The Johnson Street Bridge in Victoria, British Columbia. An industrial age landmark slated for replacement, it’s also known as the blue bridge. Plans are afoot to attempt to save and fix the bridge, a course of action that appears completely sensible. The bridge designer, Joseph Strauss, had an impressive resume, including overseeing the construction of this bridge.
The California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco just opened its new building, and it looks totally wicked. Apparently there’s also a state-of-the-art planetarium there too. The Academy’s website alone is worth checking out…
Tipped off by way of io9.
Ensconced in a southern Ontario university as fall comes too quickly, I’m moved to recall a wonderful summer trip. From the travelogue archive…
24 July, 2008, San Francisco, USA
What a whirlwind. Should have been obvious by the name, but San Francisco is brimming with Spanish influence. So is all of northern California once you hit the Sacramento Valley. It’s different — the rainy, wet woods of the Pacific Northwest give way to a dry palette of browns and beiges that remind of droughts and wildfires. First day in California was marked by heat — winding through sparsely wooded mountains (Shasta appearing like a hazy mirage), rolling brown hills and flat fields of olive trees interspersed with dry creek beds. All laid over with a light sprinkling of palms. Then suddenly off the beaten path, up into the winding roads of northern Napa, a shifting swath of flora and form. Like no place else on earth (except what one imagines Greece to be…).
Sonoma is the ultimate multi-faceted simulacrum — every European clime reproduced in this still authentic reserve of the wine country. Authenticity a touch more elusive at the mushrooming vineyards, but beauty abounds in and among overtly commercial enterprises. In a few cases, they also make some damn good wine.
Heading west through the pseudo-urbanity of Petaluma to the coast is another revelation — Marin county a mix of rocky highlands and groves of huge, seemingly ageless Cypress trees. Hitting the back bay near Reyes Point is like remembering an old sea shanty — dotted as it is with old oyster shacks and hippies who’ve decided to put up the “gone fishin’” sign — permanently…
Feels far away now, though transcribing this I can almost smell the ocean.
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