Coffee in San Francisco

I read that Tippy Hendren was traumatised during the filming of The Birds. No surprise there; it's reported she suffered numerous bloody scratches from real life bird attacks during the scenes. I wonder if she knew she was going to put herself through that when she first started filming. I bet she didn't. Looking at the movie now, knowing how scared she really was, makes my stomach tighten.

A boyfriend once took me to that coastal place where part of it was filmed in Northern California. I've forgotten the name. You can Google it. He said I'd find it interesting. I did not. I felt disconnected. I was a ghost of a girl back then. I had ended up in San Francisco quite by chance. I was a backpacker with £50 and a pair of flip flops. I was happy at first, I met a gorgeous Brazilian boy who adored me, wrote poetry, drank coffee and studied Tarot. Tragically, that year my older brother died. He was only 24, and as you might imagine, it really changed things for me. I got lost inside; the brave, adventurous girl who really took life by the balls, backpacked round the world alone and dreamed of being anything and everything, disappeared. I wandered through those days in a depressed haze, smoking too many cigarettes and wishing my life away. How sad! How quick it does indeed slip by. Looking back, I want to shake that young version of myself and say, 'wake up!'

And 'stop smoking' and 'buy a house now!'

But I didn't do any of those things.

Fast forward. 30 years later I woke up, with lung disease in a small rental, in a not so pretty part of the world - not coastal California - without my gorgeous Brazilian ..

It's not all bad though. I have four great kids and a job I love teaching creative writing, but I started getting the dreams. I was walking the streets of San Francisco searching for places I once knew; Getting lost in the Haight, daydreaming by the Wharf. It was haunting me, calling me back.

I knew I had to get back there, just for a coffee - walk those hills, ride a cable car, drink the fog.

I managed to scrape enough for a return ticket, and my mum kindly offered to babysit my kids and dog so I could take a well deserved whirlwind trip back to where I had lived in the 90's. I had 3 nights in all, sandwiched by a night on the plane either side. I planned my trip with precision.

I'd stay in North Beach on the first night in a cheap, but charming Italian hotel. I'd walk down to Fisherman's Wharf for coffee, find some of my old haunts, then walk up to Citylights (and show them the docket I had kept which proved I was a genuine paid Citylights poet). It's framed now, on the wall, that scrap of paper from when I was 21 and earned 10 dollars photocopying handwritten poems stapled into booklets to sell at the best bookstore in the world.

On the second day, I had a walking tour of Hitchcock's San Francisco booked. It was pay-by-donation, meet at the fountain opposite this stunning cathedral at the top of the steepest hill (will look up exact name later!) I got up early, too early, the streets of San Francisco were empty, you could see the dirt on the spaces where people should be. I noticed a dark figure 'clock me' and start stalking towards me like a wolf in the shadows. I instantly knew I was in danger so I ran back to the hotel, heart pounding, made coffee, tried again. I needed to be early. I wanted to catch the cable car start up, before the queues, ride the hills quietly like a local. The city was more awake now. This time, a less threatening drunk stumbled towards me. Without thinking I offered him my coffee (thinking it was a kind gesture) He grabbed it, slurped it and spat it at me. "No sugar" he grumbled rejecting my gift! Ungrateful beast! I hurried on, there was no one else on that block. Overhead the cables were low enough to hit the tree branches, there were squawks, screeches. Something had flown over me, claws almost touching my scalp. It was coming back. I felt it scratch me.

Wtf!?

I'm being attacked by birds.

I panicked, but quick, I did what any modern gal would do; took out my phone to film it.

After all no one would believe that I was getting attacked by birds on the way to a Hitchcock walking tour would they?!

The birds only flew over twice, but I don't mind saying that it really scared the shit out of me. Travelling alone seemed a lot scarier now I was 'awake'. I wondered how that gorgeous young girl in a sarong managed to get her way around the world half asleep. She was me, seemed a lifetime ago. Anyway, back to the birds. I saw the funny side. The universe was poking fun at me. Showing me something exciting and giving me a tale to tell. I did the tour and it was fabulous. I walked home with the tiniest scratch on my head and the feeling that anything could happen in San Francisco. I felt happy. That's not always easy for me. I was awake. It had taken me 30 years to find my way back to that scratched part of myself. That unconscious hurt part of me that needed to be seen again. That young poet, that accidentally hurt young woman, afraid of life/ not afraid of life, asleep/awake... life passes so quickly, I don't want to be afraid any more.

And that's why it was worth going all the way to San Francisco for a coffee.