First of all, SF has its own climate and cultures. Unlike back home, there are really no parking lots or parking garages. If you want to see the sights, you have to find a metered spot on the street--and good luck with that! Meg was trying to find a place closer to what we wanted to see to accommodate my age and walking abilities. It wasn't easy! Then, too, the streets in SF are quite hilly and steep--up or down, depending on where you are--and the buildings are right on the street. Unless parked on level ground (which is rare), cars are parked with their front wheels turned. (Facing downhill, they are turned to the right; uphill, to the left. This supposedly helps prevent runaway cars by allowing cars to roll into curbs instead of whatever is ahead.) There are little "toilet" stations every couple of blocks--permanent potties. Because of the vehicle congestion and lack of parking, everyone is either on foot or on bicycle. Getting around simply isn't easy!
Meg finally found a spot in the Castro District (the gay community) where we started out. We fed the meter, then headed out to look for a place to eat lunch. It was a beautiful day in SF--sunny and in the 60s--and the folks on the street reflected that, in their tank tops and shorts. (It is generally 10 degrees colder and somewhat windier in SF than farther inland, so the "guys" were enjoying the reprieve.) We stopped at the Baghdad Cafe to eat and people-watch. Everyone was out with their dogs and significant others. People, people, people all out on the street. Gays everywhere. These weren't "flaming" gays--just your normal, average kind of guys out enjoying the sunshine, holding hands and picking up snacks here and there. When I noticed that not all of the gays were young, Denis said something like, "Yes, there is nothing quite as charming as a gay geezer." Ha! There was one fellow out on the street in a flamboyant costume that resembled a colorful nun in full face paint and bejeweled, handing out "arson alert" flyers. Apparently The Castro experienced three arson fires within an hour, a week or two ago. The flyer urged people to be vigilant and report suspicious activity. It was all just...different and interesting.
After we finished lunch, we walked to a store called Hot Cookies where my daughter got some sort of perverse pleasure in buying her saintly mother a chocolate-covered macaroon in the shape of a phallus and testicles. The cookie was good, but I felt a little odd eating it!
Back at the car, we started another adventure in driving in crazy SF. We drove through the Haight-Ashbury District (of 60s and 70s Hippie fame). Thought about trying to find a place to park so we could tour on foot, but this area was just as congested as The Castro, so we just gawked from the car.
Next was a cruise down Lombard Street (the Crookedest Street in America). It is a kind of connection between two other major streets but with a steep downhill grade that requires short little switchbacks--about seven of them, I think--lined with apartments on either side and well- planted with flowers. From the top is a gorgeous view of the city below, but it terrified me! On all of the streets in the hillier sections of town, all I could think of was "I hope the car's brakes hold out" or "I hope the car can make it up this hill". There is no turning back! Meg calls it two-footed driving, where you have to be applying gas to the engine before you take your foot off the brakes going up. Going down, you keep your foot on the brake pedal and pray a lot!
We drove next to Golden Gate Park, which is HUGE. Found a place to park (again, on the street) and walked to the Japanese Tea Garden there. Very nice and peaceful, complete with pagodas, bridges, stone lanterns, a Buddha statue, and little pools with big goldfish. By this time, the display areas of the park were shutting down for the day, so we decided to head for home.
Instead of going home the way we came, Meg drove us to Ocean Beach. There, in all its glory, was the mighty Pacific. We parked and stood at the top of the hill to watch the sun set and take pictures. The fog was moving in to the right and left of us, but straight ahead was a gorgeous sunset (and crazy surfers heading into the ocean as it was getting dark--and cold!). The drive home followed the coastline. We crossed the Santa Cruz Mountains by way of Half Moon Bay, then hit the freeway to Sunnyvale. The trip seemed to take forever, but what I could see of it as it grew dark was rugged and beautiful. Scenery isn't lacking in this state!
San Francisco is definitely an experience. I suppose somewhere in the outskirts are free-standing dwellings, but in town, all of the residences are old apartment buildings built right on the street. At that level, there are garage doors, but residents have to go UP stairs--three to four stories--in order to get to their apartments And the buildings are all attached. There are no yards. No grass to mow. Along some of the mountainsides are residences, one after the other, that are exactly the same. Only the colors on the outside are different--some brightly painted in pinks and blues and purples and greens. (Megan tells me that the old song "Little Boxes on the Hillside" was written about those places--"little boxes made of ticky-tacky, and they all look just the same".)
We came home tired. Meg breathed a sigh of relief that she got us there and back in one piece. We ate a little supper and watched a PBS program about the 1906 SF earthquake, then hit the sack. Busy day!
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