Birds of a feather
Dec. 21st, 2006 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyringThe hillside stretched up ahead of me, a steep and winding passage of tangled greenery between tall houses and apartments. Through the lush and overgrown gardens climbed a stairway, weaving along, as natural and organic as a vine growing up a tree trunk.
Behind was a view steadily expanding as I went higher and higher up the steps. I paused every now and then to catch my middle-aged breath and each time I admired the extraordinary vista; the wharves of the Embarcadero at the foot of the hill, a long bridge stretching over to Treasure Island and continuing to Berkeley across the bay. But my eyes ever lifted up to the treetops and the clear blue sky above.
At last a bright flash of sound caught my ear, a pair of green and red parrots shrieking through the air. I followed the arc of their flight to a fluttered landing on the rails of a townhouse deck leaning out through the trees to catch the view.
I all but shrieked along with the birds, for I recognized them as some of the legendary wild parrots of Telegraph Hill, and they were one of the main reasons why I was climbing the Greenwich Steps, scene of the film and the book by Mark Bittner.
Seeing the famous parrots in their amazing setting was a highlight of this visit to San Francisco. The film sums up many of the things I love about this magic city - the landscape, the wonderful old buildings, and above all the quirky, fascinating people.
Mark discovered a small flock of wild parrots - cherry-headed conures from South America - flying free around Telegraph Hill, and over the next year or two he began feeding the birds, identifying individuals, giving them names, befriending them and finally developing a relationship with the flock as a whole, sparking the interest of a documentary film-maker, who created a gem of a film about Mark and his passion.
Like the song says, if you go to San Francisco, you're sure to meet some gentle people there, and Mark Bittner is the epitome of a gentle person, with his background as a musician and philosopher, street person and odd-job man, and above all a sweet, generous, affectionate view on life. Seeing him with a flock of parrots perched on his arms, shoulders and head, feeding them sunflower seeds from his lips, and smiling happily all the time, I couldn't help but be charmed, and neither could the millions of people who made the film a cult classic.
I didn't see Mark, but I saw small groups of the parrots, and then I climbed up through the hillside neighbourhood, eventually reaching Coit Tower, from where I gained a stunning 360 degree view of San Francisco, with the Golden Gate Bridge a lovely silhouette to the west, Fisherman's Wharf to the north, Oakland and the mountains beyond to the east, and south rising the man made mountains of the city centre, the sloping sides of the Transamerica Pyramid drawing my eye back again and again.
I wish I had a taxi tale to tell about San Francisco, but I've always taken the shuttle bus between the airport and my hostel at Fort Mason. For one thing, it's cheap: fifteen dollars or less for the trip, against the taxi fare of fifty dollars. For another, you get to see more of the city, as the shuttle driver will visit several drop off or pick up locations on his way. And of course, there is the pleasure of meeting fellow tourists, and exchanging brief conversations with them. On my first trip the chap beside me grinned when he heard my greeting of “G'day”, and introduced himself as a New Zealander, a scientist currently studying in the USA. We chatted together all the way into town, where he left me at a city hotel, and I continued on to the youth hostel on the old army post overlooking the bay.
I'm reminded of San Francisco, Mark Bittner and the wild parrots every time I pick up or drop off my cab, because my co-driver is another gentle man, feeding birds from his balcony. There is always a line of droppings on the ground below, and often I'll look up and see a sulphur-crested cockatoo strutting majestically along the railing, ready for more seeds.
I'll call my co-driver Lionel, because he has a mane of hair and a fierce pride. He's been driving cabs a lot longer than I have, but he loves the job and he takes as much pleasure in the people he meets as I do. He keeps the car immaculate, and I share his pride in our joint vehicle, polishing up the windows, wiping off dust, and flicking out pieces of lint from the floormats at every opportunity.
Unlike my previous co-driver, whom I rarely saw, I usually see Lionel twice each day, at three in the afternoon when he finishes his shift, and again at three in the morning when he begins again. I look forward to these encounters, where we discuss the events of the shift, consider any rattles or minor defects in the car, and swap tales of customers or current events.
We're on different ends of our daily cycle, one rested and refreshed, rising to meet the challenges and opportunities of the twelve hours ahead, the other weary after driving a long shift and keen to wind down and get some sleep.
It's a pleasure to chat for the ten minutes or so it takes us to do our paperwork, clean out or stock the personal bits and pieces we need for the shift, and take a quick look over the vehicle. And then we go our different ways, one off onto the road, the other soothing down to some well-earned rest.
As I said, Lionel is a gentle soul and I find myself charmed by his stories of fares and passengers, particularly the fact that he enjoys flirting with little old ladies. As the day driver, he gets to see a lot more of them than I do, but I'll sometimes drive one or two home from the shops or the doctor's or a social club. For many elderly people, getting out and about is a rare pleasure, and they take care to prepare and dress up for the occasion. I always take a look at what the ladies are wearing, and squeeze in a compliment about their dress, or a brooch or a hat. And I find that their smiles are as charming and delightful as ever.
“Oh, if only I were twenty years younger...” I say, and watch as the smile widens.
Lionel smiles in the same way when he talks about his elderly passengers, and that tells me a lot about his personality. A person who takes pleasure from giving pleasure sees the world in a different way to other people, and driving a taxi certainly gives many opportunities for making others happy. The fact that we get paid for doing this is a welcome bonus.
I keep a bird feeder outside my own office window, and as I type these words, a colourful group of Eastern Rosellas are taking an interest in the sunflower seeds. It is a pleasure to watch these wild creatures, and though I haven't got to the stage of naming them, let alone kissing them, it is still a gentle and delightful experience to watch them feeding. Now, if only I could get someone to pay me for feeding wild parrots, my own bowl of contentment would be full.
Behind was a view steadily expanding as I went higher and higher up the steps. I paused every now and then to catch my middle-aged breath and each time I admired the extraordinary vista; the wharves of the Embarcadero at the foot of the hill, a long bridge stretching over to Treasure Island and continuing to Berkeley across the bay. But my eyes ever lifted up to the treetops and the clear blue sky above.
At last a bright flash of sound caught my ear, a pair of green and red parrots shrieking through the air. I followed the arc of their flight to a fluttered landing on the rails of a townhouse deck leaning out through the trees to catch the view.
I all but shrieked along with the birds, for I recognized them as some of the legendary wild parrots of Telegraph Hill, and they were one of the main reasons why I was climbing the Greenwich Steps, scene of the film and the book by Mark Bittner.
Seeing the famous parrots in their amazing setting was a highlight of this visit to San Francisco. The film sums up many of the things I love about this magic city - the landscape, the wonderful old buildings, and above all the quirky, fascinating people.
Mark discovered a small flock of wild parrots - cherry-headed conures from South America - flying free around Telegraph Hill, and over the next year or two he began feeding the birds, identifying individuals, giving them names, befriending them and finally developing a relationship with the flock as a whole, sparking the interest of a documentary film-maker, who created a gem of a film about Mark and his passion.
Like the song says, if you go to San Francisco, you're sure to meet some gentle people there, and Mark Bittner is the epitome of a gentle person, with his background as a musician and philosopher, street person and odd-job man, and above all a sweet, generous, affectionate view on life. Seeing him with a flock of parrots perched on his arms, shoulders and head, feeding them sunflower seeds from his lips, and smiling happily all the time, I couldn't help but be charmed, and neither could the millions of people who made the film a cult classic.
I didn't see Mark, but I saw small groups of the parrots, and then I climbed up through the hillside neighbourhood, eventually reaching Coit Tower, from where I gained a stunning 360 degree view of San Francisco, with the Golden Gate Bridge a lovely silhouette to the west, Fisherman's Wharf to the north, Oakland and the mountains beyond to the east, and south rising the man made mountains of the city centre, the sloping sides of the Transamerica Pyramid drawing my eye back again and again.
I wish I had a taxi tale to tell about San Francisco, but I've always taken the shuttle bus between the airport and my hostel at Fort Mason. For one thing, it's cheap: fifteen dollars or less for the trip, against the taxi fare of fifty dollars. For another, you get to see more of the city, as the shuttle driver will visit several drop off or pick up locations on his way. And of course, there is the pleasure of meeting fellow tourists, and exchanging brief conversations with them. On my first trip the chap beside me grinned when he heard my greeting of “G'day”, and introduced himself as a New Zealander, a scientist currently studying in the USA. We chatted together all the way into town, where he left me at a city hotel, and I continued on to the youth hostel on the old army post overlooking the bay.
I'm reminded of San Francisco, Mark Bittner and the wild parrots every time I pick up or drop off my cab, because my co-driver is another gentle man, feeding birds from his balcony. There is always a line of droppings on the ground below, and often I'll look up and see a sulphur-crested cockatoo strutting majestically along the railing, ready for more seeds.
I'll call my co-driver Lionel, because he has a mane of hair and a fierce pride. He's been driving cabs a lot longer than I have, but he loves the job and he takes as much pleasure in the people he meets as I do. He keeps the car immaculate, and I share his pride in our joint vehicle, polishing up the windows, wiping off dust, and flicking out pieces of lint from the floormats at every opportunity.
Unlike my previous co-driver, whom I rarely saw, I usually see Lionel twice each day, at three in the afternoon when he finishes his shift, and again at three in the morning when he begins again. I look forward to these encounters, where we discuss the events of the shift, consider any rattles or minor defects in the car, and swap tales of customers or current events.
We're on different ends of our daily cycle, one rested and refreshed, rising to meet the challenges and opportunities of the twelve hours ahead, the other weary after driving a long shift and keen to wind down and get some sleep.
It's a pleasure to chat for the ten minutes or so it takes us to do our paperwork, clean out or stock the personal bits and pieces we need for the shift, and take a quick look over the vehicle. And then we go our different ways, one off onto the road, the other soothing down to some well-earned rest.
As I said, Lionel is a gentle soul and I find myself charmed by his stories of fares and passengers, particularly the fact that he enjoys flirting with little old ladies. As the day driver, he gets to see a lot more of them than I do, but I'll sometimes drive one or two home from the shops or the doctor's or a social club. For many elderly people, getting out and about is a rare pleasure, and they take care to prepare and dress up for the occasion. I always take a look at what the ladies are wearing, and squeeze in a compliment about their dress, or a brooch or a hat. And I find that their smiles are as charming and delightful as ever.
“Oh, if only I were twenty years younger...” I say, and watch as the smile widens.
Lionel smiles in the same way when he talks about his elderly passengers, and that tells me a lot about his personality. A person who takes pleasure from giving pleasure sees the world in a different way to other people, and driving a taxi certainly gives many opportunities for making others happy. The fact that we get paid for doing this is a welcome bonus.
I keep a bird feeder outside my own office window, and as I type these words, a colourful group of Eastern Rosellas are taking an interest in the sunflower seeds. It is a pleasure to watch these wild creatures, and though I haven't got to the stage of naming them, let alone kissing them, it is still a gentle and delightful experience to watch them feeding. Now, if only I could get someone to pay me for feeding wild parrots, my own bowl of contentment would be full.
