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California Part 1: San Francisco
I just spent two days in SF and have now crossed the bay to Oakland. I’m staying at my friends Mike and Lisa in the foothills overlooking Oakland. It’s a beautiful area with a number of spectacular parks just a short climb up the hill. Tonight (Friday) I’m bunking here, then Mike and I will be off to the mountains skiing.
My trip got off to a rocky start. Blame it on my quitting caffeine a week ago Thursday; my brain is still a little foggy. Why did I quit caffeine? Because I am tired of running to the bathroom every ten minutes. The Trembley brothers, as I found out last week, all have the same problem, so I fault my father, as for so much in my life. Anyway, besides the splitting headaches, which subsided after about two days (but have not yet ended), it seems I’m in a bid of a haze. But I really digress.
For those of you who do not travel much via air, here’s a helpful hint: There is a difference between your seat number (14 C in this case) and your gate number (G 16 as it were). Since I’m a seasoned traveler I didn’t bother to check at the gate to see where it was going to take me. (I vaguely remember looking at the screen; I thought it said San Francisco.) Even after the time past for me to board, I was blithely unaware of the impending doom. Only when it came time to board the flight to Colorado Springs did I finally wake up to my dilemma. Instantly the adrenaline rush dispelled my fog. I ran to gate G16 to find … the bird had flown.
The desk attendant was very helpful. “Yes, we were wondering where you were,” she said serenely. I told her what an idiot I had been and she replied, “This happens a lot.” I asked her if they had taken off my bags, she said no, they were on their way to SF. I knew there was a later flight leaving in about three hours. I was praying that they wouldn’t charge me too much for my hubris. To my astonishment, there was no charge. She just printed up a replacement ticket and sent me on my way.
The travel gods would not let me off that lightly though. Instead of getting into SF midday, I arrived after dark. When I got to SF, it was pouring rain. Although it was only two blocks from the BART station to my hotel, it seemed a mile. Dark shapes lurked in every recess. Although I was quite soaked by the time I got to the hotel, I was quite relieved. The gods will have their way.
I stayed at a cheap hotel below Market Street in a rough part of town. The number of homeless in SF is truely astounding, as are the number of panhandlers and street hustlers. So many people begging for money. Although it was street life of a sort, it was not the kind I was looking for.
I arrived Tuesday evening and took a little stroll down Market Street towards Embarcadero. I stopped at a great old refurbished building: On the fouth floor it had a huge dome with small tables set out under it. I had a bite at a charming French pastisserie there, then headed back home. I had made it. Now I could settle in and plan my campaign.
San Francisco is a large, densely packed city, ideal for public transportation. The city itself is spread across the entire peninsula from the Bay to the Ocean. The city (as opposed to the metropolitan area) is not compact like Paris or London; it is more like New York: millions of people in a large, but delineated area of land. Since I’d been to SF at least a dozen times, I knew that I needed to pace myself: no need to walk everywhere. Better to take the Metro, (bus, trolley, and cable car) and then walk once I had gotten “there,” wherever that was. On the first day, my plan worked pretty well.
So where’s the history lesson? Patience my friends.
End of Part 1
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Neil Trembley's Missives 
Having lived in the Bay Area for 10 years, reading your missive made me smile. Keep up the good work and let me know subsequent installments.
Comment by Laurie Lundy March 1, 2010 @ 11:33 pm