Perhaps a good way to begin a more focused attention to culture on this site would be to reflect on a few memorable thoughts accumulated in San Francisco.

I headed out there with the intention of moving for a semi-permanent basis before graduate school.  Long story short, I decided against it (too expensive and slightly overrated).  Despite my remission, I was able to spend over a month there, without the responsibility of a job.  I saw things, met people, and ate well.

I stayed in the Mission District, which is primarily populated with Hispanics and younger, often school-attending, twenty-somethings, as this district is one of the most affordable in the city.  A staple of the area is the food.  Wonderful Latin food, found in Taquerias, loiter the streets.  The burritos and tacos exceed that of your Taco Bell’s and Chipotle’s.  I mean a lot of this food is damn good.  The many corner markets and fruit vendors offer unique and often authentic Latin food not found anywhere else.  While walking the through the streets, the Spanish language floods one’s ears so that, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re in Mexico.

A well-known, and what some might refer to as notorious, neighborhood is the Castro.  Known for it’s gay population, this portion of the city is one of the cleanest and most expensive districts (correlation?).  I encourage you to quell exaggerated perceptions of this part of the city, should you have any.  It is not riddled with half naked men, engaging in sexual congress in the streets (I’ll get to that in a moment).  Many of the businesses do not come across as “gay-themed” places of commerce.  There are pizza joints, designer furniture stores, fashion boutiques, bookstores, as well as (yes) the occasional sex shop.  Many of the businesses display rainbow flags, likely adorned as public support and solidarity toward the largely gay population.

Obviously, you do see gay couples walking the streets, gingerly holding the hand of their significant other (many of whom appearing to be in their fifties and sixties).  They wore neither latex nor handed out literature aimed to corrupt heterosexual marriage.  The Castro is a actually a fun place to hang out in. 

The Folsom Street Fair is another matter altogether.  This yearly event showcases, through inter-linked booths delegating local fetish and bondage shops in a carnival atmosphere.  Now this is where you find the latex and muscular bare chests of gay men (and the occasional woman).  Most of the naked people were old men, some of whom carrying on their person nothing but cock rings. 

Prior to my attending this event for myself, I had heard stories from friends of previous years, which included public masturbation and group sex acts.  Dismissing such claims as exaggerations, similar to the incredulity extended to Bigfoot sightings, I pressed onward thinking I would only see oddly (un)dressed individuals.  Although most of the participants were relatively tame, with an idiosyncratic sensibility, I did see acts on public thoroughfares that I would have only expected on more obscene internet porn sites.  No joke. 

Picture in your mind a stereotypical Friday night in a German goth club.  Then make that vision more salacious, throwing in the occasional bull whip, flesh-clamped clothespins, latex underwear, and handlebar mustaches.  Than you would come close to what I saw.

Although the mix of sex, the inflicting and endurance of pain, and the public spectacles of such were not my cup of tea, I did recognize the phenomenon as strictly unique to San Francisco.  The freedom to display and embrace such libertine behavior and ideals was something that I, in fact, appreciated; a singular expression unfathomable in many American cities.

For a more detailed account of my trip, you can still access my travel blog here.