A Happy Day

Yesterday - Sunday - was one of those OK, that's why I live in a city days. Sunny, cool but not cold, a little breezy, Carnival sprawling all over the Mission and public tranportation. Friends came in from the East Bay, to convene at Yank Sing and gorge on dim sum. Heavenly little soup dumplings, pork and ginger filling, nibble gently from a spoon, topped with a sweet, spicy red sauce.

Yank Sing is in the old post office space at Rincon Annex. There is now a central atrium with a rainbath sort of fountain, fascinating to children, all told not to wade, not to stick their toes in. After the crafty manner of children, they simply wait to engage more fully with the water until the adults are busy with food or conversation. The sound of the water is as pleasant as the visual.

There are murals all around the front lobby of the building, painted by a Russian artist in the 1940's. They are bold and angular and somewhat maniacal: gold panning, beating of Chinese railroad slaves, vigilante justice. They seem weary and dust-covered and do not invite one to linger in the scenes depicted. One glass case contains items labeled "fragment of opium pipe" and "opium tin".

Next, we tromped a number of blocks to the inevitable multiplex, where Woody Allen's newest, Midnight in Paris, is playing. In the middle of a beautiful afternoon, the theatre is full, mainly of grey-headed people. Much French is being spoken in the groups waiting to enter.

And we are utterly beguiled. Paris struts her stuff in an arty, Impressionist sort of way, for the first five minutes or so. And then there's Owen Wilson, sounding like Woody Allen - initally comical and disconcerting, but we adjusted. The Man, who faithfully does not like Woody Allen and often remarks upon that fact, was chuckling after several lines.

So Owen time travels and meets everyone a romantic would have loved to drink a glass of wine with and falls in love with Picasso's latest mistress and a very good time is had by all. Adrien Brody has my vote for his wonderful portrayal of Dali.
Mostly wonderful is Paris: nightime, rain, bookstalls - it's all there. Our movie dates had meant to honeymoon in Paris after their relatively recent wedding, but one health crisis or another kept postponing it until they thought they would just give up the idea. Now, saturated with the relentless mystique, they will definitely go and sit on a bench in the Tuileries and watch romance occur.

We then went to the Ferry Building, which is structurally reminiscent of the Gare d'Orsay, and perched on high stools to eat (eating again! How could we be hungry?) wonderful Brie and various sorts of salumi, with mango chutney and mustard, washed down with an Alsatian Riesling. And we congratulated ourselves on such a fine day and vowed to do it again without delay.