Martinez, A Nostalgic Kind of Place

BY STEPHANIE RICKMAN

There is a subtle magic that happens when crossing the threshold beneath the old train trestle at Alhambra Avenue in Martinez, CA. Standing tall, on long bronze legs of steel, the bridge is a rusty reminder of generations past when Gold Miners made their way to the Sierras through the Way Station of Martinez. I can see it in my mind- the percussive rattle of a passenger train with heads rocking side to side in motion, the shrill pitch of a whistle, the billowing smoke rising into little cumulus clouds. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like the Bay Area skies have tossed some nostalgic fairy dust over the town of Martinez.

Nine months ago, I was living in Pleasant Hill- a mere seven miles away. I was in a funk and had been thinking about joining the exodus of people leaving California to find something more authentic, to find more street level serendipity. But, plans shifted, and I ended up finding a studio for rent in Martinez. Tucked in the green hills, west of Alhambra Avenue, within walking distance to downtown and the marina, my daily perspective has taken a whimsical turn.

If you ask someone living in the Bay Area about Martinez they will usually say “Oh yeah, I had jury duty there once” or “is that where the oil refineries are?” It has been associated with the grime and grit of industrial works, county courthouses and bail bond services. But don’t be fooled. Martinez is a treasure trove of historic gems. The contrasting views of rolling green hillsides, wild waterfront marshes and towering industry provide a palette of country flavor with a dash of urban flair. It’s the kind of place where you can order a warm avocado toast at the Barrelista coffee window, head north across the old train tracks and end up at the Marina for an easy Sunday stroll. It’s the kind of place where civic minded generations commingle with the cool kids over coffee and steaming sourdough bread at States Coffee House. It’s a place where red brick buildings are restored and renewed. It’s a place where the Martini cocktail was born. It is the birthplace of Joe DiMaggio and home to the Naturalist John Muir.

I like to see the full downtown experience on my morning runs. Making my way north on Arlington towards Main, wildflowers and weeds spill over cracked curbs in colorful manes and citrus trees grow pregnant with lemons that roll into narrow streets. Friendly houses huddle together among cat inhabited gardens, and various home styles mix and mingle along the way. A Victorian home with overhanging eaves and ornate scrollwork sits proper next to a Craftsman or Spanish Revival. Every now and then, a shiny Classic Ford with white wall tires makes a cameo appearance.

As Main Street unfolds, shopkeepers sweep the sidewalks, chairs and tables are set out to accommodate patrons at the Roxx Restaurant, and the aroma of smoky barbecue sauce lingers near the Slow Hand Restaurant. With each passing day, there are more and more adventures to discover; a Magic Theater, a Pop Up Antique shop. And now, there is a new kid in town. I have been watching the progression of the “Market & Main” – kinda like the Ferry Building in San Francisco, with multiple vendors under one roof. Progress is being made as men on tall ladders finish off the final details of the facade.

Sometimes along my run, a local street wanderer will greet me with a wide toothless grin, “Purple is your color! Perseverance girl! I have come to look fondly upon their leather faces and penetrating eyes that sparkle with the refinement of hardship.

I imagine the old sepia photos of generations past, when the covered wagons rattled along pre paved roads, when policemen and firefighters were honored and respected, when fancy ladies with umbrellas carried baskets with tea and jam. Even my fiction writing has taken on a Victorian edge with silk brocade nightgowns, emerald lace fans and feathery quills. Something magic is blooming in Martinez and I am drinking it all in with every Sunday stroll and harbor side horizon.