San Francisco
September 14

San Francisco.  Didn’t know much about San Francisco as we drove toward it just after rush hour, except that my cool Aunt Jean lives there, it has a really neat bridge, and somewhere near is the infamous prison of Alcatraz.   Soon I was to discover its renown for Lombard Street, sourdough bread, Ghirardelli Chocolate, trolleys and the bush man.  

I have to admit that I was expecting more from the Golden Gate Bridge than it yielded.  I think its allure stems more from its wistful emergence from Bay fog than from the view you get by driving across it.  All the same, since we had to pay to get across a bridge somewhere, it might as well be the Golden Gate.



After a quick stop at AAA where we gathered up another arsenal of tour and camping books, we aimed our Civic for Lombard Street, “the crookedest street in the world.”  San Francisco is not the ideal city for a standard transmission, given its excessive hills.  Most roads go strait up and strait down, but for whatever reason, the city decided to endow a one block stretch of Lombard Street with about 12 mini switchbacks.  It was pretty fun to drive down it, especially because the thronging tourists aiming cameras at your car makes you feel famous.



We were pleased to discover that, unlike many cities we’ve visited lately, it’s possible to park for free in San Francisco, provided you don’t mind moving your car every 2 hours.  We didn’t mind, so after snagging a parking spot, we walked to the popular waterfront district.  En route, we picked up the requisite cup of coffee to wield off the chilling fog that lingered into late morning.

The waterfront area boasts many attractions: Fisherman’s Wharf, Pier 39, Ghirardelli Square...  We ogled at the many street side stands offering fresh clam chowder and lobster bisque in enormous sourdough bread bowls as we strolled along Fisherman’s Wharf, and then wandered onto Pier 39.

Pier 39 is something of a tourist mecca, made particularly popular by its resident sea lions.  At the end of Pier 39, there used to be a marina on the edge of the Bay – at least, until the sea lions took over.  Now the floating docks are literally blanketed in barking sea lion, each vying for a position in the sun.  Older ones lie lazily on the outskirts, while younger one squirm and flop over top of each other in the middle, often shoving one another into the water.  It looks just like a children’s game of King of the Mountain, and we watched for many amused moments as the noisy, absurd looking creatures guffawed and splashed. 





Our parking spot time was growing short, but we were also growing hungry, so we bought a crepe filled with avocado, turkey and cheese to eat as we walked to the car.  We reminisced about eating crepes from street vendors in Paris after Aaron proposed to me, and decided that Parisian crepes surpass San Franciscan crepes by leaps and bounds.  

After moving the car, we returned to the waterfront to finish out our tour.  First stop was at a sourdough bread factory that claims its bread is made from the same starter dough that the original bakers used a hundred years ago.  They supposedly save a bit of starter every day for the next day’s batch, and have been doing that since the very beginning.  Whatever they do, it works, because we got a dang good loaf of “Garlic Volcano” bread – a round sourdough loaf with generous chunks of garlic and cheese inside.





Now, let me tell you about the bush man.  San Francisco hosts a homeless population, as most cities do, but some of its members have gotten quite creative in their attempts to pocket a quarter or dime.  Take, for example, the bush man.  He sits on a 5-gallon bucket on the sidewalk, next to a marina, holding two leafy branches in front of him.  If you look straight at him, it’s quite obvious that he’s a man sitting on a bucket with two branches.  However, if you are engrossed in conversation as you stroll down the sidewalk, enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the waterfront, and you glimpse his branches out of the corner of your eye, he looks very much like a bush.  These are the unsuspecting tourists on whom he preys.  As they near his bucket, he thrusts the branches toward them with a deep, rumbly growl.  Had I been his target instead of the clueless tourist a few steps behind his target, I would have jumped 3 feet in the air and landed in Aaron’s arms with a terrified yelp.  Happily, I just got to watch everyone else do that.  There was an impressive crowd gathered 20 feet beyond the bush man, getting their week’s supply of laughs from his antics and people’s reactions.  People were surprisingly good-natured about it, and many of his victims turned into his benefactors as they dropped dollar bills into his hat.  It was good, clean, free entertainment.    










A trip to nearby Ghirardelli Square yielded some picturesque views of the city and scrumptious chocolate.  A leisurely stroll brought us back to the car, and after a brief stop at Coit Tower and a drive through the largest Chinatown, we joined the thousands of other vehicles departing the city at 5 pm. 





We had better reason to depart than most of them, though, because we had a dinner date with my Aunt Jean and cousin Wesley.  After a tour of Aunt Jean’s delightful condo on the outskirts of San Francisco, we joined Wes at the Outback Steakhouse for dinner.  The Outback grilled up their finest eats for us, and we lingered over margaritas and a Bloomin’ Onion, catching up on all the latest news.  

Later, at Aunt Jean’s place, we got a briefing on a couple of popular TV shows and enjoyed her generous hospitality for one last night under a roof before another spell of camping.  We left the next morning sensing again the rich blessing of family and friends.

 

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