Armed with a google map and a photo, we returned to San Francisco to
seek out the Church of John Coltrane. We knew they held weekly services on a
Sunday and we were at the Monterey Jazz Festival the only Sunday we were in
California, but we just wanted to see it.
It wasn't a surprise that so many people didn't know of it, or him; at least two bus drivers claimed to have never heard of Haight Ashbury, epicentre of the whole hippy, flower power, summer of love in 1967.
As we narrowed the search, a chap in a film poster gallery was alarmed that such a thing existed and he didn't even know. A waiter in a coffee shop thought he knew where it was, but further investigation (working hard for his tip), revealed it had moved to a nearby fort and is now only a room with a weekly service where they play A Love Supreme.
It was getting late and we'd walked for
miles so we agreed to complete our search the next day, but a lady at the bus
stop told us that if Republicans and Democrats couldn't reach agreement within the
next hour, the government would close down, which could include Fort Mason.
Tomorrow was our last day.
We decided the church in the fort was
probably the previous location, though the photo we had told a different story.
Perhaps in the future when the world realises the major religions have failed
us...
Pam and Dave told me their visit was one of the best things they ever did, and I'm so pleased they were able to. Although we didn't get that experience, later that evening we stopped for coffee on the bay, with San Francisco to my left, Fisherman's Wharf behind me, Alcatraz to my right and the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance to the south, as the next kiosk played John Coltrane's Ballads in its entirety. Steve T
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