As the Golden Gate Bridge neared completion, a select group of people were invited to a "Last Rivet" ceremony on the actual floor of the bridge. Among them were three little girls dressed up to represent China, Canada, and Mexico. The trio held large bouquets and posed for a photo next to a man in a dark suit and hat, who glances out of the frame.

For me, these people have become a visual representation for the historian's idea that we should think of the past as a foreign country. There's something familiar but strange about a "last rivet" ceremony that includes having little girls dress up in outfits from their homelands. I almost recognize the man's style, but its nuances -- like that boutineer -- elude me.

Looking at the photo, taken at a spot I've undoubtedly walked by, I realize that I do not understand the San Francisco of 1937. Not only do I not know the details of what motivated its people, I don't even know the basics, like where I'd go for a haircut or a drive or a suit.

And to be honest, despite the historian's axiom, few historical works ground us in the kinds of details we'd want to know about a foreign country. If you were headed to Madrid, you would almost certainly purchase a guidebook. And inside that guide book, you'd find a list of places to see, bars, shopping, hotels, etc. Yet when we visit the past, we're never given that map of everyday life.