San Fransisco

San Fransisco is the roller coaster of cities. The city's geography keeps you on your toes, if jumping out of the way of trolleys doesn't do it alone. The city is incredibly pedestrian friendly, from my experience and many different neighborhoods keep the eyes, nose, and ears busy.

I first hit up Chinatown. I was in need of a blank DVR, and had an inkling that I could find an expensive electronics shop in Chinatown. In less than 5 minutes, I had found one. I spent a while walking around the place, marvelling at live fish packed into aquariums for the picking, and dried fish parts piled up, also destined to be somebody's tasty morsels. Asian candies, inexpensive textiles, doodads and rat-a-tat could all be found in dirt-cheap abundance. There were very few round eyes like myself oogling in shop windows. Store employees were friendly, if they could be made to talk, but most people didn't take the initiative at first. High above the storefronts were open windows and colorful lines of laundry added flare to already decorative architecture. Occasionally, leaning out of 3rd story windows, one would be seen watching passersby on the streets below, ash falling from his or her cigarettes. So many of the restaurants smelled good that its a wonder I didn't stop and eat at every one.

I caught a trolley in Powell Street North to North Beach. I walked along Bay Street and stopped in for a nice glass of champagne and settled in with a map to try to figure out my next move. A nice local and I had a chat over lay potato chips, (which the bar gave out free). After discussing earthquakes, the Tenderloin, and Queer Theory, I eventually decided to walk along the bay to the Golden Gate and then make my way to Golden Gate Park. I left the bar and stumbled upon Houstons, one of my favorite restaurants, and stopped in for another champange, some incredible sweet summer corn, and a hot fudge sundae. MMmmmm mmmm!

Soon it was time to be on my way. I walked along the fisherman's wharf, which was chock full of tourists as was forwarned to me by the aforementioned friendly local and bartender. Street Performers seemed to be doing quite well here. There was a dude jamming on a guitar, and a one man band that seemed to have 8 insturments strapped to his head, torso and hands. The ever popular (and seemingly ubiquitus) man statue perched unmoving on top of his box. When a child approached with a dollar he would move like a robot, pose for a photograph, and settle into a new position of stony stillness. Shops selling everything from tee-shirts to leather goods lined the wharf. The bay was spliced into choppy whitecaps due to the prevaling easterly wind. Hundreds of bring colored boats bobbed in their slips, and beyond them Alcatraz loomed ominously though the spray. Well, not so much ominously, i'm being a little dramatic. Now Alcatraz is a nice little tourist destination, with a ferry brimming with snap-shot takers leaving oh-every 10 seconds or so. The hustle and bustle of the Fisherman's Wharf is a delight for those who come to people watch, buy some souveniers, and see the usual cattle-folk attractions like Ripleys Beleive it or Not Museum and the Wax Museum. Although I didn't get an opportunty to check out many restaurents on the wharf, it seems like some places really have it down. The seafood restaurents looked especially alluring, and the bars that I peekd into have a lot of atmosphere, as teh buildings are all very historic. Live music seems to play everywhere. I must needs come back for an evening, methinks.

But! Its only 2:45, and its time to walk the bay. I head west along the waters edge (beneith the humid trees). The shops give way to houses, all connected for a block at a time. Now which came first, i ponder, the bay or the bay window? San Fran is definatly the city of bay windows (and a bay!). Anyhow, these give way to really nice custom houses packed closely together, all complete with rooftop balconies adorned with palm trees. The wind is really blowing hard at the point. But not as hard as it will be once I get to the beach. Scores of windsurfers and kitesurfers are ripping though waves looking like they're having all the fun in the world. People on bikes pedal hard and slow into the wind. The Golden Gate is getting nearer to me now. The haze of distance fading to reveil the familar redness of a bridge I'm well familar with from television and movies.

I take my shoes off and take to the sand, battling now what seems like a ferocious gale. The Siscoites seem to be taking it in stride, holding their small dogs in their arms to keep them from blowing away. The waves slap on the shallow shore of the bay, and sand whips up dangously, were it not for the protection of sunglasses. The bridge is finally beginning to look big now, and I reach the tourist center run by, i think, the national park service. Thankfully, a bathroom is there, and after a quick stop, I start the climb up to the bridge. The shore line was made into a bunker here in the 40s, i beleive, and interesting little holes are dug into the ridges. Passing though a pedestrian tunnel, i come out the otherwside to see the top of the bridge just over a grassy hill.

A tourist extravaganza greeted my eyes once i reached the base of the bridge. Everywhere people were snapping photos and it was all i could do to keep from inadvertently making my way into peoples' photo albums. I caught a bus fairly quickly and headed south to the Golden Gate Park.

Once inside the park, its really hard to beleive that your in a major US city. The park is lush with vegitation and scored with small footpaths leading to a pond here, a grove there. Furtive hippies smoked herbs from behind old-growth trees, and familys with double decker strollers ambled the paved walk-ways. It was an easy shady 20 mintues to make my way to the Eastern corner of the park by Haight St.

I've never seen anything quite like this. Vegabonds and wanderers packed together in little groups, playing instruments, trading gum, ciggarets, lighters, pot and pills. It was an interesting mix of blacks and whites from all walks of life. I met one girl who was a run away from the age of 14 (she couldn't have been older than me now). She wore a bulky knit sweater striped in seventies brown and orange, a blue croshetd hat with ear flaps, boots completely coverered over with shiny pink duct tape, and stripy socks that dissapeared under her thrift store skirt. She had a pretty smile and a generous spirit and lived each day couch surfing and trading. Another guy was a taxi driver on his day off, another had just traveled 2000 miles in just over a month by hitchhiking. Groups of people like this congragated all around this part of the park. Each dollar had value to them and every small item had worth. WOuld you trade 2 ciggarets for a lighter? How about a dollar for a pair of clean socks? ok, how about 2 dollars? My shanangians in the park were almost done, however, and I had to keep moving. I said goodbye to my new friends and stepped onto Haight street. A local pointed me towards a poosh little bar and I had another glass of champagne.

Lodge then picked me up and we made our way across san fran by car. Its amazing when, for the first time, the hill on front of you causes everything in the car to fall to the very back seat, then the road just dissapears as you summit. Then a vista of long straight avenues opens up and your decending very quickly from above the rooftops of the city, back into its guts. The stop lights don't make matters easier, as they are posted on the sides of the intersections rather than over head, and I"ll admit we ran a stop light or two. We finally made it to, where else, but the fishermans wharf. We had some delicious seafood and then it was time to go back to the airport and board a plane back to Atlanta.

Farewell, San Fran! it was LOVELY!