My Favorite Corner of SF
I worked the graveyard shift at the library during my first two years in San Francisco, starting at midnight and finishing at 8 a.m. The 44 bus that took me from the corner of 8th and Fulton home to the Inner Sunset was rarely ever on time. Sleep-deprived, I’d sometimes decide just to walk.
On my way, I’d stroll through a canopy of eucalyptus trees, fog evaporating like details of dreams, and eventually cross over into Golden Gate Park. And almost like magic, a gentle euphoria would slowly replace my exhausted body when I entered what I’d come to learn is called the Music Concourse — you know, the huge, open-air plaza within the park.
Flanking the oval-shaped concourse is the de Young Museum on one side and the California Academy of Sciences on the other. Lined with three fountains, dotted with pollarded London plane and Scotch elm trees, this plaza with its three fountains and many benches is my favorite corner of San Francisco.
During their small talk, Uber drivers often assume I moved to the Bay for the honeypot of tech. But to their and my family’s disappointment, I hit pause on a long marketing career and moved here in 2016 from Mumbai at 30 years old to study poetry.
Within the oval, I’ve seen everyone ranging from groups of seniors taking Tai Chi classes to toddlers on a field trip trotting up the steps of the Academy holding a walking rope shouting “Claude, Claude“ — the name of the albino alligator, or rather, the first friend they’d meet inside.
My bank account was unfolding like the plot of Slumdog Millionaire, except in reverse. Through the divine powers of Craigslist listings and sheer luck, I found a rent-controlled room and shared the Edwardian house with four roommates. For an international student in an arts program and a visa that limits working to 20 hours a week, a lot of San Francisco remained largely inaccessible. “Why is bread so expensive?” “Are movies cheaper on weekdays?” and “What if I just have water at the bar?” were questions I found myself asking when I stepped out of the house to, you know, enjoy life. The way we used to do.
The guilt of using up my savings rapidly ate at me. I made a practice of eating half my food at restaurants to guarantee leftovers.
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It was then that I understood the truly democratic and freeing nature of parks. The Music Concourse became my go-to spot to find some quality peace and quiet and came as a relief and joy in equal measure. Growing up in a part of Bombay that isn’t particularly green, I found a new sense of home, relaxing on a bench or leaning against the many statues, reading poetry, or listening to music, or simply people-watching. I read Joanne Kyger and George Oppen, Lenore Kendal and Sonia Sanchez — my poetics of San Francisco class materials came alive amid the songs of starlings, jays, and the occasional seagull.
Originally excavated for the California Midwinter International Exposition of 1894, the concourse underwent a major redesign after the fair to be repurposed as a venue for public gatherings centered on music performances. The focal point of the plaza, Spreckels Temple of Music, also called the “Bandshell,” was a gift to the city from sugar magnate Claus Spreckels. The structure was built in 1899 and has undergone rounds of renovations, including after it was severely damaged in the 1906 and 1989 earthquakes. It has served as a stage for numerous performers over the years, including the Grateful Dead.
The plaza draws all kinds of folks to it. Within the oval, I’ve seen everyone ranging from groups of seniors taking Tai Chi classes to toddlers on a field trip trotting up the steps of the Academy holding a walking rope shouting “Claude, Claude” — the name of the albino alligator, or rather, the first friend they’d meet inside.
On weekends, local artists exhibit their paintings, and you can always hear someone playing something — flute or guitar or harp — a hat upturned by their feet, for dollars or at least cents. Walking toward Fulton, on JFK Drive every Sunday, the street is closed off for Lindy in the Park — free dancing for folks of all ages and levels. I’ve never learned swing but I love the generous spirit of experienced dancers here who always pull you in if they see you waiting by the side, and we dance uninhibited to the sounds of the blues.
In May of 2020, I moved out of the Sunset to start living by myself. On one of my last walks, with the pandemic thick in the air, I saw a boy at the amphitheater, perhaps 11 or 12 years old, taking a virtual violin lesson. His laptop and music sheets were perched precariously on a thin stand hoisted center stage under the stoned canopy of the bandshell. He played the same song over and over, his tutor giving him notes after each round. Nestled right between the majestic buildings that housed art and nature, I sat on the bench, looking up the Covid stats in San Francisco. I closed my eyes and thought about all the days we decide to pay attention to music, despite what the world throws at us.
