THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN

The University at Berkeley never ceases to amaze me. You may wonder what comes next; but bear with me, it takes some warming up to arrive at the topic of today. 

Three weeks ago, I received some visitors from back home in Austria. They were the more welcome since they were from Knittelfeld, hometown of my dear godmother Steffi. Last year, I was on a seven days' pilgrimage, starting from my birthplace, to see her. To my dismay, she was in bad health already then and has since passed away. The visitors came to participate in the Big Sur Marathon and combine this with a sight-seeing tour in the Southwest. Concentrated as I am on Berkeley and its wonders, I enticed them to take a hike around Campus with me. Here they are, sitting on the stairs leading up to the Campanile.

Front: Andy and Margit (Steffi's younger daughter), and Marathon companion
Back: Ingrid (who accompanied me on part of my pilgrimage), and Marathon companion

When ambling upwards (eastwards) on Campus, I usually take a southern route, since I have a particular fondness for the wilder parts of UCB, which are found along South Fork of Strawberry Creek. But with the guests in tow, I chose to go more northward on this guided tour, along Memorial Glade and upwards from there. Suddenly, we arrived at a place that I never had bothered to look at closely, usually rushing by on my way elsewhere. This was a small glade called Mining Circle. There is an elevation in the middle of this circular place, overgrown with grass. We happened to mount it and found, to our great surprise, that there was a pond on its crest, impossible to see from below. And – lo and behold! – the most enticing building was greeting us from opposite the puddle, mirrored splendidly in the water, which was only slightly disturbed by a light breeze.

It turned out the we had stumbled on the Hearst Memorial Mining Building, dedicated to the father of Randolph Hearst, who was a successful entrepreneur in the gold and silver mining business. We briefly entered the building and were as enchanted by its interior as by the building's reflection. Since that memorable discovery I have spent some time researching and documenting the building and it turns out that it has some interesting facts to tell us. 

What looks like a beautiful, albeit relatively small marvel of a building, is in fact the very first edifice erected within the Original Campus Master Plan for the University. This grand name is grand for a reason. Towards the end of the 1800s a new competitor was emerging on the Peninsula, Stanford. The promoters of Berkeley saw with distress that widow Stanford was financing architectural masterpiece after architectural masterpiece in Palo Alto, whereas Berkeley only had South and North Hall to show for it. 

This irked especially another immensely rich widow, Phoebe Hearst, the mother of Randolph Hearst. In a remarkable act of female one-upmanship she financed an international architect competition to design the University's future architectural embellishments. This competition was held in Antwerp in Belgium in 1898 and won by architect Emile Bénard.

Wheeler Hall, Campanile, South and Stephens Hall, still representing a harmonic whole

This gentleman, being French, refused to come to California and implement his plan, but a formidable replacement was found in architect John Galen Howard. He held the position of Supervising Architect of the Master Plan and kept it until his death in 1931 at the age of 67. Under his stewardship all the beautiful buildings in white stone (in classical revival style) adorning Campus were put up. To mention a few: the University Library, the Campanile, Wheeler Hall, Sather Gate, all financed out of the wealthy widow's burse. 

I dearly would like to be transported back to the mid-thirties, to benefit from the marvelous and lofty views that Campus provided in those days. After Galen's (and Phoebe's) death, this prosperous architectural period came to an end. Phoebe's son, Randolph Hearst, kept on financing the odd building after that, but soon redirected his interests towards San Simeon. 

Mining Hall, details designed by Julia Morgan

The building activities after Berkeley's golden age are a sad story. The 'fifties and 'sixties saw a rapid expansion of edifices, every new one uglier than its predecessor; as a result, Campus is nowadays presenting itself to the world as an architectural cacophony, where one has to make an effort looking sideways more often than not, to neglect the bad whilst still appreciating the good. Don't misunderstand me now: UCB is still a marvelous place to visit, even if I am deploring the loss of opportunities to make it a marvel of harmonized architecture. The more to applaud that some of the worst offenders, for example this one just opposite the Mining Hall, are about to be torn down, hopefully to be replaced by buildings more in line with the Grand Master Plan and agreeable to the eye. 

I see that you are getting impatient and longing for a return to today's topic. Not to worry, from now on this post is concentrating on Mining Hall. As I said above, this was the first building by Galen within the Master Plan. This is somewhat amazing, when comparing its style with that of Galen's other buildings, built thereafter. The first one looks distinctly more modern than the latter ones! Even if it has six Dorian columns incorporated into the facade. the remainder looks distinctly Art Nouveau. How could this be? A possible answer is that Galen used a valiant young assistant in the design of the building, trusting her with drawing the facade's accoutrements as well as the structure of the main hall. Who was this enterprising young architect? None else but Julia Morgan, whom we have met already (see "Female Endurance").

We can imagine that Julia, fresh from having received her diploma in Paris, was eager to demonstrate what she had learned abroad. Not only that, she probably was at the peak of her youthful creativity! Have a look at the formidable interior of Mining Building's main hall below. Isn't it a shame that earthquake risks forced Julia to discard with the Iron Pillar Technique applied by her Art Nouveau contemporaries in Europe and instead become the foremost pioneer of reinforced concrete in California? Had she stayed in Europe, she certainly, in my view, could have designed Master Houses at par with those of Victor Horta, the foremost of our Art Nouveauists!

Unfortunately, this was not to be. Concrete as building material does not lend itself to the type of slender, almost ephemeral houses that Art Nouveau at its best could give birth to. On the other hand, what is lost in delicacy is gained in sustainability and for a building to be able to survive even severe earthquakes, whilst still exhibiting architectural aesthetics, must be counted as a formidable achievement by this among the greatest of California's architects.

HEAVENLY THUNDERS

I feel there is need for some rest from the lofty themes, so permit me to sneak in a topic from the lower Berkeley ranges for a change. This does not mean that the intermission be lowly. Far from it! This blog is about a great choir and orchestra that drew me out from a temporary melancholic lethargy and made me whole again.

In fact, this is the second time I am blessed with a choir performance during my various stays in Berkeley. You may recall my enthusiastic response to the performance of the San Francisco Symphony Chorus two years ago ("Heavenly Choir"). Now it was time to listen to its East Bay Counterpart, the Berkeley Community Chorus and Orchestra. It is difficult to judge which of them is the more impressive, so don't let us be drawn into a discussion about this. Suffice it to say that both are grandiose. It is a miracle indeed to witness their performance at full blast, when 144 souls (in San Francisco) or more than two hundred (in Berkeley) open their golden throats and let mellow tones fill the universe.

The Berkeley event I am hinting at was a performance, last Sunday, of Antonin Dvorak's famous Requiem, with full orchestra, four eminent vocal soloists and, last but not least, the magnificent full bodied Berkeley Chorus. For those not familiar with Antonin's piece, its demanding orchestration and chorusation hardly leads itself to be played at funeral masses. Let's face it, this is a concert piece, if ever there was one. That notwithstanding, at least part of it was played at President Havel's funeral mass. It is said that some Member of the audience questioned whether the lover of Velvet Underground and Rolling Stones would have wanted the soaring grandeur of this Requiem at his funeral. He surely must be mistaken. Not only was Vaclav a true Czech and would not dream of putting aside Antonin, the createst Czech (actually Bohemian) musician of them all. In addition, Vaclav, as anyone else the least familiar with Antonin, would certainly have recalled the important role the composer played in advancing modern music American style.

I was lucky to get to know about this performance in time and have again to thank Karl Reeh for that. One of his garden friends is a Chorus Member who encouraged us to witness this extraordinary performance and Karl was kind enough to take me along in his car. The venue for the event was the large Catholic church of St. Joseph on Addison Street. With its lightly colored interior and aptly vaulted ceiling, not to forget the beautiful glass windows above the altar, it appeared as an appropriate counterpoint to the music. In a way, it reminded us about a rosy late sunshine sky, not unlike those painted by Caspar David Friedrich; against such a romantic background, the wrath of God on Dies Irae would appear the more frightening. And forceful and frightening indeed was the first half of the performance. The full blast of the Chorus sounded like God's Thunder powering down at us with a force that seemed to shake the very fundaments of the church. Thankfully, Antonin's score provided for an intermission, which we put to good use for cleansing body (with coffee) and soul after this onslaught of sounds.

The second part of the performance went in a calmer, more lyrical vain, which helped us come to terms with the inevitable end of our existence, and left us cushioned in God's Mercy rather than defenseless under God's Wrath.

What an afternoon, never to be forgotten!

LOFTY PARKS

Let me start this post with an ancient picture for a change. It shows the beginning of the creation of a great park in the El Cerrito hills, located in the community of Kensington. The year is 1924, I believe, and we see an Italian style grotto already built, with nice bowed stairways surrounding it and a prolonged pool to mirror the grotto in. The view is from a newly-built mansion; standing on grotto's roof, you might have seen a cosy reflection of the building in this lengthy watery mirror.

We can forget the architectural aspects of the picture for a moment and consider the landscape above it. It shows, in an instructive manner, the East Bay hills before the building frenzy started. We are seeing a bucolic grassland, only sparcely intersected by groves of native trees, mostly oaks, where brooks are gurgling or underground aquifers provide the necessary moisture. Now compare this with the view I took ten days ago from approximately the same angle:

Trees: Magnolia grandiflora (Southern Magnolia)          Water: Nymphaea (Water lily)

As we can see, the scenery has completely changed. The distant hills  are no longer visible and, in any case, no longer an open landscape; rather, in the immediate distance, an extended park landscape can be glimpsed. Further upwards, smaller private residences abound until, beyond the crest, Tilden Park is taking charge over nature.

Left: Berberis (Barberry)                      Right: Acanthus mollis (Bear's breech)

Does the title picture show us the original landscape of the East Bay, before White Man entered the scene? Far from it! The pre-Columbian days saw no open grassland on those hills; they were covered by dense thickets of macchia (Corsica comes to mind), except where tree groves interrupted the thorny sea. The grasslands are the result of a very recent invasion of Spanish/Mexican rancheros, some 200 years ago, who burnt off the thickets throughout the East Bay and established vast ranches on the hills. Not only the thickets disappeared, the native grass thriving on small batches also went to see its maker, being replaced by European grasses imported in the hide of the cows (see "The Green, Green Grass of Ho-ome").

Left: Equisetum (Horsetail)                 Right: Foeniculum (Fennel)

Compared to Europe, where vegetational changes have to be observed over a thousand years, here in the States everything changes much quicker. Within twenty years or so, the rancheros had established the open grasslands and, within the last 90 years, the hills have been covered by residences and, in rare cases for our enjoyment, by bucolic parks like the one we are about to enter.

Some observant readers have already asked me, whether I had forgotten about the second garden, on the hills, mentioned in the preceding chapter. Not to worry, we will deal with that one now. I had originally intended to deal with both in one single blog post, but pictures and text simply got out of hand, so I decided to divide into two this engaging topic.

Echium (Viper)

Whereas we last time looked at a private garden in the relatively limited space that even a grand private property nowadays is residing in, today's garden is found in an estate in the old sense of the world, looking down serenely at its lesser siblings below and saluting across the Bay its counterpart in grandeur, the Golden Gate Bridge. Garden is not really the right denomination for this green expanse, so let's call it Park. And indeed, we are visiting Blake Garden, the famous Park surrounding Blake House, the official residence of University of California's President.

Kniphofia uvaria (Red-hot poker)

This estate was created by one of the great families in the Bay Area, the Stiles-Blake family. The land was originally owned by Harriet Stiles, who gifted it to her four children. Two of those, Anson and Edward, decided to build a residence each on the land. Eward's house was subsequently sold to the Carmelite Order and still belongs to the Church, separated from the estate proper. Anson's part was instead transformed into a marvelous garden landscape, due to the valiant efforts of Anson's wife Anita and her sister Mabel Symmes. The latter was a landscape architect and laid out the basic garden plan. Together, the two sisters worked for decades to implement that plan, foraging the globe for plants suitable to the Hills' climate and filling the park to the brim with exotic foliage.

The result of their work is astonishing. The narrow area around the residence is laid out like an Italian garden, with flowers from the Mediterranean and the Canaries populating the slope at the residence's back. The front is a marvel of architectural planning. The elongated pool provides structure to the lay-out, surrounded by lush Magnolias and polished off by the winding staircase and symbolic "grotto" in the background. Golden fish linger about lazily in the pool, a breeze is whispering in the tree crowns, and the greenery around the staircase beckons the visitor to come thither and explore the remainder of the park, lying just beyond those enticing steps. This Italian type garden is of course only a minor part of the park; around it an English type park of artfully "untended" landscapes is spreading its wings.

I was invited to visit this marvel of a park by a new-found friend, whom I got to know first by his astute comments on an earlier blog. His name is Rudi Schmid and he is Professor (retired) in Botany at UCB. The plant is not yet conceived that would escape his universal knowledge of all things green. We have to thank him for the two ancient pictures shown above, as well as for the plants' name indicated, for once, under each relevant picture. He also introduced me to the Park's valiant guardian, Lauri Twichell, who is managing the park together with her three assistants. Only four gardeners for this huge estate? Well, we should not forget the volunteers (to be counted in the tens and twenties), as well as the UCB students in botany who do their homework here.

Rudi and Lauri, not to forget Rudi's lively companion Fleur

Rudi took me on a long and much educational tour around the park, explaining to me all the intricate details of its design and plants. Unfortunately, photographer as I am, I was unable to take all of it in, since I was mostly concentrating on picturing the many small marvels. That notwithstanding, let's highlight the park's important features, as I remember them.

Clivia miniata between redwood trees

The most impressive of them for me, as lover of "eternal" trees, was the grove of redwoods located at the park's fringe along a quietly gurgling creek. When descending the grove, many a small bridge and an enticing pond invited us to proceed, and some interesting flowers, rare to grow under and between redwoods, according to Rudi, led our steps to advance more eagerly.

Left: Clivia miniata                       Right: Hedera helix (English ivy) clinging on redwood

In the center of this quiet grove, suddenly Lauri re-appeared, this time accompanied by a group of enthusiastic children, admiring the redwoods just as I am used to do. Isn't it charming to see small kids, with their heads turned firmly upwards, paying tribute to those red Methuselahs?

After spending quite some time in the cool and calming shadows of the red giants, it was time to explore the remaining parts of the park. As we mounted towards the grove's upper fringe, a green abundance of leaves was welcoming us, pointing us towards the more open oak ranges. 

Asarum caudatum (Wild ginger)

Many an oak was standing there, with their lower branches extending almost horizontally towards the light. As we were ambling among these trees, which generously let through ample sunlight to the shrubs and flowers underneath, I suddenly felt like back home in Sweden, where, in mid-June, the oaken ranges abound with light and flowers, just as they did here on the hills that day. Of course, the oaks with their horizontal branches and undivided leaves soon called me back to reality, as did the flowers who quite differed from our colored companions back home. 

Cistus X purpurea (Orchid rockrose)

As you can see from the next picture, Rudi did his best to explain to me the names and properties of vegetation, trees, brushes, flowers and all that we met on our way. I was unable to retain them all whilst we were ambling through this abundance, but Rudi was so kind as to remind me of the names afterward, when he saw the pictures, so I am still able to provide you with their correct denominations. 

Ceanothus (Wild lilac)

And now, dear readers, comes a first in the history of this copious blog! A juxtaposition of the hunter and his prey, so to speak. Thanks to Rudi you can see me photographing the very flowers that are on the picture below to the left. This was an occasion that demanded the deepest concentration from your blogger! I had to take two photos with different adjustments, to be merged later in Photoshop, to catch this complicated scenery.

Left: Phlomis fructicosa (Jerusalem sage)                     Right: Courtesy Rudi Schmid

Turning yet another corner, we passed by a small cliff, along which the two garden sisters had planted still more of the flowers that are adorning the park wherever you look!

Yellow plant: Sedum

I have already mentioned that the sisters also provided for a "dry" Mediterranean section with plants that thrive in those parts of the world, as well as on the "Fortunate Islands" (The Canaries). When walking along the backside of the mansion, I recognized for once several high rising flowers that I had met many times during my hikes on Gran Canaria. For instance, take a look at the plant adorning the beginning of one of my Canariablogposts and compare with the corresponding plants growing below the Blake House, in the picture below:

Plant in foreground: Echium (Viper)

We are approaching the end of our walk, dear readers! But let us tax your patience one moment longer, by returning to the Italian type "grotto" in front of the mansion, mounting the stairs surrounding that contraption and continuing further up the slope behind it. 

A reward for your patience is awaiting you up there. Suddenly, a clearing opens up among the trees and brushes; Blake House is now completely hidden among the trees, but the most marvelous view of the Bay is spreading itself out before our astonished eyes. Far in the distance, we can glimpse the Golden Gate with its rust-red companion and below our feet lies the sea of houses that is El Cerrito. Again we can confirm that the rises above North Berkeley and El Cerrito face the Golden Gate straight on across the Bay. 

By now we have spent two hours in this marvelous park and I guess you are getting exhausted by this lengthy report. But the time spent on this post was worth it, don't you think? It is not every day that you are visiting the official residence of the President of the University of California!

LOFTY GARDENS

Some posts ago I made the promise to raise my eyes above the flower beds and I think that I basically kept to that commitment. However, there is more than one way to raise your eyes, figuratively speaking. Last week I had the great opportunity of visiting two exceptional gardens up in the Berkeley Hills, which let me lift my brows without leaving the flower beds!

The elevations above Berkeley (and El Cerrito) offer paradisiac conditions for ambitious gardening. Granted that South Berkeley is a marvel of small gardens along its small streets, their delicate splendor is even surpassed by the more grandiose locations up in the hills.

It is not only a matter of properties situated on steep slants providing challenging, but at the same time proficient, conditions for creative landscape architects – let's face it, artists. The climate conditions also differ from those in the lowlands. The Berkeley and El Cerrito Hills north of Campus lie exactly opposite the Golden Gate. This in itself is worth of noting, since the residents there have ample opportunities to take shots of the sun setting over Golden Gate Bridge around December. For that reason alone, I wish I owned a property up there.

More importantly, the fogs drifting in from the Pacific through the Golden Gate tend to linger more readily on those hills than on the lowlands at their feet. The reasons for this have already been explained in an earlier blog post. Almost year-round, cool and humid conditions prevail during the morning hours, letting the flowery vegetation prosper to an astonishing extent.

Of course, fog alone doesn't a beautiful garden make; it takes ever-lasting dedication, work and resources to make the most out of the beneficial conditions. But the hill residents usually are apt at making those conditions work for them and it is pure pleasure to take the car up there and drive around houses full of garden treasures, even if you can but catch glimpses of those treasures from the street.

Last Tuesday I had the privilege of being invited inside one of those promising properties, and allowed to pursue my photographic activities to the full. It is situated not far from Indian Rocks, already known from an old adventure trip of mine. The estate is owned by an academic family, with the wife also being a dedicated and enduring gardener.

The whole estate is breathing serene harmony; trees, brushes and flowers in all colors and shapes are adorning the lay-out.

The garden is spread out over a steep slope, with three small leveled terraces, accessible by wooden staircases. The lowest staircase can be seen in the overview below, with the upper terraces somewhat receding and partly hidden in the lush vexation.

As the proud owner explained it to me, she views her garden as a kind of semi-vertical sea, with waves of color undulating over the surface, in ultra-rapid, as the growing seasons evolve and each flower generation is superseded by the next. A telling metaphor indeed!

Since there is never a freezing winter (temperature below zero Celsius) up in those hills – with the rare exception of 1972 – the question arises how such a lovely garden can stand defended against all kinds of parasites and other damaging critters. Swedish gardens are being blessed with long winters that kill off many an unwelcome garden fiend, but this natural defense is sadly lacking in the benign Bay climate.

That notwithstanding, the owner, a true Lady of the Land, steadfastly refuses to apply toxic chemicals as a remedy, relying instead on nature's natural balance, aided by avoiding monocultures and, if bad comes to worse, assisted by the gardener's delicate fingers, picking the offenders off the roses one by one, as I was able to witness on the day of my visit. As you can see from the pictures, the garden is saluting her dedication with delightful splendor; I am raising my cap to this foremost of private gardeners. 

HIKING WITH HARRY

You don't recall Harry, you say? Well, it has been some time, but there is an ancient blog post to remind you: two years ago, I went to a nice regional wilderness called Sunol and met this pleasant gentleman on the hike. He became a regular commentator on the blog thereafter and enriched it with his in-depth knowledge of the Berkeley of yore.

In my on-going mission to locate all the people figuring prominently in the book "Fiat Lux! ..." I visited Harry two weeks ago in his home in Sunnyvale, far south on the Peninsula. He lives there in a pleasant house together with his partner Francis and we spent a nice afternoon together, talking about this and that as elderly gentlemen have the habit of doing. It emerged that Harry is one of the very few true Americans, in the sense that all his forefathers at least three generations back have been born here. Here you can see him sitting in his favorite chair, after showing me another one that was his great grandmother's favorite chair (he had a picture of her in the chair to prove it!). Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of that invaluable link to the past. An unforgivable relapse!



During our conversation I learned that Harry had taken an engineering degree at UCB. I had kind of suspected this all along, since this octogenarian had always exhibited an uncanny sense for details. As an example, he showed me on Google Map, that I should be able to see the UCB Campanile straight ahead, when entering Telegraph from Stuart Street on my way to Campus. I did not believe him, of course. Had I not trodden this path hundreds of time, already in the 'seventies, two years ago and again this year, without ever gaining the slightest glimpse of Campanile?

Well back home again, I had to investigate further, that goes without saying. And, sure enough, if you were standing smash in the middle of Telegraph Avenue, coming from Stuart Street, Campanile would lay straight ahead of you. I had never noticed this before, since I never had crossed the street at this very crossing, preferring always to proceed versus Campus on the left side of Telegraph.

But enough about my beaten paths, we have to move the story onwards! Harry is a great hiker, getting out into the wilderness every week with a group of friends, who have been doing that for years and years. A week ago, he kindly invited me to hike along, on a short walk up and around the San Bruno Mountain. This is a pronounced promontory, placed in the middle of the Peninsula south of San Francisco. It is not really a mountain, rather a large hill, a bit like the "mountains" in Wales. But it rises in sole majesty above the plain, providing sweeping views: northward to San Francisco, the Bay eastward and the Pacific westward. In short, a pleasure to walk around on!

The only problem with the hike was, as I thought when waiting for the hiking group – at rendezvous point BART Station "Colma" – that it was raining quite heavily and gusty winds were sending icy messages along my back. Furthermore, glancing in the direction of the mountain, it was completely invisible, fully hidden behind heavy rain clouds. So I called Harry on the mobile, expecting him to call off the hike. "You must be joking!", was his answer, so I braced myself for splashing paths under dark clouds.

It turned out to be not so bad after all. Even if the beginning of the hike was windy and rainy, the sky soon started to lighten and, eventually, even the sun returned, enticing us to proceed with vigor.

Speaking of vigor, I have the habit of lingering now and then on a hike, in order to catch the scenery with my Canon (a new toy acquired two weeks ago!). Usually, I have no problem catching up with hiking partners, hikers usually choose to proceed at a leisurely pace. Not this group, I can tell you! I had a hard time keeping up with these old-timers and only my long photographing routine enabled me to get the odd picture, clicking the camera on the run, so to speak.

And real old-timers they were, my hiking companions! I don't believe many of them still saw this side of the 'eighties, a hardy group if I ever met one. But should this surprise me? People having been born in the great depression; gone through all child deceases without any modern medication or vaccination and acquired a robust physic as a result; grown up during WW II and having served in the Korean War; survived a long life with its risks of accident and grave illness surely should be able to do some serious exercise even in their 'eighties? We can but admire the lucky few who maintain vitality at that advanced age. Will those from our generation, who live that long, keep a correspondingly robust physic? I doubt it, our life has been too comfortable to train the body for long-time use!

I usually come home from my hikes with at least ten good pictures of flowers to savor. I trust you understand by now that I had time for taking only two, with the rest of the group firmly pacing ahead. So you have to believe my word, that this large hill was full of blooms, many of which I had already seen and documented along the South Berkeley streets, even if they looked much purer and more enticing in their natural habitat.

But there were other reasons for lifting the eyes from the microcosmos at my feet. After an hour's ascent, a beautiful vista opened up, as foretold above. In the hazy distance, San Francisco's skyline rose proudly to the occasion and soon it was possible to get a round view of the bay in all four compass directions.

Here you see a picture of Harry standing on top of the mountain, explaining to us the route downwards and towards the cars, after having collected and assembled – together with a companion and with the aid of his walky-talky – alls stragglers and loafers like me.

Down we went, from a hilltop somehow incongruously adorned by a multitude of masts and antennas and soon got the community of Colma back in sight, resting at our feet so to speak. Walking and sliding downwards was of course much easier than laboring upwards and soon we were – aided by the sun re-appearing in full splendor – back at the cars and eventually at Colma BART station.

Well there, I decide to take a stroll along the streets of this relatively new settlement and it turned out to be a good decision. Just a few minutes beyond the station, a nice vista of the San Bruno Mountain opened up, providing me with the view that had been refused me in the morning by less benevolent weather. I trust you understand better now what I meant by a "multitude of masts and antennas".

Walking around the corner from there I could observe a rather nice new neighborhood of houses arranged somewhat like in the Swedish style. An interesting contrast to the long-established and flowering neighborhood in South Berkeley, don't you think?