I passed a very exciting weekend in San Francisco's Chinatown for the annual "Autumn Moon Festival," the Chinese equivalent of our Thanksgiving or harvest celebrations. Arriving just in time for the kickoff ceremony and street parade, I saw my very first exhibition of dancing dragons and lions amid a throng of thousands of people on Grant Ave., 98% of them Chinese. The energy and activity along Grant was almost impossible to navigate, with 200 arts and crafts booths hawking everything from Chinese DVDs to clothing, nick nacks, food, and the ubiquitous 'Moon Cakes' selling for inflated prices. Gallery Here.
But just a block away along Stockton, the rest of the Chinese community in San Francisco was busy with the normal shopping of the day. There, in numerous street side markets, one could find an array of all kinds of produce selling for a fraction of what you would buy them for in any typical grocery store. Walk a few blocks east to the trendy tourist haven on the Embarcadero and compare prices to the 'organic' produce offered in the Ferry Building. Avacados there sold for a minimum of $2 each, while they were two for a dollar in Chinatown. Egg plant, cucumber, fruit of every sort all sold at three to five times what you would pay in Chinatown...which made me wonder: If the Chinese can deliver the goods at $.79 cents a pound on Stockton, why do American merchants soak me for $2.99 a pound for the very same item? And in many cases I found the produce offered up in Chinatown superior in quality and taste!
I considered the breakfast I had in the hotel lobby restaurant that morning: some potatoes, two scrabbled eggs, three sausage, OJ and coffee. The tab? A whopping $30. for one person after tax and tip. Later that day I ate a massive lunch near Chinatown that cost all of $15 for two people! (Tip included!) This strange disparity of price seemed to run parallel to the disparity of wealth in our society. There were hotel rooms in the city routinely booking out at $300-$400 per night...suites that booked for over $1500. Was it just me or was this obcenely decadent that people would book these while so many went homeless and hungry?
Walking to the Embarcadero Center and Financial District on Sunday morning presented another strange contrast. The financial district sat in swank silence, while a few blocks east the Chinese were bustling with the frenetic buying, selling and celebration on Grant. But here the streets were largely empty, except for the Ferry Building where tourists were bellying up for espresso and crossiants. Near Market Street a lone artist played mournful, jazzy tunes on a saxaphone, the music echoing amid the tall monolithic towers of all the major financial institutions. The world of finance, that has brought such harm to the nation these last years, was quietly sleeping this Sunday morning. You had to look elsewhere to find the damage their bad securities schemes had visited upon the City.
Later that day I toured the Asian Art Museum, noting a few derelict homeless men stretched out on the tiled stone of the plaza above the parking garage near City Hall. Across the street the dome of City Hall was guilded with gold, rising in stately majesty. As we entered the museum we were politely told that no photography would be permitted at the special "Lords of the Samuari" exhibit. Again, the jolting discord hit me--we lived in a society that carefully hoarded the light bouncing off its art treasures, while allowing human beings to sleep on hard, cold stone in the plaza just a hundred yards away, homeless men without hope, prospects for any future, or money for a $30 breakfast in a Hotel on Nob Hill.
What is wrong with this picture?
But just a block away along Stockton, the rest of the Chinese community in San Francisco was busy with the normal shopping of the day. There, in numerous street side markets, one could find an array of all kinds of produce selling for a fraction of what you would buy them for in any typical grocery store. Walk a few blocks east to the trendy tourist haven on the Embarcadero and compare prices to the 'organic' produce offered in the Ferry Building. Avacados there sold for a minimum of $2 each, while they were two for a dollar in Chinatown. Egg plant, cucumber, fruit of every sort all sold at three to five times what you would pay in Chinatown...which made me wonder: If the Chinese can deliver the goods at $.79 cents a pound on Stockton, why do American merchants soak me for $2.99 a pound for the very same item? And in many cases I found the produce offered up in Chinatown superior in quality and taste!
I considered the breakfast I had in the hotel lobby restaurant that morning: some potatoes, two scrabbled eggs, three sausage, OJ and coffee. The tab? A whopping $30. for one person after tax and tip. Later that day I ate a massive lunch near Chinatown that cost all of $15 for two people! (Tip included!) This strange disparity of price seemed to run parallel to the disparity of wealth in our society. There were hotel rooms in the city routinely booking out at $300-$400 per night...suites that booked for over $1500. Was it just me or was this obcenely decadent that people would book these while so many went homeless and hungry?
Walking to the Embarcadero Center and Financial District on Sunday morning presented another strange contrast. The financial district sat in swank silence, while a few blocks east the Chinese were bustling with the frenetic buying, selling and celebration on Grant. But here the streets were largely empty, except for the Ferry Building where tourists were bellying up for espresso and crossiants. Near Market Street a lone artist played mournful, jazzy tunes on a saxaphone, the music echoing amid the tall monolithic towers of all the major financial institutions. The world of finance, that has brought such harm to the nation these last years, was quietly sleeping this Sunday morning. You had to look elsewhere to find the damage their bad securities schemes had visited upon the City.
Later that day I toured the Asian Art Museum, noting a few derelict homeless men stretched out on the tiled stone of the plaza above the parking garage near City Hall. Across the street the dome of City Hall was guilded with gold, rising in stately majesty. As we entered the museum we were politely told that no photography would be permitted at the special "Lords of the Samuari" exhibit. Again, the jolting discord hit me--we lived in a society that carefully hoarded the light bouncing off its art treasures, while allowing human beings to sleep on hard, cold stone in the plaza just a hundred yards away, homeless men without hope, prospects for any future, or money for a $30 breakfast in a Hotel on Nob Hill.
What is wrong with this picture?
