Chapter 12 - My First Few Months In San Francisco

After a 10 hour bus ride from LA, my buddy Des and I arrived in San Francisco on a cloudy Tuesday morning in September 2000. We made our way to the Pacific Tradewinds Hostel in Chinatown. We couldn't book in until 4pm, so we relaxed for a few hours in Union Square drinking coffee with our backpacks wondering what the fuck were we going to do next.

While sitting in Union Square, I got talking to an Italian guy who had just traveled around South America and funded his whole trip teaching English. He said he had done a course called TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) just up the Street from Union Square in a language school and could literally travel anywhere in the world and teach English with his certificate. 

“Pretty cool,” I thought. So after we settled into the hostel, I went in search of the language school he had talked about. I had a vision of myself travelling around South America teaching English. I enrolled in and completed an 8 week TEFL course that took place two nights a week at the school. 

We stayed the maximum allowed in the hostel which was only two weeks and then had no choice but to leave and find another place to stay. I called my family in Ireland one day and spoke to my sister. She told me that she had spoke to one of our cousins and they said that their brother Padraic (my cousin) was living in San Francisco. It was probably 20 years since I had last seen Padraic. She had a number for me to call, which I immediately called. It turned out he was a painting contractor in San Francisco. After a quick surprise call to him, we hooked up for a few beers and the next day I was painting retail stores and houses in San Francisco. Thank God for that because I had run out of money and was thinking about packing up everything and just going home. The first job I worked on was a pretty cool fashion forward boutique called “Villians” on Haight Street. We painted it some cool funky green and purple colors. I used to spend most of my wages buying clothing in Haight Street. It used to have the coolest stores in San Francisco. Mind you, it still has some amazing vintage boutiques.

Then, we were painting some beautiful houses in the Marina district. It blew me away that these houses were owned by young tech millionaires in their early 20’s. I had arrived in San Francisco at the height of the dot com boom in 2000, which was a pretty crazy/interesting time to be in San Francisco. It’s actually very much what it’s like right now.

Also, it was extremely tough to get an apartment to rent, especially with no references and no deposit etc. So Des & I sniffed out another hostel in an area called “The Tenderloin.” To say the least, the hostel was ok but the area was a shit hole. It was crack head central. It was crazy. We had bums literally sleeping outside our front door and fights on the corner all night long. There was a sleazy strip joint next door to us too. Every night at about 3am a Chinese woman used to empty all the trash cans on the sidewalk in front of the hostel and dig through the trash for cans and bottles to turn in for cash. There was a lot of activity.

Our hostel was full of long term backpackers in transit, some guys had come to SF for a week and were still there three years later. I gotta admit, it was fun and a great place to get situated, meet people and get work. There was always something going on. There were guys and girls from all over the world. Most people were working in construction or bar work. There was a bar directly underneath the hostel called “Reds Corner” where a lot of backpackers used to hang out. I got a job bar tending two nights a week for a few weeks filling in for a guy who went back to Ireland for vacation. I’ll never forget it. At the time, people used to smoke in bars. They had some loophole. If it was owner operated, you could smoke etc…

One night, I was working with the manager, a hardcore New Yorker called Tommy. Tommy looked like he smoked 200 cigarettes a day and washed it down with a bottle of whisky. He had a face that was as rough as a badgers arse. I think Tommy grew up in the inner city Bronx and was mysteriously transplanted into the middle of the Tenderlion. All he knew was rough hardcore, no nonsense, carry a gun, knock you out type of shit. 

I’ll never forget one night when we were working together I asked him, “What’s the craic like in here on a Friday?” He gave me a strange look and said “same as every fucken day.” (Craic in Irish terms means Fun/Good times) Then, the same night, I asked him could I smoke a fag behind the bar. O man, he didn't know what to make of my Irish chat. It was a real eye opener. We had all types of weirdos trying to come into the bar begging for money, trying to use the toilet, trying to steal jackets. Tommy would roar and shout and chase them out. Sometimes, he’d throw handfuls of ice at them. Some bums would knock on the window and abuse him. I used to have to hold myself back from bursting out laughing, as I don't think he would have appreciated it. He was well used to taking crap from bums. I was only there for a few weeks but I could now see why Tommy looked like he did. It was crazy. Entertaining for a few weeks but stressful if it was your full time job. 

I wasn't much of a painter. My cousin would regularly lose the plot with me as he was quite the perfectionist when it came to painting. We’d argue like crazy during work and once work was over, all would be good. I gotta admit. I was in quite a hole and he helped me out, that’s for sure. Some days/weeks, he’d be waiting on another job to start and instead of saying “there’s no work today,” he’d pick me up and we’d drive around the whole day chatting. He’d show me different jobs he did or some fun places to go. And he’d still pay me. For that, I will always be grateful to Padraic.

Because he and I both knew painting wasn't my forte, I went on a mission to find a job in an Irish Bar. The word on the Street was you could make good tips if you were personable. That was something more up my alley. In my first few months in San Francisco, I experienced gratitude. Thankfulness that the Tenderloin “lifestyle” was a temporary one and gratefulness that I had many choices before me. I saw San Francisco as a motley crew of characters and I liked being part of it so far.


Till next time :)

P.S. Please feel free to share with any of your nice friends that you think would enjoy it :)

Cheers 

Gerry :)


Sonas Denim
www.sonasdenim.com



"As long as I'm breathing, I'll never quit" Gerry Kelly 2011

Chapter 7 - Respect The Weed

I arrived in Amsterdam on our way back from Egypt in late November 1996. I was with two friends, Linda from Sweden & Joyce a stoner from Australia who we had met in Turkey. A lot of the other guys that were travelling with us had now gone their separate ways. Some had gone home and some went straight to London to find work. Amsterdam was cold, wet and we were broke after all our travelling. We had planned to meet our friend Doug there a few days later. He had to get a different flight as he was over 30 and couldn't use the dodgy student cards to get the cheap flights we got.

We stayed in a hostel in the center of Amsterdam. It was full of young Canadians and Americans who were over for the Cannabis Cup. The hostel smelt like 20 skunks had just sprayed the place down. There were clouds of smoke bellowing around every corner. It was stoner central.

We had some breakfast (scrambled eggs and bread, not toasted) in the smoke filled communal dining area. Breakfast was included in the price of the hostel. The scrambled egg was dished out of a huge pot by some strange looking African dude with one eye and his buddy next to him was handing out two slices of dry bread to everyone in the line. It was like a scene out of a World War II movie.


We then took a stroll around Amsterdam, checked out a few museums etc...and then hit a bar for a few drinks. After that, we decided to check out the Bob Marley Cafe, after hearing some great reports about it from some of the stoners in the hostel. 

I quite fancied myself as a hardcore smoker after smoking some crappy weed in Greece, Turkey, Israel & Egypt. O Boy, was I in for a rude awakening.

The three of us huddled into a corner seat in the packed out Smokey Bob Marley Cafe. I asked Joyce what was the strongest weed she had ever smoked. “Northern Lights,” she said.

So I ordered three juices and a gram of Northern Lights and some rolling papers. I rolled up a pure weed joint and gave it to Joyce to light up. She lit it up and took one toke and passed it to Linda who did the same. Then it came to me and I puffed on it like it was the last joint on earth. We continued to pass the joint around the table and I continued to smoke it like a man possessed.

When the joint was finished, we sat there talking about our plans for getting to London. We decided to make our way to Calais in France and get a ferry to Dover.

Suddenly, I felt a bead of sweat drip down the left side of my face. Then, about a minute later, a waterfall of sweat came gushing down my forehead. And then, a severe dose of paranoia came over me. To put it mildly, I was f#^@*d. I made some crappy excuse and told the girls I had to get a bit of air. “I was a bit warm,” I said. It was below zero and everyone around us was in their duffel coats and scarves.

I made my way out the front door of the cafe thinking everyone was looking at me and sat against the wall outside on the sidewalk. My head was spinning in all angles. Then, I was approached by some Algerian guys trying to sell me drugs. “O God leave me alone.” I said. They didn't know what to make of me. To say the least I was mangled. It took me a good two hours to come back to planet earth. I can safely say that I had a lot more respect for the holy herb after that experience.

I didn't smoke another joint in Holland after that. Doug arrived two days later and we hung about another few days in the bars and then made our way to France by train and took the ferry to Dover in England. We then made our way to London and stayed with some of our Aussie friends we knew from Greece.
I got a job in a kitchen of a restaurant that my good friend Butcher got a head chef job at. It was another easy, mundane job to raise a few dollars before I went back to Ireland for Xmas.

I arrived back in Ireland a week before Xmas. It was great to see my family and friends, but I gotta admit, I was a bit depressed as I didn't want my vacation to end. 

Something I learned from these adventures traveling throughout is that, if you are open to the world, then the world will open doors for you. I never worried about how, I just needed to decide where. Once a goal was picked, I knew I would get there and I enjoyed the journey along the way. It’s a lesson I carry with me today.


Cheers 

Gerry :)