The City

You realize that it is taking me twice as long to recount our trip as it took to make, right? Hard to believe that it's already been 2 weeks since Mommy and Child's Day O' Fun in San Francisco.

Monday morning dawned exactly as it should in the Bay Area: foggy. This delighted me no end because I believe that one's first view of San Francisco should be of it shrouded in mist.

There was bread left from dinner the night before so I whipped up some French toast and served it with the star thistle honey. (Really, just the best honey I've ever tasted. Ever).

The Hat was going to enjoy a quiet, restorative day alone in our borrowed flat. The Child and I walked up to the bus stop, passing the house I found in Alameda that wants me to live in it.

A quick bus ride took us across the Bay Bridge, toward the soaring towers of San Francisco. SF was the first big city I ever visited and it, like all big cities, has the same effect on me still...a sense of recognition; an "if-I-believed-in-past-lives-I-swear-I've-lived-here-before" feeling. I am, without a doubt, a city girl.

The fog was lifting so that the streets themselves were full of light. The Child asked if we could pretend I was her tour guide and so I regaled her with what I know of the city. (Which isn't really that much but since she knows less it worked). We got some coffee and looked over the street map to get our bearings, then set off up the hill toward Chinatown. It should be noted, for any reader who has not been to San Francisco that everything is uphill.

I took this photo for Sling:

There are olive trees growing along the streets. Fancy that. There was a branch on the street and I really wanted to take it with me but decided that might look really odd, not to mention borderline vandalistic.

We wandered around City Light Books for a while (I bought The Naked Lunch, a couple of book bags and a bumper sticker that reads "Howl if you love City Light Books"). I totally neglected to take a picture of The Child in front of that noble institution. But I got these:

We started down the street and she decided that sushi for lunch would be a good idea. It was fabulous.

We poked our way through Chinatown, The Child in search of appropriate souvenirs.

We wandered into one shop that had some Haight Ashbury stuff; I hadn't realized that this is the 40th anniversary of "the summer of love". That phrase "old hippies" really has resonance now, doesn't it?. I asked the proprietor how far it was to the Haight. "You can drive there," he said. Then he fixed me with a look, "You don't really want to go there, you know. It's not the same". (What? Do I look like an old hippie? L'horreur!)

"Oh," I know," I said. "It's just that I was there when I was 10 and I have such vivid memories. I was hoping to show it to her".

"Yeah," he said, kindly. "But now it's just a nice shopping district with some good restaurants. I'm not sure it's worth it".

And under the circumstances, it really wasn't. Sometimes things are best left safe in memory. It probably would have vaguely depressed me to see the Haight all gussied up and gentrified.

So I got The Spouse a "Summer of Love" tshirt and that was that.

The Child and I hopped on a cable car and jerked our way down Powell St. toward Fisherman's Wharf. Now, generally speaking, I'm not a fan of sprawling tourist joints like that, but the day was fine and you could smell the sea. And The Child, being an inveterate shopper, was in heaven. We had an excellent time and took photos of fat pigeons and of the Golden Gate bridge, which could only vaguely be discerned through the fog that still hovered over the bay. None of them turned out.

The line for the return cable car was ridiculously long and we would still have a long walk to the bus station after that so after conferring with concierges and a very nice woman hawking happy hour outside a bar, The Child put her taxi-hailing skills to work and we got back to the bus station in record, comfortable time.

It was rush hour and I needed to confirm we were in fact standing on the correct line for our return trip. An extremely nice woman in front of us verified this and then asked where we were going. Turns out, it was her stop, too. "Just watch me. When I get up you'll know to get off". So we did.

Back home, The Child gave The Hat and I a fashion show of all her purchases, then I followed Dana's directions to a Chinese restaurant he'd recommended. The prospects were good. The place was full of Asian diners, many of them speaking actual Chinese. Always a good sign. I waited for our take-out and had a pleasant chat with another customer, a woman who'd just moved to Alameda from Seattle.

You know the old adage, "Hunger is the best sauce?" The person who coined that phrase must have once had a similar meal. The BBQ pork was fabulous and the mu shu was acceptable, but the pancakes were stale, the spring rolls were filled with what appeared to be chicken noodle soup and the two chicken dishes were by turns bland (Szechuan chicken bland? How is that even possible?) and cloying (sweet and sour...what would you expect?). Not the meal we were expecting and I can only assume it had to have been a very off-night.

But despite the less than spectacular meal, we were all happy and content. We cuddled up on the couch and watched "Big", while I checked my cell phone, hoping for a message from Danny. We were supposed to have lunch with him the next day but hadn't yet heard from him. We went to bed with our fingers crossed.