San Fran-tastic

Saturday, February 27. News about the earthquake in Chile and possible tsunamis as well as the sad news that Phil's mom had suffered a mild heart attack made it hard to decide whether to drive into San Francisco or not, especially with rain likely throughout the day. But after Phil had talked to several members of the family and learned that his mother was resting in stable condition in a hospital, we decided to go for it. Drew and Tony have visited San Francisco several times on their own and are familiar with BART as well as the MUNI mass transit options. Based on their past experience, we decided to drive in to the western part of the city near San Francisco State University campus and then take the MUNI into downtown.

On the drive in, the rain was hard and heavy, but Phil guided us through the torrents over the steep and winding Highway 17. By the time we got to the train, we had to get all our change together for the $2 fare ($8 for the 4 of us). A fellow passenger explained to us that we had to board the first car in order to pay the driver the fare and then it was smooth sailing all the way to downtown. Most of the trip was underground so when we emerged into the cold wind of nearly deserted downtown, it was a little bit discouraging.

Things heated up considerably once we got to Chinatown. There was a huge street fare underway in advance of the Chinese New Year Parade scheduled to take place that night. Throng is not intense enough a word to describe the masses of people shouldering their way up and down and sideways along the streets and sidewalks of a four or five square block area, happily queuing up to spin wheels of fortune for prizes large and small and grabbing fistfuls of handouts from vendors. I got a refreshing towel and the boys got festive red "good fortune" envelopes with free passes to a local horse race track. Everyone was enthusiastic and even giddy, and it reminded me of the happy anticipation in a public park on the Fourth of July.

Some of the Chinese restaurants were tempting, but all of them were packed, so we walked over to North Beach. Since we knew we were making a pizza that night, we stayed away from Italian restaurants and picked a small sandwich shop called Justa Bite. The service was attentive and the variety of sandwiches was surprising. I was a little distracted by a large monitor that flashed news bulletins every couple of minutes, but I enjoyed my avocado and cheese sandwich very much, and everyone felt fortified for a climb up Russian Hill. At the summit, we met a young Englishwoman who had just flown in from Richmond, VA the day before. She was as delighted with the clear blue sky and panoramic views as we were and got advice from Phil and Drew about using public transportation. Everyone was snapping photos like crazy except me because I forgot my camera and cell phone.

We continued on up Hyde Street to get a close up look at that crazy curving Lombard Street. Before we got there, we walked by a nearly deserted public tennis court with spectacular views of the bay and particularly the Golden Gate Bridge. Phil took several photos that he said he was going to send to a tennis magazine. We walked down the sidewalk beside Lombard Street watching the nervous faces of the drivers making the tight turns down the super steep block. One woman stood up looking out the sun roof of an SUV with her video camera. From the foot of the hill, I was struck at how the hedges along the road concealed the cars, making it look like a rose garden on a very steep incline. Maybe they should design all street in San Francisco like this.

Another four blocks downhill brought us to Fisherman's Wharf. Phil and I showed Drew and Tony the Argonaut, a former cannery building refurbished as hotel. We had coffee at a cozy coffee shop called Coffee Adventures, and then boarded a streetcar along the Embarcadero jampacked with riders. We got a transfer along with our $2 fare which let us transfer to the MUNI back to where our car was parked. So we practically circled the city for $4. Whatever else I have to say about San Francisco, its public transportation system is Fran-tastic. Even on a day snarled with traffic from the Chinese New Year Parade, we got everywhere we wanted to go quickly and easily.

We hit a couple of rain squalls and had a pretty scary skid on Highway 17, but Phil's nerves of steel got us through unscathed. We stopped at Trader Joe's for wine and some pizza fixings and the full moon beamed down on us serenely from a clear sky.

San Francisco -- Not Quite My Kind of Town

Thursday, February 18, Phil's cousin left for Bangalore, India. We took Highway 1 along the coast north from Santa Cruz, trying to convince ourselves that the dense fog was sure to burn off by lunchtime. The rugged hills and lonely beaches had a mysterious appeal to me. What would it be like to spend time in one of the weather-beaten cabins overlooking the steel grey ocean?

After dropping Steve off at SFO, Phil, Peter (his brother here for a long weekend), and I headed up to "the city" as Steve advised us that locals call San Francisco. With the help of a Tomtom GPS, we limped through a few traffic jams and then past the Golden Gate Park and into the heart of the Presidio. Phil turned our trusty Honda Fit at just the moment to land us in the parking lot adjacent to the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog varied from dense to pea soup thick as we walked halfway across the bridge's nearly two mile span. The poor visibility frustrated me, but I was pleased to see that the pedestrian walk is wide enough to accommodate walkers and bikers heading in both directions.

We got back in the car and headed crosstown to North Beach, but hunger set in and a parking space appeared as if by magic on Union Street. We hurried into Crepes A Go Go, a tiny place with a funky ambience and great service. The coffee, served by a friendly young woman with a convincing French accent, was strong and the crepes were tender. I had nutella (hazelnut chocolate sauce) and bananas and the two gentlemen had heartier fillings followed by a crepe with butter and sugar. Before we left, Phil and Peter had a friendly chat with a young man double parked and blocking us in, but in no particular hurry to move his car. He was waiting for his ex-girlfriend to buy chocolates. Oh those inscrutable San Franciscans! We'll never know why the woman couldn't have found his bright red pickup if he backed up three or four feet.

We parked at one of the piers at the Embarcadero and walked up the overgrown gardens along the stairs climbing up Telegraph Hill. Phil and I are great fans of the film called The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill and have made this trek before in hopes of spotting the parrots and for the view from Coit Tower in Pioneer Park. The fog had let up a little. We could see Alcatraz Island, but the bridges were still elusive. We didn't pay to go to the top of the tower, but enjoyed the depression-era murals on the ground level. We descended into North Beach and then climbed Russian Hill, where the flock of wild parrots swirled by us with a flurry of swawks and glinting feathers. At the summit we looked in wonder at the cars perched head in on the steeply pitched residential when a man came roaring up the incline and then just as quickly retreated (in reverse) down the roller coaster steep slope. Note to self: don't drive on Russian Hill.

We had a little trouble finding the Cable Car Museum, a favorite of ours not only because it's free but also it has lots of fascinating information on the 1906 earthquake and how cable cars work including the huge power wheels that drive the few existing cable cars. Then we plunged into the frantic crowds shopping in Chinatown. Fish of every size and color flapped their fins in shallow tanks in one shop while next door shelves rose up the wall twelve feet or higher, full of see-through bins filled with exotic herbs and roots. As we struggled to make our way along the crowded sidewalks, vendors popped out of every door, extolling the quality of their wares in loud, insistent Chinese.

After the hubbub of Chinatown, the hushed hipness of the City Lights Books was a welcome relief. I love the hodge podge of shelves here, placed at odd angles so close together, and the wild assortment of fiction from around the world, but there's a sort of smug intellectualism that can only be rivalled by Harvard Square. Night had fallen by the time we left, so we searched North Beach for an Italian restaurant that matched our appetites and wallets. Calzone's Pizza Cucina fit the bill perfectly. The decor combined the traditional -- black and white tiles and shelves lined with pasta tins and olive oil bottles -- with cutting edge modern --triangular plates and exposed light bulbs hung over every table. We had no trouble finishing off an arugula salad with walnuts and cranberries and asparagus orzo.

The conversation turned to what a magical city San Francisco is. Try as I might, I cannot agree wholeheartedly. Despite the hills upon hills and the charmingly impractical citizens, San Francisco seems like a New York City wannabe -- not quite as culturally diverse, not quite as culturally aware, not quite as culturally rich. But as I massaged my aching feet on the car trip home, I had to admit that however lacking this city may be, it easily had me whupped up and down the block.