What No Golden Gate Bridge or Cable Car?

Only after we returned from our latest trip to San Francisco did it occur to me that, during the ten night stay, we had neither visited such perennial favourites as the Golden Gate Bridge, the Palace of Fine Arts or Alamo Square, nor taken a single ride on a cable car.

How can you travel nearly 6,000 miles to one of the most popular cities on earth and not take in its most iconic locations I hear you say? Surely, you are missing out on the greatest experiences it has to offer?

That is not, however, the way I see it. Rather than accept that this represents poor planning and an opportunity missed, I rather view it as a sign of our growing maturity as visitors to San Francisco. The fact is that we no longer feel the need to tick off as many of the guidebook recommendations as possible, tiring us out unnecessarily in the process.

The nature of our time spent there is increasingly taking on a different, more relaxed, you might even call it ordinary, tenor, one that more closely mirrors that of how we live at home.   Being in San Francisco has become such a familiar and regular part of our lives, somewhere we visit more often even than the places we love in our own country, that it has assumed that status of our second home, and, therefore, somewhere we neither  have to pretend to be what we are not, nor have to do what we feel we ought to do.

Choosing to stay some distance from the tourist enclaves of Union Square or Fisherman’s Wharf, as we did in Noe Valley this year, allows us to do as much, or as little, as we feel on any given day.

If all we want to do is to hang out at the apartment in the morning, watching the Bay Area news on TV whilst catching up on household chores, before strolling out to a neighbourhood café for lunch, followed by gift and food shopping and then returning to the apartment for a glass or two of wine on the outside private deck whilst watching the world go by, then so be it. We then might eat in in the evening – or we might try out one of the local restaurants. Or we might decide to take the metro downtown and eat in Chinatown or North Beach.

The point is that we are at liberty to do as we wish, not as we feel we ought to do to make the most of the trip and the not inconsiderable expense. Of course, it has been the happy conversion from hotel to apartment living over the past three years that has enabled us to do this.

And if it sounds to you that living in San Francisco has become less exciting for us, even routine, even a chore, then you could not be further from the truth. Whilst I can comfortably claim that we now feel at home in the city and, for myself in particular, probably did so before I ever visited it, I am tempted to suggest even that we have become, in a small way, San Franciscans, interested in its politics (with a small “p”), culture and, undeniably, its sport – just as we do at home.

And remember – those wonderful attractions are still a short drive or a bus or taxi ride away.

Nor is it the case that we no longer go sightseeing – far from it. On our recent trip we may have bypassed some of the more renowned locations, but we made a conscious effort to sample new, and nearly new, experiences, some of which were long overdue. These included a tour of City Hall, exploring Nob Hill, the Castro and Hyde Street Pier in depth, reliving the Summer of Love on the Flower Power Walking Tour, sunbathing in Dolores Park, and spending an afternoon in the excellent California Palace of the Legion of Honour.

Attending two Giants games at AT & T Park and a thrilling Elvis Costello concert at the Warfield, as well as eating out at more traditional restaurants such as John’s Grill (in the Maltese Falcon room) and the Daily Grill (Lefty O’Doul’s was too busy) added real richness to our stay.

And we still found time to take in several of our favourite spots – Golden Gate Park, including the Japanese Tea Garden and Stow Lake, Sunday brunch at the Cliff House, dinner at the North Beach Restaurant, Beach Blanket Babylon, Haight-Ashbury, the Ferry Building and the depressingly under threat Gold Dust Lounge.  And, of course, a spot of DSW shoe shopping for my wife in Union Square – now, heretically, resident in the former Border’s bookstore (the shoe shop, that is, not my wife – though she might like to be).

Having read the above, perhaps the vacation wasn’t quite as relaxing as I first thought!

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Western Diary Day 18: Culture Vulture Eats a Hot Dog

With our City Pass booklet we started the day by visiting the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art (MOMA).  Neither of us are great fans of much of modern art, though we enjoyed some aspects.  I particularly liked the Exposed: Voyeurism, Surveillance, and the Camera since 1870 exhibition, and not because of the amount of nudity it contained.  There is no doubting the splendour of the building and the design of space throughout the museum.  We had a light lunch in Caffe Museo, asparagus soup for me and a fruit scone for Janet.

We wandered around Yerba Buena Gardens afterwards, taking in the Martin Luther King Jnr Memorial and waterfall and the excellent views it afforded of both MOMA and the Financial District.  The area was filled with thousands of comic book fans visiting San Francisco for the weekend for the 25th Wondercon comic book, science fiction and movie convention at the Moscone Centre South.  Many were dressed as their favourite characters and all carried shopping bags packed with merchandise.  San Francisco has more than its fair share of interesting looking characters but that number was magnified this weekend by aliens and superheroes stalking the streets.

As we were in the area we moved on to AT & T Park and the San Francisco Giants Dugout Store.   Given the proximity of the opening home stand it was very busy.  TV screens were transmitting the third game in the opening road trip of the season, and as we arrived Giants were 8-0 ahead in the 7th inning, a vast improvement on their first two sloppy one run defeats at the hands of the LA Dodgers.  By the time we left they had stretched their lead to 10-0 in the ninth and the atmosphere in the store was upbeat.

Although Janet and I could have spent thousands on replica shirts, jackets and other paraphernalia, I confined my purchase to a t-shirt, DVD and magazine.  We do, however, intend to return before we leave town on Friday, so the credit card should not rest easy just yet.

Walking back into town we had frappuccinos at Starbucks (yes I was in that much need of a “frozen concoction” on a warmer, brighter afternoon than had been forecast), surrounded by characters from Star Wars, Marvel and assorted Japanese franchises.   A final trip to soon to be closed Border’s bookstore in Union Square completed our afternoon.  Whilst not quite as pathetic looking as its counterpart in Santa Cruz, the top floor and cafe were closed and everything was at least 50% off.  Regular announcements advised that deals were available too on fixtures and fittings. 

The high – or low – spot of the day?  I ate a hot dog on Market Street, my first meat hot dog in over 30 years!  And it was good!  Does that now make me an American?

We had initially planned to go out for dinner again but mutual tiredness, my persistent cold and the undeniable pleasure of being able to wind down in our own place (which is why we rented an apartment in the first place), led us to decide to buy dinner from the supermarket, fresh catfish which we had with home made chips aka fries.

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Western Diary Day 14: Cruisin’ down to Santa Cruz

I blame those frisky young whippersnappers, David Crosby and Graham Nash, but neither Janet nor I were ready to rock too early today after the excesses of the previous evening.  Eventually, we set off on the 74 mile drive to Santa Cruz, joining the Skyline Boulevard at the top of Fulton at Ocean Beach.

Despite the clear blue sky and slowly warming sun, waves crashed onto the beach in swift succession as we passed the Sunset district with its attractive multi-coloured houses that reminded me of Burano in the Venetian lagoon, San Francisco Zoo and Fort Funston as we hit Highway 1.

As we drove through Pacifica, Half Moon Bay and Pescadaero State Beach, increasing numbers of surfers could be seen preparing their boards, ironically to ride waves significantly less turbulent than those we had left back at Ocean Beach.  The Cabrillo Highway, which is the acknowledged name of this stretch of Highway 1, is a lovely road with wonderful shoreline vistas, but it is not conducive to speed, particularly if you get stuck behind a slow truck or Winnebago or, as we did, spend lengthy waits at a number of roadworks  created by the Devil’s Slide Tunnels Project.  This, combined with the warm sunshine, had a distinctly somnolent effect on both driver and passenger.

The most poignant sights on the journey were the signs denoting the “Tsunami Evacuation Route”, a reminder of the damage that had been caused to this part of the coast in the aftermath of the recent Japanese earthquake.

As we entered the Santa Cruz city limit lunch was foremost in our minds, so we headed straight for the famous Boardwalk  –  mistake!  The unseasonable weather had fooled us into thinking that the world renowned seaside complex would be throbbing with action, but, of course, it was still off season.  A total of two gift shops, one amusement arcade and a couple of fast food outlets were the only establishments open to the public, and many of the rides were subject to undergoing maintenance work.  The beach. like many others in the immediate area, contained a lot of wooden debris, further evidence of the recent high waters.

We decided, therefore, to head for downtown Santa Cruz.  In fact, we spent nearly four hours there, enjoying the friendly, laid-back atmosphere pervading the clean, tree-lined main street that contained some fine shops, including an outstanding independent bookstore.  Street musicians and artists were prevalent, as was the occasional beggar – even they were “smarter than the average” San Franciscan panhandler.  We had lunch at the Chocolate cafe – warm chicken sandwich with pesto, mozzarella and peppers for me and sesame chicken salad for Janet.  The food was  delicious and service was prompt and pleasant.  Moreover, the seats outside were a real suntrap.

My San Francisco Giants / Gratefiul Dead t-shirt, only purchased in Haight-Ashbury on Sunday,  excited a great deal of admiration in this bastion of the counterculture, including several “nice shirt”  comments and a couple of slightly dopey smiles in my direction.  I managed to buy another Dead t-shirt here, with the American Beauty logo, as well as the one CD that I had been coveting for some time, entitled Crimson, White and Indigo, a three CD plus DVD package of a concert in Philadelphia in 1989.  With tax I paid $42 instead of the near $70 being quoted even on Amazon in the UK.  The cashier, who was sporting a Dead t-shirt, was thrilled that I had bought it, saying that he had been waiting for someone to buy it as it was ” awesome”.  A conversation about the Dead’s visits to the UK ensued.

The most disheartening part of the trip was the imminent demise of Border’s Books, yet another branch in the chain set to close.  It was pitiful to witness the first floor (the second was completely closed) with its vasy empty spaces and pleas for customers to not only buy its products but also the fixtures and fittings.  There was one silver lining however – it was possible to stock up for your winter fuel with a bulk purchase of Sarah Palin‘s America At Heart book at a 60% discount.

We headed back north as late afternoon clouds took over momentary custody of the skies.  Surfers were more evident than they had been this morning.  We decided to stop for a drink at Half Moon Bay, but, given that it was turned 6pm by the time we got there, it too was virtually closed.  However, we did manage a coffee at the friendly San Benito House saloon and restaurant.   

The final leg of our journey home was a little more interesting than we had expected or planned.  Thinking we would rejoin the coast road back to Ocean Beach we found ourselves hurtling along Highway 1 in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Resolving to avoid that embarassing detour I decided that we should try a even more embarassing detour by turning right off the road.  Darkness had descended which added to the sense of being lost and panic stricken, although I was convinced (sic) that we would eventually veer back towards the city.  My confidence was sorely tested as we passed unfamiliar names like Sloat and Portola, but once we had brushed Twin Peaks on our left, it started to return.  As we turned down the hill the view of the City was a new and astonishing one, which made the anxiety of the past ten minutes almost bearable.   

The sight of the enormous rainbow flag at Harvey Milk Plaza on Castro Street brought mutual relief, and we cut off Market and returned to the apartment to gratefully consume the pizzas we had bought at Half Moon Bay.

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