Josh Escobar/Staff

The clouds in the sky were giving way to sunshine when we saw a deer on a sidewalk on Northside. As you probably know, Northside blends into the Berkeley Hills. The trees — elm, pine, and liquid amber — are taller than most buildings. The experience of walking down some streets is like that of a forest.

We seemed more surprised by the encounter than the deer did. It turns out that he, like us, was just out for a midsummer’s stroll. We followed him for a little bit to see what his business here was. He just ate the leaves and flowers of a squash plant growing in our neighbor’s garden. The whole time, he seemed oblivious to how majestic he looked. After throwing us a few glances, he posed for a few photos then pranced down the street. He probably never thought that he’d be famous.

Contact Josh Escobar at jescobar@dailycal.org.

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At its meeting July 2, the council supported the Berkeley Student District Campaign map, which creates a student-majority district south of the UC Berkeley campus and could increase the chance of a student being elected to the council. However, a new amendment that was unfairly rejected at the meeting seems to suggest that the ASUC map could leave out students who live in International House, nine student cooperatives, and three dormitories on Northside.

Though the final decision on which map to implement is not expected until September, the council should ensure that all student voices are represented in the newly drawn district by reconsidering the amendment in the fall.

The Berkeley Student Cooperative provides housing to about 1,250 UC Berkeley students, with most of those students living in the two largest Northside cooperatives, Casa Zimbabwe and Cloyne Court. International House is home to 600 students and campus affiliates. Together, campus dormitories Foothill, Stern and Bowles house 1,248 students. Though these students represent just 8 percent of the total student population, they still deserve to be represented in a student district with their peers. If they are mixed into a regular residential district, their opinions may not have enough of an impact when it comes time to make a vote.

At the July 2 meeting, Mayor Tom Bates said he did not want to call the ASUC-sponsored district a student district, but rather that he wanted to call it a campus district. Bates and other councilmembers should recognize that although they may not want it to be a student district, the ASUC map that is supported by the council has created just that. It is only fair that students get the opportunity to have their voices heard on the council.

The council has long been considering redrawing voting districts. By passing the measure to redraw the district in the fall through Measure R, city residents voted to have the job done in a timely fashion. Thus, the decision that Northside student residences be included in this student district should be made immediately after the council returns from its summer recess and not go through another long, drawn-out process.

The post Drawing the lines appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Chase Schweitzer/Staff

Sadly, never again will students trying to grab a few beers to take back to their dorms be greeted by Sam and his signature, “How are you, my friend!”

Le Petit Market in the Hearst Food Court (aka the Northside Asian Grotto) has closed down for good and Berkeley Northsiders — especially the underage crowd — are in dismay. One Reddit user commented, “It is as if millions of underage drinkers suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.” We love a good Joseph Conrad joke anyday, but the reverberations have yet to be felt throughout the campus — especially at Cloyne. With a concert scheduled to take place at Memorial Glade tonight, where are people going to get their beer?

Apparently, Sam moved because of higher rent. First Top Dog serving pizza and now this — things are starting to change at Northside.

Word on the street is that Sam will be moving to Irvine, possibly to open a shop catering to Anteaters — yes, UC Irvine’s mascot is the anteater. We wish Sam luck.

Image source: Chase Schweitzer, The Daily Californian

Contact Chase Schweitzer at cschweitzer@dailycal.org.

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Contact the opinion desk at opinion@dailycal.org.

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Graham Haught/Staff

Reasons I love Southside collide with reasons my parents hate Berkeley, and that’s pretty dope, man.

See, Southside is the place I can live my bleary-­eyed Woodstock pilgrimage of hippie lore in peace and harmony and total disquiet.

It is the place where a 300­‐pound man with flowing black hair and a medium T‐shirt waits for sorority girls to pass so that he can growl loudly and then laugh.

And I get to sit against a wall covered in graffiti with red eyes (damn the allergies) and giggle to my heart’s content … and I like that.

I like Southside because there is a certain culture and promise to the place.

It’s a place flooded with seeds of the ’60s, which somehow sprouted and grew into the dystopian scene that Northsiders believe it to be.

But they are wrong. They are wrong with their scarves and Moleskines and clean white cups filled piping-hot with thick espresso crack.

They are wrong because munching on Blondie’s at 1 a.m. with your best friend after being attacked by a high girl who is friends with lots of drunk heroes is somehow infinitely more exciting than green tea strolls along moonlit rose garden paths.

Some say Southside is dirty.

I say that its smells and textures and shadows become something like home, no matter how bad they may sting your nose — something like your mom’s famous sauerkraut anchovies chilled onion soup, or your dad’s armpit in your face while you wrestle on the lawn.

Clean isn’t always better, and Northside doesn’t get that.

There is a place for trees filtering soft light through quaint cafe windows, but there also is a place for a man named Fidel who’s only got three teeth and who’s charmed because at least one person now knows his name.

And I know “It’s not safe”; my girlfriend has briefed me well.

But for the idealist with a hippie streak and an appreciation for the wisdom that springs from plight, Southside has its offerings, too.

Telegraph is hung across from campus like a dare, as if to shout, “Fix this and you shall learn the key to fixing the rest.”

On any given stroll, I can live a different me, sensitive more to this sight than that, aware of my place in a different sort of picture.

My education as a humanities man is packed tightly with tales of woe; I am nicely attuned to it. I am forced to read the likes of Hemingway and Eliot and Fitzgerald and Poe. I am also forced to read books about prison rape and incest and murder and hate.

But Southside is part of what makes the experience of Berkeley — well, the experience of Berkeley for engineers and math kids like my first roommate, Jin.

Southside is a reminder that there are inequities and realities that will continue to exist alongside that first paycheck earned after four hard book-learning years.

It’s a reminder that pain doesn’t only exist in that village in the Congo you saw in that video in that international justice seminar that one semester before you got that totally awesome Fair Trade Organic-grown. Like, to help the farmers, man.

It’s a reminder even to all of the academics in the pristine Northside cafes that their lofty theories need somewhere be applied.

But it’s also a place of hope and light, and it somehow promises peace.
Not because people go prancing down the street or hold each other’s hands while they sing.

I mean, that does happen quite a lot.

But it is also a place of hope because there are small evidences everywhere of a breathing, living optimism.

I know it’s hard to believe in it anymore.

Charities don’t actually use their money to help anyone, politicians care about policy more than their people and pundits care more about the color of skin than unity and recovery.

But students do leave their leftovers on top of trashcans, and we do leave our slightly longer cigarette butts sitting politely on window ledges and walls.

And every now and then, I do see the kind girl from the Christian club kneeling solemnly next to a homeless man who I know is a scammer, and yes, that does hurt.

But Berkeley is a light, right? I know that’s why I came here.

So I’m proud to say that I am of Southside claim and that when I look back on Berkeley, I won’t remember comfort or warmth or safety.

I’ll remember that Southside taught me to love uncertainty, because hell, ideas are more dangerous than any man named Fidel.

Contact D.J. Sellarole at dsellarole@dailycal.org.

The post Ode to Southside appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Cal students talk about why they prefer living north or south of campus.

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It’s funny how Berkeley can exclude us from the simplest pleasures of childhood. We cluster into apartments, dorms, co-ops and Greek houses that are filled almost exclusively with college students. We flock to a campus that caters to advanced learning, dotted only occasionally with youth during tours or Cal Day festivities. Even our “play time” is restricted to the college bubble; we work out with adults at the RSF, socialize with peers through campus clubs and party with fellow students at frats and bars. Designed to transition us from the placid dependence of childhood, Cal offers many of us a dramatic separation from suburban upbringings.

But sometimes it’s comforting to see an elderly couple walking through the neighborhood or a family at the park playing with their dog. For those of you who enjoy the serene stability of suburban life, Northside offers several escapes from the intensity of life at Cal. Whether you’re searching for optimal picnic territory, an intimate date spot or a gratifying new running route, we guarantee that you will love this week’s travel lineup!

The Reward(s):

If your heart leaps at the thought of a secluded paradise, breathtaking views or 250 varieties of roses, then you should make a beeline for the Berkeley Rose Garden. The garden’s rose-lined terraces provide a peaceful escape even for those who slink away from botany.

But if roses alone won’t persuade you to endure the climb up Euclid, this might: The finest slide in all of Berkeley lies across the street from the Rose Garden. Sitting on a piece of cardboard, you can get moving pretty fast on this twisted stone chute, and we’ve even met college students who get a little nervous at the top.

Finally, to make this route exceptionally badass, we’ve tacked on Indian Rock. A massive outcrop in the middle of a quiet neighborhood, these chalk-covered rocks have attracted bouldering enthusiasts since the 1950s. Overlooking tree-studded Northside and foggy San Francisco, the serene view and suburban solitude will undoubtedly draw you back here during your time at Cal. 

The Trek:

1.     Berkeley Rose Garden:

Beginning from the North Gate entrance to campus, head directly up Euclid Avenue. If you are taunted by the smell of La Val’s tantalizing pizza during the ascent, you’re on the right track! Continue up Euclid’s unforgiving grade for a little under a mile, and the garden will appear on your left. After gaping at the view for a few minutes, you’ll see a small path leading to a wooden gate on your right. The garden is open from dawn to dusk, so don’t be shy about entering if it’s unlocked. Keep an eye out for deer!

2.     Best slide of your life:

If you’ve already suffered the climb up Euclid, it would be foolish to pass up this hidden perk. From the vista overlooking the Rose Garden, cross the street, turn left and continue about 30 yards. Follow the asphalt incline that appears on your right down to a small park with benches and a playground. Look ahead for a large stone slide nestled in the hillside, and make sure to grab a slab of cardboard on your way up!

3.     Indian Rock:

While there are many routes leading to Indian Rock, we will share the most efficient path from the Berkeley Rose Garden. Continue your ascent up Euclid Avenue for about 100 yards, and then turn left onto Eunice Street. Follow this for about a quarter of a mile, turn right on Spruce Street and take slight left onto Los Angeles Avenue after another quarter-mile walk. If you arrive at a roundabout a beautiful fountain at its center, you’re almost there! Take Indian Rock Avenue (real creative, huh?) to your destination; we guarantee you won’t miss it.

Image Source: Katherine Velicki, The Daily Californian

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Heads up, Berkeley: If you’re craving a hot dog on Northside, Top Dog is no longer your main squeeze. Don’t let the Top Dog sign and familiar ownership fool you. The management has opted for a new format: pizza and even a new name: Pizzahhh.

So why this change in its Northside location?

According to Tom, the head pizza-maker, Northside is not poppin’ like it used to back when the location opened up in 1968. Back then, Northside was all the rage with record shops, a theater and music venues. Now, you only venture there if you live in a co-op or need to visit Copy Central. Because there weren’t that many people coming through this side of town, the owners thought to try something different, and apparently they are already profiting from this marketing change.

We’re not really sure why there is this sudden explosion of pizza places around (didn’t Sliver open, like, two seconds ago?), but we’re not complaining. Tom did mention that Pizzahhh can throw a chopped-up dog on a pizza for you, though.

Anyway, Tom went back East to learn the zen of thin-crust pizza and now is ready to serve it up to lost Berkeley kids wandering around Northside.

Don’t fret too much if you are still looking for a hot dog; the other two Berkeley Top Dog locations on Southside and Downtown are still in it for the long run, and you can still grab a dog at the football stadium this fall.

Now we just want to know if Pizzahhh will be serving them up above the student section once football starts.

Image source: Chase Schweitzer, The Daily Californian

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I spent a lot of time on the north side of campus last semester, and what that meant was that I spent a lot of time at the restaurants located there.

There was one cafe in particular that I was especially fond of and frequented most. I loved the way the sun filled it with warm golden light in the morning,  the way its sweetest coffee drink tasted with an extra spoonful of brown sugar on top and the way I always seemed to get more work done seated near one of its windows than anywhere else. But much more than that, the thing I most loved about this place was that one of the baristas who worked there always remembered me and could predict my drink order before I’d placed it.

Walking into that cafe felt, and still feels, like belonging to a world where everyone is connected. It feels as if even the neutral places in life contain the opportunity for connection if you just reach out for it, as if everyone is just waiting to be familiar, like maybe the Gilmore Girls Stars Hollow ideal isn’t too far from a reality you can have.

That’s a far cry from the way Berkeley usually feels. Berkeley as a college campus is large and made up of a diversity of perspectives so great, it can feel utterly anonymous, simultaneously like there must be a place for you in all those perspectives and like the sheer number of places makes it utterly overwhelming to find the right one.

As a student, the city of Berkeley can feel even harder to parse. It’s a city of activists, of the very rich and the very poor, the overeducated and the underserved, still consumed by the ripples of an era that made it famous now roughly five decades past. In a town with so much history, what role should and can students, with their two-to-seven-year expiration date, really play? And what is it exactly about warm pools that residents here seem to love so much anyway?

And that’s what makes the barista dream so sweet. It’s a simple notion: This place isn’t so large, it says, and you have a place here if only because this is where you often are. It’s a common one, too — so common it feels a little trite to talk about how you’re a “regular” at an establishment.

But I don’t think that the sense of belonging that comes with being recognized is necessarily a genuine one, exactly. When the barista remembers your drink, it doesn’t really mean she has a particular investment in your life. It might just mean you come in a lot, or that it’s nicer for the barista to feel like there is something recurrent in her job than not. Or that this exchange isn’t all about selling coffee, but that it’s also about helping someone deal with a tired day or assuaging someone’s sweet tooth — it  means something to someone beyond the cut and dry exchange of capital for product.

And I guess that’s what I think is going on here: We are looking for something beyond the events as they happen, a significance born out of some larger system.

In his unfinished novel The Pale King, late and legendary author David Foster Wallace wrote the following:

“Maybe dullness is associated with psychic pain because something that’s dull or opaque fails to provide enough stimulation to distract people from some other, deeper type of pain that is always there, if only in an ambient, low-level way, and which most of us spend nearly all our time and energy trying to distract ourselves from feeling, or at least from feeling directly or with our full attention.”

In a September video blog, vlogger and young adult author John Green attributes people’s obsessive need to check their cellphones to avoiding a “deeper” pain by distracting ourselves out of real engagement.

“Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time I check my phone, it’s not because I’m so busy I can’t do it later,” Green says. “It’s because, on some level or another, I fear feeling that deeper type of omnipresent type of pain that Wallace was writing about.”

While I definitely think that’s true, I think there’s something more going on here, too. I think the reason we check our phones all the time has a lot to do with the reason I love my “regular” cafe.

We want to feel like there is always something important happening. We want to feel like people are trying to contact us — like there’s a greater system of which we are an intricate and important part, like we are an integral part of our barista’s day, like there is larger purpose to our actions, to our lives.

In my mind, Wallace’s “deeper type of pain” isn’t a fear of  engagement so much as a fear of nothingness itself, of meaninglessness. Because if we aren’t an important part of the system of this city or this campus or this coffee shop, then why are we here at all?

Contact Sarah Burns at sburns@dailycal.org or follow her on Twitter: @_SBurns.

The post They know me there appeared first on The Daily Californian.

Tony Zhou/Staff

Across from campus, beneath the breezy canopy of Chinese Elm on Euclid Avenue, is a cool, slender Mediterranean cafe named Nefeli. Nefeli is outfitted with a rosy-brown tiled floor, granite countertops, pastel paintings, wood chairs and tables. The lunch crowds come here for well-crafted tapas, paninis and espresso and to enjoy them amid a temperate Greek atmosphere. En masse, followers of tech, divinity and journalism schools frequent Nefeli. According to one barista, Jose Abraham Rodriguez, most customers are regulars.

Put simply, the swift service, prices and quality keep everyone coming back.

At Nefeli on a Saturday, you might encounter a group of transcontinental mathematicians lunching over tensors and homemade tapas or UC Berkeley alums sitting around with their families. On a weekday afternoon, you might encounter grad students on study dates, poets relaxing midcareer, engineers spilling their workplace drama or theologians giving offhand advice. At night, in the hour before closing, you might encounter only a few people hanging out in the cool lamp-lit interior.  To read the paper, to browse the mail, to get their vanilla latte fix in the mornings, the regulars come to get their usual orders, which Rodriguez has already memorized. Sometimes he starts making their orders as soon as they step through the doorway

At lunch, Rodriguez, or Naso, or Jesus, or Florencio, or Francisco, or Fernando or Nima will bring your food out within “five minutes tops” of ordering. Sometimes they bring it out before you can finish paying. Everyone on staff has worked at Nefeli for several years. Together they like act a big group of friends, and together they share a humble pride in their service and food.

Nefeli offers organic arugula salad, fresh salmon with capers, sugar-dusted croissants, red bell pepper sandwiches with eggplant and provolone. They make their own tapas dolmas, pizzas, torta Espanolas, filo-dough cigars, salmon on toast. As for drinks, they serve coffee and espresso and wine. The staff at Nefeli plays jazz, opera and classical music as well as Bob Marley, Argentine Tango and pastoral Mexican ballads for the guitar. In the future, Rodriguez, who has worked at Nefeli since 1994, imagines that Spanish flamenco dancers and acoustic musicians will perform at the cafe. With free Wi-Fi, a ceramic water jug, Panasonic speakers and a wall of windows facing the street, Nefeli provides somewhere on Northside to eat and drink all the time.

Midafternoon, after the lunch crowds die down, while the staff prepares food and serves the few customers who trickle in, the staff listens to the soccer game on the radio or watches it from a laptop tucked underneath the marble counter. During the day, they prop open their main front window and the door to the back. Within the long narrowed space, the air circulates. Along with the tempered Greek folk art, the feeling is as if you were somewhere coastal. Whether by yourself or with friends, Nefeli puts you in a good place.

Nefeli Cafe is located at 1854 Euclid Ave. in Berkeley. Open every day 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. Specialties include homemade tapas, paninis, coffee, espresso, pastries and wine.

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