Fifty different stations right in my backyard—ever since I can remember, BART has been more than just public transit. BART, which stands for Bay Area Rapid Transit, has always felt like a vessel of possibility, connecting people and stories from every corner of the Bay. One day you’re in San Francisco, walking through bustling streets and foggy alleyways; the next, you’re in Oakland, soaking up culture, art, and rhythm. Feeling different? Hop on and ride all the way out to Antioch, where the city thins and the hills stretch wide. BART has always meant freedom to explore, to drift, to discover—no car, no plan, just a card and a train and the open Bay.
I want to share two unique lived experiences I’ve had on BART—moments that speak to the kind of access, spontaneity, and connection this system quietly enables. One day, I decided to visit my friend who lives in the Mission District. I boarded the train from Dublin, and BART carried me across the Bay, through tunnels and suburbs, right into the heart of the city. Within minutes of stepping off the train, I was at his doorstep. Soon we were on the same couch, grinding beans and pouring coffee like no distance had ever existed between us.
That same evening, BART took us even further—this time to the oldest bar in San Francisco. We tucked ourselves into a worn leather booth, the room bathed in soft blue light, humming with quiet conversation and the clink of glass. There, to our surprise, stood Mike Henderson, a retired UC Davis professor, channeling blues through his guitar. His voice cut through the room like a memory. That ride gave us more than just mobility—it gave us a memory we never saw coming.
"BART has always felt like a vessel of possibility, connecting people and stories from every corner of the Bay."
I recall another time in Berkeley with my mother. Our destination was Vik’s Chaat—one of those places we’ve cherished for as long as I can remember. For us, it wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a slice of home served in stainless steel trays, filled with smells and flavors that reached back across oceans.
As we approached the entrance, we noticed a small group gathered outside. To our surprise, they were my mom’s former colleagues, standing around a blank wall and buckets of paint. What started as a lunch outing turned into something entirely unexpected: an impromptu community mural project.
We picked up brushes and helped coat the wall white—a blank canvas for a piece of Indian art celebrating South Asian women. As the paint dried under the afternoon sun, so did barriers between strangers. Long conversations unfolded—about heritage, about immigration, about the weight and beauty of making a life between cultures. In a moment that could have easily passed by unnoticed, we found connection, memory, and even a few lifelong friends. None of it was planned. None of it would’ve happened without that ride.
People love to complain about BART—how it’s loud, unpredictable, sometimes a little wild. But what they miss is what it actually gives us: connection. The fact that you can hop on a train and be across the Bay in an hour, making memories you didn’t even plan for, is kind of amazing. It’s let me see friends, explore cities, stumble into unforgettable moments—all without needing a car. I’ll always stand by my love for BART. It’s not perfect, but it’s part of me.
