2023.5.15 Prologue: One from when I first started this project that got put on hold for a year.
2022.6.01 / Morning “Passeggio”
Every morning when the 6AM Church bell rings, I get up and go for a walk.
There are sounds and smells unique to the early morning. While it is still quiet you can hear the train that runs parallel to US 1, the beeping of trucks backing up the narrow one way streets, landscapers’ blowers, early risers chatting, a few dogs barking, the coo of pigeons and doves. The smell of salt air coming off the bay front, the lingering sweet sultry scent of the night blooming jasmine, a waft of lilacs in the breeze—sometimes a gardenia and magnolia, the briny smell of the oyster beds at low tide, as you walk along the bayfront where the horse carriages line up there is a lingering odor of hay and manure, bacon and cinnamon waft from the B&B’s, espresso as you near the plaza.
I try to vary my route – but I always walk over the Bridge of Lions. I’ve learned that the bridge opens on demand on the hour and the half hour, so I try to coordinate my route so I don’t get caught with the bridge up. It’s not really a bother to me, it is more of a time constraint as I need to get back in time for coffee, shower, and work.
It is quiet at this time of day. Not many up yet. The City workers are out early, as well as garbage trucks and gas utility trucks. Some mornings I head out with the mindset of strictly exercise. On others I take my time, stop to take photos of some flowers randomly growing on the sidewalk edge, a bird sitting on the oyster bed at low tide, the line of boats that caused the bridge to raise, a lazy cat—random shots of the simple pleasures of life.
I recognize others that walk at the same time: The older lady that always walks in jeans, the group of Army reserves that run, the guy that smokes a cigar while he walks and is annoyed when he gets stuck with the bridge up, the Hindu couple that sit on the ledge at the peak of the bridge and pray, the couple walking their dog—the husband always complaining about ‘change’ and wanting to see the city as it was when he grew up here, beautiful Arlo with his human Andy, and of course the bridge master. We acknowledge one another with a wave or a hello.
The Famous Arlo
I look for the boat the “Cat’s Meow” in hope of seeing the black kitty sitting on the bow. It’s been gone for about a week now. For a few days there was a mega yacht there—black and sleek—the “Gazelle”.
Some mornings I’ll stop at the Kookaburra for a coffee. I recognize others there as well: the massage therapist, the Aussie lady that orders a latte every morning, then complains because it has foam on it, the guy at the same table outside drinking his cappuccino, and on the weekend the cycling club taking a break from their ride.
Heading back home, the tourists are starting to venture out—walking with their coffee and city map, restaurant staff in uniform heading to work, some early fishermen, a line is starting to form at Nero’s—not just popular for evening martinis, the traffic is a little heavier…all signs of a city coming to life.
Bonjour, Buon giorno!
Philip and Dee
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