Oakland
“This is a city you can smoke a cigarette in.”
That was the first thing I wrote in my notebook upon reaching our destination. We’d walked out of our Air BNB that morning to the local train, transferred to a rapid line, and then careened in darkness under the bay before rising out of the tunnel to an above-ground station.
Riding BART under the sea.
As we stepped onto the platform, the nearby coast was lined with industrial shipping cranes while San Francisco’s skyline sat in the distance wrapped in a blanket of fog and light rain. Transferring to one final train, we rolled back underground before disembarking and climbing up to the streets of downtown Oakland.
“This is a city you can smoke a cigarette in.”
BART trains look like Starfleet’s Type 6 Shuttlecraft, which is fitting since in the Star Trek universe, Starfleet’s headquarters are in San Francisco.
Traveling is always the easiest way to justify temporarily dipping my toes (or, lungs, rather) back into a bad habit. When I was indulging in such vice over in San Francisco, though, it felt like a shameful secret that I needed to hide. It’d been years since I was a regular smoker, and I felt I was always a courteous one back then, but on this trip I felt compelled to take discretion to the extreme. I’d hide down alleyways or step well out into the street to avoid other people. I’d even go around corners so that no one in a bar or restaurant could possibly see me through the windows. I rarely, if ever, saw anyone else drawing from the likes of Marlboro or Camel, and no one ever asked to bum one. As soon as I emerged from the subway stairs in Oakland, however, things felt different. That city instantly resonated as a place where one could light up, go about their business, and stomp out butts on the ground free of judgement.
To be clear, I didn’t litter all over the city’s streets and I’m not making a snide remark regarding the “cleanliness” of the place, but the point is this: I immediately felt more “at home” in Oakland. As if the place was offering up a comforting, familiar empathy. Even if I was a first time visitor.
In the lead up to this trip, the thing I was most looking forward to experiencing in this city was its contrast to nearby San Francisco. Such differences have been well documented in pop culture, film, and literature, but I was excited to witness that for myself. Travis, our group’s default guide, is one of the best travel partners and planners anyone could ever ask for, but cities are big and time is limited. In the end, we only had about half a day to spend in one of San Francisco’s two brother cities (San Jose had to be completely removed from our itinerary in order to get on with a drive down the coast).
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Still, the difference was evident. That’s not to say that the cities should be pitted against each other, or, that one is “better” than the other, rather, they have distinct identities. San Francisco with its wealth, tourist traps, political influence, manicured neighborhoods, and coastal sunsets was often gorgeous, but it could also feel manufactured. Almost like the midways of a Disney theme park. Oakland, on the other hand, was where one could, well, smoke a cigarette.
If I ever get back there, there’s nothing I’d like more than to once again board one of those BART trains that look like Star Trek shuttles, and meet folks who are willing to share their sentiments. In our brief time in Oakland, we had strong coffee, good beer, and delicious pizza, but conversation with strangers was the one thing I wish I would’ve made more of an effort to find. Given the few exchanges and experiences I did have, though, the understanding I got of the place was this: Oaklanders may be bummed that their Major League Baseball team is leaving, but they’ve got real shit to do.
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