The Haight Through a Kiwi's Eyes

We love reading travel writers describing our neighborhood, and this one, from The New Zealand Herald seemed like it was towing the line between excited fascination and cautious disappointment. Never mind that the stock photo they used isn't actually the 'hood.

The piece opens with this anecdote, wherein our fearless writer barely escapes with her life change:

I'm being stalked by an elderly woman in a powder-blue ball dress who is convinced I need saving from eternal damnation. And that she's the one to do it. "Come here little girl, and I will drive those demons out. For a small donation, I can give you something that will transport you far from this cesspit of humanity."

Then, come the clinical descriptions of the 'hood, to set the scene:

Although the power of the flower has wilted, many reminders remain: in just one block of Haight St, for example, we see smoke shops with names such as Pipe Dreams and The Head Shop which seem to be doing a roaring trade in bongs, ugly tie-dyed T-shirts and other hippy paraphernalia. Since the passage of California's Medical Marijuana initiative, many of these shops also double as legal dispensaries for those with a valid medical marijuana card. Many trees have also been turned into shrines to musicians such as Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse and Jerry Garcia, featuring laminated photos and grubby plastic flowers tied to their trunks and burned-out candles littering their base.

And later, a nod to the vintage scene, where she describes her haul:

But where the young hipsters go, so do the cool shops: the Haight is widely known as San Francisco's hub of pre-loved and vintage clothing stores, featuring the kind of prices we used to pay in New Zealand before people realised how much money there was in second-hand clothing. I snag a barely-worn Banana Republic cardigan at the excellent Buffalo Exchange for $15 that even the female security officer who later frisks me at San Francisco Airport compliments me on. It's later joined by an Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt ($8) and a brand new, last season J Crew sleeveless top for the princely sum of $20. I'm sorely tempted by the cool vintage leather jackets in Wasteland, a shop so big you almost need a GPS to find your way around, but I remind myself of the 20kg luggage allowance. And the fact that it's time to eat again.

Of course, the mandatory Ben & Jerry's visit:

The Garcia love-in also extends to the intersection of Haight and Ashbury, once name-checked as the epicentre of the psychedelic revolution, where they're still selling cuddly Jerry Garcia dolls. We cross the road to buy a scoop of Cherry Garcia from Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Store, where the kid behind the counter tells us without missing a beat that the delicious mash-up of cherries and dark chocolate is indeed a tribute to the Grateful Dead guitarist. He adds that even the fire trucks around here sport Grateful Dead stickers.

And the obligatory mention of the homeless kids:

It's hard to argue with the guidebook when it says that few of San Francisco's neighbourhoods are as varied as the Haight. Stroll along the four or five blocks from Golden Gate Park and you'll encounter everyone from ageing hippies and skater boys to drug-addled drifters offering your spare change a home. Like many around here, the Panhandlers are clearly feeling the effects of the GFC because a group of them outside Amoeba Music, a former bowling alley which sells one of the world's largest collections of CDs, has knocked-together a collection of placards that read "Why Lie? It's for beer" and the slightly more sinister, or amusing, depending on your perspective, "Out of work bank robber. Need money for guns". Yet, despite its gritty edge, I don't feel the urge to clutch my handbag closer to my chest.

Although, our intrepid reporter did get some advice about the panhandlers & social services from Kate's down the hill:

Some people might find the begging a little aggressive but, as a fellow diner at Kate's Kitchen, where a huge stack of pancakes takes the edge off our hunger, says: "Don't feed the Panhandlers. There are plenty of social services here that provide them with food and health care".

That's right, "plenty". And she ends with a nod to Off the Grid:

We swerve around the guy confusing the footpath for a urinal and head for the dozen or so trucks serving everything from Vietnamese-inspired tacos and Peruvian sandwiches to cupcakes and barbecue ribs. There's even a chap doing a roaring trade in edible insects. San Franciscans love good food and this isn't a bad place to land on a sunny Thursday evening. It is, in fact, a lot like the Haight: fun, a little edgy and best enjoyed with an open attitude.

What do you think? Accurate? Thorough? What would you want to see travel writers talk about when they come to your front yard?