Wanderlust in the Time of Coronavirus (A GeoEx eBook)

Wanderlust in the Time of Coronavirus

Up Close & Personal: A Pilgrimage to the Golden Gate Bridge

ceaseless symphony of vehicles the soundtrack of this place. As I approached the entrance to the bridge proper, I could feel the anticipation growing in my stomach. Then, as the great tower and cables loomed larger and larger, it suddenly hit me: I’m walking across the Golden Gate Bridge! An electric surge of joy sizzled through me, and my smile grew as wide as the Golden Gate Strait. It took a few minutes to reach the entrance to the bridge proper, and after passing that, I was surprised to find that the bridge was topped by a wire mesh fence, so that I was looking at the world through a silver-mesh filter. Happily, after a few minutes, this fencing ended. When that happened, I stopped in my tracks and simply gaped at the wide-angle wonderland before me: from the grand green Presidio to San Francisco’s skyscraper’d skyline, to the balletic Bay Bridge, storied Alcatraz, the East Bay hills, pastoral Angel Island, and the gold-and-green slopes and pastel hillside hideaways of Marin. Admiring this sight, I imagined what it must have looked like to the first Native Americans who had settled here, how the natural beauty of the rolling hills and bountiful bay must have made this land seem like a sacred place. As I gazed and dreamed, the image of that distant scene merged with cherished memories from my own joy-filled decades here, and suddenly the thought suffused me: It seems sacred to me still. I continued toward the northern tower, and as I walked, a profound transformation took place. I began to appreciate the bridge as a solid object, a manmade construction. I stopped and looked closely at the rivets, girders, and cables. I felt the scratchy-smooth texture of a girder under my hand, grasped a rough-twined suspender rope in my palm. I had already known that the bridge was an aesthetic marvel, a masterpiece of elegant simplicity and symmetry, but now I began to understand that it was an engineering marvel as well, a miracle

not the destination itself. And yet, wherever I go in the world, no matter how remote, when people hear that I’m from San Francisco, they invariably say, “Ah, Golden Gate Bridge!” It’s one of the most famous icons on the planet, and people routinely travel halfway around the globe to pay homage to its International Orange span. Of course, they’re not doing that now. And that was another part of this spontaneous trip’s appeal: What better time to make a pilgrimage to a local shrine that’s usually overwhelmed with worshippers? So I grabbed sunscreen, face masks, and hand sanitizer, plus a dozen carrot sticks, a couple of granola bars, water, and a Frappuccino, jumped in the car, and set off for the Golden Gate! I arrived at the Vista Point parking lot on the north side of the bridge at high noon. About three dozen people were social-distancing in the viewing area, composing a rainbow of Bay Area humanity. One multi-generational group was wearing brilliant magenta, scarlet, and turquoise sari-like dresses and silver-threaded headscarves. A flip-flopped family of four sported aloha shirts and cargo shorts. One twentysomething couple—he in a crisp dark blue suit, she in a flowing peach- colored gown—proudly cradled a baby swaddled in pink. A quartet of shirtless bicyclists strutted in the sun, while behind them, three tittering teenagers in crop tops and ripped jeans pranced and posed for selfies. I snapped a few photos, then donned my red handkerchief mask and GeoEx hat, and set off for the bridge. The first two things that struck me were the rush of the wind and the roar of the traffic. It’s often windy on the bridge, I figured, but the presence of a dozen windsurfers and kiteboarders in the water below signaled that this was an especially windy day. As for the traffic, I quickly realized that this roar was simply something I would have to embrace, the

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