Are You Going to San Francisco...

I arrived in San Francisco this morning, but my suitcase was slightly too big for a carry-on, so with many other people I stood waiting for my luggage for probably 40 minutes. At one point, the luggage came up on the wrong conveyor belt, so everyone moved over there and soon we had to move back over to the original one. It was like musical chairs. Or musical baggage claims.
I also got lost looking for the hostel. It turns out that Isadora Duncan Lane is actually a short, dead end alley. Also, since I requested a single room, I had to go to a different building.

Fortunately it was close—half a block away, on Post St. It was built in 1914, has high ceilings and picture rails like the Webster University dorm, and even a similar elevator. It’s one of only four functioning birdcage elevators in San Francisco, and it’s scary. I like stairs. Anyway, this is the best hostel room I’ve ever had: it has a bay window, a bathroom all to itself (the tub has feet with claws!), a fridge, a microwave, a TV, a double bed, two nightstands with lamps, a phone, a closet, a small table and two chairs by the window. Nicer than a lot of hotels. No wonder it’s so expensive…for a hostel. Actually, the other building is the hostel, and this one is a hotel.

I took the cable car (I’m thinking they’re actually antique, not reproductions) to Fisherman’s Wharf, where I wandered around a great deal. The best thing about Fisherman’s Wharf isn’t the tacky stores or the tacky museums (like the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum). It’s the scenery: the water sparkling in the sun, Alcatraz Island and other pieces of land in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge, and of course the sea lions and seagulls. And the pigeons that enter restaurants and clean up after customers. I want to hire a pigeon to clean my kitchen and dining room floor. I had lunch at about 5 pm, at a small Boudin (a local café/bakery) location on Pier 39, and although it was a good sandwich the menu wasn’t as good as Panera, a.k.a. the St. Louis Bread Company.

I witnessed sea lion wrestling on Pier 39. A couple of ugly male sea lions had a fight, and one of them shoved the other off the platform into the water, and the crowd said, “Ooooooooh!” as if they were at a sporting event. I just laughed.

In the evening, I went all by myself to a bar in a rundown neighborhood. Nothing like the full San Francisco experience. It was a Latino neighborhood with plenty of graffiti and stores with gates to go across the front. The bar on the outside looked like a hole in the wall, but inside it wasn’t bad at all. Outside on the patio, where the benefit for the coolest magazine in the galaxy, Bitch: Feminist Response to Pop Culture, took place, I was quite impressed with the ambiance, including small tables and chairs and an orange tree, among other plant life. I met some people, including Lisa, one of the two founders of Bitch. It was her birthday, so in addition to radioactive popcorn there was chocolate cake before the movie screening. Actually, I got a tall glass of cranberry juice from the bar before going out on the patio; I enjoy surprising bar tenders by asking for nonalcoholic cranberry juice. The film was the original Freaky Friday, which is still good after all these years.

I actually took a bath this evening instead of a shower. Relaxing. It’s a deep bathtub to climb in and out of, but worthwhile.

An odd thing I’ve noticed is not only the prevalence of panhandlers, and the occasional street musicians, but if I look confused on the sidewalk while looking at a map, strange men approach me and give me directions and want me to tip them for it. I’ve never before encountered people who expect you to pay them for giving you directions.

I have to mention the Fisherman’s Wharf store with a front window displaying some Asian sculptures, including handcrafted netsuke selling for $99 each. I got really interested and went up to the window for a closer look. A bunch of the netsuke were pornographic and, in my opinion, gross. Ew. There was a fascinating set of animals on a wooden boat, too.

In one of the two candy stores (that I ducked into so I could look over the map without attracting unwanted attention or getting in the way on the crowded sidewalk), I wandered all the way around the store and looked at everything. There were actually boxes of gummi penises and gummi boobs. I had somehow no inclination to buy a box. How would you stick a gummi penis in your mouth? Ew. I did get a handmade collage bookmark accompanied by Ghiradelli chocolate, and a similar little box accompanied by chocolate, and I’m thinking they’ll both be gifts.

I also stopped at a fruit stand and bought the Most Expensive Cherries in the Universe—the price per pound wasn’t displayed, and they looked so good piled up, and I had to weave through tables of fruit to get to the checkout table. It was a small bag—a zip lock bag that was too full to close—and it came out to $8. Ouch.