San Francisco May 2005

 

Saturday Afternoon: My eight-mile urban hike

I arrived in San Francisco and checked into my hostel at 12:30pm. The weather was gorgeous so I hit the streets with a 8 1/2 by 11" map and walked all day and evening.

Japantown! I was excited to see it, because the whole concept in a distinctly Californian phenomenon. But disappointment reigned, as it was not much different from the surrounding neighborhoods except for these two, tall... things (The Denny's signage, below right, really adds a touch of authenticity).

I expected the streets to be paved with sashimi. Finding no raw fish readily available on the street, I ventured into one of the many restaurants surrounding the main square and ordered a plate of raw tuna from a Japanese gentleman who seemed unhinged by my presence in totally empty restaurant (except for a loud private party in a private room. Probably the yakuza). The fish tasted much like every other piece of high-grade tuna I've ever eaten, but the wasabi kicked the ass of my nose.

 

A stunning view from a park on a steep hill in the ritzy Pacific Heights neighborhood (left).

A faint view of the famed crooked part of Lombard street (kitty-corner). You can kinda see the slanted cars at the top, amid the grass.

One of the amazing hills, in Chinatown, I believe (below). I thought I would gain weight in a city known for its restaurants, but when I wasn't eating, I was hiking monsters hills. My butt is definitely a little more toned despite eating like a tourist.

The Palace of the Fine Arts (left and kitty-corner) was a sort of serendipitous discovery on my part, as I was wandering the mountain bike trails of the Presidio like a frog trying to navigate an eight-lane highway, and then found myself in a gaggle of tourists, taking in European splendor on a fine afternoon.
City Hall (left). My first day there, I purchased a book of essays about San Francisco in used bookstore, and read about city supervisor Dan White, apparently on an insane Twinkie-induced sugar high, shooting and killing Mayor Moscone and gay hero Harvey Milk in this building in 1978.

My first glimpse of the Golden Gate bridge was on a treacherous running path in the Presidio (left). I was just excited to have a landmark to guide me through the woody terrain.

Along the Bay:

The Golden Gate bridge! (left)

Alcatraz! (kitty-corner)

An interestingly-shaped wharf! (below)

Sadly, Ghirardelli is my least-favorite brand of mass market chocolate. Heck, I'd even take Hershey's over it. But I couldn't resist buying a bar in the store (which is not located in the building pictured to the left. The store is in Fisherman's Wharf.)

My chocolate buds piqued, later that day I happened upon a Godiva store, and purchased 12 fancy chocolates in a fit of vacation-induced mania. This will be my dinner! I declared, with a bit of wonder that I could choose to eat chocolate for dinner.

After consuming most of the chocolates, my stomach rebelled. It ached for real nutrition to fuel my poor hill-weary body, so I ducked out for some produce. Eating chocolate for dinner really will make you sick.

 

Sunday: More Discovery, but Way More Relaxing

It's raining and windy but amazingly, San Francisco's beauty still holds up. Boston would crumble into the picture of urban dreariness and despair under these conditions. Must be that magical California sun still holding strong under the gray clouds. Or it's the fact that San Francisco is simply the cleanest urban area I've ever seen in the United States. Or it's the beauty of its homes, buildings, and numerous parks. Or maybe, I'm just thrilled to be on vacation.

The Mission that gives the Mission neighborhood its name (left). There was no sun, but it's still a beaut.

I stayed about four blocks away from the Mission church in a Hostel that had a trendy bar and restaurant. The people were great and the room was nice, but the promised roof-top deck was closed for renovation, and three days into my stay, they put up a sign that restricted what you could take at the dismal Contienental Breakfast: A snack cake, a small apple or orange, and 8 ounces of coffee or tea, with .50 cent refills. Guess grabbing those two apples to take with me that day really peeved them.
I didn't ride a cable car. But it was funny to see them chugging down the hills with throngs of tourists leaning out with their cameras.

The Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park (left). I expected crowds, since it's a popular place to picnic with Mums on Mother's Day, but with the rain it was pretty empty.

I managed to finally take a good picture with my fancy-schmancy digital camera (kitty-corner).

Golden Gate Park put Central Park to shame when it came to splendor (below).

 

Monday: Hitting the Freeway to Napa

I had to go to wine country. Grape farming is terribly interesting to me.

Wine tasting was fun, but very awkward. I hate small talk and have nothing witty to say about how wine tastes. Forced interaction with the stingy pourers was not worth the tasting prices, which ranged from $5-$25 dollars. "Here we have our 2003 Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, and you'll notice it's a lot sweeter than the 2002 Cab you just tasted, because in 2003 summer was warmer and dryer than the year before." Sip. "Oh, yes. It is sweeter." Gulp.

You'll notice from the two pictures below that I got into the Napa spirit. I even did a Lyndie, which is a pretty good indication that I visited five wineries in three hours.

I lost my giddiness by that evening and spent a quiet night eating a delicious burrito and reading my San Francisco book, reading about Alice B. Tolkas's childhood, Dylan Thomas's passion for the city in his love letters, and the emergence of the AIDS epidemic in the Castro bath houses.

Over the river and through the sprawl: Crossing the San Francisco - Oakland Bay Bridge (left).
This truck's leopard skin appeared to be glued fabric (left). The bumper adds a nice touch, as it was probably rear-ended due to its eye-catchiness.

 

Tuesday: Gluttony Day

Tuesday was another fun day. I indulged my every culinary whim, shoot good pool for three hours, and spent $4 on an awesome jukebox in a Haight Street bar.

Smoke poured out of this Internet cafe on Haight street at 7:30am (left). If you look closely, you can see the "Under New Management" sign partially hidden by the fire trucks.
I read about the Pork Store on Haight street (left), touted for its huge greasy breakfasts and delectable biscuits. One morning, woken by jet lag at 6am and still two hours from the snack cake buffet at my hotel, I ventured to the Pork Store, craving eggs. They were out of biscuits and the omelet was quite unremarkable (Denny's with a hipster license to overcharge) but eating a big diner breakfast on a Tuesday morning was novel.
I fell in love with half the houses in the Haight, and was really excited to see Buena Vista Park (left), where my childhood idol Janis Joplin used to drink and do all sorts of hippie drugs.
Union Square is at the center of the upscale commercial district, the theatre district, the art gallery district, and on the cusp of the financial district. The column with the statue is the square's most prominent fixture (left), and remained standing through the 1906 earthquake.
I regret not going into the Coit Tower (left) for its famed panoramic views, but am soothed by this picture, because Green is good.
Compostables (left)! I was so excited to see widespread organized urban composting that I had to take a picture.

Fisherman's Wharf, the big tourist area with all the T-shirts and personalized California license plate key chains, was terrifying in that I felt as if I had left San Francisco and stumbled into a honky-tonk redneck beach resort.

The first time I walked through Fisherman's Wharf, it was in hopes of finding a sports bar to watch Game 7 of the Celtics-Pacers playoffs. I finally settled into the bar of an overpriced family seafood restaurant with big round tables, non-illustrated menus, cloth napkins, and a welcoming lack of kitchschy wacky crap adoring the bare lilac walls. The bar seemed quiet, so I tucked into a pint of beer at five in the afternoon two minutes before halftime. I couldn't feign interest in the halftime show and finally was approached by one of the several male tourists eying me. I left, which is probably just as good as the Celtics were blown out of the playoffs faster than you can say "wild 3-point shooting."

Then I saw the seafood stands, staffed by hawkers pushing their crabs, sourdough, and assorted prepared dishes. Unfortunately I was not hungry, so I returned a few days later, walking 40 minutes and paying $7.50 for the lovely crab and shrimp salad (left). The top is deceptive, as all that lays under it is bay shrimp and shredded crab, but it was still awesome, even without butter. I gave my crackers to a homeless man who was asking me for money to eat at McDonalds.

 

 

 
On Fisherman's Wharf, I paid $9 to board a WW2 Submarine, the USS Pampanito (left), which according to the two elderly submarine experts that they squirreled away in the Navigation room, could still function as a working submarine. The torpedoes (below right) would even work if they were pressurized. These two old geezers talked my ear off for ten minutes, until I seized a pause in their back-and-forth banter and hurried away, thanking them.

 

Wednesday: Off to Phoenix

After a morning jog in a park not far from my hostel (the most intense hill I've ever taken on), I relaxed over breakfast (a .65 cent sesame ball from a Chinese Bakery, the best orange I've ever eaten, and an organic latte), and despaired over my lack of summer clothed as I packed my bag for Phoenix.

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