Alma, Beulah and Belvedere

Even more fatigued tonight than last night--but after having an impromptu lunch with a dear old friend, am feeling much less demoralized. In the late afternoon, baby and I spent a relaxing hour touring Cole Valley. The little one seemed peaceful and well-rested after his early-afternoon nap.

Sunlight and a blue sky made a brief appearance, much to my surprise, before the fog came racing back in. It was one of those late-afternoon moments when everyone on the street seems to relax and breathe a little more slowly, recovering from the hectic day after plunging into their nighttime activities. Certain streets themselves seemed to exhale deeply in the afternoon sun. I enjoyed Alma and Beulah streets in particular, the sudden quiet that descended as I turned onto them from busier places. I wondered why the area includes streets with such old-fashioned names, thinking there must be a good story there. Like the names of certain alleys in downtown San Francisco, presumably named after famous madams of the city's Gold Rush era (Annie Street, for instance).

I'm almost certain I ran into someone famous in the Internet start-up world--I won't name him, to respect his privacy. He was exiting one of the cafes of the neighborhood, a small but inviting place with a back patio exploding with lush greenery. Following his lead, I went into the cafe, purchased a gingersnap cookie and a small coffee and pushed the stroller out to the patio.

This small outdoor space offered a pleasant degree of privacy for each of the customers lounging there, due to the effective positioning of tables and chairs. A man sitting in a dark corner was staring intently into his computer with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his fingers poised above the keyboard, playing the part of the Next Big Novelist. A group of seven or eight young men and women, dressed predominantly in black, sat in another corner playing card games and chatting laconically. A man with a shaved head and tight black jeans sat directly in front of me, speaking in a quiet but businesslike tone into his cell phone. My baby looked at me expectantly. "A real San Francisco scene," I almost whispered to him, as I pushed back the stroller's top awning to let him take a look.

This patio reminded me of all the great backyards I'd seen in San Francisco (I'm assuming this cafe was once a private house). These little spaces offer a true sanctuary for San Francisco residents, a respite from the constant barrage of noise and visual stimulation the city provides.

San Francisco is not nearly as laid-back a place as it might seem at first. People are either determined to have fun and thus, make as much noise as possible, or to make money quickly and thus, make as much noise as possible. Or both. So the streets can be noisy, surprisingly noisy for such a small town. I remember, of the many places I've lived in in San Francisco, the backyards and courtyards more vividly than many of the interiors of the houses and apartments. Pockets of quiet and tranquility amidst the daily cacophony. That's why I enjoyed that cafe patio so much today--it reminded me of that why-the-rush feeling that always comes over me in the backyards of this city. Like gracious old nineteenth century names like Alma, Beulah and Belvedere, these backyards transport me to some other era, and a different mode of existence.