The Streets of San Francisco

 

So we came up to Pleasanton to spend the week with my parents, and as pleasant as things are in Pleasanton, we decided to pack up the kids and spend Thursday in San Francisco.

Now, here's the thing. I've been down on San Francisco for about twenty years, mainly for questionable reasons. I went to college in the Bay Area, and every once in a while someone would get the bright idea of going into the city (and it also irritated me to no end that the locals insisted on calling it "The City," as if it were the only city in the world) and everyone would into a car, sit shoulder to earlobe for an hour or so before spending almost as long looking for a parking spot. And in the end, nothing good ever seemed to come of the trip, and those negative feelings stuck with me for two decades.

Our day today was so perfect that all that was washed away forever. We convinced my parents to join us, so the seven of us hopped on the BART and arrived at the Powell Street station forty-five minutes later, rested and ready for action.

We walked a few blocks to Chinatown and spent an hour or so wandering in and out of souvenir shops and gawking at ducks hanging in windows. For lunch we popped into a place called the Far East Cafe. The broccoli and beef was good, but better than that was my mon's realization that she had eaten in that same restaurant with my father forty years ago.

After a few more trinket shops (Alison bought some ceramic frogs, Henry chose a trolley car, and Kate picked up a stuffed kitty) and a detour into a tea shop, we sat down for some yogurt and gelatto in a yogurt place which sat right on the border of Chinatown and North Beach.

At that point my parents had had enough of the hills and eighty degree heat, so they headed home, but we bravely soldiered on, catching a bus to Ghiradelli Square where we picked up some chocolate. From there we headed down to walk along the water towards Fisherman's Wharf. We passed a young hipster sitting on a curb, smoking a cigarette, and Kate announced at the top of her little lungs, "I see someone smoking! He's gonna die!" A good laugh for all. We avoided the siren song of the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum, and stopped instead for dinner at the Boudin Restaurant. The kids had pizza, but Leslie and I got what everyone else in the place had come for -- sourdough chili bowls. The chili was marginal, but dishwater would probably taste pretty good in a sourdough bowl. I'm still kicking myself for not getting a loaf or two to go.

Next we meandered through the Pier 39 tourist trap, took a peak at the sea lions, looked across the bay towards Alcatraz Island, and watched the sun disappear behind the Golden Gate Bridge.

We walked a bit more to get to the south end of the Powell-Mason Street cable car line, which was probably Henry's favorite part of the day. (It would get even better when the driver let all three kids ring the bell at the end of the line.) So as I hung off the side of the trolley I thought about how much the day had reminded me of our time in New York City. San Francisco is a city with a personality that L.A. will never have, and although I can't imagine leaving SoCal for San Fran the way I could for NYC, I'm still looking forward to our next trip to The City.

Comments

[Cynthia]

Hey your in my neighborhood!

[joyce]

ah, you visited my "city"! BART and MUNI is the way to go if you know you can't find parking...it's good if you know the "secret" parking spots as well...

[Michael Duenes]

Yes, "the city" annoyed me as well when I moved up here. We don't go in too often, and sometimes I still call it "Frisco" just to keep my hatred of the Giants sharp; but you're right: SF and LA are such totally different cities in geography, layout, and culture; it makes me glad to have enjoyed them both.