This Offbeat Life
New Economy Cooking
Backpacking by Bus

Chinatown in a Blackout

pictures and story by Nick Mistretta

Like Lewis and Clark before me, I decide to venture into the unknown, blaze a trail through unfamiliar territory and carefully document my journey for others to follow - all in relative darkness.

San Francisco's Chinatown is a vibrant community of colorful streets and alleyways, strange smells and tacky souvenirs. However, on this day, a power outage leaves most businesses in the dark. But I forge ahead, determined to overcome Murphy and his sadistic law.

I enter Chinatown at Grant Avenue and Bush Street. Grant is Mecca for the must-buy-minded souvenir junkies. This stretch of plastic dragons and pagoda lampposts proudly displays numerous sellers of needless things. Post cards, exotic back-scratchers and a wide variety of garage-sale items adorn every storefront.

Navigating around Chinatown is difficult with the streetlights taking the day off and the multitudes of vehicles and people clamoring about in chaotic bliss. I decide it's time for lunch.

Finding a Chinese restaurant is as easy as closing my eyes and pointing in any direction. On the recommendation of a storeowner, I stagger into Joy Hing BBQ Noodle House. I am pleased to discover that it is one of the few stores unaffected by the loss of electricity.

Upon entering, I see something I would see many times as my journey progresses. In a glass case above the counter hangs an assortment of whole, fully cooked, once-feathered creatures. They gaze out into the dining room while dangling by a piece of twine that fits tightly around their golden-brown necks.

I take a seat facing the other direction, peruse the menu and investigate what the day's hunt has provided. The fare is inexpensive and overjoys my finicky taste buds.

I leave the restaurant with my body fully nourished and push forward, determined to locate the real Chinatown. The air quickly takes on a strange and unfamiliar odor. There it is, just a few blocks to the west of Grant. Turning onto Stockton Street is like taking a gigantic leap into another country - into the past.

Neighborhood residents jockey for position along the narrow sidewalks in front of the busy markets. Fresh fruit, vegetables and a varied selection of seafood and poultry replace the dizzying surplus of tacky souvenirs. Live fish dance in plastic bins for interested patrons - perhaps auditioning for a spot on the dinner table. Shoppers often examine the day's catch intensely as if the confused sea creature holds the mysteries of the universe. People carefully squeeze, pick, poke and prod everything before buying.

The snail-like pace of the crowds cause numerous pedestrian jams. Delivery trucks of all sizes also contribute nicely to the clutter and confusion. Fortune-cookie wisdom is appropriate along Stockton, where patience is definitely a virtue you need to possess.

As I continue my journey north, a crate of live chickens crosses my path. One of the bewildered birds has his head wedged through a hole and appears fearful of his destination. I wonder if he notices the rotisserie-juicy fowl hanging in the window - his fateful demise starring him grimly in the beak.

My expedition leads me down every alley and side street where the real hidden treasures are found. Looking up to the sky, I discover interesting architecture with laundry hang drying outside on the fire escapes. Women go about their daily business and sometimes peek out windows as if the tourists are the attraction. I examine every nook and cranny, for some of the most unusual shops hide in these narrow passageways in obscurity. This is where I meet Frank.

As I walk down Ross Alley with my head on a swivel in an attempt to miss nothing, I encounter a small man in a ball cap and jeans with a steel-eyed stare. "You need something," the man says in a surly voice. I freeze in my tracks, worried that I unknowingly committed some cultural faux pas.

He asks in a more joyful tone if I want to buy some fortune cookies. Relieved, I say yes. Frank introduces himself, then leads me into the pitch black cookie factory. He explains the source of the darkness just as all the storeowners have. "I got funny one for you," Frank says as he hands me a handful of fortunes without their cookie cocoons.

I buy a small bag of the cookies for $4 and munch on a few while Frank talks. After my brief education on the history of the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Company, I grab my backpack and wave goodbye as I head out into the light.

The day has been long and my body is growing weary from my travels. I wander a couple of blocks amid the glitzy tourist traps on the same street where my journey began several hours earlier. That's when I stumble upon an inviting watering hole - the Buddha Bar.

Like most of the establishments I venture into, the room is dark, but probably not unusually so. I mosey up to the bar and hoist myself up onto a stool for a cool libation.

As I talk to local residents, I fumble through my backpack stunned by the amount of tacky gifts I purchased - several post cards, two lucky charm necklaces, a cheap ring, a bag of fortune cookies and a small ceramic Buddha.

I ponder the day's journey as I sit in the dark talking with strangers. I realize that tourists who seek the enchantment of Chinatown should do as I have done - wander about without the restrictions of an organized walking tour, and certainly without the confusion of my self-inflicted haphazard path. Much of the day's enjoyment has come from the excitement of blazing my own trail through a new and fascinating land.

A man dressed in a business suit at the other end of the bar briefly joins in our conversation. He says that the old market area moved from Grant Avenue to Stockton Street after the tourists moved in. "It used to be more interesting in the old days," he says in a tone of somber reminiscence. I imagine if Lewis and Clark were alive today, they would whole-heartedly share that sentiment.

Author Nick Mistretta sent pictures of New Year's in Amsterdam for his bio, and we regret having to crop out out the crowd of beautiful young women with whom he was posing. He promises an account of his experiences in future issues.