Chinatown

The last on our sightseeing agenda prior to departure was Chinatown, apparently the largest in the world. I had learnt years ago that among the early Chinese migrants to San Francisco (and Melbourne) to join the gold rush, a majority were from the Siyup speaking regions, the four counties west of Guangzhou that included the birth place of my grandfather. So it was with more than the usual interests when we walked into the streets of SF Chinatown.

Although I grew up not speaking the dialect, a variation of Cantonese, I have had enough exposure to identify it when someone speaks it. Right on cue, just a few metres into Stockton Street, we passed by three elderly gentlemen conversing on the footpath in the distinctive dialect. Kay egged me into talking to them, and when I did, one of them immediately answered that he was from Toishan and asked me where my “old village” was. I was able to tell him it was “Sun Hui” (Xinhui) and he agreed it was not far from his village. Just neighbours, he commented.

While the main streets over many blocks had the usual restaurants, grocery stores and souvenir shops, the smaller side streets housed numerous home village associations, places where early migrants approached on arrival for support and advice. It is amazing that they still exist.

Chinatown has the reputation of having hundreds of good restaurants serving the one of the world’s best cuisines, but we managed to walk into one that disappointed us. The dim sum was dodgy and the wonton was just passable in tasteless soup.  We should not complain I suppose, the bill came to just US$12, perhaps matching the quality and the decor.  After the meal, we escaped into an Italian bar at the edge of Chinatown to wash that down with an espresso and a macchiato.

Kay's Chinatown pics:
The main gate.

 Kan's restaurant..

Fusion cuisine - chocolate covered moon cake!

A pretty old  chef.