The Ferry Building

It was enveloped in fog, only coming into focus around 11 in the morning on the second day of the conference. Just about the same time as we got our bearings.

Our hotel was a small one with what is usually termed “historic charm.” It could easily have been a dive, but cheerful paint and IKEA furnishings made it just the thing. With cable cars dinging outside our window and Market Street trolleys a block away, transit options were clear. We grabbed a bus pass, and made it pay for itself within 24 hours.

I was born in the Bay Area, Berkeley to be exact, so this is not an unfamiliar place to me. The City and clime felt immediately comfortable, even if I was stressed and preoccupied with association goings-on. But with elections (and a shaky-handed speech) behind me, we headed down to the Bay and walked along the Embarcadero.

In my childhood, this spot was the site of a freeway. Not just any freeway, but the ugliest, dirtiest-grey double-decker monstrosity you can think of. In the wake of the Loma Prieta earthquake, it was condemned, and the wise people of the City clamored for its removal. Politicians predicted traffic disaster, but they were wrong. It is no loss.

I remember many things about the City from my childhood: the steaming crab boilers in Fisherman’s Grotto, Ghirardelli Square (when they still made chocolate there), the empty-warehouse feel of the Exploratorium, The City of Paris Christmas tree (now gone), the waves crashing against the rocks at Fort Point. But I don’t recall the Ferry Building even being there. It didn’t make sense when my father talked about all the trolleys and cable cars meeting ferry passengers in the Ferry Plaza. But now I understand. The plaza bustles day and night: tourists, business folks, skateboarders, musicians, artisans and farmers all converge where once traffic noise presided. Trolleys and pedestrians have reclaimed it as their own.

Inside the Ferry Building is the Mecca of sustainable foodieness: restaurants, bakeries, organic provender, flowers and chocolate can all be found. We had been subsisting on conference hotel buffets, picking out the least offensive foodstuffs to nourish ourselves. But we didn’t feel we were really eating. Here, though, were sandwiches, roast chickens, chili, fruit smoothies and jicama and grapefruit salads (and amazing tortilla chips and guacamole).

I had come to the City uncertain of myself, unsure if I had what it took to merit the trust of my colleagues. The fog lifted, reassuring me with their vote of confidence, and placing me in incredibly good company.

And as the fog burned off, it became amply clear: in times of stress, comfort is necessary. Here was ours. Food that was safe and good for us all. We found ourselves returning to the pale grey arcades over and over, to enjoy the sights and sounds and smells, and to replenish ourselves.