Jim thought that his class did not include breakfast today, so he suggested that we eat at the hotel instead of trying to catch the unreliable cable cars to breakfast, as he had to be in class at 8. We inquired at the desk, hoping for a coffee shop, but their only restaurant is the Top of the Mark (as in Mark Hopkins hotel). By this time it was too nearly 7, so we decided to try it. The view, with the sun coming up, was spectacular from the 15th floor on the top of Nob Hill. So was the price of the buffet breakfast.
The variety was amazing, from sauteed mushrooms to smoked salmon, cheeses, fruit smoothies and about 40 other dishes. Jim looked down at his plate, and said “gee, it’s just like breakfast at home except for the smoked salmon, fresh berries, brie, sauteed mushrooms, and...”.
After Jim was off to his class, I trotted off the museum. I had planned to go to the Museum of Modern Art, but alas, it was closed on Wednesdays. So I substituted the Asian Art Museum instead, which was amazing in its own right. I had looked at the map, so I trotted down the hill towards Market Street. I didn’t realize that my chosen route took me through a rather run-down part of town, but kept my head down and didn’t have any problems. I was delighted to find that there was a huge Farmers’ Market at the United Nations Plaza - “The Farmers Market at the Heart of the City.”
I was a few minutes early for the museum to open, so I wandered through the plaza in front of City Hall. This was the Civic Center, so opposite the museum was City Hall, the opera house and the United Nations Plaza, where the original charter for the U.N. was signed.
The City Hall plaza had a demonstration garden for organic home Victory Gardens. There were also a number of people doing Tai Chi in the plaza.
I went over to the museum about five minutes before it was to open, and was standing with a couple of other ladies. Another woman came up to the doors and began to pound on them and scream that she was late for her private tour. She persisted, going from door to door, and finally started to curse. The French woman standing next to me said, “I thought only in France such people existed!” We chuckled, and wondered what the fuss was, as the agitated lady was 25 minutes late for her tour - what difference would five minutes make?
There was a special exhibit from the Afghanistan National Museum, so I joined the docent-led tour. The docents have to go through 3 ½ years of training, plus special training for new exhibits such as this one. All this to volunteer for free!
The exhibit was fascinating. The artifacts had been hidden by Afghans who wished to preserve their heritage during the years of the Soviet invasion and during the Taliban years. Because of its location on the silk road, these artifacts from up to 3,000 years ago showed the diverse nature of trade. There was Roman glass manufactured in Egypt, Buddha figurines, and an excavation of tombs of nomads from the north of Afghanistan. The people were buried with their golden jewelry, crowns, belts, cups and other items.
I then took the audio tour of the museum.
After the museum I hit the Farmers Market for lunch. I looked for the longest line, which was at the Tamale cart, and had delicious and cheap tamales. There was fruit of every description as well, and I sampled fresh strawberries.
I trekked back to the hotel over a longer but less shabby route, and flopped on the bed to let my tired feet recover.
Golden Gate Bridge
Jim really wanted to see the Golden Gate, so he asked the concierge for the bus connections. It wasn’t very hard, even for us. There was a sad, mentally ill man who got on the bus for a while; he was thin and short, and he was holding up a pair of pants big enough to fit Jim. As he got off, the pants drooped to reveal his bum. He also was in stocking feet. So sad.
We got the bridge, and of course it was foggy, even though it had been clear as a bell at the hotel. We wandered around the end of the bridge, and watched the cyclists going across on the bike lane. Many of them were obviously commuters, with backpacks or panniers, but a number looked like racers.
Finally it cleared, and we saw almost all of the bridge. The cables were huge.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Tuesday, Day 3, In which our heroine stalks the City
Today Jim’s conference began, the ostensible reason for our trip. While he is off learning about from “Hospital to Home,” I was out and about. Monte and Sue had gotten me a ticket to the Alcatraz boat and tour for my birthday. I didn’t need to be at Pier 39 until 10:30, so I had time on my hands from when Jim went down to the “welcome breakfast” for his conference at 7.
First, a word about cyclists in the city. They are brave souls, braving steep hills and heavy traffic. Most amazing to me, however, given the hills and traffic, is that quite a number of them are riding “fixe” (fixed gear bikes). These bikes have only one gear, and you must pedal as fast as the wheels are turning. If you are going quickly down a steep hill, your legs are a blur. If you are going uphill, remember that you only have one gear. A number of the fixies that I’ve seen had no brakes at all. The rider slows, among other ways, by putting one of his feet on the rear wheel and braking in that way. I chatted with one of the riders who had a brake, and asked how he managed climbing the hills, and he said modestly that he could manage most of them. Whereupon he took off up Bush Street at pretty good clip, with only a 10 or 12% grade.
I walked down to Roxanne Café for breakfast and ventured into the french toast side of the menu. In between two layers of french toast was a mixture of blueberries and cream cheese. Hmm.
I then trekked all the way to the Pier for my Alcatraz excursion, with a stop at the Tuesday Farmers Market at the Ferry Landing. There are Farmers Markets on Tuesday and Saturday there. I bought some delicious dried nectarines, and a bun at the bakery, to tide me over during my prison time.
I got to the Pier an hour early, and they let me take that boat. The morning was somewhat foggy, but not windy. The “Rock” loomed closer, and then we docked. There was a sign at the dock, left over from its prison days, about not landing unauthorized or you would be imprisoned. It also said “Welcome Indians.”
I hadn’t realized that Alcatraz is part of a National Park. I joined a tour guided by a park ranger, and he explained the strategic importance of the island, due to its location at the mouth of San Francisco Bay. The U.S. Army realized its importance just before the Civil War, and built a fort there. In its original state, Alcatraz was dome shaped. The ranger explained that every flat surface and road had been chipped out of the sandstone, mostly by hand.
The original fort had been designed to withstand cannon balls. The brick mason earned $10 per day, at a time when an army private earned $7.50 per month. The skill of the brick mason was evident, especially when he pointed out a portion to the side which had been done by forced labor a few years later.
Every army fort had its jail, and the one at Alcatraz was expanded during the Civil War. Although California had entered the Union as a non-slave state, some of the soldiers stationed there were from the south. So when there were Confederate victories, and those southern soldiers did some celebrating (shooting off their weapons and drinking), the general at the Presidio by the Golden Gate ordered that they be shipped to Alcatraz, and the “traitorous nature” of their feelings be sweated out of them by breaking rock with a sledgehammer. It took some two years of forced labor for the parade grounds to be leveled.
Eventually, Alcatraz became the prison for all of the Army, due to its hard to escape location. It didn’t become a federal prison until around 1930, and was only a prison until 1963.
After the ranger tour, I got my headphones for the audio tour. The recorded tour guides you through the complex in any of around 10 languages. It takes you from place to place, telling you about the life there and some of the more well known convicts. It held less than 300 convicts at a time, but it held the “worst of the worst.” The say was: “Break the law, and you went to prison; break the prison rules and you went to Alcatraz.”
The isolation cells were especially chilling, as you were put in them without any light at all. To keep from going crazy, men would do a variety of things, such as take a button off their shirt, and then crawl around looking for it. When he found the button, he’d throw it again, and then feel for it.
Some of the prisoners took up hobbies, including crocheting. Anything to pass the time. They could also hear the fireworks in the city on New Year’s Eve, and the city itself looked so achingly close. If the wind was right, they could hear the sounds of people in the city.
The most dangerous time of the day was when all of the convicts were in the dining hall together for each of the three meals. There were canisters of tear gas on the ceiling which could be set off if there was a riot.
Surprisingly to me, there were families of the guards which lived in quarters on one half of the island. Some of the voices on the audio tour were those of children who grew up there.
After the tour was done, I continued with my café tour of San Francisco. This time I was off to try the Café Trieste in the Italian neighborhood called North Beach. It didn’t look far on the map; just six blocks. Four of those blocks were nearly vertical, but by the time I realized that I was halfway up the hill. Then there were two blocks down the other side.
The walk was worth it, as lunch was a foccacia pizza, plum cake and another superb cappuccino. They roast their own coffee, so I bought a pound.
Then I walked towards the visible landmark of the TransAmerica Tower, and when I hit a familiar sounding street near the tower, I turned up that hill. Eventually my tired legs hauled me up to the hotel, where I sprawled out flat on the bed and rested my aching feet.
All in all I covered a lot of ground. I hope that Jim’s conference was interesting.
Dinner: Chinatown. After consulting with the guidebook, we decided to take another run at eating in Chinatown. This place was fancier and aimed more towards the tourist trade. We opened the vast menu, to be confronted with choices like “sea cucumber,” “frogs legs with xo sauce” and “duck tongue.” Hmm...time to take the combination dinner C. It did include lobster with a sauce, and a strange sweet and sour soup which neither of us ate, but the rest was comfortingly familiar dishes such as broccoli with beef and fried rice. The facial expressions on the faces of the tourist family next to us made us feel very sophisticated and at home. The teenage daughter frowned and made an expression which said “ewww” every time that she turned a page of the menu. Her parents were more restrained, at least until their food came. Mom’s face showed that she was definitely not enjoying the food.
First, a word about cyclists in the city. They are brave souls, braving steep hills and heavy traffic. Most amazing to me, however, given the hills and traffic, is that quite a number of them are riding “fixe” (fixed gear bikes). These bikes have only one gear, and you must pedal as fast as the wheels are turning. If you are going quickly down a steep hill, your legs are a blur. If you are going uphill, remember that you only have one gear. A number of the fixies that I’ve seen had no brakes at all. The rider slows, among other ways, by putting one of his feet on the rear wheel and braking in that way. I chatted with one of the riders who had a brake, and asked how he managed climbing the hills, and he said modestly that he could manage most of them. Whereupon he took off up Bush Street at pretty good clip, with only a 10 or 12% grade.
I walked down to Roxanne Café for breakfast and ventured into the french toast side of the menu. In between two layers of french toast was a mixture of blueberries and cream cheese. Hmm.
I then trekked all the way to the Pier for my Alcatraz excursion, with a stop at the Tuesday Farmers Market at the Ferry Landing. There are Farmers Markets on Tuesday and Saturday there. I bought some delicious dried nectarines, and a bun at the bakery, to tide me over during my prison time.
I got to the Pier an hour early, and they let me take that boat. The morning was somewhat foggy, but not windy. The “Rock” loomed closer, and then we docked. There was a sign at the dock, left over from its prison days, about not landing unauthorized or you would be imprisoned. It also said “Welcome Indians.”
I hadn’t realized that Alcatraz is part of a National Park. I joined a tour guided by a park ranger, and he explained the strategic importance of the island, due to its location at the mouth of San Francisco Bay. The U.S. Army realized its importance just before the Civil War, and built a fort there. In its original state, Alcatraz was dome shaped. The ranger explained that every flat surface and road had been chipped out of the sandstone, mostly by hand.
The original fort had been designed to withstand cannon balls. The brick mason earned $10 per day, at a time when an army private earned $7.50 per month. The skill of the brick mason was evident, especially when he pointed out a portion to the side which had been done by forced labor a few years later.
Every army fort had its jail, and the one at Alcatraz was expanded during the Civil War. Although California had entered the Union as a non-slave state, some of the soldiers stationed there were from the south. So when there were Confederate victories, and those southern soldiers did some celebrating (shooting off their weapons and drinking), the general at the Presidio by the Golden Gate ordered that they be shipped to Alcatraz, and the “traitorous nature” of their feelings be sweated out of them by breaking rock with a sledgehammer. It took some two years of forced labor for the parade grounds to be leveled.
Eventually, Alcatraz became the prison for all of the Army, due to its hard to escape location. It didn’t become a federal prison until around 1930, and was only a prison until 1963.
After the ranger tour, I got my headphones for the audio tour. The recorded tour guides you through the complex in any of around 10 languages. It takes you from place to place, telling you about the life there and some of the more well known convicts. It held less than 300 convicts at a time, but it held the “worst of the worst.” The say was: “Break the law, and you went to prison; break the prison rules and you went to Alcatraz.”
The isolation cells were especially chilling, as you were put in them without any light at all. To keep from going crazy, men would do a variety of things, such as take a button off their shirt, and then crawl around looking for it. When he found the button, he’d throw it again, and then feel for it.
Some of the prisoners took up hobbies, including crocheting. Anything to pass the time. They could also hear the fireworks in the city on New Year’s Eve, and the city itself looked so achingly close. If the wind was right, they could hear the sounds of people in the city.
The most dangerous time of the day was when all of the convicts were in the dining hall together for each of the three meals. There were canisters of tear gas on the ceiling which could be set off if there was a riot.
Surprisingly to me, there were families of the guards which lived in quarters on one half of the island. Some of the voices on the audio tour were those of children who grew up there.
After the tour was done, I continued with my café tour of San Francisco. This time I was off to try the Café Trieste in the Italian neighborhood called North Beach. It didn’t look far on the map; just six blocks. Four of those blocks were nearly vertical, but by the time I realized that I was halfway up the hill. Then there were two blocks down the other side.
The walk was worth it, as lunch was a foccacia pizza, plum cake and another superb cappuccino. They roast their own coffee, so I bought a pound.
Then I walked towards the visible landmark of the TransAmerica Tower, and when I hit a familiar sounding street near the tower, I turned up that hill. Eventually my tired legs hauled me up to the hotel, where I sprawled out flat on the bed and rested my aching feet.
All in all I covered a lot of ground. I hope that Jim’s conference was interesting.
Dinner: Chinatown. After consulting with the guidebook, we decided to take another run at eating in Chinatown. This place was fancier and aimed more towards the tourist trade. We opened the vast menu, to be confronted with choices like “sea cucumber,” “frogs legs with xo sauce” and “duck tongue.” Hmm...time to take the combination dinner C. It did include lobster with a sauce, and a strange sweet and sour soup which neither of us ate, but the rest was comfortingly familiar dishes such as broccoli with beef and fried rice. The facial expressions on the faces of the tourist family next to us made us feel very sophisticated and at home. The teenage daughter frowned and made an expression which said “ewww” every time that she turned a page of the menu. Her parents were more restrained, at least until their food came. Mom’s face showed that she was definitely not enjoying the food.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Country Mice in the City, Day 2
The perfect capuccino, Part 2 (breakfast edition) Just to make sure that the capuccino at Roxanne’s café was perfect, we hit it for breakfast. Take two was just as good as the first sample. Breakfast was a seafood omelette for Jim, and Jake’s scramble for me (spinach, bacon, provolone cheese, tomatoes and fresh salsa). Aaah, how I love San Francisco.
Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower. After a bit of wandering, we found bus #39 heading up to Coit Tower on Telegraph Hill. The route snaked through North Beach, which was instantly recognizable by the Italian flags painted on all of the light-poles. The Tower itself commanded an astounding view, diminished only by the slightly hazy conditions. We were the only native English speakers at the top; I recognized Japanese, German, French and Italian. There were a couple of other languages I wasn’t so sure about.
At the bottom of the Tower on the inside are Murals painted by artists as one of the Depression era government work projects. They were suggested by Diego Rivera, and were done in fresco. The subjects were the people of San Francisco and California: sailors, cops, robbers, dairymen, bakers, newspapermen, librarians, truckers, workers of all sorts. There were some very sly pokes at the Establishment. For instance, in the library corner a man was taking Karl Marx’s “Das Kapital” off of the bookshelf while winking slyly at you, and people were reading newspapers with headlines about the dedication of the Tower and the controversial murals.
As soon as we stepped outside at the bottom after paying for and taking the $5 elevator ride to the top, the haze was instantly gone and the sky was clear. We still could get some good shots, but not quite as spectacular as from the top.
Municipal Trolley Line, There are antique electric trolleys which run along the waterfront, and are quite different from the more famous cable cars.
Ferry Terminal and Farmers Market (upscale). This is sort of like Seattle’s Pike Place Market, but the Gucci version. There was the Mushroom shop, the Caviar shop, a bakery with astounding foccacia, Japanese delicatessen, and Frog Hollow Farms. Plus a kitchen shop, wherein I lost control of Jim. At least he didn’t but the $5,000 espresso machine or the 8 burner gas stove that cost I more than my mortgage payments for a year. Let’s just say that he spent enough that we got a free subscription to Bon Appetite magazine.
A beatnik café. In North Beach there was a café that our guidebook said had been where the “Beat” poets of the 1950's had gathered. They had outstanding espresso and pizza, plus pictures of famous folk who had eaten there over the years. The bathroom had a sloping ceiling that even I had to stoop for. I’m not quite sure how Jim managed.
Los Gringos on de bus. From the café we caught a city bus that was going downtown. I believe that we were the only people-not-of-color there...and couldn’t understand any of the multiple languages being spoken. What an amazingly diverse city.
Chinatown Tea Shop. I had asked the concierge at our hotel for the name of a tea-shop, and he gave me two. The walls were lined with tins from all over Asia. The oolong teas were labled by the mountain on which they were grown. The clerk explained that the higher the mountain, the slower the tea grew, and the better the flavor. I might add that the higher the mountain the higher the price. By the time she led me through tasting several, let’s just say that I was pretty even with Jim for the kitchenware shop earlier in the day.
When we got ready to go from there the three blocks up the hill to our hotel it was after 5 and the cable cars were jammed. When the second one came I shoved Jim and said, run for it. I started trudging up the 3 blocks of hill with the bags. I found those blocks to be much longer than they looked; I swear that each block was another mile uphill. My glutes and hamstrings complained mightily...it turned out that there were several spots to sit inside, so I hiked needlessly. Buns of steel will be my reward.
Telegraph Hill and Coit Tower. After a bit of wandering, we found bus #39 heading up to Coit Tower on Telegraph Hill. The route snaked through North Beach, which was instantly recognizable by the Italian flags painted on all of the light-poles. The Tower itself commanded an astounding view, diminished only by the slightly hazy conditions. We were the only native English speakers at the top; I recognized Japanese, German, French and Italian. There were a couple of other languages I wasn’t so sure about.
At the bottom of the Tower on the inside are Murals painted by artists as one of the Depression era government work projects. They were suggested by Diego Rivera, and were done in fresco. The subjects were the people of San Francisco and California: sailors, cops, robbers, dairymen, bakers, newspapermen, librarians, truckers, workers of all sorts. There were some very sly pokes at the Establishment. For instance, in the library corner a man was taking Karl Marx’s “Das Kapital” off of the bookshelf while winking slyly at you, and people were reading newspapers with headlines about the dedication of the Tower and the controversial murals.
As soon as we stepped outside at the bottom after paying for and taking the $5 elevator ride to the top, the haze was instantly gone and the sky was clear. We still could get some good shots, but not quite as spectacular as from the top.
Municipal Trolley Line, There are antique electric trolleys which run along the waterfront, and are quite different from the more famous cable cars.
Ferry Terminal and Farmers Market (upscale). This is sort of like Seattle’s Pike Place Market, but the Gucci version. There was the Mushroom shop, the Caviar shop, a bakery with astounding foccacia, Japanese delicatessen, and Frog Hollow Farms. Plus a kitchen shop, wherein I lost control of Jim. At least he didn’t but the $5,000 espresso machine or the 8 burner gas stove that cost I more than my mortgage payments for a year. Let’s just say that he spent enough that we got a free subscription to Bon Appetite magazine.
A beatnik café. In North Beach there was a café that our guidebook said had been where the “Beat” poets of the 1950's had gathered. They had outstanding espresso and pizza, plus pictures of famous folk who had eaten there over the years. The bathroom had a sloping ceiling that even I had to stoop for. I’m not quite sure how Jim managed.
Los Gringos on de bus. From the café we caught a city bus that was going downtown. I believe that we were the only people-not-of-color there...and couldn’t understand any of the multiple languages being spoken. What an amazingly diverse city.
Chinatown Tea Shop. I had asked the concierge at our hotel for the name of a tea-shop, and he gave me two. The walls were lined with tins from all over Asia. The oolong teas were labled by the mountain on which they were grown. The clerk explained that the higher the mountain, the slower the tea grew, and the better the flavor. I might add that the higher the mountain the higher the price. By the time she led me through tasting several, let’s just say that I was pretty even with Jim for the kitchenware shop earlier in the day.
When we got ready to go from there the three blocks up the hill to our hotel it was after 5 and the cable cars were jammed. When the second one came I shoved Jim and said, run for it. I started trudging up the 3 blocks of hill with the bags. I found those blocks to be much longer than they looked; I swear that each block was another mile uphill. My glutes and hamstrings complained mightily...it turned out that there were several spots to sit inside, so I hiked needlessly. Buns of steel will be my reward.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Toto: we're not in Walla Walla Anymore
Day 1: the perfect cappuccino
On Saturday we arrived in San Francisco at mid-day. By the time that we got our bags, rode BART downtown, and took a taxi up to our hotel the Mark Hopkins, it was after 2. We asked the bellhop for recommendations for lunch, and thought we would walk the 3 blocks to his first pair of suggestions. We didn’t realize the steep nature of two of those down-hill blocks. It was like climbing down a mountain without crampons.
But first, the bell-hop. We get up to the room, and he inquires as to where we’re from. We reply Walla Walla, and he says, “oh, isn’t that in the eastern half of the state?” Yes, we said. He inquires about the political makeup of eastern Washington, and also asks which presidential candidate we think will take Washington. We said we thought Obama. Then he talks about how he wanted to go to Seattle next summer, but the tickets for the “Ring” (Wagner’s 22 hour epic) were a thousand dollars. Jim pointed out that if you figured it on an hourly basis, it wasn’t nearly as expensive. A five minute conversation with one of the most erudite people you would ever hope to meet.
His suggestion, the Café Ramona was an Italian café, a small corner spot with only about twelve to fifteen tables. The staff in the kitchen were actually speaking in Italian, and I had the very best cappuccino ever. This was followed by penne pasta with gorgonzola and prosciutto and basil. Jim had linguine with clams. Sigh. At this point I was already planning our next trip to San Francisco.
We went back to the room, and despite that double shot, I fell asleep for an hour and a half. Jim, however, slept at least two hours. I do believe that we were tired.
Dinner was a few blocks away in Chinatown. There was something in the “mixed seafood” dish that didn’t sit at all well, and started to do bad things to my gut. Even Jim left it. But the barbecued duck and fried rice made up for it.
The first few blocks in Chinatown were filled with a mixture of kitsch. and items too expensive to even ask what their price-tag was. We figured that since there were no prices on the jade carvings that we couldn’t afford them.
Day 2: Sears Fine Foods and Fishermans Wharf.
Aided by our son-in-law’s travel guide, Streetwise San Francisco, we made our way via cable car to Sears Fine Food. There was a line, but it moved quickly, and once inside we discovered why there was a line outside.
The sign said that it had been there since the early 1930's, and instead of being “faux” vintage, it was actually vintage, with the tiny octagonal tiles and old wood-work. The food showed why they were still in business all these years later. The wait-staff was superb, and the food arrived quickly and was worth the trip. In addition, there was a bookstore next door. Couldn't pass that up, could we?
We walked around Union Square, looking in the window at Tiffany’s, waltzing through Williams Sonoma, and enjoying the park in the square itself. The square was named for the rallies in favor of the Union, versus the Confederacy, during the Civil War era, and the rallies resulted in California entering as a State of the Union.
We went to Fisherman’s Wharf next via two cable car lines. We passed Lombard Street, with a posted 5 miles per hour speed limit. The wharf was divided between touristy places for the vast majority of us, and the more upscale Ghiradelli Square.
On the wharf we sampled some Boudin’s San Francisco sourdough, and had cioppino in a sourdough bread boule down the street. As taxpayers we felt a direct benefit by using the rest-rooms at the San Francisco Waterfront National Park on more than one occasion.
The hills here vary from steep to insanely steep. Now we’ve figured out that it’s better to walk a block uphill and catch a trolley than walk down.
That’s it for now. More to come, along with pictures!
On Saturday we arrived in San Francisco at mid-day. By the time that we got our bags, rode BART downtown, and took a taxi up to our hotel the Mark Hopkins, it was after 2. We asked the bellhop for recommendations for lunch, and thought we would walk the 3 blocks to his first pair of suggestions. We didn’t realize the steep nature of two of those down-hill blocks. It was like climbing down a mountain without crampons.
But first, the bell-hop. We get up to the room, and he inquires as to where we’re from. We reply Walla Walla, and he says, “oh, isn’t that in the eastern half of the state?” Yes, we said. He inquires about the political makeup of eastern Washington, and also asks which presidential candidate we think will take Washington. We said we thought Obama. Then he talks about how he wanted to go to Seattle next summer, but the tickets for the “Ring” (Wagner’s 22 hour epic) were a thousand dollars. Jim pointed out that if you figured it on an hourly basis, it wasn’t nearly as expensive. A five minute conversation with one of the most erudite people you would ever hope to meet.
His suggestion, the Café Ramona was an Italian café, a small corner spot with only about twelve to fifteen tables. The staff in the kitchen were actually speaking in Italian, and I had the very best cappuccino ever. This was followed by penne pasta with gorgonzola and prosciutto and basil. Jim had linguine with clams. Sigh. At this point I was already planning our next trip to San Francisco.
We went back to the room, and despite that double shot, I fell asleep for an hour and a half. Jim, however, slept at least two hours. I do believe that we were tired.
Dinner was a few blocks away in Chinatown. There was something in the “mixed seafood” dish that didn’t sit at all well, and started to do bad things to my gut. Even Jim left it. But the barbecued duck and fried rice made up for it.
The first few blocks in Chinatown were filled with a mixture of kitsch. and items too expensive to even ask what their price-tag was. We figured that since there were no prices on the jade carvings that we couldn’t afford them.
Day 2: Sears Fine Foods and Fishermans Wharf.
Aided by our son-in-law’s travel guide, Streetwise San Francisco, we made our way via cable car to Sears Fine Food. There was a line, but it moved quickly, and once inside we discovered why there was a line outside.
The sign said that it had been there since the early 1930's, and instead of being “faux” vintage, it was actually vintage, with the tiny octagonal tiles and old wood-work. The food showed why they were still in business all these years later. The wait-staff was superb, and the food arrived quickly and was worth the trip. In addition, there was a bookstore next door. Couldn't pass that up, could we?
We walked around Union Square, looking in the window at Tiffany’s, waltzing through Williams Sonoma, and enjoying the park in the square itself. The square was named for the rallies in favor of the Union, versus the Confederacy, during the Civil War era, and the rallies resulted in California entering as a State of the Union.
We went to Fisherman’s Wharf next via two cable car lines. We passed Lombard Street, with a posted 5 miles per hour speed limit. The wharf was divided between touristy places for the vast majority of us, and the more upscale Ghiradelli Square.
On the wharf we sampled some Boudin’s San Francisco sourdough, and had cioppino in a sourdough bread boule down the street. As taxpayers we felt a direct benefit by using the rest-rooms at the San Francisco Waterfront National Park on more than one occasion.
The hills here vary from steep to insanely steep. Now we’ve figured out that it’s better to walk a block uphill and catch a trolley than walk down.
That’s it for now. More to come, along with pictures!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
5 reasons to bike your drive
Courtesy of REI:
Biking Facts: Did You Know?
5 reasons to bike your drive
- The average person loses 13 pounds their first year of commuting by bike.
- 40% of all car trips in the U.S. are made within 2 miles of home.
- 60% of the pollution created by autos happens in the first few minutes of operation, before pollution control devices can work effectively.
- Just 3 hours of biking per week can reduce your risk of heart disease and stroke by 50%.
- The U.S. could save 462 million gallons of gas a year by boosting bicycle trips just half a percentage point: from 1% to 1.5% of all trips.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Bike Issues on the Ballot
I received the following from Cascade Bicycle Club regarding bike-related issues on the ballot. Beware of another Tim Eyman initiative, I-985:
While the fight for the presidency grabs the headlines, there are urgent local measures that impact you as a cyclist on this year’s ballot. We recognize that you make your voting decisions based on a variety of factors. Our board of directors has carefully evaluated candidates and ballot measures. We asked how they would affect our environment, our neighborhoods, and, most important, our safety as bicyclists.
Washington can leap forward toward or greatly regress from our goal of creating better communities for bicycling. Cascade Bicycle Club makes the following endorsements:
I-985 - Vote NO WAY
This Tim Eyman proposal is not a serious proposal to fix our roads - it’s a disaster. I-985 would strip away funding for sidewalks and bicycles facilities for new roadways. If it passes, it will deal a devastating blow to pedestrians and people who ride bicycles.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Friday Morning ride
One of the pluses of riding at 6 in the morning at this time of year is getting to see some great sunrises.
One of the minuses is that you have to bundle up like the Michelin Man/Person/whatever. Here we are at the top of 5 mile hill. As you can see, I look fantastic. That's because I've passed my maximum heart rate chasing them up the hill.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Legislatively speaking
I've been asked to be on the Bicycle Alliance's State Legislative committee. One of their main legislative goals for this year is to get an additional definition added to the Safe Passing law; a 3 foot mandatory margin for vehicles passing bikes traveling the same direction as the vehicle.
As the law reads now, vehicles are to pass at a "safe distance." The 3 foot mandatory distance gives a definition for what the minimum for "safe" is. Wisconsin has had the 3 foot safe distance for about 15 years, and it has been quite successful there, and popular with law enforcement officers by giving them an exact definition.
Hopefully we'll be successful in this and other legislation.
As the law reads now, vehicles are to pass at a "safe distance." The 3 foot mandatory distance gives a definition for what the minimum for "safe" is. Wisconsin has had the 3 foot safe distance for about 15 years, and it has been quite successful there, and popular with law enforcement officers by giving them an exact definition.
Hopefully we'll be successful in this and other legislation.
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