Yep, here we go again. Save the date on your calendar, here comes Art Basel Hong Kong right around the corner. Art Basel has a pretty good spread across the globe at this point, of course the annual in Basel Switzerland itself, the somewhat iconic although over rated Art Basel in Miami for all of […]
Now that I’m living in Winters, Sacramento is just a hop away—but it still feels as distant, as much like another world and reality, as it did when I lived in my hometown of Berkeley. Old Town Sacramento, in particular, feels somehow surreal.
You see, my California isn’t that of tourists. To me, it’s home—loved beyond measure, of course, but also mundane and everyday. (That’s how your hometown feels no matter where you grow up, I suppose.) Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco is only slightly less surreal, largely because it’s at least willing to acknowledge that it’s the 21st century.
Old Town Sacramento remains an enigma no matter how often I visit. It’s aiming for, and sometimes briefly achieves, a sense of walking into the Gold Rush of the mid-1800s. Wide saloon doors open onto wooden plank sidewalks, and it seems half the shops sell saltwater taffy twisted up in little wax paper parcels. I’ve never been clear on exactly what wax paper-wrapped saltwater taffy has to do with the Gold Rush or the 1800s, but—whether through history or sheer, forced association — it’s clear that there is an inexorable connection.