I left my feet in San Francisco
8/2/06, 1530, Hotel (Lombard St.), San Francisco, CA – Yesterday’s “practice session” hiking up Hyde St. paid off during Tuesday’s AAA Walking (well, there was a little riding, too) Tour of San Francisco. 
I departed the hotel at 7AM and walked to the Hyde St. Pier to catch a cable car to Union Square (downtown), where the walking tour begins. As it was early and the touristas hadn’t stirred, I enjoyed being one of the only people on the car and had a good chat with the operator as we went up and down the hills. The man likes his work and had plenty of stories to tell. The cable car creaked and moaned throughout the journey, but the system still works and from what I witnessed, San Franciscans still hop on for transportation to and fro. So, that says something about them. The “ding ding” of the bell made me hungry for Rice-a-Roni. Whoever came up with that marketing concept was a genius. After all these years…
Once at Union Square, I did a quick walkabout to get my bearings, then headed for the Museum of Modern Art (free admission on the first Tuesday of the month!). Once I’d established where it was, I strolled semi-aimlessly through downtown to get my legs ready.
I grabbed breakfast at Lori’s on Powell St. while sitting at the bar and chatting with a 60-ish woman from NJ who’d been left to her own devices by her husband, who was attending a conference. She planned on doing some serious shopping damage to his charge card and lamented being married to someone who didn’t know the meaning of retirement and planned on working until he dropped dead. She cautioned me against being that way and I assured her I was not that type, and explained to her what prompted this monumental vacation and where it was going to take me. We wished each other well and I departed for SFMOMA.
OK…to make a long story short, SFMOMA had a lot of really weird stuff, much of which didn’t connect with me. But, it also had some fine works by Diego Rivera, Frieda Kalo, Picasso, Andy Warhol, and a large exhibit of works by a mid 20th century Japanese photographer which chronicled everything from atomic bomb artifacts and victims to how Japan adapted to defeat and adopted so very much American culture soon after occupation. Along with the building itself, which is a beauty, those were the highlights for me.
Having “done” SFMOMA, I returned to Union Square and commenced the long-anticipated walking tour.
Now, first, I should mention to those of you who have never been to SF, it is built on a series of hills. And we’re not talking anthills, here. These are serious hills. Serious enough for you to wonder who in their right mind designed this burg. They either had a really twisted sense of humor or were a sadist. Anywho, you can’t go anywhere without climbing or descending hills. And, let’s face it, San Francisco is one of the world’s major cities and there are a LOT of people here. With only a couple of exceptions, the walking tour was accomplished among a sea of humanity and traffic rushing and running about like someone had stirred up a fire ant hill.
Union Square was surrounded by the captains of American retail. All the biggies. Nordstrom, Macy’s, Sak’s, Neiman-Marcus (which, though it’d not opened when I was there, allowed outsiders to spy the 1909 domed, stained glass ceiling of its entrance) and all the top designer shops as well. The lobby of the Westin St. Francis Hotel the very definition of “class” from an age gone by. On Maiden Lane, formerly a Barbary Coast center for brothels, was a building designed by a young Frank Lloyd Wright. So young, in fact, that one could’ve easily passed by without noticing. However, if you took a moment to look at it, yep…those windows give it away. It’s his.
A quick stroll through the canyons of the Wall Street of the West financial district (including the pyramid-shaped TransAmerica building) followed by a stop at Old St. Mary’s Church (noontime concert by a classical pianist in-progress) left me at the entrance to Chinatown. The transition into Chinatown could not be more striking, with the exception of Chinatown’s exit into North Beach (Italian/Greek neighborhood). Chinatown was narrow streets filled with merchandise, food, tearooms, restaurants, and countless stores filled to overflowing with Asian merchandise. The aromas were strange and enticing, as were the people who inhabited the area. It’s both historic storybook images and several stereotypes come to life.
I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t stop to have lunch in Chinatown. In retrospect, I should’ve. My bad. After some minor shopping, I hoofed it further and crossed the line – as I stated, a very distinct line – between Chinatown and North Beach. Everything Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Korean, and otherwise Asian on one side of the street was just as Italian and – to a lesser extent – Greek on the other side. I suspect the Chambers of Commerce for both districts drew a line and said “We are here, you are there.” It’s that distinct. Nothing gradual about it.
Here again, the aromas were overpowering and everywhere you looked were stereotypes come to life. And accents. Italian and Greek accents coming out of people’s mouths you KNOW were born and raised in America. That’s how strong the ties to family, heritage, and the past in both Chinatown and North Beach are. Amazing places.
I had a passable, but not outstanding lunch at an Italian restaurant in North Beach. Appetizer of hard-crusted Italian bread, olive oil, and olives with garlic and peppers (drool) followed by an Italian sausage sandwich with peppers and onions with a Peroni beer to wash it all down. Sadly, the olives and the Peroni were the highlight of the lunch.
On a side note, while I was eating in the open air dining room, I watched a small group of young canvasers from the Democratic National Committee fan out at the intersection to get people signed up for support and a to distribute literature. The vast majority of people they approached blew them off, sad commentary, I suppose, on people’s disgust with politics in general and what the Democratic Party has to offer these days (“We’re not Bush!”). I encountered one on my way out of the restaurant and tried – unsuccessfully – to explain that while I was certainly NOT a Republican, I was certainly not represented by the Democratic National Committee’s views either. “Well, if you’re not a Republican,” the youthful volunteer said, “you’re one of us, then!” I realized at that point that I didn’t have time to explain the subtleties of my political thinking these days, so I wished her good luck and continued on my trek.
After walking through Washington Park, I began my ascent (a good workout by this time) up Telegraph Hill to Coit Tower, which sports at its base some fairly progressive and controversial (for their time) murals extolling American workers and poking early 20th century American business interests in the eye. I can see where the charges (at the time of the tower’s construction) of socialist leanings by Mrs. Coit came from, but in retrospect, they’re pretty mild compared to the political, cultural, and social mess we see around us today. The views of San Francisco Bay from Coit Tower were breathtaking.
Departing Telegraph Hill, I found myself on Lombard St. (mere blocks from where this journey started), but turned north onto Taylor St. and entered Tourista Hell, otherwise known as The Cannery, Fisherman’s Wharf, and Pier 39…the Embarcadero. The area was swarming with tourists from America and all over the world. Total madness. After helping a couple with a photograph in front of Alcatraz Island, I dived into the hordes of touristas and became one with the herd for a while. I suppose all this commercialization saved this historic from continued decay, ruin, and (most likely) “urbanization” (i.e., condos), but the area is proof positive that while American society, politics,and culture may be on the skids, capitalism and the American entrepreneurial spirit are both alive and kicking.
For all intents and purposes, the walking tour was complete. But, before walking several painful blocks home, and to counter the stress of finishing at Fisherman’s Wharf and the mass of humanity that had overrun it, I stopped at Jack’s Famous Cannery Bar, where 85 draught beers awaited me (I chose the Alaskan Amber) and I eased out of tourist mode.
My feet and lower legs ached, but I’d done it…and the SFMOMA as well. I arrived back at my hotel just after 5PM, ten hours after I’d departed. I was exhausted, but during a brief and unexplained availability of wireless Internet access, I downloaded e-mail, responded to one or two, and caught up with the news of the day. I suppose I haven’t mentioned that the free wireless Internet access at my hotel either doesn’t work, doesn’t work well, or is not Mac friendly. Whatever the reason, I’ve had to make due with what happens to pop up (which hasn’t once been the hotel’s system) and go with it. I’m hopeful that my next stop will provide more consistent (or should I say “existent?”) service.
I departed the hotel at 7AM and walked to the Hyde St. Pier to catch a cable car to Union Square (downtown), where the walking tour begins. As it was early and the touristas hadn’t stirred, I enjoyed being one of the only people on the car and had a good chat with the operator as we went up and down the hills. The man likes his work and had plenty of stories to tell. The cable car creaked and moaned throughout the journey, but the system still works and from what I witnessed, San Franciscans still hop on for transportation to and fro. So, that says something about them. The “ding ding” of the bell made me hungry for Rice-a-Roni. Whoever came up with that marketing concept was a genius. After all these years…
Once at Union Square, I did a quick walkabout to get my bearings, then headed for the Museum of Modern Art (free admission on the first Tuesday of the month!). Once I’d established where it was, I strolled semi-aimlessly through downtown to get my legs ready.
I grabbed breakfast at Lori’s on Powell St. while sitting at the bar and chatting with a 60-ish woman from NJ who’d been left to her own devices by her husband, who was attending a conference. She planned on doing some serious shopping damage to his charge card and lamented being married to someone who didn’t know the meaning of retirement and planned on working until he dropped dead. She cautioned me against being that way and I assured her I was not that type, and explained to her what prompted this monumental vacation and where it was going to take me. We wished each other well and I departed for SFMOMA.
OK…to make a long story short, SFMOMA had a lot of really weird stuff, much of which didn’t connect with me. But, it also had some fine works by Diego Rivera, Frieda Kalo, Picasso, Andy Warhol, and a large exhibit of works by a mid 20th century Japanese photographer which chronicled everything from atomic bomb artifacts and victims to how Japan adapted to defeat and adopted so very much American culture soon after occupation. Along with the building itself, which is a beauty, those were the highlights for me.
Having “done” SFMOMA, I returned to Union Square and commenced the long-anticipated walking tour.
Now, first, I should mention to those of you who have never been to SF, it is built on a series of hills. And we’re not talking anthills, here. These are serious hills. Serious enough for you to wonder who in their right mind designed this burg. They either had a really twisted sense of humor or were a sadist. Anywho, you can’t go anywhere without climbing or descending hills. And, let’s face it, San Francisco is one of the world’s major cities and there are a LOT of people here. With only a couple of exceptions, the walking tour was accomplished among a sea of humanity and traffic rushing and running about like someone had stirred up a fire ant hill.
Union Square was surrounded by the captains of American retail. All the biggies. Nordstrom, Macy’s, Sak’s, Neiman-Marcus (which, though it’d not opened when I was there, allowed outsiders to spy the 1909 domed, stained glass ceiling of its entrance) and all the top designer shops as well. The lobby of the Westin St. Francis Hotel the very definition of “class” from an age gone by. On Maiden Lane, formerly a Barbary Coast center for brothels, was a building designed by a young Frank Lloyd Wright. So young, in fact, that one could’ve easily passed by without noticing. However, if you took a moment to look at it, yep…those windows give it away. It’s his.
A quick stroll through the canyons of the Wall Street of the West financial district (including the pyramid-shaped TransAmerica building) followed by a stop at Old St. Mary’s Church (noontime concert by a classical pianist in-progress) left me at the entrance to Chinatown. The transition into Chinatown could not be more striking, with the exception of Chinatown’s exit into North Beach (Italian/Greek neighborhood). Chinatown was narrow streets filled with merchandise, food, tearooms, restaurants, and countless stores filled to overflowing with Asian merchandise. The aromas were strange and enticing, as were the people who inhabited the area. It’s both historic storybook images and several stereotypes come to life.
I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t stop to have lunch in Chinatown. In retrospect, I should’ve. My bad. After some minor shopping, I hoofed it further and crossed the line – as I stated, a very distinct line – between Chinatown and North Beach. Everything Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Korean, and otherwise Asian on one side of the street was just as Italian and – to a lesser extent – Greek on the other side. I suspect the Chambers of Commerce for both districts drew a line and said “We are here, you are there.” It’s that distinct. Nothing gradual about it.
Here again, the aromas were overpowering and everywhere you looked were stereotypes come to life. And accents. Italian and Greek accents coming out of people’s mouths you KNOW were born and raised in America. That’s how strong the ties to family, heritage, and the past in both Chinatown and North Beach are. Amazing places.
I had a passable, but not outstanding lunch at an Italian restaurant in North Beach. Appetizer of hard-crusted Italian bread, olive oil, and olives with garlic and peppers (drool) followed by an Italian sausage sandwich with peppers and onions with a Peroni beer to wash it all down. Sadly, the olives and the Peroni were the highlight of the lunch.
On a side note, while I was eating in the open air dining room, I watched a small group of young canvasers from the Democratic National Committee fan out at the intersection to get people signed up for support and a to distribute literature. The vast majority of people they approached blew them off, sad commentary, I suppose, on people’s disgust with politics in general and what the Democratic Party has to offer these days (“We’re not Bush!”). I encountered one on my way out of the restaurant and tried – unsuccessfully – to explain that while I was certainly NOT a Republican, I was certainly not represented by the Democratic National Committee’s views either. “Well, if you’re not a Republican,” the youthful volunteer said, “you’re one of us, then!” I realized at that point that I didn’t have time to explain the subtleties of my political thinking these days, so I wished her good luck and continued on my trek.
After walking through Washington Park, I began my ascent (a good workout by this time) up Telegraph Hill to Coit Tower, which sports at its base some fairly progressive and controversial (for their time) murals extolling American workers and poking early 20th century American business interests in the eye. I can see where the charges (at the time of the tower’s construction) of socialist leanings by Mrs. Coit came from, but in retrospect, they’re pretty mild compared to the political, cultural, and social mess we see around us today. The views of San Francisco Bay from Coit Tower were breathtaking.
Departing Telegraph Hill, I found myself on Lombard St. (mere blocks from where this journey started), but turned north onto Taylor St. and entered Tourista Hell, otherwise known as The Cannery, Fisherman’s Wharf, and Pier 39…the Embarcadero. The area was swarming with tourists from America and all over the world. Total madness. After helping a couple with a photograph in front of Alcatraz Island, I dived into the hordes of touristas and became one with the herd for a while. I suppose all this commercialization saved this historic from continued decay, ruin, and (most likely) “urbanization” (i.e., condos), but the area is proof positive that while American society, politics,and culture may be on the skids, capitalism and the American entrepreneurial spirit are both alive and kicking.
For all intents and purposes, the walking tour was complete. But, before walking several painful blocks home, and to counter the stress of finishing at Fisherman’s Wharf and the mass of humanity that had overrun it, I stopped at Jack’s Famous Cannery Bar, where 85 draught beers awaited me (I chose the Alaskan Amber) and I eased out of tourist mode.
My feet and lower legs ached, but I’d done it…and the SFMOMA as well. I arrived back at my hotel just after 5PM, ten hours after I’d departed. I was exhausted, but during a brief and unexplained availability of wireless Internet access, I downloaded e-mail, responded to one or two, and caught up with the news of the day. I suppose I haven’t mentioned that the free wireless Internet access at my hotel either doesn’t work, doesn’t work well, or is not Mac friendly. Whatever the reason, I’ve had to make due with what happens to pop up (which hasn’t once been the hotel’s system) and go with it. I’m hopeful that my next stop will provide more consistent (or should I say “existent?”) service.
posted by The Amazing Stickman at 8:45 PM
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