Sitting at the gate in San Francisco airport, we are now waiting for our final flight which will land us back in London just over three months after we departed. When this is uploaded, we’ll be home.
Our hotel, the Hotel Whitcomb, was a prime example of faded glory – marble and chandeliers in the impressive lobby, but rather musty rooms with very limited facilities along dimly lit corridors upstairs. Not even a kettle and sachets of tea and coffee. It is close to the Civic Centre with the mighty City Hall with its square of fiercely pollarded trees, and not too far from the cable car terminus and the Museum of Modern Art, but getting there demanded a walk along the decidedly seedy stretch of Market Street. It was there that I met my nutter of the trip, who promised me all kinds of unpleasant dreams. Happily, those promises were unfulfilled.
On the afternoon we arrived, rather bleary from the flight from Auckland, we walked to Fisherman’s Wharf, which was a rather longer march than it looked, and as we were warned, it’s pretty tacky, reminiscent of the tawdry areas of Weymouth. We wandered around and saw what there was to see, then took the cable car back to Market Street, serenaded at the turn around by a pretty good blues singer/saxophonist. Rattling and dinging up the hills, hanging on and chatting to the conductor, it was an enjoyable ride back. The cold was a shock after Auckland, though, necessitating jumpers and jackets which have lain largely unworn for three months.
Tuesday was warmer, largely because it was less windy, and we explored the Yerba Buena Gardens area, looking at the blend of architectural styles and periods, before catching the bus down to Lombard Street, commonly known as the ‘Crookedest Street’, though it is, apparently, neither the crookedest nor the steepest. It is, though, the only one with eight hairpin bends, adorned with flowers and lined with attractive houses.
From there we wandered back down to the waterfront at Fisherman’s Wharf and took the scenic coastal walk from there towards the Golden Gate Bridge, past Fort Mason and along Marina Green. The Crissy Field area was particularly attractive, separated off as a nature reserve with the paths running through it. The area was full of birds, including one hummingbird spotted, and a sealion roaming off the beach. At the end of the walk, we caught the bus back to Market Street and back to the hotel. Certainly San Francisco’s public transport system is far superior to that of any other city I have visited – varied, frequent and cheap.
On the final morning I had planned to go to the Museum of Modern Art while the others explored the shopping options, but I was defeated by the place being closed on Wednesday. So a morning’s shopping was dutifully done, then it was time for the shuttle back to the airport, and here we are, twenty five minutes before boarding. Just another thirteen hours or so!
