My last day in California. Not forever, I’ll be back! I got a late start today, but the sun was shining through the windows beckoning me onwards. I walked to Bernal Heights, enjoying leisurely window-shopping along Cortland Avenue. It reminded me of downtown Winslow, actually, complete with cute gift shops, casual dining spots, a friendly, quirky bookshop, and an old-fashioned library. Book tourism is surprisingly satisfying, given that one can see books anywhere — but the variety of venues I’ve seen throughout this voyage makes it clear that the juxtaposition and selection of books, as well as the environment in which they are browsed through and discovered, makes physical books irreplaceable. They create an asynchronous community of voices and perspectives, connecting authors and readers throughout time and space. I can pick up a book because it is placed next to one I know, find a used copy signed by a writer I hadn’t heard of before, flip the pages flipped by dozens or hundreds of others in the book-lovers’ unending search for compelling words.

As the afternoon drew long, I took the long road back, through the Bernal Heights Park, with a clear-skied view of the city spilling out over the hills. I walked along 24th, with its Mexican bakeries and taquerias, and the evening crowd beginning to take to the streets. Iggy was not able to make it back from work in time, so I gathered my things and said my goodbyes to Lucy. I hiked to the nearest BART stop and enjoyed the subway ride to Berkeley, where I plopped down in Half Price Books until Ben got back from Parkour class. Then I waited for him to scrape himself off the pavement — yeah, you’d better believe it’s not as easy as they make it look, but what an awesome way to get injured! — and we caught up over Thai food with his friend, who turned out to be a speedy driver. Suffice to say I made it to the train on time, and prepared for a night of cat-naps and a day of return.

Knowing that Santa Cruz is there, waiting for me, I feel some part of my soul-searching is at peace. I thought I desperately needed to find my place and go there immediately, but having found it, I can move forward — go to grad school, pursue an awesome career as a landscape architect, explore other places, and find a way to get back there. I also learned how much my friends appreciate me, one of the few times I’ve felt truly valid as a human being and not just a hanger-on. In the limited time frames formed by rushing from place to place, I’m actually making time for other people, and it’s so worth it. It’s too easy for me to be a lazy homebody, but with a bit of forethought, I can say that I’ve done things at the end of the day, and I have people to say them to — people who care! It’s true in California, it’s true in Oregon, it’s true in Washington, and it’s true in Massachusetts. As I move forward with my life, I vow to remember to make time for friendships, and create days worth sharing with them.

I may not have my half-acre, but the quest remains worthy!

I am a mochi machine! I woke up, took the bus up to Japantown, and went to the mochi shop Ron Chun recommended so highly: Benkyodo. The man who runs it is well-aged and a bit thin, with glasses and a kind, articulate way of speaking. “I hear you have the best mochi around. Which would you recommend?” I got two whole-bean-filled mochi, both pastel green, one dusted with soybean powder. They were like just-sweet pillows, melting in my mouth but with a satisfying chewiness. Pure heaven! I munched on them as I walked to Golden Gate Park for free day at de Young Art Museum.

De Young Museum is pretty ugly from the outside, like a rusty ship, but if you go to the top of the observation tower, you can see for miles — the emerald canopy of the park, the pastel adobe-like neighborhoods of the city, and the sky as it clears up from its morning bout of rain. King Tut was actually there, but the admission was exorbitant — furnishing his afterlife yet more lavishly — so I stuck with the colorful abstractions of Dale Chihuly’s glass and equally colorful abstractions of the much older (and perhaps less pretentious) Amish quilts.

From there I bussed to the Public Library to rest my feet and look up a ice cream shop that I’d heard had vegan waffle cones. It turned out to be all the way down Valencia and then some, a good hour-long hike, but with a lot of great stores along the way — FLAX art shop and Little Otsu stationary especially drew me in. Unexpectedly good weather, too, which has followed me around like Iggy’s over-eager pup, Lucy. At last, powered only by those two little mochi, I made it halfway across the city to Maggie Mudd’s ice creamery to enjoy a well-deserved late-afternoon cone filled with lemon-poppyseed and chocolate-cardamom goodness. Heaven again!

I hung out and read the Economist until Ron Chun and Iggy got off work, and Ron treated us to dinner at the South Indian restaurant, Dosa. We ordered the namesake rice-and-lentil pancakes with various fillings and various spicy dipping sauces, and ate our delicious fill. A welcome reprieve from the relatively heavy curries of the standard Punjabi fare. But the evening moved on, and Ron and I said our goodbyes and goodnights. Good night!

After a day of doing absolutely, blissfully nothing, reading and listening to the rain, I had a day jam-packed with adventure. I finally got in touch with my uncle’s friend, Ron Chun, a tax lawyer, disaster-preparedness card-holder, amateur guitarist, and honorary lesbian, and he picked me up bright and early. We introduced ourselves over coffee (or vanilla soy steamer in my case) and then drove along the coast to San Francisco. The Chilean earthquake gave us great waves to look at, buffered by a bluing sky and rolling hills and red-clay cliffs. It felt like a wild and decadent treat, an ice cream sundae of a Saturday, what with the driving all the way up to the City for a day. But I would never have seen half of what I did if I had been on my own — and as Barbara commented later, there is something very different about traveling with a companion, someone to share the experiences with and talk to.

Ron Chun is certainly talkative. He had so many stories, whether he was sharing his love of movies having to do with after-death experiences, the time he changed estate laws for gay couples, how one friend is serving time as an arson and another works directly with Steve Jobs, how he saved a battered women’s shelter, and the grandest story of a Chinese woman whose Fillipino husband was a US spy and POW during World War II, to whom Ron brought Chinese food every day on her death bed until she rose enthusiastically back to life for her last few days. Very Tanpopo.

He also has a most realistic view of life and the unending compromises that must be made, especially in the sociopolitical realms. If you decriminalize marijuana and put drug abusers through therapy instead of in jail, then the police officers lose money and jobs! If you reorganize public schools to be more effective, then the teachers’ union gets angry! Ron believes that adulthood is what you attain when you lose your naive idealism and accept the evil along with the good. I found this cheerfully jaded perspective depressing, however, in light of my inspiring discussions with Ted. Sure, you may never make everyone happy, but far-sighted goals make it easier to figure out which compromises to make. What values and philosophies will guide our choices? Without idealism, without dreaming of a utopia, without sticking to our principles even when it hurts, “reconciliation” will be driven by short-term, selfish decisions that lead to a dark place where everyone is unhappy.

Ah, but disagreements aside — and as a young ‘un I certainly have no solid ground form which to criticize an experienced lawyer’s hard-won philosophy — the weather fought all predictions and rained sun on us all day long. We visited the steepest and the windiest streets in San Francisco, Filbert and Lombard, we explored the most expensive neighborhoods with the most spectacular views, like Pacific Heights, we took in the city’s sprawling, hilly landscape from the top of Twin Peaks, and we scaled the art deco Coit Tower.

We strolled down the Haight, stopping into little punk clothing and music shops, and enjoyed lunch at an Eritrean place, which is like Ethiopian food, but with slightly lighter, higher spice notes, and just as satisfying. When the day was said and done, we scooted over to Portland-like Valencia to dine at Herbivore, a vegan place that has something for everyone, and had omnivorous Ron Chun wanting to come back for more. In between we toured Golden Gate Park, enjoying the orchid-filled jungle of the Conservatory, and the varied landscapes of the Botanical Gardens. As with the Arboretum, it hit home how much I would love to work in such places — at least on a sunny day!

Ah yes, I did forget to mention one thing: I got accepted to RISD!

One down, four to go… then I’ll put them all in a cage and let them duke it out as to who gets me in their Masters of Landscape Architecture program. Or I could clone myself and go to all of ‘em, we’ll see.