Having read press reports about San Francisco’s center being overrun by criminals, it was with a note of defiance that I set off for the Civic Center Farmers Market. Defying press reports mostly. Civic Center being, you guessed it, in the center of town, is hard to avoid. Particularly if you want to do anything vis-à-vis the symphony, the opera, and so on. 

But when the elevator opened its doors on United Nations Plaza, I was more than surprised. Delighted would be a better word. The Market, supposedly abandoned by the frightened locals, was booming. It was so loud that Stephen, my friend, and I decided we had had enough. Not before Stephen picked up some of the stuff. Which includes some very unusual Asian vegetables, name unknown, preparation mysterious, but endlessly fascinating. And, by the way, cheap. All sorts of people shop here. And many of them don’t have a lot of money.

I took a look at the abundant berries, the last apricots of the season, the flowers for Jane. But in the end, lingering wasn’t worth it. As I say, the place was noisy. Did I mention the mushroom guy? Amazing stuff there. But I could go on and on and, instead, we headed on to Cucina Central. 

What a wonderful place. First of all, in terms of location location, the site is something of a disaster. The ever impoverished Tenderloin, the heart of the city’s crisis in fentanyl. I’m not entirely clear what the latter is, but a friend pointed out the drug’s symptoms. There is a crouched over, fentanyl walk. And there were quite a number of locals walking in the style, to and from lunch. That’s where we were.

There are bouncers in front of Cucina Central. Very big black guys stand guard. And this feels OK. We are in a poor neighborhood, and many of the locals probably appreciate being able to get inside this wonderful space and say goodbye to the drugs and noise of the street. Cucina Central is a former warehouse that, thanks to community donations and organizing, has been allocated to several women-run food businesses. I think that in most cases these operations started in homes. But now there are various café and take-away food operations under one roof, with shared facilities. Nepalese food. Cajun food. Central American. Algerian.

I opted for a Salvadoran tamale, that is, one wrapped in banana leaves. Simply stunning. But most gratifying, and slightly puzzling, was the presence of so many people. San Francisco has been emptied out downtown. High tech workers now do their jobs at home. Apparently, they are going to stay there. 

But, no, apparently is deceiving. There is something about artificial intelligence that requires getting together. Like in the same room. And although people can get in the same room in Mountain View, well, who would want to? Rumor has it that these people are coming back to San Francisco.

Meanwhile, everyone is hard at work trying to sort out what to do with the procession of empty high-rise office blocks that comprise the city’s center. Some insist that they can be turned into accommodation. Others point out that what were formerly windowless offices, would now become windowless apartments. And furthermore they would also be toiletless, plumbing and sewage lines having been designed for the convenience of office workers in cubicles and small rooms.

Older high-rise buildings, yes. For various reasons, most of these are more readily adapted to conversion to flats and condominiums. But give people time. Some of these offices could be easily converted to uses that their landlords could barely imagine at one point. Hand-built bicycle producers. Hydroponic farms. Film production facilities. I don’t know. Probably none of these examples will come to pass. But I am an old guy. What do I know? One thing seems certain though and that’s that who wouldn’t want to work with views of San Francisco Bay just out the window? The only real issue is finance. All these buildings need to be somehow freed of debt. The stakes are high. Leaving offices empty isn’t very practical.

As I was hurtling back to the elevator that would take me down to the BART subway, a rather scruffy looking black guy tried to stop me. What did he want? He wanted, it turns out, to warn me that my transit card was sticking prominently out of my shoulder bag. Thanks, I yelled over my shoulder.

There’s a lot to fear about downtown San Francisco. But the fear of going downtown is the worst of all. This is our city. Let’s enjoy it and enjoy each other. Have a nice day.