My first job was to visit the Presidio, a quaint corner of San Francisco's northwest territory, which also holds great scenes of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. (Don't worry, I'll try to restrain myself from showing you more photos from what's fast becoming the largest collection of photos of Golden Gate Bridge ever took by an English tourist!) I happened to wander through part of the Presidio, but alas didn't offer it my full attention, which it's meritable architecture and vintage housing certainly deserves. I arrived having travelled through a thick mist; it looked as if it wasn't going to depart anytime soon, (in fact, it never did.) The hillsides I had been hiking yesterday were shrouded by a densely packed congregation of water droplets, as if today was the Californian Water Droplet Club meeting, and by squinting, I made out what were very ill-defined red lines of Golden Gate Bridge. What was visible though was the flotilla of very fine looking boats, in the harbour.
Today must have been 'Make as much noise and disruption to the local community as you can' day, because my walk seemed surrounded by an army of lawn-mowers, hedge trimmers, JCB diggers, large cranes, and other rambunctious electrical tools that seemed to operate no other role but to disturb the serenity that the Presidio is otherwise famous for. I attempted to turn by senses away from this collective and ceaseless inharmonious racket, and turn my attention towards the architecture, that I had so rudely ignored yesterday. The house here along the waterfront are typically Victorian in structure, characteristically stick-line terraced infrastructure with ornate decorations above windows and symmetrical windows. My guidebook goes all the way with explaining the Victorian housing system, even dividing the period into thinner chunks such as the 'Gothic Revival', the 'Italianate', the 'Queen Anne' but not being an expert, I wouldn't like to hazard a guess as to what category these ones fit.
I was forced to punctuate what was a very smooth journey, and directed to head across to the other pavement, as significant construction tasks were apparently taking place on the one I was currently on. (No-one was on it at the time I was there, and I strongly doubt whether the work was so unarguably vital.) Having made that complaint, I would have crossed at some point anyway, as I wanted to absorb the impeccable work of Bernard R Maybeck, who is long gone now, but whose achievements now attracts thousands of tourists a year. Namely, the Palace of Fine Arts. It's classical detail, rotunda and columns are, I would agree with my guidebook, a beautiful backdrop to the gardens, which when I walked around, were also in fine condition, apart from perhaps the thin film of some substance residing on the surface of the water.
How quickly a mood can change! I was enjoying the tranquillity of being surrounded by such well kept history, when almost as if they had materialised from outer space, a large school group came charging through the arch. They had all the public decencies of a group of untrained dogs, and their teachers obviously didn't have them on a leash. A bit further on, a coach-load of Japanese tourists decided that they would all like photos together and so spent most of their allotted time taking photos of each other standing in front of the palace. One even posed an irritating pointing finger at the palace as if they would somehow forget in the future what they had come to visit; a pose that I regret to inform you is something of a rule when appearing in any of my mother's photos! How I would hate to be part of a coach tour group all day, everyday; no flexibility in how long you spend at each point of interest, no choice in what you actually visit, and therefore no spontaneity.
There are times on this trip when I do wish for some public transportation, to give my feet a well earned rest. I have done well in this phase of the trip, not to require anything apart from Greyhound Coaches, but after a couple of days with up to 15 miles walking on each one, today I would have welcomed the comfort of a padded seat and a foot rest. I proceeded on though, working my leg muscles through the aches and pains, through the heart of the Presidio, to the woodland trail system that runs for several miles in a multiple directions. The tricky thing is to select the right one, and keep on it, something I unfortunately seem to have difficulties in achieving. I always seem to find something of interest off on another path, almost always go down it, and then within a matter of minutes, get lost in a maze of monotonous looking paths. A true geographer, aren't I!? Today, I ended up in a children's playground, and then spotted a possible route to get back on track, which eventually turned out to be a footpath to someones back garden. The most antagonising aspect of all of this is having to turn back, and starting all over again. But such was the way today, and it took longer than I had expected to reach the 'Inspiration Overlook Point'. This highlight of the Presidio hiking trail system is suitably named as it offers fine views of the bay and the local wooded scenery; in better weather, I'm sure I could have managed some great photos.
I didn't spend that long at 'Inspiration Overlook Point' (not enough time for it to inspire anything for me) but I did have a long walk ahead of me, and time was moving quickly. I continued, as guided, along quiet single lane roads (something of a miracle here in America) and then some more through open woodland. I passed a warning of a recently seen Coyote, I couldn't be doing with these, so I picked up a large dead branch from the ground, and now well defended against attack, proceeded towards the National Military Cemetery.
The Cemetery from all angles looks as if it extends forever; row after row, thousands of small white headstones provide a brief dedication to those whom they belong to. I find it interesting how vast in range the dates are, and yet each headstone looks as identical as the one on either side of it. To add to Tuesday's series of construction and maintenance work, even the cemetery couldn't escape it. Workers wearing mud-caked boots had stripped all of the grass for endless stretches of this cemetery, so as I made my way down the path, I couldn't but frown at the lack of displayed dignity, eventhough I'm sure what they're doing is improving for the long term.
After yet more walking, I finally had caught up with the Golden Gate Bridge again, and this time immediately made my way underneath it, by way of a subterranean footpath. The vistas after emerging into daylight again, along the coastal bluffs of San Francisco's northwestern coastline were inspiring from the first glimpse. To the North, the bridge, and to the south, my future trek lay ahead of me; all along the western bluffs, a stretch of Baker Beach, and Lincoln Park which by all accounts should lead me to the most easterly point of San Francisco.
The coastal bluffs were not very sympathetic on the legs; the paths were a continuous oscillating cycle, up and down the cliff, even if the bluffs themselves weren't varying in height. Eventually, I was directed to Baker Beach, and seemed to be left up to my own devices thereon. Baker Beach was at low tide at the time of my visit, and although the vast expanse of sand available, it looked almost totally devoid of activity. A few passing strollers greeted me, and a couple of fishermen were battling the high winds in attempt to go home with a bucket full of tasty tea-time treats. One was dedicating his time solely to catch crabs, and I was lucky enough to see him catch one. Spying the activity from a distance, I was shocked to see him- after so much concentrated effort reeling in the line- releasing the crab. I asked him why he had shown such sympathy to it after he had probably spent up to an hour or two dedicating his time in catching it, and he told me that it was too small. I looked at it; it was, to use a line from Burger King, a 'whopper' of a catch. After vocalising such a surprise to his last remark, he elaborated: "it has to be at least five inches for it to be legally caught, otherwise it's a $500 fine." So I suppose the secret to a crab's long and healthy life is not to grow above 5 inches!
From Beaker Beach, you have to scramble back up the bluffs, and look for El Camino del Mar; a delightful little road that winds through the clearly affluent community on this, the most westerly community in San Francisco. The housing here is extremely grand, once again, with typical Victorian designs showcased on each wall I passed. I happen to get into conversations with the most random of people, and thus it was so on this road. A man approached me with a business card and A5 flyer advertising his building company; the card is proud to state that it's been operating since 1974, and the flyer informs it built Capelli's Spa; your guess is as good as mine. I kindly remarked I wasn't living here in America, and therefore had no great need of a construction company, although in hindsight, it would be useful in the event of an earthquake. As I made my exit from the conversation, he greeted me a very "Merry Christmas", and I left having changed my opinion on builders and construction workers that I had spent the morning cursing over. There we were exchanging festive pleasantries, and we hadn't been speaking for a minute! That's just how Americans are; their holidays are important in bringing the wider community together.
Lincoln Park is full of Coyotes, and sometimes, the odd Mountain Lion is spotted. My walk through would have been fine had it not been for the large red sign, protruding from the hedge upon my entry, cautioning me on what to do if I hear a Coyote, and then outlining a different procedure if you happen to see a Coyote, followed finally with instructions of what to do if it's less than 50ft away. Not being too familiar with the imperial measuring system, was I to take a tape measure with me on these walks, and subtly measure the distance between myself and the offending animal before choosing the correct procedure to instigate? Apart from this, Lincoln Park is similarly wonderful. It offers great viewing stations with which to settle your tripod, and likewise, many benches for those without the required stamina. I'm happy to say, even after all of this walking, I didn't have to use them! I thought I heard a Coyote, and having forgotten everything the board had said about the matter, I decided to make a run for it. I ran for half a mile, until I met up with more strollers, where I felt a lot safer.
Lincoln Park ends, and almost immediately, you're thrust from the woodland into a car park; specifically, the site of Land's End and the Cliff House Restaurant. Having not celebrated my birthday with a meal yesterday, I thought that a change from Ramen Noodles was required, and the historic Cliff House Restaurant with panoramic views of the dramatic coastline seemed the best way to go about it. It's been established since the late 1800s, yet you wouldn't know it. Dramatic modernisation has taken place; the furniture if of contemporary design, and yet despite this lack of upholding heritage, the place was packed. I was lucky to get a window seat, though, on the southern side, overlooking views of the beach.
When I looked tonight at my hand written journals, I came across something of interest. Having just had beer battered cod and chips at a restaurant at Land's End, here in San Francisco on the 11th November, I was pleasantly shocked to see I had beer battered cod and chips at a restaurant in Homer, on the 11th September. That sounds ages ago, and I suppose it is, yet I still remember just how great the views were, in Homer as I tucked into my fish and dipped my chips. I now feel, after yesterday's adventure over Golden Gate Bridge, and then today's spectacularly scenic dining, my Birthday has been well and truly celebrated.
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