Le Colonial - San Francisco

This is why I roam around cities I visit, rarely going to the same place twice. I stumbled upon an enchanting establishment called Le Colonial.

The place is in a back alley off Taylor St between Sutter and Post in San Francisco. I noticed valet parking in the alley in front of a nondescript door and figured something good must be going on in there. I make a couple surveillance passes and then confidently stride through the door to immediate pleasure. I didn't have any expectations per se' but a grand art nouveau wrought-iron rail staircase presents itself to me, beckoning me upward. At the top I find myself in a second story open-air wrought-iron peaked portico lined with candle-lit cafe' tables under ever present California outdoor heaters. A grand entry, and a fine place to linger and dine in itself. I walk to the maitre de, "Do you have a bar" I ask. "Of course Sir, up the stairs to the left"

The main dining room is ahead of me as I enter the building. Gleaming white paneled wood and table cloths with sparkling glasses and service ware keep watch over a refined and well dressed clientele who left their valet parked cars out front.

The stairs climb the left wall of the dining room. I ascend into tropical French colonial Vietnam. What a great vibe, dark oak floor with a rust red bead board ceiling. Rataan furniture populates a huge 70x50' room. Candle lit tables sit between rattan furniture seatings. The candles slightly flicker in the calm air movement generated by tropical ceiling fans. Fabric wainscoted walls line the room with bamboo lined panels at 4-8 feet. A wall cornice and stucco fill the remaining space to the high ceiling. Beautiful photographs of early twentieth century Vietnam line the walls. Potted tropical plants and floral Victorian lighting grace the walls and decorative columns. As I sit at the bar 1920's jazz fills the room. It's the vignette for the murmur of conversations, clinking of dishes and workman tasks of the bartenders. The scene moves in slow motion before me as I inhale the ambience. I imagine I'm in French colonial Hanoi in the '40's.

Check it out.

Le Colonial. 20 Cosmo Place, San Francisco, Ca. 94109

the Beats go on - San Francisco

Somebody lies with Jack Kerouac tonight.

…I'm looking at ash, human remains, scattered down foggy Jack Kerouac Alley. The ashes are sprinkled alongside quotes engraved in stone tablets. The tablets are embedded in the alley pavers, solid, immovable, imortal, positioned for eternity.

"Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations". - Lawrence Ferlinghetti.

The powerful draw of the Beats, their poetry and legacy is laid out before me tonight. A honored soul's remains rest in peace in the Beat mecca, North Beach San Francisco.

"The free exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world". - John Steinbeck.

I read On The Road by Jack Kerouac last year. It's why I'm here in North Beach. It's a road trip book. It's THE definitive road trip book. Sal Paradise (Jack Kerouac), the main character, travels with his buddy Dean Moriarty (based on Neal Cassady) from New York to San Franciso and points in between; multiple times. The road traveled is not just taken in miles but in the culture, landscape and mindscape of America in the immediate years after WWII. I enjoyed the "trip" but struggled to see what was so important about the book until I came to realize the common language it's written in IS Kerouac. He was a major influencer on the language we speak today inventing and bringing jazz speak to the literary world. What seemed so common to me in the book was at that time a rejection against the conservative 50's. It was a new way of thinking, speaking and writing. Baby, it was holy and groovy when we hit the road with Sal, cool. I still use those words in 2008. :)

Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. - Maya Angelou.

The Beats championed a powerful freedom of thought and expression that helped bust open the 60's. The beats turned into the hippies. The hippies went on to change American culture and politics in a lot of ways.

As I stand in the alley, in a misting San Francisco night, I look onto Columbus Avenue. The street howls with the reflecting colors of the neighborhood neon. The colored lights paint the street in a wash of wet color. Jazz wails from Pearl's Jazz Club across the street. I could be Sal Paradise on this "mad night, hearing a wild tenorman bawling horn across the way, going "EE-YAH! EE-YAH! EE-YAH!" and hands clapping to the beat and folks yelling, Go, go,go!....Blow, man, blow!"

Feels good man. I am, On The Road.

"The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great...." - Jack Kerouac

Cultural Whiplash - Attitash, NH

Seven days ago I was in a Texas honky tonk. Now I'm sitting, Bloody Mary in hand, at the base of Attitash Mountain on the outdoor deck at Ptarmigan Pub. I'm experiencing cultural whiplash here in the frozen north. I'm partying with New England yankees not Texas cowboys.

Driving out of Marblehead, Ma. this morning there was no snow on the ground. My thoughts revolved around raking the leaves I hadn't gotten to in the fall but a 2 1/2 hour drive north took me to a polar winter wonderland. The record snowfall in New Hampshire this year has left a 7 foot base of snow and 10+ foot snow banks. It's fantastical.

It's in the high 30's but my body is warm from a morning and afternoon of skiing. In front of me is an "ice bar". It's a 25 foot square snow bar built from snow blocks serving ice cold Tuckerman's Pale Ale.

Beyond it the ski lift silently carries excited passengers towards the white heavens as skiers float and carve their way down and across my view. Tree limbs are coated with the mornings snowfall highlighting the already majestic landscape. It's the the frosting and sprinkles on the cake.

It's a 1970's themed day at the mountain so Chic's "Good Times" is blasting it's refrain across the valley for all to hear. The mountain staff is dressed in afros and 70's costumes. To the left of me a drummer and bass player warm up for their afternoon session. My second Bloody Mary is gone.

More beer appears on our table. I buy a green afro seeing this is St. Patrick's weekend and we dance on the outdoor deck to the live band as they rip into Earth Wind and Fire's "September". There's no sitting down as Kool and the Gang's "Ladies Night" and burn baby burn "Disco Inferno" come next back to back. Awesome!! My son Dylan is embarrassed as any 15 year old would be but we got him up and dancing at one point.

I had a great time! Molly had to drive home. I love her. :)

Cafe Royale - San Francisco

I took a little walk tonight with a restful mind. I've been in San Francisco for 12 days now on a brutal work schedule. The weather has been awful, cold and wet but today it was 60 degrees and the sky was a brilliantly deep blue. Not a cloud in the sky. Being Sunday I still worked and now I kinda feel caught up.

I walked up Nob Hill looking for a neighborhood place and along Post and Sutter I found great neighborhood cafe/bars. The neighborhood reminded me of being in the heart of London or lower Manhattan with a comfortable architectural density. Corner cafe's and bars spill people out onto the sidewalk to enjoy el fresco dining, drinking, convivial conversation or a good book.

On the corner of Leavenworth and Post I found the serendipitous respite I was looking for. Warm light glowed out to the sidewalk through full first floor windows. Inside I saw a three piece combo in front of a royale red draped stage. Displayed on the window was a great wine list. I'm in!

What was the draw, the wine or the stand up bass? A stand up bass always stops me dead in my tracks, always lures me in. I remember my father always pointing out the bass parts in a song. I must have got that love of the bass from him.

The cool thing about San Francisco is you can just walk around and find music everywhere. There are sooo many three piece combos in SF. I've seem them in North Beach, Union Square, the Tenderloin, Nob Hill, ....everywhere.

Anyway, the guys in the window are 50 to 60 year old musicians, grey and bald. The bass notes come like soft rain on a tin roof while the electric rhythm guitar plays quarter note chords between turns of careening up and down the neck of his instrument, throwing notes like sparks off a welders torch. Behind it the drummer beats an old school drum kit to life. The bee bop syncopation fills the space between the raindrops and sparks of bass and guitar. My wine, Dona Paula Shiraz Malbec 2005 was everything I hoped for, full powerful, peppery. I'm jazzed like the music.

The small cafe'/bar is called Cafe Royale. A mosaic tile floor with two huge red circular couches form a comfortable sitting area in the center of the room. There is a zinc bar along the right wall as you enter and small candle lit cafe tables ring the opposite and outside walls. Straight ahead is the stage and above is a balcony that wraps around all four sides of the room.

After an hour, band spent, glass empty, Bob tired, I'm off to walk the two blocks back to my room. Eyes closed, brain off. Zzzzzzz

Cab Giant - San Francisco

I flagged down a cab and went to get in the back door on the driver's side but when I looked in I was surprised to see the driver himself in back seat. I kid you not. I went around the other side of the car and got in.

Looking over I see the driver seat is pushed back as far as it can go, crushing the back seat. It's leaned back so the driver's shoulders and head are even with mine. Darnedest thing I've ever seen. This guy must have modified the seat himself because seats don't normally push that far back. I imagine this guy pissed one day, squeezing himself in the car and by shear force pushing and bending the seat backward to fit himself in. Grrrr!

My cab giant guy is huge. He looks like the guy in the Bond movies named Jaws. Remember him? He was the giant with chrome teeth who could break you in half like a toothpick. I looked down the length of his prone body. Even "sitting" in the back seat his knees straddle either side of the steering wheel and are crushed against the dash. He's got to be 8' tall!

I wondered if this was a good move getting into a car with "Jaws" but it all turned out well. He didn't break me in half, he spoke like a gentle giant, we talked, I lived and he dropped me at the right address.

Twinkle - San Francisco

I'm having breakfast on the 46th floor of the San Francisco Hilton on O'Farrell St. It's 6:30 AM and it's still dark. The city is twinkling like the lights of a Christmas tree as a jazz rendition of "Santa Baby" plays. The Golden Gate bridge stands as a lonely sentinel against the inky bay and Marin Hills. Across the Bay a million lights combine to blanket the east bay hills. In between the hills and the city the bay slowly turns lighter shades of blue to match the brightening horizon but the crown of the sky remains a majestic navy blue with one shining star as the O Holy Night becomes the magical morning.

A Little Bit Country and A Little Bit Rock-n-Roll! - UK

I'm sitting on the train out of London heading up to Milton Keynes. Blue sky, sunny, a little cold but nice.

There's a dude across from me with the side of his head shaved and a pony tail.
He's wearing wild black and white loafers with black and red checkerboard socks. Rock-n-Roll! I love English rockers. It reminds me of the glory days of college and the bleeding edge of punk rock and new wave.

I took a walk to the Chelsea district of London the other morning to find the infamous Kings Road. I was at ground zero for the punk rock movement. I stood looking at the storefront that used to be Malcolm McLaren & Vivienne Westwood's shop called SEX. It soon spawned the Sex Pistols and the rest is history. It's now a vacuum cleaner store or something!

Back out the window, the country side is GREEN. The train beats out a repetitive rhythm matched by the visual repetition of green fields, village, pub, green fields, village, pub. The patterns are interrupted with cool little canals that carve up the countryside. Evenly peppered across the landscape are little canal boat communities of 10 or so boats. The canal boats are long skinny affairs and people actually live on the boats. European's live in smaller spaces than we do but wow, this would be a bit cramped.

I like how England is settled. There isn't the sprawl we have. There are beautiful little villages, closely settled with houses and townhouses check to jowl with a High Street (Business District) full of shops and the inevitable and inviting pub. The edge of town is literally the edge of town. The same is true for a big city like London. When you get to the edge of London (which is 40 square miles!) the city stops abruptly and there's a field with horses. That was an incredible view for my American eyes.

In between the villages are ancient farm houses and country pubs surrounded with a smattering of outbuildings and trees, dirt lanes and gates. Farmers walk the fields in their wellington boots, old men fish the canals and on the lonely country roads, framed by hedgerows, little European cars and tractors wait at crossings as we pass.

After the day's work is done I find myself at a canal side pub with a huge deck out the back. We sit under outdoor patio heaters as the canal recedes into the horizon before us. Just past the deck is a verdant green lawn that leads down to the canal. Trees line the left of the canal and to the right open fields glisten with dew and a hovering layer of mist.

I order Guinea Game Hen. Tastes like chicken...pretty good. I always try to eat the local indigenous species but truth be told I try not to order beef in the UK to avoid Mad Cow disease. (Hopefully my brain doesn't rot when I'm old)

After a couple pints of London Pride my brain rots anyway...but in a good way.

Ta ta for now.

For all UK posts click here