SCHOLARSHIP DAY 102: Grand Tour of San Francisco- Union Park, Yerba Buena Gardens, Financial District, Twin Peaks, Corona Heights and China Town

I awoke at 6:00am. From peeping through the curtains, San Francisco was still in a twilight, but the luminous crescent moon twinkling in the night sky caught me eye. I was looking forward to observing city life on a Sunday, and contemplated whether it would appear any different to a standard weekday. After all, this is San Francisco. The city was still asleep, but within an hour of me arising from what was a sound night's sleep on an equally comfortable bed, I managed to wake everyone up in my dorm, lock myself out the room, nearly scald my back underneath what was a dangerously hot shower, and solder my finger on a fiery griddle. It wasn't, perhaps, the most elegant of morning routines, but all of those aggravating incidents seemed to diminuish to mere annoyances when I emerged from the hostel and welcomed what was a beautiful day.

Until now, I haven't based my days itinery around what some writers in a high rising tower located on a backstreet of London think would constitute a great day of productive sightseeing. It's always been my philosophy to seek out the highlights myself, and although this nearly always runs the risk of getting hopelessly lost, it makes the whole experience more personal; there's this exciting sense of walking a route that no other tourist has ever attempted. For San Francisco, however, aimless walking is not the way to go, possibly because of the immense scale of the place, but also due to the fact that there are so many streets swarming in cultural interest and yet so many streets with not a hint of it. In other words, you need a guide, and mine came courtesy of Dorling and Kingsley. Their book is brimming with an extensive yet well organised set of maps, selling San Francisco's most visited attractions and also some it's more obscure secrets. Today, I would attempt to do three sections of the book; a tall order for my first day, but I strolled down Taylor Street confident that it was going to be a great day of exploration.

I selected to cover the 'Financial Downtown district' first, for fears that it would be bustling later and photo opportunities would be few and far between. If anything, the Financial District is luxurious in character, architecturally chic, and it draws a certain stylish, well groomed character. It's overflowing in grandeur; hotels have snazzy porters attending the entrance, and if you turn your eye to the hostel's name, it's always prefixed with 'the', as if to warn any other establishment with identical name that their one is somehow superior. "The Grange", "The Fairmont", "The Ritz-Carlton"; you see what I mean. I was somewhat expecting Union Park to offer equal or possibly more cultivated beauty, so it was to my surprise to see that it really wasn't as grand as the guide book had made out. (There we are, back on the guidebook issue again!) Union Park is famous for the staging of pro-union rallies held during the Civil War, but the unmissable 90 ft column commemorates Admiral Dewey's victory at Manila Bay during the Spanish-American war thirty years after the union protests, so it's a bit of a mix here.

Possbly, and unfortunately for Admiral Dewey, the monument is overlooked because a large twinkling Christmas Tree stands almost next to it. I also noticed how many people simply took a photo of a large pink heart that for some reason unbeknown to me, sits atop a concrete block immediately outside the block. An ice skating park takes up most of the eastern end of the park, powered by a machine possibly of equal size to the rink, but despite this, the area seems to address all of the important elements that every park should aspire to: a relaxed atmosphere with perhaps a sight of historical interest to encapsulate while you're sipping on your Starbucks. Without a beverage, I swiftly moved on.

Slowly the city was beginning to welcome more pedestrians, and a wide array of transport started rushing to wherever they needed to be. A black Limousine gracefully proceeded up the street, and my walk was punctuated at what seemed to be every curb, by an irritating neon-lit flashing red man holding his right hand up, allowing what now were buses, monorail trains, and cable cars passed. The Cable Cars here are unique, and therefore, extremely popular. Their design echoes the past in every intricate detail, and they are operated by way of a single lever, clasped by a man in a classy conductors uniform; the kind you would only see on an episode of Poirot. Their size is possibly their only shortcoming. They hold about ten people inside, and anybody else has to stand on its wings, gripping for dear life with hand on a metal rail, and gripping their wallet, phone, iPad, camera, and coffee with the other. The turmoil that these passengers put themselves doesn't cease to astound me, and what's more, each and every one seems to relish these moments of precariousness. At the end of its journey, the Cable Car boards a turn-table (that's its real name) and spins to face the opposite direction. I waited to watch this, eager for a specatcular display of modern engineering at its supreme, so was a little disappointed to notice that the conductor literally gets out and pushes it around, like one would get a round-a-bout spinning.

I continued on, walking past an old Royal Mint building, which conspicuously doesn't bear any name, and the traveller has to result to squinting at a bus stop sign, but the building is impressive, and maintains all of its original architecture. Turning down Mission Street, I approached the Yerba Buena Gardens. This used to be a deprived area, not that you would guess at such a fact now, because the planning and construction teams have done the most remarkable revampment. Upon entering, I noticed just how tranquil the gardens are, and so wasn't suprised to see early morning joggers taking a break in their morning workouts here, children innocently playing among the grass, and the elderly resting in the shade, all to the sweet tweeting of birds, and around the scent of blossoming perennial flowers. (The last bit, I'm guessing at, as my nose is more blocked than Oxford Street at rush hour, and consequently, I can't smell a thing!)

I perched myself down, and took a conservative sip of Sprite, watching a very informal dancing session ran by a couple of Japanese ladies. Informal, perhaps, is an overstatement, as only one segment of their bodies seemed to be moving at one time, as if they were frightened more extravagant technique would send them toppling to the ground. The music was cheerful, and I joined them in wiggling one toe to the beat. Just passed them, was a most unusual piece of artwork; half a glass ship, giving the effect that it was half submerged in concrete, and a very agreeable set of fountains lined the background.

Continuing to wander around, absorbing every tiny detail that make these gardens uniquely picturesque, I kept spotting solitary people taking time on their walk for the occasional leg stretch, or wave of an arm, perhaps both simultaneously, and so I added Yoga to the list of recreational activities I had spotted occuring in these gardens. To be quite honest, I didn't have the courage to start a Yoga routine myself, fearing I suppose the possibility of pulling a muscle and then collapsing to the floor in the most unrefined way possible, sporting a face of distress and torment you often see these heavyweight boxers pull after being subjected to a wild pummel by their opponent.

San Francisco does an amazing thing in making you think you've seen the tallest skyscrapers, and then offering you more that make the first ones seem like toddlers. From exiting the gardens, I furthered myself east, towards the hub of the financial district, which by all accounts- apologies for the unintended pun- puts every other city you've previously seen into perspective. Seattle's skyscrapers merely scrape the surface, but here in San Francisco, there's more glass than sky. This is why so many of the streets are so dimly lit on a bright summer's (or in this case, bright winter's day). I ambled through, passing one bank after another, occasionally meeting an insurance company, or another institution of that nature. What I'm struggling to answer is why these buildings are so large, if money can be directed by a single computer? And why do they insist on turning on the lights, if their ceiling is composed of one single pane of glass, large enough anyway to allow maximum sunlight to beam through? Maybe, one day, I might withdraw an answer from somebody and that pun, by the way, was fully intended.

It's no surprise that the tallest and most reognised building in San Francisco is an 853 ft high office block, but at least the city has made it structually exciting. It's known as the Transamerica Pyramid, and in a city recognisable on the map as one of seismic activity, it's considered the possibility of an earthquake in its design. The exterior is caked in a "white quartz aggregate, interlaced with reinforcing rods on each floor, and the clearance between the panels allow lateral movement" according to DK's guide. San Francisco's transverse fault makes lateral movement highly likely, so this building is evidence of a well thought out design. It's only a shame, though, that it takes the cleaners one month to wash the windows!

From the map, I wasn't that far away from San Francisco Bay; in fact, I could have outstretched my arms and coated the tips of my fingers in salty water. San Francisco Bay looked even more remarkably beautous today as it had done from the bus yesterday. I wouldn't say water-traffic was thriving, though I reminded myself this was Sunday, so it was just me and the Seagulls; oh, and perhaps a few mature gentlemen having a domestic argument over whose beer was whose. Why do these specimens of impoverished society decide the most serene places are the best spots for these disputes? I took in as much of the vista as possible, and then moved on.

It was only 11:00am, and yet I had exhausted the significant structual points of interests in the Financial District, and ahead of me was a long walk to Twin Peaks. Twin Peaks, if it was a tin, would do everything it said on the label. Two highly elevated hills, rising 922 feet on average, that fulfill the dreams of tourists seeking that special panorama of San Francisco, or professional photographers attempting to get their image on a front page. Whatever the reason for going up to the peaks, they don't fail to impress. It was a long, sundrenched walk to the very top; the final segment of the effort was nearly all up arduous hills, and I even had to pop into a local corner store and purchase another drink! In the manic search for my wallet which had been wedged in between my books and my camera case, I mumbled to the store attendant about my trip; it turns out he was a flight attendant for 27 years! What a wonderful life that would be, although I don't think I could stay on my present side of sanity if I had to be subjected to the safety briefing twice a day for decades on end.

With one last struggling clamber, I had reached the summit of Twin Peaks. Painting the scene with words just doesn't do justice. The views were spiritual in their majesty, and I knew that the hard fought effort was worth it. From one spot, I could spot the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco Bay, and further inland, the Financial District I had just explored, and much more in between, and beyond. I considered just how stagnant the city looked, from this towering position. I find it amazing how such a vibrant city on ground can seem so inactive from a height; you know that a vast number of activities are taking place, yet all you gain from this position, is the distant resonance of combusting engines. I have tried to select the best of my photos.

 

 

 

From Twin Peaks, I ate my lunch, accompanied by better views most restaurants can offer. In the distance, I spotted an open landmass of exposed rock, orange in tan, and seemingly devoid of tourists. I decided a visit was in order. It turns out the assortment of rocks that had caught my eye, was actually Corona Heights, and it sits most agreeably with a charming suburban neighbourhood; houses with balconies, extravagant plants including cacti, and pleasantly designed front gardens. I arrived at the 'heights' and to my luck, the tourists had seen me coming. They were assembled as if they had reheased it, on every single rock that was on offer. My patience seemed to out-win them though, and I acquired a half decent image; the same view of the city, but from a different vantage point.

 

 

I had no other choice but to take the same route back, all along the never-ending stretch of Market Street, although with time, I could have selected a more sinuous one. My walk was eventless, as I had suspected, though I did spot a man adding to the list of San Francisco's diverse transportation list, gliding seamlessly down the street by way of a Safeways Trolley, and coming to think of it, I witnessed the theft of a bike light. I can even remember the reg. number of the car the crinimal quickly speeded off in! With about one more hour of light, I decided to explore China Town.

China Town, here in San Francisco, has this air about it that makes it welcoming to anyone; in fact, it seems the community admire the tourism that they churn everyday. I wandered through, wishing I had the ability to smell again, because I imagine it had this international scent about it, and I love a waft of spice! Buildings were adorned with various typcially Chinese styled figures, and for once, it invigorated me to walk through a street where I couldn't read a single shop sign or understand a single word of a passing conversation. For atmosphere, this has to be the best ethnic enclave I've come across on this long southward journey.

I sauntered through, and finally entered America again. (It honestly feels like that, when you venture through these asian communities.) A short, yet energizing walk up yet another set of misplaced hills, and I eventually reached the hostel. Tomorrow is my Birthday, and I've got a special treat lined up!