THE NASAL TOURIST

One of the things that stays with you longest when you visit a place are the signature smells. And how sad it would be if what you remember best about San Francisco is the reek of marijuana and urine along Market Street and the many facets of Roman sewer from ancient plumbing under the streets in the financial district, which is strong and startling at very many intersections from Market Street north to Clay, especially eastwards of Sansome.


SWEAT SHOP MONKEY

Or, most robust of all, a computer programmer up for nearly two weeks on a project, who has consumed hot pockets, burritos from the truck, taco chips, fries, energy drinks, candy bars ... He's unwashed, unrested, and exuding all of that plus snack and soda spillage from his skin and clothes.

With any luck he's popped a few caffeine pills and is now next to you on a bus with his colleagues, as they drunkenly discuss the Giants and great big boobies, oh baby. It's a foetid pong from somewhere between wild-eyed curry-continental and the gluey processed cheese heartland that is the Mid West, with heavy doses of bad-boy body-spray, endocrine systems out of whack from not enough sleep and zero nutrition whatsoever for several weeks, and a mega serving of molokhia with friends at the secret Coptic church and eatery hidden beneath the underground parking garage.

Okay, that last is more than likely stream-of-consciousness. Still. Garlic and Redbull. It's a life-style. Most programmers are unlikable, whether they are named Rajbood from Hyderabad, Mahmood from Alexandria, or just John the pudgy dude from Ohio. It's that addiction to energy drinks and video games, it twists the mind. Almost as bad as a methamphetamine habit for screwing someone up physically and mentally.

We've got those people too.
Plus sweaty yoga freaks.
With putrid mats.


My point is that you want better memory smells of the city.


Wherefore I have some suggestions.


THE PERFUMED BOUDOIR

The diagonal path across Sue Bierman Park has some lovely floral reeks, from the various plants that profuse alongside. The smell of roasting coffee in North Beach, along with hints of patchouli (still used there and in a few small pockets elsewhere in the city) is especially nice in the morning.

If you wander around at the higher reaches of Nob, Telegraph, and Russian Hill you will encounter fewer crazy people, less dog poo, and many more patches of nasturtium, bougainvillea, lillies, and resinous wild herbs.

Golden Gate Park, during daylight hours, presents a rich palette of vegetal aromas, almost any area away from the wharf will lack that characteristic sour odour of discarded bread bowls and spilled chowder, late at night the magic aroma of grilled onions and bacon-wrapped hot dog along Mission Street may charm you (also elsewhere near bars on the weekend, after midnight), parts of the Presidio are riotous with fresh smells, and if you avoid Ocean Beach you may never nose a dead leviathan.

Eucalyptus in the panhandle.
The rose garden in the park.
Fresh garlic, Belden Alley.
Slowly cooking carnitas.

And please, smell your food, not your neighbor.


Unless you want to.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================