#softshinythings

I've been to the SF area a handful of times, but I've only ever seen the city fleetingly and I had no plans of any sort when I was hunched over my laptop Friday night trying to map out the best way to get into town--

--except Tartine. Everything else I could figure out along the way, but I wouldn't be me if I didn't go to bed early Friday night for the sole purpose of waking up at 6am Saturday so I could throw myself at that famed bakery the minute it opened. It would've taken the bus + BART over an hour to get me to croissant heaven, so I took a Lyft in and arrived a few minutes after Tartine's 8am opening. There was already a line out the door, but it moved speedily enough. The kitchen is visible from the street, so watching the bakers at work and staring at a giant bowl of ganache through the window wasn't helping my excitement (and hunger) any. 

It's one thing to hear about how great Tartine is; it's another thing to be staring at a case filled with sugar crusted morning buns, glazed soft gingerbread tiles, quiches, cream tarts, and a bevy of other treats, sweet and savory. 

As much as I would have liked to buy out the entire bakery, what you see here (in a shot I'm quite proud of, given the tight quarters) is what I made an effort to devour slowly (clockwise from top left): a cappuccino, a cup of brioche bread pudding topped with seasonal fruit (apples, cranberries, and possibly orange peel?) that I watched them scoop, steaming, from the pan, and a sizable croissant. 

Let's talk about that croissant. Depending on who you ask, Tartine's croissants are said to be the best in the city. I tore at one end, did a magnificently poor job of containing the shower of flaky pastry scattering across my plate, and 

Yes. Wow, yes. I don't go out of my way to track down quality croissants, so I'm not an authoritative voice on this, but this was EASILY the best one I've had since the few days I spent in Paris way back when. Soft croissants are the wet blankets of the pastry world, but Tartine's has the most perfect, flaky exterior, giving way to pillowy layers upon layers and layers. 

Does Tartine live up to the hype? You'll have to see for yourself, but if licking my buttery fingers instead of taking all of 30 seconds to grab a napkin from the counter is any indication, it was a great start to my morning.

After I'd dusted the last crumbs from my coat, I headed around the corner to Mission Dolores Park--read some Brideshead Revisited, digest a little before I went and tackled a Mission burrito...

... or so I thought. The part of Mission Dolores Park I rounded the corner to was all construction fences and a hilly expanse of dirt (it's under renovation through the fall). I changed course for the ~40 minute walk from the Mission District to The Panhandle and onward to Golden Gate Park--along the edges of The Castro, past corner cafes just starting to fill with their Saturday morning crowds, and houses festooned in all their festive finery. 

The weather this past weekend could not have been more beautiful after being cooped up at my uncle's place for the previous four days and the entire city knew it. Runners and cyclists and puppies. So many puppies (and by puppies I mean dogs, but there may have been some literal puppies) walking by with their paws all muddy, carrying their tennis balls in their mouths!! 

I reached Golden Gate Park at around 10am and spent a solid few hours walking around.

And walking.

And walking.

It's a beautiful place that has the space for nearly every sport you can think of (archery, polo, rollerskate dance groups that I'll get to Sunday, promise), not to mention historic windmills, lakes, gardens, etc. But in my excitement to be there I neglected to read up on how much park there is to traverse when you have no idea where you're going and your Mako Mori boots that you've expressly brought on this trip because they're finally weather-appropriate, though comfortable, may not have been the best decision. 

I passed by the Conservatory of Flowers (my first iconic SF stop of the day), resplendent in white at the top of an impeccably landscaped lawn. I don't know why I thought that it would be bigger? Not that it isn't big to begin with, but in any case, I imagined for a moment that I was being romanced by a 90s RDJ a la Hearts and Souls. Not too far off was the California Academy of Sciences, which I considered going to, but didn't in the interest of time--sat out in the courtyard instead to give my feet a break and watch a group of sword-wielding senior citizens practice tai chi. 

I think I finally reached the westernmost edge of the park after two-ish hours? I couldn't be certain and I really hoped the friend I'd planned on meeting at some point during the day wouldn't decide to contact me then--"Where are you?" I can't say exactly, but there are a lot of trees!! Not particularly descriptive, y'know? 

I had not reached the edge of anything. I had been wandering through a sun-dappled paradise for 5000 years and my feet were starting to call it quits. Thankfully, Tartine's massive croissant was helping me through this visually pleasing ordeal. 

Towards the end of hour two or three there was a bison paddock, which isn't something you easily forget. They were all settled in the grass with no intention of moving anywhere and in that halcyon weather I did not blame them. There was a shuttle stop by the paddock and, well and truly exhausted and not wanting to be completely immobile by sundown, I stood by to wait for the cavalry. 

After a half hour of waiting for a shuttle that was supposed to come by every 15 minutes, I was beginning to doubt the existence of said shuttle, BUT it finally showed and I crawled aboard. I was the only passenger and I had no idea where I wanted to go, so the driver went ahead with his loop and was lovely enough to point out the sights and drop a few historical tidbits along the way. As we were approaching the start of the route/where I entered the park he pointed at an unassuming stretch of sidewalk and asked if I "knew about swing dancing" because every Sunday there was an outdoor dance there AND FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK, SIR~ 

I caught a ride to City Lights Booksellers (thank you, Katy) and my driver inhaled sharply because I was headed straight to the heart of SantaCon, which I'd completely forgotten was happening. I groaned, she laughed, and we made our way across town through weekend/perfect weather traffic, pointing out Santas who were already in various states of untucked and unbelted at 1pm. I still don't know what SantaCon is--I settled down in a corner of City Lights' upstairs poetry room and looked it up and I still?? Don't see?? The Point??? 

Anywho.

I stayed at City Lights for just shy of two hours charging my phone, leafing through a volume of Baudelaire, and hoping to wait out the ruckus outside, which wasn't dying down until god knows when. With a particular kind of determination born from the need to clear myself of drunken road blocks and away from potential sights of public urination, I headed north towards Coit Tower/Telegraph Hill. It took a few minutes of side streets and shouldering my way through Santas, but things calmed down as I headed uphill to the not-as-windy end of Lombard Street. 

I could have made my way up to Coit Tower, maybe, but there were stairs and nah. My legs wanted to detach themselves at the knee and I was still entertaining hopes of not-sucking when it came to checking out the local lindy scene, so nah. There was a lovely view of the piers down below, though, and in the opposite direction you could see the distant line of cars making their way down the windy end of Lombard.

Next stop: Ghirardelli Square, another Katy suggestion 20 minutes away. There was a too-long line for the cable cars down by the water, so I made a beeline to where "Ghirardelli" beckoned. I hobbled up the stairs and plunked myself onto the nearest bench for a good long while.

The sun set, the Ghirardelli sign flickered on, and the wind picked up, at which point I headed into one of the Ghirardelli cafes to do more sitting in a warmer location, supplemented with a warm brownie sundae--which was on the lackluster side and then I remembered that all I'd eaten all day was a giant croissant, bread pudding, and a cappuccino, at which point the fudge sauce turned to regret in my mouth. 

The night continued as follows:

Poked around the shops in the square, smelled many bottles of spices.

Put my coat back on and went sitting outside again. Flex and point, flex and point the foot. Rolled the ankle around. 

Went down the street to the Starbucks. To sit.

I was able to while away a fair chunk of time with all the not-moving I was doing and when 7pm rolled around, I headed out to meet up with my friend at the venue. 

Okay okay, so background on this friend that I've been mentioning and provided zero context on: we first met in Boston three years ago at one of the outdoor dances held by MIT's swing dance club that year. I can't recall what he was in town for, but he was only around for a few weeks. We got to know each other a teensy bit and I adored dancing with him--I'm talking another dance crush on my lengthy list of dance crushes (I may or may not have suffered through logging into my old LJ last night because I specifically remember writing some giddy post or another about how delightful a dancer he was). So this friend left Boston and we did the whole Dancer Farewell thing: I'm sure I'll see you at some event in the future, save a dance for me! I had no doubt that we'd see each other in some fashion; being a part of the dance community is neat like that~

We didn't speak at all these past three years, but what with this last minute trip, it was just my luck that I knew he'd settled here and being the only dancer I knew in SF, reaching out about dance happenings around town was a perfectly natural conversation starter~ 

I arrived at the venue, Balançoire, and did some confused hovering in the entrance until one of the dance organizers(?) came over and set me straight. It was pretty quiet--a handful of people were at the bar and the band was still getting set up at the little stage/dance floor in the back. I'd brought a dance outfit and my heels with me (poor, poor decisions; a day in boots and a night in heels--I'm still recovering) and was sprucing myself up when said friend called and I hurriedly told him, "I'm in the restroom, [split second pause to process what I'd just said] but not IN the restroom." 

I was off to a great start. Honestly though, are we really friends if I don't phrase things in unfortunate ways and mercilessly rib you?

And I was a wee bit nervous? It's one thing to be very close to someone, not see each other for a long while, and then reconnect, but Friend and I had a grand total of a couple days out of a month's worth of history and I was dreading the struggle to condense three years of my life into scintillating dinner conversation. 

I am, as ever, an overthinker, and the moment I figured out how to receive his hug with my arms full of coat/scarf/miscellaneous bags it was fine. It was "Wow, I've missed you!" and "How are you doing?" and that's such a lovely feeling? It's a really comforting sort of wonder that even though we only had a few weeks to get to know each other initially, three years after the fact we've picked right back up without missing a beat. 

We spent a few minutes weighing dinner options, and by we I mean I had to keep reminding him that I had no idea where I was and he better decide quickly because that croissant, though impressive, could not tide me over for the rest of the night. Mutually lazy, we settled on choosing from the venue's little dinner menu and over ratatouille and beef pot pies I babbled about my Morocco trip and made vague hand gestures about the state of my post-grad life. Did I mention I knocked over a chair in an attempt to arrange all my things on it as I was getting seated because I did that too. 

The dance itself was lovely; what little dancing I got with the local scene this weekend was lovely, for all my aches and pains. Friend ushered me out onto Balançoire's compact little floor before I'd even picked the last bit of okra from my teeth and we had ourselves a warm up. Dance is such an inexplicable and marvelous thing--you might think you've forgotten someone's style and their little tics after not dancing with them for a while, but all it takes is a jockey and a swing out for it to come back to you, that quiet rush of "Oh right, that's your signature move" and "I remember why I enjoyed dancing with you!"

And it was such a good time! I'd like to think that I've gotten at least a little better in the three years since I met Friend and our ~~levels~~ are so much better matched this time around? After one of our dances we did a little side hug and he was all, "Soooo, you've gotten really good."

IF YOU SAY SO. To be fair, we haven't danced together in years and I'm doing okay for someone who's been more or less figuring this all out socially, but let's be real, it's hard to object to hearing things like that (◡‿◡✿) 

The Hot Baked Goods, a local band, put on some solid sets for us. They're all dancers--so their selections were well-balanced in tempo/length, glory hallelujah--and apparently the group is still pretty new, but from what I heard Saturday night they've got a bright future ahead of them! I've become a teeny tiny bit of a music snob over time (but not like an outspoken, irritating music snob) and I don't like bands that are too, um, chunky? There must be a technical term for it and I don't know how to paint a good picture without singing an example directly to your face, but too much chunka-chunka-chunk in the rhythm section that makes me feel like I'm on a steam locomotive is not my favourite (on that note, I don't like dancing to songs that are too 50s smooth). There were times when they wandered into chunky territory, but I'M JUST USING A LOT OF WORDS to say that they were very enjoyable!  

I'm always more self-conscious than usual and antsy when I'm visiting a different scene. I wasn't too, too lost here in SF because when in doubt, I had a friend to hover around, but surprise, surprise, who should I see at the edge of the dance floor but a superb dancer I'd met over the summer in L.A. He'd recently disappeared without a word from my local haunt and after I pounced on him, he admitted to a whirlwind move to San Jose, which explained the lack of a proper goodbye to the L.A. scene. Familiar faces always make getting chummy with the locals easier and Friend was very good about introducing me to all of his friends and giving me nonstop dances that way~

There was a ridiculous holiday-themed Jack and Jill (and Drink) competition--your usual J&J with the added bonus of a shot of something festive the venue's bartender made up special between each dance. 

Received a number of Bal requests thanks to my shoes~ Silent advertising, that, even if I had to preface every dance by telling my lead that I'm still learning the ropes. 

I'd planned on heading back to my uncle's place at 11pm and I was all changed when I went over to Friend and his friend. They gave me sad little leaving already? looks and the three of us spent five minutes bickering about which transportation option would be best--"A taxi?? The fare would be..." "You could take a Lyft, oh but the multiplier now would be..." Friend offered to give me a ride back at the end of the dance, so I called up my cousin to make sure she was home, and hobbled back to change (Friend gave me a smug smile--I am also glad to have more time with the dancers, but when my legs detach themselves at the knee it's going to be entirely your fault.)  

There was a lot more sitting in the second half of the night and the quality of my dancing rapidly disintegrated, but as the crowd thinned out I was mostly dancing with friends--new and old--and it didn't matter so much~ There was a darling performance from the local chorus girl group and they invited the winning lead from the J&J to join them--this absolutely adorable nugget in his three piece suit and bow tie who knew none of the choreography, so he went along as best he could, hammed it up aplenty, and it was amazing. 

On the way back to dropping me off, Friend gave me some feedback on my dancing and we got to discussing weighty subjects like finding ~~purpose~~ in life and how closely I related to Princeton in Avenue Q. Outside of my uncle's apartment complex I instigated a sappy hug because I'm a sap and I wasn't sure if he'd be showing up at Sunday's Lindy in the Park. 

I love hugs.

I don't give them too often (save for at dances), but I do love receiving them and that was some Ghibli-level hugging at 2am. I don't know if it's because I don't see friends that often in person these days, but the good-natured sarcasm and affections were out in full force this weekend.

Typing all this, I know it might err on the side of sounding awfully romantic, but it's a raging friend crush sans romantic attachment in the sense that gosh, we get along well together and I wish we had more than a weekend to catch up and hang out, y'know? There are enough people in my life like that that I wish I could squish us closer together geographically. 

I played the "If the weather's nice and I can drag myself out of bed in the morning to limp over to Lindy in the Park, you better be there as well" card, then made my way up three flights of stairs, which was awful.

Sunday

I don't know what woke me up first: my alarm or the realization that there would be no graceful, painless way of getting out of my bed to shut it off. I Silly Walked my way through my morning routine on jellied legs, caught a ride into the city, and [after taking a couple of wrong turns because there's no specific address for a bit of walkway in Golden Gate Park] made it early to Lindy in the Park.

There weren't too many people to start and I started to get a little concerned about the turnout. They started with the Tranky Doo (which I still haven't gotten around to teaching myself, oh my god get it together, Me) and then DJed some tunes for open dancing. Cyclists, runners, and miscellaneous pedestrian traffic came by, some of them pausing to watch for a moment or two, but there still weren't too many dancers around to draw attention. 

At noon they started the beginners lesson and there was a healthy crowd of swing babies gathered by then for me to retreat to my perch on the side wall and watch them learn their first rock step-triple steps ♥ 

I'm so, so grateful for this trip. Yes, I finally made it to Tartine, but more than that, dancing in a new scene is a balm like no other. Here's the thing: L.A.'s where I got my start in dancing, but I never made it out in high school save for during my breaks. Then I moved to Boston for uni and I was back and forth the last four years and even though I've known many of the L.A. dancers for a while now, I never really had the chance know them--not the same way I know and love the folks in Boston. So now that I'm back in the scene for longer than I ever have been, there's a loneliness in not really belonging here that's jarring. Like, everyone has their cliques already and I'm just there??

Every scene has their issues and I'm sure SF has theirs, but being around new faces and having zero expectations, being welcomed with such an outpouring of love and appreciation? It's made me excited about dancing all over again, reminded me why I love it with every inch of my being. I miss that in L.A., y'know? Aside from the very small handful of dancers I'm close with there, I don't feel that same enthusiasm? Not that I need constant validation, but maaan, it turns your entire mood around. 

Back to LiP...

Friend eventually showed up not too long before the birthday/out-of-town visitor jam. I say "showed up"--more accurately, I was with one of the leads I met Saturday night and Friend zipped over on his electric skateboard and purposefully [gently] knocked into us.

But he's forgiven because he leads some of the dreamiest dips ever and during one of our dances we got into the Flying Charleston (which I still am rocky transitioning into because I realize what's happening half a second after it's alREADY HAPPENING OH GOD GOTTA CATCH UP) and there were some oohs and aahs and shutter clicks from onlookers, which is always amusing~ 

I successfully endeared myself to one of the locals when he learned that I could Bal, so I was his go-to follow for the rest of the afternoon when a Bal-appropriate tune came up. He might be going to Cal Bal next month and I'm hoping to attend the evening dances so!!!

The jam was... interesting? The LiP organizers mandate a certain amount of counts that you can dance before someone else gets a turn, so it doesn't have that excitement of a steal dance... which didn't stop Friend from cutting in front of another lead at the end of the song. But I think they knew each other so they could hash out that little breach of protocol on their own time. It was so unexpectedly lovely to have a number of the locals come up to me after and welcome me to town/ask for more dances. 

I was wearing my Camp Hollywood jacket earlier (I'd since taken it off as the afternoon warmed up) and when Friend saw it he gave me this amused //look//. Of course  brought it with me--it's the easiest way to show people in a scene I'm visiting that I kind of know what I'm doing, at the least~ 

Friend introduced me to a friend of his and not long after that he left us to join up with a group of his fellow fancy skateboard enthusiasts in another part of the park. Mutual Friend, Mutual Friend's Friend (I know I could name names, but I'm in too deep so we're all going to have to deal with this cumbersome decision I've made), and I went to find where the boarders were meeting.

Which is how we passed the Rollerskating Senior Citizens.

Okay, they weren't all senior citizens, but a good number of them looked it and they were in the center of this asphalt roller rink wearing rainbow socks and who knows what else and it was mesmerizing. They had songs blasting and entire group routines figured out--I can only dream of being that nimble at that age. 

We found Friend and his ~people~, but there was also an extremely affectionate Golden Retriever there so you can guess where my priorities were. 

Had a late lunch afterward at a Russian bakery--beef stroganoff and perfectly garlic-y broccoli, potato-stuffed potato products, rye bread and borscht between the four of us--new friends and old Friend spending the majority of it making a case to get me to move to the Bay~ The restroom was located in the back of the kitchen and I'm only mentioning this because it was so neat to be able to walk through and see everyone at work and trays stacked high with loaves.

And then our goodbyes were too quick--the two friends I'd just met went off to run their errands and Friend stayed behind to see me off with a hug and he scooted off while I told my driver to be careful not to run him over~