San Francisco Warning or Danger Tips by janeaus

To say that this is a dangerous neighborhood is to say little. Do you know the Geneva Towers story? You can google for that. I invite you to read my tip and then decide for yourself whether you want to find yourself in the Visitacion Valley district of SF.

Here’s what an official SF County site says about the Valley:
“Visitacion Valley is in the basin located southeast of McLaren Park and reaching all the way out to the Bay. In 1777, a Franciscan priest first named the basin La Visitacion to commemorate the Virgin Mary’s visit to her cousin St. Elizabeth. Nowadays, this valley is a collection of residential neighborhoods lying just below the park and surrounding a small industrial district. It is bounded by City borders to the south and Highway 101 to the east.

How sadly ironic is the fact that God has now completely turned away from the place visited by the Virgin only two centuries ago. Here’s a story of my recent unintended bus ride through there. It has been has been an experience I just can't let go of.

I was up in SF on business, got off well before 5 PM and needed to go to Daly City BART to pick up my car. On Market, I saw a MUNI bus (#9) going to "San Bruno." Thinking it was the city of San Bruno, I jumped on.

Gradually, I found myself to be the only white guy on the bus. I sensed no particular danger, but decided that it would be wise to give up my seat in the back and move towards the front of the bus. And to ask the driver whether indeed she was going to the city of San Bruno and how much longer it was to BART.

As evil luck has it, it turned out that the bus was not going to the city of San Bruno. It was going to (and was already on) San Bruno Avenue right in Visitacion Valley.

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Other Contact: gls@sonic.net

(continued from Part I)

I had known that I would probably pass through some rough ‘hoods on the way South out of the City. I got on the bus because thinking of my destination – the safe Westlake District in Daly City – was like seeing the light in the end of the tunnel. I was prepared to weather a rough ride as long as I knew I’d end up in a safe place. Now things turned awry. I was moving deeper into unwelcoming neighborhoods, and there was no way out. I felt that chilly feeling in my stomach.

The bus driver, a staunch black woman, advised me to change to bus 15 to get to the closest BART station (Balboa Park.) She said she’d let me know. She seemed to be friendly, but because of her unfamiliar accent, I wasn’t 100% sure I understood everything she said. But I had a solution now, and it was calming.

I returned to my seat next to the driver’s compartment and stared into the window. I was in control of my fear, following the golden rule No. 1: Don’t Let On. Then I thought of an alternative solution: why don’t I catch the same bus in the opposite direction? If I’m lucky, I’d be able to jump from bus, minimizing the wait on San Bruno Avenue. At the next stop I saw a 9 pulling up in the opposite direction. I went for my alternative, darting out the door, across the avenue… only to see the bus pulling off. I waved at the driver energetically, but he pretended not to see me, leaving me alone on the sidewalk.

It was terrible, as if the last straw was taken away from a drowning man. The street had open businesses – not the worst scenario – but it was seedy, even in that bright afternoon. A gas station, a freeway entrance… I knew very well that I didn’t belong. That was a very uncomfortable feeling. Stay or go towards the next bus??

All those thoughts flashed through my head in seconds, interrupted by a honk. Yes, my driver was calling me! I rushed back into my bus. “It’ll be faster on the 15,” she said. I nodded, thinking “Ma’am, yes ma’am! How grateful I am to you for saving me!”

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Other Contact: gls@sonic.net

(continued from Part II)

In a couple of stops she told me to get off and showed the stop (just across the street) where I was supposed to wait for the 15. The neighborhood was as rough as the gas station before. “Here’s your transfer!” – “I got one. Thank you so much!”

Several people were waiting at the bus stop. I glanced at them briefly. Golden rule #2: Don’t Stare. “Forget whites, but these folks are multiracial – a mix of Asians, Africans, and possibly Hispanics – that’s good!” Even better, the #15 appeared almost right away. But I still was very nervous. And, you know, being nervous for a while doesn’t help your nerves. I was fumbling through my backpack for the transfer I knew I had – and couldn’t find it. The bus opened the door and I still did not have the transfer. I just didn’t have the inner strength to say to the driver that I had the transfer somewhere, so could he wait a bit? It was terribly important to get on the bus. So I pulled a dollar out of my wallet and a quarter out of my pocket.

I took my seat and quickly found the transfer. There was something humiliating about the $1.25. It felt bad. I was glad it was all hidden inside me.

The next neighborhood was a poor Asian one, not particularly dangerous. I lifted my guards a bit. “She said it was just a 20-minute ride. It’ll be OK.” The bus made a couple of sharp turns, gradually descending the hill towards the gray compound of Cow Palace.

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Other Contact: gls@sonic.net

Well, it was too early for champagne. The bus made another turn and a sharply different picture stunned me. Coming from Russia and having seen some rough places out in the regions, I know what public housing looks like there and I hadn't seen anything like that in the US. Until the bus turned on that street, called Sunnydale (see the map in the picture.) This was a neighborhood of two-story, barrack-style public housing. It looked poor. It felt gloomy, even in the bright San Francisco sun. Or maybe the merry sunlight made it gloomier. There was a dilapidated building of a public aquatics center. No wall stood straight. Down the street, a group of black youths stood outside one of the barracks. They were loitering. They had nothing to do – and it was so obvious that they had little to lose. I don’t know about you, but I fear loitering people in bad neighborhoods. The thought that the bus might open its door in front of them and then they might get on filled me with terror. I could sense trouble right there in the air.

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There’s not much more to say. I’m writing this; therefore, I’m alive. I had a first-hand experience of how uncomfortable _non-belonging _ is. I’m grateful to Ms. Bus 9 Driver. A competent participant of this site commented: “I don't think it matters if you’re white on the bus, because as long as the people there don't know you, there will be trouble.” Now I fully appreciate how lucky I was that nothing happened on the 15.

By the way, I stayed at Days Inn at the corner of Geneva and Bayshore that night. That’s close to Sunnydale, as you can see from the map. I felt totally safe.

Any questions, please email me at gls@sonic.net.

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Other Contact: gls@sonic.net