Dispatch from Somewhere in Oakland
Whenever I travel, I get this notion in my head that I’m gonna publish from the road. This idea that during some downtime; I’ll go through the photographs I’ve made so far, write something up, and post it here. Nothing as dense as some of the larger stories, but also nothing fleeting like a social media post. Just quick dispatches from interesting places authored in various states of being.
Never quite works out, though.
To give myself some credit, I’ve occasionally succeeded at living out this fantasy of real-time correspondence—like in Hawaii, after the “Super Bowl,” and at a Waffle House—but, it’s never something I pull off with any regularity or consistency. Which is a shame, because technology (and I’ve got this whole thing I’m currently writing about nostalgia and technology for a future story) is finally to the point where such self-publishing would be relatively easy. So, yeah, I originally envisioned authoring this post within the midst of an adventure—from my hotel, a coffee shop, a dive bar, the airport, the flight home, or even within the upper deck of the Oakland Coliseum.
Kept getting distracted, though.
Which is ok, because these were welcome distractions. From good conversations, to making new friends, to said new friends continually buying me drinks, to watching the 1997 blockbuster film Dante’s Peak starring Pierce Brosnan, Linda Hamilton, and the late Charles Hallahan in his final role.
All that to say: despite the title of this post, this dispatch is actually coming to you from my apartment in Cincinnati.
EDIT 1: Specifically, the bar below my apartment.
EDIT 2: Now back in the apartment because I ran into my neighbor and we detoured down some rabbit holes.
EDIT 3: Now a few days later, but still in the apartment after another attempt to write in the bar ended, again, in distraction.
Anyways, here’s the story:
I had a lot of good ideas for trips this year. Some really good ones that would’ve made for great stories. Then all of the sudden: it was August. I don’t mean to sound like my mom on the phone in the late 90s catching up with the other moms about back-to-school demands, but time just flew by. And what little was left was quickly running out. I recognized that’s a privileged dilemma to have, but I’d been needing a break for a while. So, at the last minute, I threw this plan together: an idea originally proposed by Lammi and heavily influenced by some travel last year.
Woke up.
Brushed teeth.
Grabbed bags.
Locked door.
Now that I think back on it, I didn’t get the usual, irrational worry that maybe I hadn’t actually locked the door and then immediately run back up three flights of stairs to check. Would’ve had time, though, because bus schedules are often just suggestions.
On the verge of hailing a last-minute LYFT, the “2X Airport Express” finally rolled onto the horizon just as the morning sun began pouring into my neighborhood.
Security wasn’t a problem, but Martin was. Ordering for an entire group who all apparently had very specific, complicated orders—Starbucks was in fact not the one place in the concourse that had the seemingly quickest line for a seemingly quick cup of black coffee. For the first time in my life, I received a “final boarding call” text and came close to missing a flight.
Martin, I hope you and your family missed yours.
That’s not true. And I eventually regretted that thought. I was just in a bad mood. The novelty of flying had worn off long ago and while I was grateful for the affordable, direct ticket between Cincinnati and San Francisco—I just couldn’t shake my poor disposition. Not then. When I landed. Or even after I took the train into town.
SFO BART station.
16th St. Mission BART station.
A meal I sought out was ok—the place’s honest cheeseburger and general appearance demanding admiration—but all of that did little to change my outlook.
Whiz Burgers Drive-in. San Francisco.
So, I went to a nearby drug store in search of relief. After a friendly discussion with a medical technician in the pharmacy’s lounge about the legacy of Warren G in hip-hop, I purchased my over-the-counter remedy and boarded another train.
16th St. Mission BART station.
Climbing up from the depths of the Embarcadero station, I emerged reborn—the sun shining on my face as trolley cars rolled by and wind swept in off The Bay. A search for some of the city’s wild parrots proved fruitless, but I did find myself back at the fountain. Sadly, it was drained, but the surrounding area still featured the same charm that I fondly remembered.
Vaillancourt Fountain with no water.
So, amongst the picnickers and freshly cut grass of Sue Bierman Park, I found a shady spot to relax for a bit with my camera bag as a pillow.
When I finally stood up, things shifted again. Now, I was truly feeling present. Now, I was there.
Specifically, I was at the Golden Gate Ferry Terminal’s public viewing area. Because, random-seaside-city-infrastructure-areas-adorned-in-concrete-and-shades-of-blue-in-the-same-way-that-the water-parks-I-grew-up-with-were is very much my aesthetic. Whether in the East, West, North, or South.
Here, a teenage couple was feeding popcorn to crows that were keeping the seagulls at wing’s length. Near the structure’s end, with a beautiful view of The Bay in the distance, I also admired the seemingly abandoned office building. The one I briefly photographed last year. The one that also looks like some dilapidated,, 1970s seafood restaurant (or a super villain’s secret lair). A structure that’s just damn cool and good looking in the sun.
When I was there the year before, I totally meant to figure out what that this place was, but I completely forgot. So, let’s just do it now…
…
…built in 1982, the building formerly housed a variety of nightclubs, restaurants, and meeting space before becoming empty in 2013. It also sits above a fresh-air ventilation tunnel for the BART tunnel that runs beneath The Bay.
Random encounter with a heritage streetcar painted in Cincinnati's historic colors.
I really don’t care for taking BART beneath The Bay. It’s not that I feel claustrophobic, it’s just that I’m not particularly comfortable with the thought of drowning in a cramped subway car that’s cruising through a small tube beneath an estuary of the world’s largest and deepest ocean. It’s also loud. So, so goddamn loud. And it sounds like… chanting… the chanting in that Batman movie.
The one with Bane.
Who was played by Tom Hardy.
Who was also in “Star Trek: Nemesis.”
That movie wasn’t that bad, right?
I mean, it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible.
Poor choice to end the franchise on, though.
It’s taking us for-fucking-ever to get through this tunnel.
I feel terrible.
Not sick, just terrible.
Maybe sick too, actually
Did I have to take this train?
Couldn’t have waited a bit longer back in San Francisco?
Will this ever end?
What if I’m trapped here?
What if this is some sort of quantum time loop?
(What the fuck is a ‘quantum time loop?’)
What if this is hell?
What if this is where I’m doomed to spend etern…
Oh, shit, we’re in Oakland.
Cool.
Oakland City Center.
I wandered around a civic plaza with the personality of a dead mall. That’s a compliment. Truly. This place was beautiful and breathable, a curious spot that was very much my vibe. These kinds of spaces tend to be found in specific types of American cities. Ones that are still “major,” but also “underdogs” so-to-speak. Architectural footnotes from a specific period and phase of reinvention. Relics of a strategy tried all over: our culture’s collective belief in healing power of the shopping mall.
Maybe that’s not a fair assessment of Oakland’s City Center. Lord knows I’m going to Google it later and read everything I can about it. I’m just saying that the handful of empty storefronts, the dry fountain, and lack of people mid-afternoon on a workday reminded me of other cities I’ve spent time with (and loved).
Hotel newspaper.
I walked to my hotel on the waterfront and proudly took in my view of the parking lot, content to save a few bucks.
I then walked back to the BART station and made for the Coliseum.
If I was ever in Rome and had the opportunity to see the ancient version, there’s no doubt I’d check it out. I have no desire to travel to Italy just for that, though. Go to Oakland to see its Coliseum before the Athletics depart, though? Let’s fucking go.
The home of Oakland’s Major League Baseball franchise was my ultimate destination and the main reason for this trip, but I’m going to save that story for later. Here’s what I’ll say for now, though: whether you’ve been following me in this version of my site, the previous one, or all of it—you’ll understand such a trip.
Earlier in the day, I’d felt awful and then I was worried that I might’ve been trapped in a hell of my own making, but sitting at the very top of the Oakland Coliseum on a beautiful night with my camera, notebook, and a cold beer—well, this was actually heaven.
My temporary home by the sea was equidistant between two BART stations, so on the way back from the game, I tried a new (to me) one in hopes I might find some late night food while wandering. But first, I had to photograph this:
If that place had been open, I truly don’t know if I would’ve gone in or not. Could’ve been fun, could’ve been some bullshit. Either way, though, would’ve been interesting to learn if the “Master Fortune Teller” could foresee my immediate future.
Which was pizza, beer, and basic cable.
All of it acquired after some kind folks at a place down the street resupplied with nourishment and my hotel had Forensic Files.
I always give Nana shit about watching that show, but damn it really is entertaining.
I woke up the next morning to seagulls and couldn’t have felt more touristy, or, content.
Enjoying coffee near Chinatown, I edited the photographs I’d made so far and scribbled down a few notes. I had another baseball game that night, but every hour until that was free. I could easily knock out a “dispatch from the road.”
Content with my work for the moment, I started walking and quickly came across a wooden sign hanging from the rafters of some warehouses bearing a single, intriguing word: “saloon.”
When I had been in this area the year before, I’d spied this place in the distance, but we hadn’t had time to check it out. Now, it was right in front of me. How could I not go in, order a beer, and knock out my dispatch from there?
Merchant's Saloon.
I never did any writing, but I did make several friends. Friends who introduced me to the local bartender’s handshake: Fernet-Branca.
Thanks to Christian for the conversation, and, my first shot.
Note: do not ever confuse/compare Fernet for/to Malört because it may offend west coasters who will then kindly invest in your education.
Jack London Square.
The 90's Experience/Museum at Jack London Square. Didn't have time to check it out, and not sure if I ever would, but I'm very intrigued by this attraction.
Back at my hotel, I opened the shades. Yes, the view looked out over a parking lot, but when I sat down at the desk—I saw only a bright, blue sky. Accompanied by some good music, I continued to write as fervently as I could. There wasn’t much time before I had to catch the ferry.
I know that because I missed the ferry and watched it sail away while I requested a LYFT.
My driver took me through Alameda, which felt like a nostalgic, sun-struck cross between the water park seen in Honey I Blew Up The Kid and an abandoned military base. There was a brewery I wanted to visit there. Mainly because of its locale and view, not so much the beer—which was good enough in the end—but, the real highlight was that the place looked like something out of Top Gun.
I didn't catch why the "Mutt Cutts" van from Dumb & Dumber was in there, but wow this post has a lot of movie references, doesn't it?
The history of the area having formerly been a Naval Air Station on top of the kind service, cold beer, warm sun, and beautiful view made it a great stop. The relaxing atmosphere then compelled me to give up on my real-time dispatch, as well as, catching a ferry.
I photographed this because when I worked at an amusement park, we had these same telephone boxes on the rides, but they were red colored. And this one was yellow.
One more Lyft ride.
One more stop at the hotel.
One more walk.
One more BART train.
One more Athletics game.
Fuck Mark Davis.
Fuck John Fisher.
Long live Oakland and its people.
Every payphone I came across on this trip still had a dial tone.
After game 2, I ended up at a spot near my hotel where I got an honest cheeseburger, an honest hot dog, honest French fries, and the second-best onion rings I’ve ever had. All of it to go so that I could eat while watching Forensic Files again.
Woke up.
Showered.
Checked out.
Walked.
Bought Coffee.
Caught BART to SFO.
Bought a terrible sandwich from an airport kiosk.
Boarded a flight.
Watched Dante’s Peak (loved it).
Landed back home in Cincinnati with more stories to look forward to.
Since 2007, the content of this website (and its former life as Queen City Discovery) has been a huge labor of love.
If you’ve enjoyed stories like The Ghost Ship, abandoned amusement parks, the Cincinnati Subway, Fading Ads, or others over the years—might you consider showing some support for future projects?
