"One day if I do go to heaven I'll look around and say, 'It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco."-Herb Caen
Oh really, Herb?He's not the only one who thinks this, however. There's something about what Caen and others have seen in San Francisco that induces romanticism and other such sentimental notions. Just saying the city's name aloud, "San Francisco," conjures up wondrous images in the minds of many beholders of the Victorian painted houses (Painted Ladies) lining up streets that move up hills towards the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay.
These images are invoked by many I have met, individuals who draw upon these images from their incessant viewings of Vertigo or Full House, commercials of Rice A Roni, and writings by the Beats. Travel guides try to validate this romanticism, dripping in smugness as they describe how "good times and social revolutions tend to start here" (Lonely Planet) or they use buzzwords like "funky," "bohemian," "indie," and sustainable."
The buzzwords I'd like to add to the conversation of San Francisco are "grungy," "filthy," and "overbloated."
And I actually liked my trip!
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When it comes to cities...we all have our patron city. There's a city that represents or contains the elements of existence we love. For me there are two cities in the US that do this: Atlanta ie my home state's city (which I consider my mother city), and Chicago, which has a culture that's custom tailored for me. Then why bother with San Francisco at all?
Well, why not? Why not get slightly out of my comfort zone of collards.
I love my country and while most of what I love about the country isn't urban I do have a list of sorts of cities that I want to see in the country. San Francisco is one of them. For me, San Francisco is the definitive Pacific Coast city.
Much like my previous travel posts (for South America) this post will be decidedly more narrative and chronological than a cut and paste article with "top 5 lists." This is San Francisco through my two eyes in the two days I had there.
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The true catalyst of going to San Francisco involved me noticing I had money to spare!
More importantly it involved me noticing a detail about the San Francisco International Film Festival.
One of my principal goals of this year was to go to more film festivals. The SIFF was going on in late April and May and was showing a film that I was quite keen on seeing: Boyhood. Richard Linklater has become one of my favorite film directors and his new film promised more of his experimental style by showcasing the work of 12 years, with each year that was filmed showing one year in the growth of a boy. There's been nothing but praise for the feature and Linklater himself was going to be there to accept a Founders Director Award from the festival and participate in a Q&A.
Now let me make this clear: I did not spend money just to go to a city just to see a Q&A. This was the catalyst or excuse to see a city on my USA city list and to wind down after my first semester in graduate school as well as shooting a short film.
Due to job obligations, however, I couldn't commit myself to a week or four days to truly unravel the city or area. Instead, I could spare two days.
This trip was reasonably planned. It had to be. I was there for two days only. Two days is barely long enough to truly experience a place unless one has true plans and sticks with them.
My trip was to be in two parts: seeing the city and seeing the natural areas around the bay. As I mentioned, I'm more of a trekker and an eco-tourist. My intention was to spend a bit of time exploring the neighborhoods of San Francisco Friday and Saturday evening, and to use Saturday morning and afternoon as an opportunity to check out Point Reyes National Seashore and Muir Woods.
Whenever I visit a city I tend to create a travel itinerary based around the neighborhoods of a city. So aside from the nature trekking I planned on checking out Chinatown, Castro, Mission, North Beach, and Civic Center. Fisherman's Wharf, Pacific Heights, and SoMa were in the back of my head...but really they couldn't happen.
Did I get to do all this?
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Friday, the plan was to get settled in, explore Chinatown and make my way to Castro where Boyhood would be showing.
Renting a car amplified my absent-mindedness (it wasn't something I had done before) but I got out of the parking garage (after 10-15 minutes) and made my way through South San Francisco and into San Francisco's Embarcadero blaring The Ramones. That bit was quite nice. The car was nice and was fuel efficient for my trip into the North Bay the next day. The bay is truly remarkable. Even in glances it was easy to be threadbare by the bay and by the Pacific.
My hostel was in North Beach, which is a neighborhood that shares a boundary with Chinatown. This was primarily an Italian immigrant area (a "Little Italy") that was home for the Beats and gentleman's clubs (Larry Flynt's Hustlers Club is there). It's a safe neighborhood by San Francisco standards, which isn't everyone's standard.
During the day it contains the usual artifacts of San Francisco: endless hills, painted Victorian homes, the wind of the bay pushing in. It's a good gateway to Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown, and for my Friday, Telegraph Hill.
Hiking up the stairs to Telegraph Hill one of the first sights was a homeless man unzipping and peeing on the wall of one of those painted Victorian homes. This, too, was a usual artifact of San Francisco.
Let's be honest about San Francisco, because this trek up Telegraph Hill presented me with my first awareness of SF's reality. Per my title and per my introduction, San Francisco may be one of the grungiest cities I've ever been to. In all the areas I explored, from Civic Center to Mission, the neighborhoods were full of litter and full of homeless people. You, my reader, may say "There's homeless everywhere" or "You, Martin, haven't been to such and such." I have seen plenty of homeless people but this was not a USA scale. It was a Buenos Aires scale of homeless. In his wonderfully honest article, "5 Reasons San Francisco is the Worst Awesome City in America," Adam Tod Brown points this out, saying "if there was an official city scent, it would be hobo piss."
Ultimately this view of homeless urination slowly succumbed to the view of the city while making my way into higher and higher elevation. Looking forward I could see the city skyline unfold with the Transamerica Pyramid and endless amounts of 1970's skyscrapers that occupy Downtown. To my side I could see the "fabulous white city" Kerouac spoke of, with the North Beach cathedrals standing in the fading sunlight. Once on top of Telegraph Hill I got some glances and pictures of Coit Tower until I saw an image that hobo piss couldn't ruin: the Bay.
Geography can define how beautiful or how ugly a city is. For all the flaws of Atlanta I'm enamored by how the city is consumed into forest. For Chicago, I never considered Lake Michigan and how lovely it was until I visited there.
San Francisco drew me to the city because of this geography. Standing on top of the walls surround Coit Tower I could view the majesty of the bay, with the grey shadow of the Golden Gate Bridge on my left and the endless trees lining the banks of the North Bay.
Broadway in San Francisco was where Chinatown and North Beach melded together. I decided to save a truly in depth approach of North Beach until Saturday. Friday afternoon I decided to focus on Chinatown and walk through the neighborhood on the way to Castro.
There's something surreal about Chinatown. Dim sum joints and bbq's lined the streets. I ate at a mom and pop place, taking in squid with greens on rice. It was ok. Lanterns lined overheard and pagoda roofs were on every building including banks. All the shops were catered for tourists, with "homemade" scarfs and "I Heart SF" shirts. I went down Bush so that I could walk through the Chinatown Gate. The trek into Chinatown wasn't exceptionally eventful except to see how different it was from any neighborhood I'd truly been to.
At this point I took the MUNI to Castro. Regardless of my complaints on San Francisco's grimy exterior I can't deny that the city is endlessly walkable and accessible. The MUNI, the local transit, and BART, which is the Bay Area's transit, are cheap ($2 for a trip) and they get a person anywhere.
Castro ended up being a neighborhood I didn't truly explore except down the actual Castro St. Rainbow flags lined the streets, with the best one being the California flag having rainbows on the bottom. I grabbed my tickets for the Q&A and tried to find a place to eat. The guy at the ticket booth recommended La Taqueria, but I abstained for Rossi's Delicatessen. I grabbed a hot pastrami sandwich on a sweet roll and ate half, while giving the other half to a homeless guy who needed food (I wasn't going to be able to finish it, regardless).
Boyhood was shown at the Castro Theatre, this movie palace in the vein of the Fox Theatre (Atlanta) or the Paramount Theatre (Austin). Gold and velvet lined up the place, as I grabbed a seat and took in the q&a and retrospective of Linklater, moderated by none other than Parker Posey.
Linklater has an aura for me. His scripts, like mine, are devoid of Save the Cat stylistics and work hard to engage an audience and be true to life. Before I left I watched Before Sunrise and Before Sunset which may be the most romantic films I've ever seen. More importantly, he just made films and he made them in his hometown, like I want to. Seeing him receive a Founder's Director Award and seeing how he made a career out of doing a passion was truly inspirational.
So day 1 wasn't too shabby, minus the hobo piss.
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Day 2 began at 6:30 AM (as in I woke up), and truly began on 7AM when I picked up my car. That morning into afternoon was truly magnificent.
At 7AM I began a journey into the North Bay, to check out Chimney Rock at Point Reyes and Muir Woods.
There was an auspicious start to this drive. To make it across into the North Bay and chug into Marin County, I had to drive over the Golden Gate Bridge. From Telegraph Hill I could glance at the grey hue of Golden Gate in the distance but I knew I was going to see it closer that next day.
San Francisco, like any city, is flawed. It's not as nearly as majestic in most neighborhoods...but Golden Gate...
Seeing Golden Gate in person...it's staggering. There was a point where Lombard turned into 101 N and the bridge blazed into my sight. Standing at the heights of Willis Tower or on top of Machu Picchu: these are the only moments whose radiance compare to Golden Gate. I listened to Tycho's Dive and took into the bridge, flushed in awe.
Alright, enough hyperbole.
One key note about Golden Gate: it requires a toll. Not only that, tolls cannot be paid with cash or card. They have to be prepaid and THEY will know if you are paid off or not by your car tag. I know...
Once I got into Marin County my spirits lifted. I got off 101 N and onto Francis Drake Boulevard where I just drove into Marin and the rural hamlets and towns within the area until I landed in Point Reyes. At this moment my phone's 4G coverage dwindled so I grabbed a map of where I needed to go at the Point Reyes Seashore station and continued onward until I got into Chimney Rock. Between the station and Chimney I was breathless as I drove slowly due to the painfully bumpy roads. This was 8:30, maybe 9 in the morning. No one was on the roads. I would just drive by landscapes of beautiful beaches and pull over, grab a shot and keep driving. The road was beside protected cattle ranches and some of the cattle would be walking on the road.
Chimney Rock was quiet. No one was there except two other ladies. The cliffs soared but the trek was mild. It wasn't as nearly was complicated or long as I expected. Looking towards the cliffs and looking out into the Pacific was transcendent, however. With the seals overlook, I could see endless amounts of seals climbing onto the beach, swimming and playing with each other, sleeping.
The drive wasn't too bad but the way back was both exhausting and lustrous. The way back, once I got 4G back and running involved taking California Route 1, this Pacific highway that hugs the coast and gentle hills. The road ebbed with the beach, going up and down cliffs, with bikers on the roads and individuals pulling over like me and taking snapshots of the shore.
By this time I was tired, however, and once I saw how crowded Muir Woods was, I had my doubts. Part of me said "Don't worry about it. You've seen enough." Then part of me, thankfully, said "C'mon. It's the redwoods. Just take a walk so you can say you've seen the redwoods."
I saw paradise.
There are no words that can prepare one for the redwoods. I won't attempt to describe how large and wonderful they are. I mean it's freakin' Endor. I naively asked the ticket taker when I would see the redwoods and she said as soon as I walked in. She was right. Outside the sun was shining heavy, with fierce temperatures. Inside Muir Woods the light became trickles as the canopy snugged us inside from the sun.
Granted, I'm a tree lover, but I saw myself at Shangri-La while inside Muir Woods.
This was a good morning and at Muir Woods I finally got food and started back to continue the trek around San Francisco.
Could SF follow this morning's lead?
SPOILER ALERT: no.
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Why couldn't SF lead up to that?
One, I was exhausted. I needed relaxation...but nope. I needed to try and see the other neighborhoods.
Two, my planned trip to go to Alcatraz was ultimately thwarted by the fact that it was sold out. Consequently I had no evening plans and I wasn't sure what else to do.
I knew I wanted a San Francisco style burrito and I wanted to check out Mission...so I took BART to Mission. Mission is a neighborhood that has been traditionally home to the Latin American community of San Francisco. While there I landed on 17th Street and took up with El Castillito to eat one of their al pastor burritos. Chipotle's burrito is a happy meal compared to how absolutely massive this burrito was. Seriously. It was absolutely huge...and I couldn't finish it. The tortilla was grilled instead of steamed, so it was prone to falling apart. The burrito was quite good but I couldn't continue sitting in that restaurant with no air conditioning. I had to move and I walked around Valencia and landed at Mission Dolores, the oldest building in San Francisco dating back to the 1700s by monks who settled there. It was nice but I can't go into hyperbole about it or the area. Like most of the neighborhoods, in the midst of the blistering sun, it was hard to breathe. The landscape was...too urban, even for me. There were green spaces but not as much as I saw in my travelling.
Because I believe in libraries (as an aspiring librarian) I try to visit at least one library in anywhere I travel to. The main branch of the library was in the Civic Center. Taking BART there, as soon as I got off I could feel the edge. Despite being the home of the city political forces, the Civic Center closely approaches the Tenderloin, SF's seedy district. So Civic Center also has the edge and getting off BART one is bombarded by homeless. Homeless people were everywhere. The poor souls.
Truly, these individuals who have no homes chose San Francisco because of the climate and because San Francisco is so laid back that many homeless are reasonably welcomed. In Los Angeles, many of the homeless suffered harassment by the gangs of the area. It's hard to walk a block without two or three homeless individuals. Walking out of the library to the BART station I heard a homeless person arguing with his girlfriend...to himself (no girl was present) and as soon as I got back into North Beach a homeless person argued with this woman on her cell phone in a violent, yelling kind of way. Through the night, my sleep would be disturbed by arguments outside my hostel. This was San Francisco, too, as it is in any city, but not even Atlanta or Chicago can compare homelessness and grubbiness to San Francisco.
The Port of San Francisco was less cruddy, but the area was also incredibly touristy with upscale restaurants lining up the area as little kids walked around and used the outdoor facilities of the Exploratorium. This swankiness was too much for me to handle so I went to begin my exploration of North Beach that I would carry into the afternoon. Mainly I wanted to grab a book so I went into City Lights Bookstore, a place started by Beat poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti. They had a place in the bookstore just for poetry and one could just sit down and read poetry.
With that I began a mild period of relaxation and a period of planning on how to cap my night. I knew I would leave earlier than expected. My flight was at 6AM and my parking garage closed at 2AM. My plan was to leave SF behind around 11PM and check out of my hostel.
After grabbing dinner at Cafe Zoetrope, a place in the same building as Francis Ford Coppola's American Zoetrope Studios (the Sentinel Building) I walked around Broadway in North Beach at night. Broadway at night was lights on for bars and gentleman's clubs, as promoters tried to induce me to walk in. I had a mission however: The Saloon.
The Saloon promotes itself as the first saloon in SF. It's also a blues club and that night was I feeling like blues or jazz. My original idea was to get into the Jazz at Pearl's Club, which closed down. This was another negative blight on San Francisco. So many places that built up the culture of San Francisco were closed down because they couldn't afford rent or because they needed severe repairs due to poor infrastructure.
The Saloon was really a dive bar. The doorman was this older guy in white sneakers who required a $5 cover charge and would dot three black marks on the arm. He was dealing with a homeless guy who had bootleg DVD's throughout the evening. The bar was primarily a place for older locals, people coming in dressed in loose clothing and getting cocktails by this hippie who never left '67. The band was The Jukes and I saw their schedule: 9:30PM to 1:30AM. Holy crap! That's a Springsteen gig. Younger people were there and when the band started I stood back until I saw all the older (and young) people getting into the music. Imagine drunken and lonely people letting everything they have in the world loose for one day and just dancing to redundant 12 bar blues. It's both sad and lovely at the same time and I eventually got to twisting and dancing with those older (and younger, attractive ladies).
At 11PM I set out and grabbed my car, spent a manic hour getting out of the city as Google Maps went a bit haywire and got into the airport, relieved and got to Denver and eventually back to Atlanta.
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San Francisco is the right city for a lot of people, but it's not my city. If I can compare the city to another it wouldn't be Milan or Paris, as the yuppies of South Park's "Smug Alert" did, but with Buenos Aires. Like Buenos Aires, there's a ragged beauty to the city and its freedom. There's a smugness and conceitedness that can be easily drowned out by the grace of the North Bay and the Pacific Ocean.
I wish I had a longer time to stay, but I don't know how much of that time I would've used for San Francisco. It would probably go towards Yosemite or more trekking. No less, it is always a better idea to take in one place within a larger span of days than to plan to speed a weekend that far away and in a city that large.
That being said, I don't regret the trip. Bad trips can validate how much you love home or another area or provide perspective, but this wasn't a bad trip. I found plenty of rewards as you, my reader, can tell in the hyperbole in describing the North Bay and even the pleasure of The Saloon's slobby blues band.
Will I go back? For the city, no. The Bay and the rural outskirts of California...I do already miss them. Anyone who lives in the U.S. should visit the city, however, at least once in his or her life.
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Bonus Note:
Allow me to whine a bit and complain about Frontier.
Do not use Frontier Airlines if you can help it. Sometimes the cost for this airline is just cheaper for going into the Mountain states, but Frontier is not an airline I intend to use again.
Granted, my beef with them has roots in relative deprivation but what I thought was a cheap flight was reasonable and Frontier did a lot that really wasn't becoming of their airline compared to others.
Things Frontier did:
1) They charged $35 for EACH flight for carry-on's. Normally most airlines like Delta and AirTran allow one carry-on and one personal item. Not for Frontier.
2) In-flight entertainment cost $5.99.
3) Food was charged.
Most of the Frontier representatives were rude and it's not worth the layover in Denver. Don't fly Frontier.
