After living with Russian soldiers, trekking across Antarctic wastes and facing down a yak, I… After living with Russian soldiers, trekking across Antarctic wastes and facing down a yak, I could not ask for more than to return home, safe and sound, to the magic of Oakland.

Years ago, this neighborhood played host to all the amenities of a city. The champion Pittsburgh Pirates played in Forbes Field, the marquees of cinemas and theaters illuminated the avenues and college students mingled on the streets with the ladies and gentlemen of the upper class.

Now Forbes Field is gone, replaced by the brutalist architecture of Posvar Hall. The theaters are closed or have been swept off to make way for storefronts. The streets are peopled with students, teachers, doctors and other cogs in the University of Pittsburgh machine.

The qualities that made Oakland “a world within a neighborhood” are a thing of the past, with nothing remaining but old photographs, boarded windows and a line of bricks in the sidewalk to show where the baseline of Forbes Field once sat.

But as the past fell away, the present grew in a flurry of stores, restaurants and bars. The white glow of the marquees gave way to hundreds of colors from lightbox signs as “the world within a neighborhood” returned, now with foods and beers from even the most distant nations and cultures.

The warmth of the lights is joined with the gentle spring breeze as the city defrosts from months of gray chill and the bright colors of new fashions replace dull, heavy jackets.

Young men trace the paths of the women who walk down the street, their new clothes revealing more and more of their skin as the warm weather persists. The streets seem to swell with students, lured out of classes by the promise of sunlight.

If people are inside willingly, they are likely with a group of friends in a bar.

Beer, the golden liquid with a crown of foam, seems exquisite. It promises everything, asking so little in return. Kissing the foamy mixture can improve your mood, increase the quality of jokes and change what you don’t like about yourself — or other people.

By morning, it may have taken your dignity, your self-respect and your money, leaving you with nothing but a headache. But none of that seems to matter.

Twilight passes and Forbes Avenue glows with neon as the bars slowly fill up, erupting with noise and cigarette smoke. Cheap beer pumps like lifeblood out of drafts, kegs and cans into the hands and mouths of loyal consumers.

The hours tick by, food gets cheaper and people pack more tightly together as everyone tries to escape the streets, searching for refreshment.

In houses and backyards, parties create pockets of sound and light along the streets of North and South Oakland. Music and laughter call to me as I walk by, inviting me like a siren to come within its reach.

There is plenty for the non-drinker, with ice cream shops and restaurants open until well after dark. The casual observer can sit on a porch or a set of stairs, watching people slowly navigate their way home.

By morning, people slowly reappear on the streets, heading for class or a spot to lie in the sun. As I watch the cycle begin again, I realize that I do not have to go far for an adventure. All I have to do is walk out my own door.

Oakland, like the world around it and within it, is magic.