Well, with that out the way, my day could begin. The forecasted heavy rain showers never made it San Francisco and once again, I emerged from the hostel, equipped with the necessities, to a bright blue sky and radiant Sun. Today, I decided to start my explorations inland, after having spent a few days at the coastline. The Pacific Heights, as the district is known, holds fame for residing on a 300 foot hillside, developed in the 1880s, and is composed of private housing mainly, most of which is Victorian in style. I climbed to the Alta Plaza; it's not too small to feel crowded, but not too large to inspire a sense of bewilderment from civilisation. Yoga was in practice, dog walkers were treating their pets to bite-sized nibbles, and I obtained great views of the southern region of the city.
One of the most characteristically Victorian elements with the housing in the Pacific Heights, is the use of rounded windows and rooftops. (It's almost Royal Holloway-ish!) I imagine the inside holds only the finest of indoor furnishings; from peeking in the windows today, I reckon the starting price for such a property lies within the hundreds of thousands. Outside most properties were cars of equal value; some very vintage ones too! I enjoyed an amble around the streets, and enjoyed the not-too-often available opportunity to walk back in time.
Immediately breaking my imaginings of well groomed people with tall top hats and polished canes emerging from large oak doorways, I went to walk up a street only to find it was temporarily closed. Not for construction work, or water maintenance, but because a school was using it for their playtime. Is it just me, but why is it whenever I pass schools, it's always either breaktime or lunchtime, or some other period of the timetable devoted for time-out? This particular school had a playground, of modest size too, yet they still felt it necessary to bring all the students out on a road, close it off for 20 minutes, and let the youngsters play with a rugby ball around all of this very expensive housing, and worse still, the parked vintages. At the end of playtime, one girl had to fish out a lost ball from underneath one of these engines, and to my astonishment, not one teacher looked cautious as to the risk of letting 25 children loose with a ball, around such fine surroundings. Two pupils removed the metal gates from each end of the street, whisked them away, and soon the street was back in action. Health and Safety obviously doesn't feature heavily on the teachers' conscience over here.
I felt a certain familiarity beginning to emerge, and turning round to locate which particular set of streets and avenues I was on, realised that I was within meters of the Presidio Mariner that I toured yesterday. Without the fog today, the beauty was only augmented. I treated myself to a Vanilla Bean donut at Dynamo's Donuts and watched as the little boats bobbed up and down on what was almost a motionless surface of water.
Having consulted my guidebook, I knew that if I followed the waterline east, I could enter the equally charming coastal district of Fishermen's Wharf, and so I did just that. I followed the ceaseless rhythm of wave crests fracturing, the abrupt surge of bubbles, and the discharge of a small shower of salty spray all the way along the promenade, until I was forced to part with my nautical route, and head temporarily into yet another city park. An interesting cloud was beginning to form.
Upon exiting the park, I was led by way of a long concrete road down to the waterline again, and my first views of what is popularly known as the Fishermen's Wharf. Sicilian fishermen first founded this area at the end of the 19th century, and slowly as a result of passing time, the area has fallen to relying on visits, no longer from fishermen, but from tourists.
It's a charming community with a stupendous range of small independently maintained restaurants and diners; such a shame I have a limited gut, because every menu I perused, had at least one item that I would welcome on my plate anyday. I did have my eye on one little establishment though; the original chocolate shop, or otherwise known as Ghirardelli. Chocolate cravers should look no further than here for a sumptuous delight, that will leave the taste buds desperate for more. I went through their menu outside; an icecream called "Earthquake" was $34! I settled for a Colossal Chocolate Cookie, more conveniently priced, and upholding its name in every way. Large chunky chocolate pieces amalgamated with a very tasty biscuit layer. For once, I had a strange feeling that I hadn't paid enough for such a treat.
Emerging from a lush sweet aroma that, like a moat, surrounds the Ghirardelli factory, I headed on along the harbour. The San Francisco Maritime National Historical Park was open, (well, with a name like that you'd hope so) so I went in for a browse. It holds one of the world's largest collections of old ships, and on display today was the Balclutha. It sailed, ironically, between Britain and California, trading wheat for coal twice in one year. I was very impressed with its condition; it didn't appear to reveal any bruising at all, which considering it was active in 1886, is a remarkable achievement on the part of its keepers.
Moving with the prevailing breeze was a faint resonance of music, and I instantly cursed the person who I expected was sitting in their car, with the windows down, playing their radio at a volume which should warrant a public broadcasting licence. So I was, as you can imagine, pleasantly surprised to see that it was a live act. Les Edwins, a well built guy that I can only describe as looking identical to the actor Julius Harris, popular for playing Tee-Hee in Live or Let Die. His eclectic range of music that he would both drum and sing along to backing tracks seemed very popular too. Passing strollers were adding generously to his bucket, and those waiting patiently at the traffic lights took this pause in their transit to offer the vicinity a short performance of their best improvised groove moves. Even the construction workers nearby looked happy; yes, they were actually smiling, and I thought this a rare sighting if ever I saw one. I had lunch listening to the likes of Marvin Gaye and the BeeGees, among others, offered a spare dollar I had, saluted my thanks and went to explore Pier 39.
Pier 39 is a hive of tourism; it still allows boats to moor and still maintains the wooden fishing village look. Souvenir shops were in their dozens here; cafe's and restaurants in much the abundance. At the end, a carousel was the focal point, though it didn't seem to be running at all. Right at the far end, a magic show was taking place; the guy apparently had performed at America's Got Talent. (Well, you can get on doing anything these days can't you?) He might have been a range of acts up his sleeve, (pun not intended), but I didn't like the fact that he immediately crowned anyone who left without donating, an evil person. Needless to say, though his fire acts inspired a certain thrill, I left with just as much music as I had when I had arrived.
Two girls approached me as I was walking Pier 39, and asked if I would like to be interviewed on film about Disneyland. Pleased to be in front of a camera again after all this time, I indulged in spewing out a lot of, what I consider, elaborate waffle on a subject I knew nothing about. Well, I think they liked what I had to say, and I was pleased with the way I had presented it, so despite a distinct lack of accuracy on my part, an all round win.
I decided to return inland, to explore the sights in the North-East, whilst it was still sunny. Large cotton buds were moving in the breeze above, as I made my way up Telegraph Hill, and to Pioneer Park; another city proud to hold one of these. I wonder which city pioneered the Pioneer Park movement? San Francisco's offering is altitudinous; a long and hard hike is needed to reach the top, and I was by this time, suffering. (My left foot has swollen slightly, for some reason I'm not yet acquainted with, and I had a very strange headache which only seemed to effect one side of my face, but boy was it painful.) At the summit of Pioneer Park is Coit Tower. Architecturally, it's not the most impressive specimen in San Francisco. In one sentence, it's a 210 ft reinforced concrete fluted column, although the views from the top must speak books. I didn't venture to the top, because it was daylight robbery financially, but the vistas on offer from it base were just as fulfilling.
There was just enough time to head to one more attraction; Lombard Street. I've been on Lombard Street many times, but not this particular stretch of it. And for good reason! It inclines 23 degrees, and despite the majority of streets here in this city are naturally arduous, 23 degrees was considered too steep. In the 1920s, this section of Lombard Street was revamped, and such an automotive challenge was diminished by simply making the road curve from one side to the other. It's a one way street, and pedestrians are offered 153 steps. Most guidebooks name it as 'the most crookedest street in the world' but I would also add the title of 'the most photographed road in the world' as a large congregation of (once again, alas) Japanese tourists had flocked to its base. They knew I was coming.
I trekked back through a whole mixture of districts, until I finally reached the hostel, and there awaiting my return, was post! A birthday card, no less! My parents, known in these blog circles as 'the ol codgers' (their choice, not mine) put the cherry on what had been yet another fantastic day in San Francisco; fast becoming one of my most favourite cities in the world!
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