On the dock of the bay

I like San Francisco. There are no two ways about it. The only thing I can come up with that is wrong with the city - it's insanely steep hills - are also something that adds to its character, meaning that the 'fault' is pretty much nullified. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of Melbourne. There are the street cars - including an old Melbourne W-class, still in its green and yellow livery from the days of the Met - the enormous expanse of water that fails to yield a single city surf beach, the local love of good food and music, the central shopping strip that is strangely reminiscent of Bourke St, and the glitzy neighbouring city that overshadows it all.

But there is one thing San Francisco has that Melbourne can't even pretend to lay claim to: The Bush Man. Although the name suggests there is only one, apparently, there are a few of them scattered around the city. Some, I've been told, even work in concert. The deal is this: take one homeless man, seated on the ground holding a branch that passes for a bush in front of his face. Place him near an object of street furniture, whether it be a bin, a seat, a light, anything will do as long as it's enough to register the object. To those looking directly at him, he will be obvious and will probably seem a little bit nuts. To those like L, who are absorbed in looking everywhere else, however, he will be invisible, just like all the other homeless beggars on the street who are ignored every day as a matter of survival for many city dwellers. He takes advantage of this invisibility to scare the living crap out of the unsuspecting. He suddenly thrusts aside his "bush" and yells, or simply thrusts the branch into the path of the passersby, having picked his mark carefully as someone who has not seen him, for maximum effect.

The result is hilarious for those who have noticed him (often by being given a fright themselves). It's like a hidden camera exercise. Only the tin beside him, for those who appreciated his efforts to amuse them to give him a little something back, gives away the fact that he is a genuine vagrant, not some actor with make up giving him the bad dentistry and worn out wardrobe of someone living rough. His wide grin suggests that he enjoys his job a lot.

The Bush Man has become a bit of a local celebrity. Tourists can even buy t-shirts that proclaim "I had the $^%£ scared out of me by the Bush Man". But it masks what is a large and growing problem, as far as I can see. Yes, he is doing something to support himself. It's a simple enough ruse that gives enjoyment - and fright - to many. But I have seen as many, if not more, beggars on the streets of American cities than I have seen anywhere else. In one of the world's richest nations, there are many who go without.

That this man is able to hide in plain sight suggests something about the collective consciousness of society when it comes to the down and outs around us. It is too easy to pretend that they are not there. The gratefulness of some beggars when you simply acknowledge their existence by shaking your head when they ask for money can be heartbreaking. I can't - and won't - give money to people begging on the street, if only for the security reasons I had drilled into me when I was younger (never reveal where you keep your cash, how much of it you have, or make it more accessible for someone who may or may not be able to overpower you), but I always feel terrible for walking by people who are obviously in distress. Yet the vast majority of people don't even notice that they're there. So well done to the Bush Man for taking the initiative and calling some attention to himself, if nothing else.

The Man from Independence

There was movement at the restaurant,
For the word had spread around,
That girls from overseas were in town.

The restaurant was in a town called Independence, a slice of southern California quirkiness offering a haven on the west side of Death Valley. That the restaurant was called Hooligans was just a bargain. But whatever the reason, L and I were clearly the biggest show in town, not withstanding the local "talent" occupying the stage with his synthesizer, a laptop, and a microphone. He was interested enough in us to ask from stage for details about us, where we were heading, where we had been. The waitresses came to visit us at regular intervals, even the owner/chef came out, missing front teeth and all, to see how we were going.

It's a strange feeling to find yourself a novelty piece. It was kind of flattering when we were walking from our motel to the restaurant/bar, to have guys literally hanging out of car windows checking us out (that doesn't happen too often these days. In fact, it never happened that often, even back in the day). But by the time the waitress had asked us for the fifteenth time if we were OK, it was getting a little old. Because this isn't a town without the occasional visitor. There's about 3 hotels, enough to accommodate the entire town, I think. There are hiking trails, fishing and hunting all nearby. It's between several major tourist attractions. I can't see any reason for there not being visitors to what seems quite a pretty town, if slightly quirky. My only guess is that we're 2 "girls" travelling alone, and that we're foreign. Either way, as interesting and flattering as it was to have so much attention, I think I'll be looking forward to getting back to being one of the tourist masses tomorrow in Yosemite. I'll just have to keep an eye out for Sam is all.