A Place Called America

After taking the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) to downtown San Francisco, we walked to Chinatown. San Francisco is known for having the largest Chinatown outside of Asia. Somehow we missed the turn for the tourist part of Chinatown and we found ourselves in the thick of, well, China. I felt like I had tumbled off the plane into Asia, except jet lag wasn't an issue. We had stumbled upon the marketplace of Chinatown. Unfamiliar vegetables were being tossed between store fronts and fish (and toads) lined aquariums. Much to my dismay, I even witnessed a huge fish being clobbered to death with a chunk of lumber.

We maneuvered through the packed streets with hopes of finding the Fortune Cookie Factory. Of the twelve people we asked, no one spoke English or seemed to understand what we needed. Finally we conversed with someone in Spanish (how unusual!) and received accurate directions. After turning down a small, dark, alley, we found the factory (or closet-like shop). I am happy to say, however, that they were indeed making fortune cookies by hand. I am forever amazed by how many cultures can be experienced right here in America.