Jesus, Are We Still In California?

Day Seven

We oversleep again. Dammit. Still, we hold to the vow of daily showers. The cut-offs make another appearance, and I think the Buffy shirt comes out again, but honestly, I can't remember. I do grab the hoodie, of course. Another day of walking looms near! This time we walk to a little place called the Squat and Gobble in the Lower Haight (which if I had seen it for the first time in the Castro would have given me the giggles) for breakfast. We both have bagels with cream cheese, tomatos and sprouts. They don't have whole wheat bagels, so I ask for plain and get sesame. Oh well. Sean realizes he does not like sprouts. I have carrot juice. Mmm, carrot juice.

We walk to the Castro. They have giant rainbow flags everywhere! It's very cute, and there are stores and bars and gyms and restaurants all over. Now we're going to Fisherman's Wharf, so we decide to take the F Line all the way down.

Let me take a moment to comment on the different kinds of public transportation in San Francisco. They have regular buses, electric buses with tires, electric street cars that run on tracks, cable cars, a light rail line, and a subway (which isn't run by the same authority as the others). The electric street cars are the historic ones from F Line link above. We rode the F Line in the historic car from Boston's Elevated railway. It was pretty groovy, but was full of tourists and went slow. Sean says only tourists take the E and F line and the cable cars, but I'm still not convinced that this whole system isn't crazy.

So, we ride all the way downtown and to the wharves, which is where the water is, if you didn't know. We get to Fisherman's Wharf, which is even scarier than the one in Monterey. It reminds me of Gatlinburg on the water. If you don't get that analogy, I can't help you. We see the sea lions, which smell bad, but look cuddly. Supposedly, the earthquake of 1989 changed their migration patterns and now they live there year round, like a bunch of hairy squatters. I snap a couple of shots of them and of Alcatraz, then beg to leave the stinkiness.

We walk a little further down the way and see lots of restaurants featuring clam chowder in sourdough bread bowls and fresh crabs. I love Dungeness crab, and I'm excited to have some. Sean is pushing the clam chowder, which I also love, so I know I'll have some important decisions to make soon. We finally arrive at Cioppino's, the restaurant Sean used to work at. The restaurant at which Sean used to work. Whatever. We walk in and everybody remembers him after two years. It's very sweet. The place is big, and nice, but not intimidating. I order a Bloody Mary and we both get cups of clam chowder and split a chilled seafood platter with mussels, clams, bay shrimp, prawns, crab legs, and calamari, which neither of us can stomach fresh. Yay! I haven't had good seafood in ages. All the employees want to know if Sean is coming back to work.

We leave there and walk up through Little Italy to North Beach. It's a strange day, weather-wise. I keep putting on and taking off my hoodie, and once I have to borrow Sean's jacket, only to return it minutes later. Damn California micro-climates. We stop at Ghirardelli Square, but there are too many people. I can buy chocolate in New York. Ghirardelli chocolate, even. Little Italy is not so little. We walk up Corso Cristoforo Colombo (aka Columbus Avenue) and see many Italian restaurants and other type places. We then arrive at Jack Kerouac Alley and Vesuvio Cafe. (I'd like to note that I'm getting carded at every bar here in San Francisco. It was cute at first, but I'm over it. I don't look 20.) Seems this was an old hangout of Kerouac's. They serve booze and coffee. Kind of a hippie type joint. They have toilet seat covers. We have a drink a piece and head out. Sean shows me all of the strip clubs and adult book stores at the corner. I guess people in San Francisco haven't been blessed with a visionary mayor who wants to clean up their town. Poor San Franciscans.

For the first time, I see some of those famous steps in the sidewalks, leading up to Telegraph Hill. I'm feeling athletic, as I have my sneakers on, so we climb. It's not so bad! There are over 100 steps, says Sean, but it's a good climb. Next time I go to San Fran, I want to do a walking tour and check out other stairways. The view at the top is neat. Going down, we see a tennis ball nestled against the steps, and Sean throws caution to the wind and kicks it down. It's a thrilling descent, and it makes it all the way across the street. Yay, tennis ball! You are free!

On our way down Market Street, we see a small video arcade in Chinatown and pop in for a little retro video fun. Four bucks and 20 minutes later, we emerge. Jamba Juice is the next stop. I panic and order an Orange Dream Machine, which is so not what I need to balance my day. I've already had protein and dairy; I should have ordered something with berries and bananas. I just can't order under pressure. We decide to walk a while to finish our drinks before we get on the bus, but I am sketched out by SF's downtown. In New York, there are many places for the indigent, crazy and criminal to hang out. They're more scattered, and thus, less threatening. Here, they're all walking around me. At one point, we walk through a veritable cloud of pot smoke. I wuss out and beg to get on the bus. On the way, we pass the Market Street Theater, which is a strip club that invites you to "See the Beauty" and "Touch the Magic" in towering letters. With pictures. Niiiiiiiice.

Back to the apartment (which, by the way, is very cute. The architecture in San Francisco is adorable.), and I am given a chance to change into my pedal pushers and boots before we head to the drunken portion of the evening. We go to Zeitgeist in the Mission District, which has a huge outdoor seating area. It's full of hooligans and ruffians and the music is some screaming rock and roll, and it is good. There are guest rooms to rent, and a grill making yummy food stuffs. I have a hamburger that even the vegans at the table start to drool over. I mean, over which... ah, who cares? We have beer. Then I have a delicious Bloody Mary. Much better than the one earlier, and including two green beans. That's good. I like a lot of food in my Bloody.

After much urging, the big group of us go to a bar called Hush Hush. They're not letting any more people in because the city is coming by to do a sound licensing check. I feel you Hush Hush. But I won't wait. We walk (some with bikes) to another bar called... um, what is this bar called? Anyway, as we walk in, I hear Metallica, and it is on. The pinball machine (Roller Coaster Tycoon, normally a great game) is tilted funny and won't play right. Screw the games. We sit up front and drink some more, again. Now it's gin. Around midnight, I flag, and ask to go home. Hey! I've had a big day!

We walk back and stop at Ali Baba so Sean can order a scary thing called a Combination Sandwich. It's not on the menu, but it's apparently made with everything and wrapped in a very flat bread. It's like a foot long and only costs $6. I decline tasting it. Sean can only eat half, and finally, we get to sleep.

Day Eight

My head hurts. A lot. So do my calves. Just enough time for breakfast before we drive to Oakland. We get to eat at the Pork Store (thanks, vegans!) and I have chicken fried steak and hashbrowns and biscuits with honey. Yum. Our waitress has one of those chest tattoos that disturbs me. I think she might regret that one day, but what do I know? Off to the airport, and we are done with the trip! The rest of the day is miserable as there is a lot of turbulence and I have a wretched headache that lasts until the next day. Still, it was fun. I learned that earthquakes don't happen as often as you would expect them to. I also learned that the next time I go to San Francisco, it better be September, when it's warm. More lessons include: California is full of weird people, but the landscape is nice. The next time your mayor gives bus tickets to the homeless people in your town, find out where they're going and try not to vacation there. Frommer's is the best travel guide ever. My boyfriend and I travel pretty well.

And the most important lesson of all: Even though you can't catch anything from a toilet seat (except maybe some very ambitious crabs), San Franciscan ladies get to have neat and civilized bathroom experiences while New Yorkers are trapped in a vicious cycle of hovering and seat spraying and nest building. Oh, when will we learn?

And that's it!