Woodlands is equivalent to at least a year spent outside “The Bubble.”)

What struck me most of all is that the Bay Area still felt like home. It seemed like we simply picked up where we'd left off, which was reassuring.

While we weren’t able to see everyone that we would’ve liked to, we did manage to touch base with several longtime friends and relatives, both in the Bay Area and Southern California. These get-togethers were a gentle reminder that more than anything, it’s the people who make a place.

As places go, however, San Francisco is pretty extraordinary. After all, how many cities welcome you with an expansive view of the mountains and ocean, as well the Golden Gate Bridge? You can hike among the palm trees, evergreens and maples simultaneously, drive to the beach or the snow, spend the day in Wine Country... It’s easy to get spoiled there.

Within hours of touching ground in California, I found myself pushing a shopping cart around the Berkeley Bowl, an enormous market known as a “foodie’s paradise.” The kids' "honorary grandmother" needed to get groceries and I was happy to accompany her, only I’d forgotten what it would be like to go “bumper carting” on a busy Saturday afternoon in a place where aisles are not quite big enough to fit two shopping carts (hence, the bumping).

The first person I noticed at The Berkeley Bowl was a mom with a sweeping blue tattoo across her neck, accompanied by two Asian children dressed in earthy clothing and tiny Crocs. Shortly thereafter, I passed a groovy dad in flip-flops, with long hair peering out from his wool cap, and two multi-ethnic kids in tow. Two older women with loose, flowing garments (a la Stevie Nicks) brushed past me, as did a hip, twenty-something gal toting esoteric ingredients I barely recognized (kohlrabi anyone?).

I had the assignment of searching for Celtic sea salt, Ancient Organics Ghee, pasture-raised organic eggs, and Bariani Olive Oil, among other specialty items. Although it was like going on a scavenger hunt to find them, they were surprisingly available. So were every fruit and vegetable on the planet, grass-fed meats, sprouted grain breads, olives of every conceivable variety, milk from cows, goats, coconuts, soy beans, hemp seeds, almonds...The Bowl might be crowded and overwhelming, but it really does have everything (except, perhaps, Wonder Bread).

I had another culinary adventure the following evening when I went with some friends to Gather, an organic restaurant located at “the greenest building in the East Bay.” We ordered the recommended “vegan charcuterie plate.” It was so intricately prepared, the waitress spent about three minutes describing all the ingredients, then gave us a pre-printed card in case we needed reminding of what in tarnation we were about to consume. Quite a far cry from Texas barbecue, where what you see is what you get.

While waiting for a friend at the Guerilla Café one morning, I realized that this place could never exist in Texas, simply by virtue of its name. Can you imagine a patriotic cowboy walking into a café named after insurgent forces (even if its bi-line is “art, coffee, vibes”)? Don’t think so. To its credit, The Guerilla Café has incredible coffee (served Euro-style in a bowl) and delicious brunch offerings, but you do need a shoehorn to ease your way into one of their densely packed seats. 

While we’ve gotten so used to seeing luxury cars and mammoth trucks in Texas, it was refreshing to see people of all socioeconomic strata driving weathered station wagons, eco-conscious Priuses and other unassuming vehicles around Berkeley. There was nary a Hummer or Cadillac SUV to be found (though I did drive behind a truck that had a “Don’t mess with Texas” bumper sticker on it.)

Recycling, composting and reusing are the norm in California, and plastic bags are actually banned in San Francisco—something that would be unheard of here, where plastic bags are doled out like Kleenex (and recycled paper goods are nearly impossible to find). Mom-and-pop businesses still prevail in the Bay Area, despite the looming presence of big box stores. Chain stores predominate in The Woodlands, like so many other places in Anywhere, USA.

In the Castro district of San Francisco, we passed a salon called Hand Job Nails & Spa. In The Woodlands, a British friend recommended another privately owned salon, The Shag Spa. Perhaps there are some commonalities among these towns after all...

While the Bay Area still feels like home, one thing I don’t miss about it are all the homeless people there. "It makes me sad," Aidan said, and I concurred. Having been away for just a few months, I was struck by the number of people pushing shopping carts and panhandling (not to mention the awful smell inside the parking lot stairwell). 

Oddly enough, I have yet to see a single homeless person wandering around The Woodlands. I haven’t spotted anyone doling out mysterious wafers (remember "soylent green?"), so perhaps homeless people who’ve tried to inhabit this Stepfordian oasis are quietly carted back to the city. It remains a mystery.

The most welcome (and welcoming) sight upon returning to The Woodlands came in the form of our tail-thumping, tongue-lolling pup, Izzie. Seems she had a blast at the Texas Doghouse and was returned to us happy, healthy, and freshly washed. She did sleep on top of me most of the first night back, however. That’s one way to prevent me from going anywhere anytime soon...