week six: the golden coast.

Mar 27

You can find my “Week Five” post here.

The Joshua Tree desert blinded me from the fact that I had finally arrived in California. I had actually made it to the other side of the country, the beaches and palm trees of the golden coast not that far away from where Georgia and I were packing our tent. As we departed the National Park, I made a mental note concerning our route for the week. Driving up California meant we would be interviewing several different types of stores in the coming days—and with Vegas fresh in mind, I wasn’t going to shy away from any impromptu interview opportunities.

*Inside Verbatim Books, in San Diego, California*

Georgia and I didn’t have any more campsites reserved for the rest of our time together. I did have a bookstore I wanted to visit in SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA, but no idea what else there was to do there —but this was entirely fine. Having a partner in crime meant we would ultimately figure it out together. No stress there. What did stress me out, after all this time, was finding parking. I ultimately gave up on finding street parking and decided to try my luck with the Vons parking lot up the street from Verbatim Books. This ended up being a splendid idea, as it gave us a chance to walk around the area and get a feel for the vibe of the neighborhood. Verbatim Books seemed to have an extensive used books collection, but what caught my attention was the artwork incorporated into the store. Wooden furniture, luscious plants, ornate frames, and random bits and bobs sprinkled throughout the store left me intrigued as if I had found an attic space where pieces of multiple generations had found a home—and then had been arranged beautifully. I particularly loved the wall-to-wall bookshelf in the back of the store with the name of the store sculptured with old books of different sizes. After some thought, I attributed my childlike excitement at Verbatim to the fact that it looked like a scene out of the I Spy books I checked out from the library as a kid. The store was very new, relative to some of the more historical bookshops I had visited on the east coast. It was San Diego’s largest. I left there with a used copy of Dragonfly in Amber, by Diana Gabaldon, to complement the Outlander I had bought in Denver.

The rest of the evening passed like a dream. We first spent some time walking around the Japanese Friendship Garden, captivated by the koi fish and the serene landscaping. A world of wonders existed within Balboa Park. Vendors called us to purchase churros and mangonadas. A small art district with galleries and artists selling their crafts added a splash of vibrant color to our day. Street performers captured crowds and performed daring stunts that I couldn’t watch for too long out of fear that my stomach would creep out of my mouth. But a few hours in the park left us hungry. We drove down to a food hall in Little Italy as the afternoon heat slowly shifted to a cooler evening. I could’ve sat by the fountain there until nightfall, amongst the families swirling through the plaza with their kids, finding a place to sit to enjoy their dinner under the lowering sun. After a brief stop at Coronado Beach, we rushed to get to the one stop in San Diego we simply wouldn’t be able to make at a different time—the Sunset Cliffs. Even as we approached the park, I felt the buzz of building excitement in my tummy. Cars spilled out of the small lot and were lined up very far down the street, so we had to rush to park and hustle over to the cliffs. This was another one of those moments I found myself documenting every moment of. As the sun slowly approached the horizon line of the sea, seemingly submerging itself in the distance, the glow it cast on all of us felt unreal. Below us, there were some folks wading in the choppy waters. It lasted all but a few minutes, but it kept me smiling for much longer. One of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever shared with anyone.

The next day was sure to be a long one, so Georgia and I made our way from the Airbnb to a local coffee shop called Communal, where we started our wake-up process by chatting with a barista who entranced us with her flower arrangement skills. I want to learn how to do that. I had a habit of wanting to do anything and everything that caught my eye. It wasn’t a super long drive to LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. I had admittedly been nervous about this one since the very beginning; everyone tells you there’s nothing worse than LA traffic. We must’ve arrived at a relatively lucky time. Our arrival in the Historic Core of the City of Angels marked the scramble to find affordable parking, and pretty soon we were at the door of the largest independent bookstore in California—The Last Bookstore. I had reached out to the owner, who happened to have graduated from UNC, where I go. We had hoped to connect while I was here, but unfortunately, times are busy, busy, busy, and he had to be out of town on a business trip. Regardless of that, I was shocked at how big the bookstore actually was. Of course, I had seen many photos in my research—especially of the tunnel of books so many folks take photos under. But this was more like the central hub of some underground, post-apocalyptic society that worshipped books and records. At least, that’s the feeling I got. There were several spaces for vendors and artists upstairs as well. We spent an hour or so just getting our bearings straight, snaking through the open center with some seating, surrounded by aisles and bookshelves, a records area, and a rare books vestibule. There was a labyrinth of books upstairs—some on shelves against the walls, some in actual vaults. The vibe was an escape room that no one was in a rush to escape from. Why would you be in a rush, when hidden between the arrows and the artwork, there were treasures certainly in your midst? Before I left, I chatted with a member of the team at The Last Bookstore who pointed me in the direction of their sister store—Lost Books. He told me I had a good chance of interviewing them while I was in town. This sister store was very new and hadn’t had too long to fully establish itself in its community. Nonetheless, I took the opportunity and ran with it.

As we drove into MONTROSE, CALIFORNIA, I could feel my shoulders relax a bit. Perhaps driving in LA had been requiring more focus than I had realized. Montrose was calmer, with small businesses lining the street we were on. Georgia and I learned that the manager at Lost Books wasn’t in, so we decided to come back the next day. But lucky for us, we happened to be right next to America’s oldest children’s bookstore.

And Once Upon a Time Bookstore was down to be a part of the documentary.

Once Upon a Time Bookstore

MONTROSE, CALIFORNIA

Two decades ago, the founder of Once Upon a Time Bookstore retired, and it seemed that there was a chance no one was interested in taking over the business. Jessica wrote to her local newspaper, pleading for someone to save the store. One thing led to another, and the founder asked Jessica’s family if they wanted it, and they’ve taken charge of it ever since.

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“I would say—it’s hyphenated—family-oriented. Before we were designated as America's…oldest children's bookstore…our tagline was ‘Your family bookstore.’”

And family-oriented is correct. In fact, countless children have grown up at this bookstore—Jessica included—and have even grown up to work at the store themselves. Offering new books, Once Upon a Time also has a selection of adult books to offer the families coming in. Parents want to read too, right? But even more interesting is the story of the bookstore’s founding. Jane Humphrey, an artist with a fondness for designing cards who founded Once Upon a Time in 1966, revolutionized the displaying of children’s books by placing them with their covers out, instead of the way you would find books arranged in a library. The store still sells cards today in recognition of its roots.

Once Upon a Time Bookstore is known and appreciated by school-age children in the local community.

“…We just started a teen LGBTQ book club,” Jessica recalled. “One of the local teachers said… our club was featured as, like, ‘something to do’ in their school newspaper. And it was really just a small thing of, like, ‘oh, yeah. We are reaching kids in different ways.’”

The fun doesn’t stop there—it physically inhabits the store in the form of Pippi, the store cat. The community finds itself coming together annually to join Pippi on her birthday—a cause for creative celebration.

“We do a cake for her. It’s a tuna cake, as we call it, and then cake for real humans,” Jessica explained. “And then we have a writing contest where we ask people—writing or drawing— ‘what does Pippi do at night?’ And, so, that comes up with very creative ideas from the kids.”

The pandemic presented some challenges for kids trying to access books. A local middle school reached out to the store, heartbroken over not being able to get books from the library. So Once Upon a Time ordered books which they stacked outside, operating via an honor system for folks to come by, grab a book, and pay through a slot in the door.

Then, LA Times columnist, Mary McNamara, brought attention to the store by writing about how they were struggling, like many other businesses during the height of COVID. The column was syndicated, spreading all over the country, and Once Upon a Time soon found an outpour of support coming from not only their local community but from folks as far away as Florida.

I left Once Upon a Time Bookstore that evening with a rekindled appreciation for kids’ books and the librarians and bookstore owners who serve as guardians of those stories that impact us from such a young age.

Jessica recommended…

*Answers in the Pages,* by David Leviathan

“I would say, for us, we know that we offer an experience that you can't get anywhere else,” Jessica said. “Kids’ books in particular are something that you… you want to see and experience before you buy… It's one of those things where you can match a kid better when you're talking to them and try and figure out, ‘hey, do you like dragons today, or do you want something different?’… An algorithm is never going to figure that out for someone.”

With the evening drawing near, the unexpected interview and general turn of events left me very satisfied with the day. In all of the strolling around Montrose, Georgia and I managed to find a hidden paradise at Black Cow, where we got a very tall cold brew topped with sweet cream for something like $2. It was ridiculously good, and we vowed to return before attempting to snag an interview with Lost Books the next day. In the meantime, we sped off toward Kahuna Tiki in the NoHo Arts District, to grab sushi with a very special friend I’d been waiting to meet in person for a while.

Before I departed for this trip, I thought to research any existing documentaries like the one I was planning on making. This road led me quickly to Mason Engel, an author and documentarian who toured the country and interviewed indie bookstores to capture an answer to the question of why people should shop indie. He’s actually working on a third film now. But at the time I discovered him, I wanted to see if he’d be interested in offering any guidance on the gargantuan task that lay ahead of me. He emailed me back within the hour I messaged him with more help than I could’ve asked for. We promised to connect when I got to Los Angeles, and we shared a wonderful dinner, chatting about how the journey had been so far, and everything he was up to. Making connections with folks I otherwise wouldn’t have met during this project has been one of the highlights of my academic experience so far. I can’t wait to see what Mason does in the future. But for now, you should check him out here.

That night we stayed with some generous friends of Georgia’s—Florian and Soya—finally escaping the close confines of my tent. It’s not that we hadn’t enjoyed camping, but a bit more comfort wasn’t hurting us.

The next morning, with no real plans, we decided to drive through Hollywood. The sign in the hills was a sight to behold… kinda. I looked at it for a bit but quickly moved on with my life. I don’t know what I was expecting from the Walk of Fame either, but it was sort of just a sidewalk. Cute, but a bit underwhelming. The most interesting part of the morning was truly driving through the hills of expensive houses, secretly hoping to come across a celebrity as we turned one narrow corner before the next. Eventually, we arrived at the first bookstore of the day: The Iliad Bookshop, in NORTH HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA. With free parking, endless aisles of tall bookshelves filled with every category of writing you could possibly think of, and store cats, Georgia and I happily got lost in the store for a short time. Each aisle of bookshelves had its own ladder and a cheat sheet letting folks know the specifics of what they could find. The store was well organized, but it was winding. I felt as if I was inside a computer, with infinite knowledge at my disposal in every direction. I had some trouble navigating back to the entrance, but eventually, I re-emerged with a book on sewing after remembering the girl working on the flower arrangements back in San Diego. I wanted to learn how to do something creative with my hands.

Just as we had promised each other, Georgia and I returned to the Black Cow in Montrose, where I managed to devour most of a tray of bread pudding, and another cold brew topped with sweet cream. Luckily enough, this time when we walked into Lost Books, they were ready and willing for me to have them be a part of the project.

Lost Books

MONTROSE, CALIFORNIA

They’re a bit hard to track down if you don’t already know about them. But if you’re lucky enough to stumble across this bookstore in Montrose—perhaps you see oodles of plants spilling green from a doorway and think to investigate—you’ll find a verdant paradise in the form of a maze of (primarily) used books. Here, I spoke with Ana Buckley, the manager of Lost Books.

The sister store of the renowned LA store, The Last Bookstore, this store offers a remarkably opposite experience to visitors. Imagine walking into a store with vibrant moss covering the walls and ceilings, succulents, and hanging plants at the front, near the window, inviting you in to tiptoe through a selection of books for all ages and people.

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“Zen. It's mystical in a weird, not-Dungeons-and-Dragons way. It's kind of magical. Honestly.”

Ana finds the Montrose community to be a calming presence, matching the vibe of the store well.

“I do the plants in the morning outside,” Ana said. “And there's just a parade of people. Like, every half hour, you know who's going to be going by and talking to you about the plants and the dogs. The community is really open… There are quite a few older people, but they're all so nice. They're so chatty, and they're so welcoming, and… the donations are bananas. There’s a lot of school kids that come in that attack the vinyl, which is fun… Because, I think, it's kind of a small-town vibe, right next to LA… we just have this weird mix of Instagram influencers and grandmas coming in. And sometimes the grandmas bring the influencers, and it's pretty great.”

Having opened during the pandemic, Lost Books really leaned into their community to help them stay open through donations. And due to the newness of the store, my conversation with Ana was a short and sweet chat about what’s gotten her excited in the months it had been open, and her thoughts on where the community could take Lost Books in the future.

“Any emotion above a 4, I cry,” Ana said. “I just really love when people come in here and they… you walk through that tunnel of plants, they're so excited about it, so they come in already ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing,’ and then they walk around a little bit… and then they'll tell us that they needed something like this. They've never seen anything like this. And… everybody wants to be needed, you know? So, it's super, super nice to feel, like, you're filling a gap, maybe, in the community. So, that kind of makes you want to work harder and makes you want to make it nice all the time because it goes from being… like a luxury, like a fun little thing to almost a necessity just because of the level of appreciation people have for it.”

And there you have it, folks. You can follow Lost Books’ journey on Instagram, @lostbooksla. Just the other day, I noticed that Billie Eilish had visited the store—I guess you truly never know what you’ll find.

Ana was recommending…

*Hyperbole and a Half: Unfortunate Situations, Flawed Coping Mechanisms, Mayhem, and Other Things That Happened,* by Allie Brosh

The week had just begun, but I had already seen and learned so much from Jessica and Ana. The vibe of these bookstores had been so different from the historical, literary institutions of the American South, that I couldn’t wait to keep moving forward and see what else there was out there. We departed from Montrose for a final time and headed for PASADENA, CALIFORNIA, where we walked around for some time in search of food before we landed at Poke Salad Bar. Just the kind of reprieve we needed. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity in a certain building we passed through. It struck me like lightning, but I’m curious to see if you recognize this building too. If you do, then we might be kindred spirits.

Our friend Gaby had told Georgia to make sure we visited a certain bookstore in CULVER CITY, CALIFORNIA, so we went there next. Inside The Ripped Bodice, we saw what Gaby had wanted us to—an enchanting little store revolving around a genre I wasn’t all too familiar with: romance. These kinds of specialty bookstores with strong themes always fascinated me. It must’ve been a delight for romance lovers to be able to come to a store that was so devoted and passionate about serving them. Walking through the selection, I admired all of the love that had been put into the décor and the merch, arranged on fancy white chests and wardrobes ripped right out of a duchess’s room. The buzz of a farmers’ market outside caught our attention, and Georgia couldn’t help but try some delicious fruit as we snaked through the vendor tents. Afterward, we headed back toward Florian and Soya’s to wind down for the day. A bite at Prime Pizza in North Hollywood was our last big hurrah in Los Angeles.

We hated to be leaving Florian and Soya so soon, but we were to be in SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, that evening. Lucky for us, that meant we could hop on to the Pacific Coast Highway and cruise along the coast, through places like MALIBU, CALIFORNIA. Georgia and I hopped out of the car to take some photos along the Malibu coast, the cool ocean breeze a welcome guest after the heat of the previous week. It wasn’t too sunny that morning, but I didn’t mind. I loved the occasional grey skies. As we drove up the PCH, I thought to stop in SANTA BARBARA, CALIFORNIA, for brunch because of my attachment to the detective show Psych, which I wholeheartedly credit for my sense of humor as an adult. Expectedly, the part of Santa Barbara we were in didn’t look anything like the town from the show, but in my heart, the connection was still fulfilling. After a quick coffee at Dune Coffee Roasters in a neighborhood teeming with young, healthy-looking, granola families, we were back on the road for another six hours. That evening, we arrived in an unexpectedly cold and foggy San Francisco, where we were staying with our friend, Michael. They assured us that the weather was not strange at all. In fact, as we drove into the colorful Mission District for dinner, Michael explained the unique climate, and how a belt of fog covered the neighborhoods lying in the lower elevation. Suddenly, as we were driving uphill, we broke through the layer of fog, and the sun was out, though gradually setting for the evening. It was a bit boggling but certainly very cool. The three of us caught up over some delicious food at Taqueria Vallarta and toured the Mission District for a bit longer as the sky shifted to brilliant pinks and oranges with cotton candy clouds. I remember walking into a bookstore that caught my, for which I noticed the Spanish sign first: Medicina para Pesadillas. Medicine for Nightmares. I quietly tip-toed through the store’s curation, noticing first the vibrant covers on display, and then the presence of the Spanish language throughout the store. There seemed to be some sort of support group or panel meeting in the back. This store had been possibly one of the only ones I had stumbled upon that clearly presented as a multiethnic hub. There weren’t that many successful minority-owned or minority-centric bookstores in the country. Wanting to afford the group some privacy, I took a last look and headed out, a bit tired from the day—wondering whether I would need any medicine for any nightmares.

The following morning, we got an early start, heading out from the chilly—and aptly named—Outer Sunset District, to LOS ALTOS, CALIFORNIA, a nearby city in the Bay Area where it was much sunnier. I had my first encounter with Peet’s Coffee, which I think I liked more than Starbucks, although I preferred most coffee shops to Starbucks. By 9:30, we were all set up with cameras and lights at Linden Tree Children’s Bookstore.

Linden Tree Children’s Bookstore

LOS ALTOS, CALIFORNIA

Started about 40 years ago as a mail-order business for children’s records, Linden Tree is now a thriving children’s bookstore co-owned by Chris Sacchieri, my interviewee, since 2019—just months before the COVID-19 pandemic. Chris had been coming to Linden Tree for the better part of a decade, ever since his first child was born.

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“Oh, I would go for… magical, to me. It's the feeling that I get when I come in on a Saturday morning, and I walk in and there's, in one corner, there's a dad with two kids on his lap and they're reading a picture book together. And then over in the graphic novels, you've got a couple of 10-year-olds, like, lying flat on the carpet, just reading… And you see that all throughout the store. People who are just hanging out and loving books… just enjoying the stories and getting lost in those stories when they're here.”

Primarily, Linden Tree offers children’s books—ranging from those small, thick board books, all the way to young adult—but also houses an adult section comprising 10-15% of their inventory. Since children don’t generally stumble into the store on their own, with their own wallets, Linden Tree most often finds customers with the intention of buying a book for someone else. The booksellers at this store don’t wait for you to come to them, but enthusiastically offer their expertise to ensure you walk out with what you were looking for. However, this isn’t a meager feat on their behalf—children often prove to be the trickiest demographic to shop books for.

“It's almost like, like a private investigator in a way,” Chris said, referring to the process a bookseller goes through with a customer. “You've got to ask certain questions and figure out, ‘oh, this is what this person really wants that will really, kind of, spark them,’ and then directing them to that book. And so, a big part of our stores is—I mean, while we tried to make the physical layout appealing to both adults and kids—the people who work here are really, kind of, the secret ingredient that makes it all work. And that’s something that I don't think is easily replicable online or in a lot of other venues.”

This thoroughness and thoughtfulness from the booksellers often create a trusting relationship between the store and parents in the community, and parents often come back asking for the recommendation of a particular bookseller, to be able to get a book they can trust will be just right for their kid. Dedicated, children’s bookstores aren’t commonly found everywhere in the United States, which is why Chris feels that Linden Tree occupies a special spot in the hearts of the community members.

“We do a summer concert series here every Thursday morning that really dates back years, you know, 20, 30 years,” Chris explained. “The original owners did it as well. And again, just… a free concert series to bring in families, bring in kids, and give them something to celebrate and enjoy during the summertime. And I think that's kind of the role the store has always filled and hopefully will continue to fill for the community.”

During the pandemic, Linden Tree effectively transformed into a fulfillment center, with store staff delivering book purchases throughout Los Altos. It so happens that when kids are forced to stay indoors for long periods of time, they often get restless. Chris was more than happy to get creative with the bookselling process and offered families the option to tour and engage a bookseller’s expertise privately over a video call. As I left the store that day, I couldn’t help but imagine how my childhood—the childhoods of all of my friends—would’ve been different had a store like Linden Tree been close by.

*Did You Hear That Mammy Died: A Memoir,* by Seamus O’Reilly

Georgia and I had some time to kill before my next interview. It just so happened that the massive, circular Apple Campus everyone heard so much about in the news when it was being constructed was located close by, so we decided to go and see what the fuss was about at Apple Park, in CUPERTINO, CALIFORNIA. It turned out that the public only really has access to a visitors’ center—essentially just an Apple Store. Great. By then, we were hungry, so we ventured off to Noe Valley in central San Francisco for a sandwich lunch at Cafe Seventy8. Pretty soon, we were at the door of Omnivore Books, relieved we had gotten a bite to eat beforehand.

Omnivore Books

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Located in the Noe Valley neighborhood of San Franciso, Omnivore Books is a special treat, offering new, antiquarian, and vintage food-related books. It’s a relatively small space, but it’s packed with tantalizing covers. Owner Celia Sack has collected books on food for a long time, with a history of being a rare books specialist at an auction house before coming to open Omnivore. Like the name of the store suggests, Omnivore offers books for all kinds of eaters and readers “to consumer everything.” Celia loves to see professional chefs walk through her doors as much as she loves seeing folks who have never cooked in their life. Omnivore Books fills an important niche for what Celia calls “a food-focused city.”

How would you describe this bookstore in one word?

“I think the best word to describe the store is animated because it's just colorful and bright. There are always changes to what's on the tables, what's on the piles, what's coming in, what's gone out… people get really excited. The store itself feels, just, sort of alive.”

When conducting her business, Celia focuses on how to best serve her community when she shares the landscape with competitors like Amazon. So how does one make a multinational corporation a non-competitor?

“One way was the antiquarian books,” Celia said. “But also having tons of author talks where it's all free, and people come in and get to meet the author and then they sign the book. Before the pandemic, we would have, you know, four or five a week, authors come from all over the world and they give a talk here.” I asked her about any particular events that came to mind, and she recalled one with the Herbidean Baker, Coinneach MacLeod, who was promoting his cookbook, The Hebridean Baker: Recipes and Wee Stories from the Scottish Islands. During the event, he sang a duet with his partner. You can imagine being in the presence of such an intimate moment in the evening amongst others in a beautiful, small bookstore. “I just thought, ‘this is so special,’” Celia said. “And this is one of those things you just cannot get on a video. You can't get it from… from these non-live events. I love having something that is just at the moment and then it's gone.”

And these events aren’t just for folks who are interested in cooking. Beyond cookbooks, Omnivore offers food literature, memoirs and food history. Many of the talks the store hosts are chats about cuisine, rather than cooking classes. But Celia also gets to interact with much of the professional food community, and really gets a kick out of helping them with her collection.

Celia recommended…

*Water, Wood & Wild Things: Learning Craft and Cultivation in a Japanese Mountain Town,* by Hannah Kirshner

Celia explained how the owner of a restaurant called Mister Jiu’s, Brandon Jiu, had come in wanting to study more about Chinese-American cooking. She had been able to direct him to some books he ended up taking with him from the 1950s-70s. “And then, you know, a couple years later, he came out with his cookbook, and it featured a lot of his work on studying Chinese-American cuisine. And I just, you know, it felt really good to have helped him in that journey,” Celia said.

The pandemic brought a lot of frustrations that eventually transformed into support from people all over the world. Celia actually went to the post office so frequently that she once broke her ankle coming out of it. It was clear that she had a relationship with people that brought them enough value that they actively worked to make sure Omnivore stayed in business. But that required a lot of hard work on her part, and the frustrations soon started coming back up with rise in buying from online retailers like Amazon.

“It was so frustrating that the pandemic helped a company like that,” Celia recalled. “But I think the other side of it is that the publishers and manufacturers in general who depend on Amazon have made really a deal with the devil. Because we small independent stores—whether we're a pet store or a bookstore—have done so much to support the publishers, or the small, you know, catnip-making company, whatever it is. Um, and, unfortunately, they've, they've put most of their eggs in the basket of Amazon and once Amazon decides that it's not in their financial interest to sell books anymore, or to sell pet supplies, or whatever… those places are screwed. If Amazon said tomorrow, you know, ‘books have been our loss leader for all these years and we've decided we're going to stop selling them,’ the publishers wouldn't know what to do because now, all these bookstores have been put out of business by Amazon.”

Celia’s perspective on the independent bookstore industry’s relationship with Amazon was really valuable, and left me a lot to chew on as I parted ways with her. On my way out, I bought a belated birthday present for Jennings, for whenever I would see him next. I also bought a book on making different types of pasta from scratch, hoping for an activity my mom and I could share interest over when I returned home.

Apparently, the trip had been going too smoothly, and fate decided to throw a last-minute twist into my day. To keep the explanation short and simple, Georgia had to take a meeting soon after the interview was supposed to have wrapped up, but in the middle of my chat with Celia, some customers had walked in, so we had to take a 20-minute break in the middle of the interview. I told Georgia to just take my car and that I would take the public transit back to Michael’s without any problem. After I eventually wrapped up the interview, I boarded the bus that would take me very close to where I needed to go. Feeling a bit of relief just from sitting down and the fact that the “work” part of the day was over, I thought ahead to the dinner plans I had with some friends in the evening, food still very much on my mind. At that time, two transit officials boarded our bus and asked everyone to show proof of fare. This is when I realized my mistake.

For context, I don’t ride on public transportation very often back home in North Carolina. Or ever, really. The last time I rode a bus was two years prior—a blue Chapel Hill public transit bus that is very much free of any cost to the rider. So, it didn’t cross my silly little mind that there would be a fare to pay for this bus—again, the only bus I had ridden in two years. I simply told the officials I didn’t have what they were looking for, and they promptly asked me to get off the bus and provide them with my I.D. This is when I started to get nervous, the way one does when they’re called to the principal’s office. I messaged Georgia about what had transpired so she could grab Lola and come pick me up while I also explained the situation to the transit folks, insisting that I had no intention of swindling them from a $2.50 fare and that I was new to town. They didn’t give me the time of day and handed me a ticket. SFMTA. Notice of Transit Violation. Violation Code, TRC 7.2.101(a). FAIL TO DISPLAY VALID FARE. $125.00. Ouch. It took me a minute to get over the circumstances of the situation and move on. Once Georgia had picked me up, we returned to Michael’s and a few hours later met with our friends Mia, Gustavo, Katie, and Nick. Mia had been working in San Francisco during the summer, and she and Katie had collectively prepared a delicious home-cooked meal for us to enjoy.

*Michael, Georgia, and I at the San Francisco Botanical Gardens, in San Francisco, California*

The rest of the week flew by with impressive speed. The day after what I’ll now be referring to as the “bus fiasco of June 2022,” I got Lola serviced at San Antonio Toyota to make sure she was in perfect shape for the journey back to the east coast. A few hours later, I met up with Georgia, and we had brunch at Devil’s Teeth Baking Company. The coast was super close by, so we gladly fit in a nice morning stroll. We spent the rest of the day laying in the sun at Dolores Park, and visited the Ferry Building afterward, wrapping up the day with dinner at Super Duper Burger. The view from the Ferry Building had been picturesque—clear blue skies, deep blue waters, and white sailboats drifting around against the backdrop of the long, San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. The next day, we had coffee at Henry’s House of Coffee in the morning before visiting the San Francisco Botanical Garden. Massive Redwoods and so many other plants from around the world populated the gardens, and Michael seemed to know what the deal was with all of them. An hour and a half flew by quickly as we made our way through the jungle and the rainforest and the flower patches. As we left, I noticed a tiny bookstore at the park exit. The San Francisco Botanical Garden Bookstore was designed like a little pop-up store with park merchandise and books on flora. After lunch at Sunset Subs, we stopped to visit two bookstores I had been recommended a few times—Green Apple Bookstore, and City Lights Books.

Green Apple was a wonderful sight. It was very clean with its white walls and ceilings, and bright wooden shelves against the dark floor. It was definitely a general-interest store with every kind of book and sideline gift items. Although Green Apple wasn’t a new bookstore, this space looked more like one that improved and adapted to fit with the times than one that relied more on any historical status or an older feel. The atmosphere was family-friendly, and I could definitely see it being a go-to spot in the neighborhood. City Lights, on the other hand, definitely looked more like a historic institution, straight from the “CITY LIGHTS Booksellers & Publishers” banner sign plastered on the building. In fact, there was that banner, a more modern-looking logo reading “CITY LIGHTS BOOKS” above the door, and “CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE” on the window. The differences in the store name right on the front of the building alluded to how it had lived through the passage of time. The inside of the store, sure enough, had a more old bookstore vibe that I personally enjoyed very much. Everything was wooden, and there was some exposed brick in the basement. There were old photographs and newspaper clippings and decor from different eras all over the store above the shelves housing all the new titles. As I made my way around customers to pay for the copy of Dune, by Frank Herbert, that I had just picked up, I walked by a hand-painted sign reading, “Welcome to City Lights, A Literary Meeting, Since 1953.”

*Golden Gate Bridge, in San Francisco, California*

Soon, we found our way to a sight I simply couldn’t miss my first time in San Francisco—the Golden Gate Bridge. A thick fog shielded us from seeing the top half of the iconic orange bridge. But it was still marvelous to witness such a beautiful architectural masterpiece. We visited Dolores Park again that evening. This time, we couldn’t see any of the green lawns because there were hundreds of people with us. Colorful tents and umbrellas were sprinkled throughout the masses of people singing and dancing or just chatting with their friends, celebrating Pride. The feeling of just being surrounded by that many people was euphoric. I hadn’t seen anything like it since the pandemic had started. I couldn’t have thought of a better end to the week.

In art, there exists this concept of the “uncanny valley.” It’s like when you see a painting of someone’s face, attempting to capture their likeness in hyperreal detail, but in your gut, you feel there’s something a bit… off. Maybe it’s something in the nose or the eyes. You can’t place what it is, but you know that it’s not exactly perfect. If I had to describe my time in California, I would have to borrow from that concept. I had thoroughly enjoyed the bizarre blanket of fog coating one side of San Francisco as the other side basked under a glowing sun. I had marveled at the sights and unique histories of the different neighborhoods, and I had wanted to hold on to the people who had crossed my path for much longer. But strangely, in my gut, I felt as if something was off—as if this couldn’t be a real place. I suppose I only felt that way because Cali was so completely different from home—it was an uncanny valley where I could have a blast but still feel like I was about to wake up from a dream at any moment. I would have to return for longer next time. Because there was nothing uncanny about it. It was definitely a real place.

This week’s food for thought

“I mean, like so many of us, I've seen so many small businesses—both bookstores and other types of businesses, restaurants, etc. —had to close, you know, not just during the pandemic, but over the past 10 years. Um… And often there'll be this kind of outcry, like, “oh my gosh, how could they close? That was such a fantastic place.” And it's usually from people who hadn't been there in several years or had gone there once in five years. And you know, if you… if you really treasure these places, and I think we all treasure these great community gems, like bookstores and restaurants and these local places... If you really treasure them, you have to go out and support them. You have to patronize them or else they will disappear. Like they… they don't stay around just on their, on their own, just, on their own goodwill. Goodwill is not enough to sustain them. You need to go in and, and… patronize them. And so, that goes not just for bookstores, but I think for small businesses in general. It's a really difficult time to run a small business in America right now. I think that, you know, the large, there's incredibly—companies like Amazon and Walmart—they're incredibly large companies that have vast resources. You know, billions and trillions of dollars at their disposal... You know, we only, often, we, we see the convenience. We see the low price. We don't think about the fact that those dollars are then taken away from, you know, businesses in our own community which pay taxes and pay teenagers to work there and make donations to schools and nonprofit organizations and things like that. So, support, not just your local bookstore, but all of the small businesses in your community. That will, that… above else, will do the most to help them survive.”