Our hosts, Amber and Kirsten, had received three disks of Touched By an Angel which we gladly watched our first night in the Bay Area. After a meal of macaroni and cheese and a long walk up to Berkeley for frozen yogurt we crashed out in their living room to contemplate Della's hair and Amber and Kirsten's love for angel of death, John Dye.
A night of TBA led to a very peaceful night of sleep which was good because our next day was to be spent seeing all of San Francisco that we could squeeze in. We woke up to Sneaky, the neighbors cat, at the porch door. Sneaky is apparently a regular at the Amber/Kirsten household and managed to con her way in with her cuteness. Once inside she began to reek havoic by walking across computer keyboards and kneading your leg until you gave her love. Amber told us to give in, as ignoring her only leads to the cat freaking out. Well then.
After ridding the apartment of Sneaky, we decided it was time to get our act together and head into the city. Amber assured us that the BART, the Bay Area Rapid Transport system, had a great website that would let us know everything we needed to know about getting where we wanted to be. After settling on a starting point of Fishermans Wharf the BART website told us that we should get off at the Civic Center stop. Easy as pie! We took the bus to the BART station (the first of many donations to the Bay Area public transportation) and were on our way to a day of fun.
After arriving in the city we set off walking in what we thought was the right direction towards Fisherman's Wharf. It soon became clear that we were walking in the wrong direction and when we asked for help we discovered we were no where near our destination. Great. Strike one, BART. Instead we would have to take a streetcar up the street and then across town to the wharf. More money pumped into public transportation.
The streetcars I believe were refurbished old streetcars designed to appeal to everyone's love for things from the past. They were fine, but I'm pretty sure we could have walked faster. We knew we were getting close when the patrons on board started to look less like locals and more like German people. Tourist heaven couldn't be far away.
We got off of the streetcar at Pier 39, which is really just a condensed version of the Jersey Shore...with sea lions. So many sea lions. There were hundreds of them perched on floating docks sunning themselves. Every now and then a live wire of a sea lion would jump out of the water right on top of the pile of sleeping sea lion. This would result in angry bellows and fights that really could have kept me amused all day. But no! We had to move on.
We walked up a few blocks from the pier to Ghirardelli Square, home of the famous chocolate. We were told that we had to have a hot fudge sundae there, it wasn't even an option. I'm not a huge hot fudge fan. I spent a good portion of my life claiming I didn't like chocolate and am only within the past few years discovering certain kinds of chocolate that I enjoy. Nonetheless, when in Rome.
Wow, maybe it was the fact that I hadn't had lunch yet and was starving but when that sundae arrived I dove into it like a pool on a hot day (I'm terrible at similes, humor me.) Ch'nel had barely had three bites of hers before I had drained mine. I think this is because Chiz spent a good portion of time taking pictures of her sundae, attracting the attention of the table next to us who thought she had some super camera because it took such good photos.
Once filled up with dairy we rolled ourselves out of the ice cream parlor and headed for the Golden Gate Bridge. Are these two things near each other? It sure looks like they are on the map...then you remember that San Francisco has hills. Lots of them. We made our way down to the Bay and found ourselves in without a doubt the richest neighborhood I've ever been in. Remember, I went to school in Bryn Mawr, PA. This neighborhood made Bryn Mawr look like Gary, IN. Giant, meticulously cared for houses lined the streets. Each had big picture windows overlooking the bay showing off grand pianos and giant chandeliers. I could definitely live here.
We made it to the bridge entrance and had every intention of walking across it. We started up the walk way and watched as the bridge got further and further away. It seemed like it jumped back ten feet with every step we took. The approach the bridge twists it's way up to the actual bridge...which is over a mile long. About a half mile into it we decided it just wasn't worth it and walked back down to the Palace of Fine Arts. The Palace was built for the 1915 Worlds Fair and is really quite spectacular. I have a secret love for all things Worlds Fair related and the peaceful pondside Palace (intentional alliteration! +5 points!) provided a nice break to the day.
But breaks are for the weak, there was so much more to see! We set off back into the city for Lombard Street, the really twisty street. You know exactly the one I'm talking about. The section that twists is in response to the really steep grade of the hill which cars couldn't handle back in the day. It's cool, however we chose to walk up the otherside of the hill to see it from the top. Fresh off of our 8 mile trip into the mountains we were sure that this would be a breeze. Lies. I gasped my way to the top. My shirt was soaked in sweat and ankles ached from the sharp angle that they were forced to walk at. It was a terrible idea.
At the top we took a plethora of pictures before doing the creme de la creme of San Francisco tourist options, riding a cable car. We caught the car at the top of the hill and paid the five dollar fee (seriously San Francisco, I expect trains made of gold after all of the money you took from me for transportation). Riding a cable car is an absolutely awful affair. These things are not reproductions but rather old pieces of equiptment. They shake and stutter as they race down the hills. Meanwhile you're crammed into the car with dozens of tourists who smell rancid (I include myself in this statement after than hike up the hill). As if that wasn't enough, there had to be that one "artist" who had to take "photographs" and refused to move from her spot to allow people to better fit in the car. As you rocket down the hills and whip around corners you have but a tiny piece of bar or a strap of leather to hold on to...if you're lucky...so you're forced to find your center of gravity and focus all of your energy on making sure that you stay on your feet. Finally the ride ends and you stumble out mumbling about how Candace Cameron made it look so much more simple and fun during the opening credits of Full House.
We were back near Civic Center but weren't ready to head back yet, so we caught the street car again (goodbye two more dollars) in the opposite direction down to the Castro district. The Castro district is San Francisco's LGBT neighborhood and one of the most famous LGBT neighborhoods in the world. A must see no matter what your sexuality. We were tired by this point and didn't stay long, but did stop in a bookshop that sold books questioning dead celebrities sexuality. Very entertaining.
As we walked back towards the BART station we realized we were near an ice cream shop that our friend Suzette had recommended. Our sundaes from earlier still sat in our stomachs but upon seeing the flavor list outside the shop I was so intrigued that I knew I had to stop. Ch'nel originally declined but after tasting my delicious roasted banana and brown sugar ice cream combo she raced in to get one of her own. For those of you keeping track, we spent all of our money in San Francisco on ice cream and transportation.
Our stomachs were rapidly extending and our feet were threatening to melt into the sidewalk so we decided it was time to head back to Amber and Kirsten's. We caught the BART and spent the 30 minute ride back fighting off the urge to pass out right there. We got out of the train station and couldn't remember where to pick up the bus back, plus we had been completely drained of one dollar bills by other transport options, so we embarked on the half hour trip back to our temporary home. It seemed so much longer than it had the night before but we eventually made it. There Kirsten was waiting for us with delicious beer (Haywire Hefewizen...try it, it's fantastic) and Young Frankenstein. More importantly...a sofa. Amber arrived home to find us sprawled out on her futon sofa (is that what I'm supposed to call it? I got in trouble for calling it a futon) and suggested that we order sushi from a place called Nude Sushi. After being assured that it would be both delicious and delivered by a hipster I agreed.
This had actually been suggested earlier in the day and Ch'nel had already perused their website and decided on multiple meal options. I logged onto NudeSushi.com and discovered that that was NOT their website. For future reference or for those in the Bay Area, it's getnudesushi.com. I repeat, it is not nudesushi.com.
Our sushi was in fact delivered by a hipster, leading Amber to wonder if Nude Sushi is completely run by white people. I don't care, it was fantastic. It could be run by a herd of wild buffalo from Yellowstone for all I care. We finished the night off with, what else, Touched By an Angel, specifically a fantastic Halloween episode that took place in Pennington, NJ. Always excellent.
We woke up the next day hoping to get on the road to Yosemite relatively early. We were delayed by the unfortunate lack of turn signals (see previous entry) however. Instead of heading out to Yosemite, our day began with phone calls to area Volvo dealers hoping to find someone to fix the car. After sitting on hold and being denied from hoity toity dealers, Bob's Berkeley Volvo and Toyota specialists agreed to give it a look. There's a plug for Bob. We left our stuff at Amber's and drove the car the two miles to Bob. Bob's front desk minion assured us that it shouldn't be too big of a problem to fix, no more than an hour, and that he would probably be able to get to it by late morning. Awesome. With a little bit of time to kill Chiz and I set off to find a place to get breakfast. Unfortunately we drove two miles away from town center...which was already kinda far from Amber's place to begin with. After walking through blocks and blocks of residential areas we found a breakfast place with pancakes...really our only need in life.
Two cups of coffee and three blueberry pancakes later there was still no word on the car, so we kept walking towards Berkeley. We wanted to look at t-shirts and Amber had suggested a place called "T-Shirt Orgy" so we made that our official destination. The problem with this is that it was actually PAST the main street of Berkeley, so it meant even MORE walking. This is on top of our incredibly sore legs, reminders of our treks up the hills of San Fran. After meticulously examining every t-shirt we still hadn't heard anything from Bob's, so onward we went. By this point we were plain pooped so we just crashed at a coffee shop and decided to wait it out. The baristas were undeniably pissed at us as we crashed there for at least two and half hours meanwhile buying only one drink each (but boy did we take advantage of that free water pitcher!).
Eventually I called Bob's to check in and after describing my car the guy on the other end responded with "OH! The one with the turn signal problem.....yeahhhhhhh...um....let me get Chris". Oh crap, he had the same tone in his voice that the Veternarians office technician had when she was trying to figure out how to tell me that my rabbit had died while I left it in their care (sorry...unexpected morbid comment). That can't be good. Chris got on the phone and began describing the problem, again with a tone in his voice that this was a huge issue. He told me how much it would cost to fix (surprisingly...not...terrible? Not good by any means, but I was prepared for worse) and that it could take up to an hour to fix. There was a moment of silence while I tried to figure out why these guys were so nervous to tell me what was wrong before telling Chris to go ahead and fix it. Chris had clearly been holding his breath as he let out a sigh of relief and said "alright, I'll get right on it!". I get the impression that these guys get yelled at a lot. He was definitely waiting for me to start yelling.
Even though they said it would be an hour, we assumed they meant two and gave them another hour before beginning the hour long walk back to the shop. We were right as they were just finishing up our paperwork when we walked in. As soon as we came in a bunch of the mechanics came into the lobby with big smiles on their faces. "So tell us about the road trip!" one of them said. "Yea!" another piped in "Where's the next stop!". The rare New Jersey car in the shop had clearly stirred up interest and everyone was eager to hear all about it. I felt popular.
We said goodbye to Bob's guys (I don't think we ever actually met Bob) and hit the road....right in time for San Francisco traffic. After getting gas at quite possibly the biggest mess of a gas station I've ever seen we were on the road and moving at the speed of a turtle. Thank God for our new turn signals, I don't know how we would have been able to manage rush hour traffic without them.
The ride to Yosemite was only three hours, but it was three of the most harrowing hours of driving I've had on this trip. The traffic didn't break for at least an hour and a half and then we were thrown into complete darkness as we entered rural roads. One road went straight through farmland with no development, street lights or other cars around for miles. Once the sun set I could only see the twenty feet or so in front of my that my own headlights illuminated. Looking into the rearview mirror yielded only darkness. The rare other car that would drive by would almost always have it's high beams on, blinding me both figuratively with surprise as well as literally.
That was nothing, though, as the poker straight road suddenly started twisting up and down hills. I made it to a town where I checked the GPS and noticed that I was now supposed to turn onto Highway 49. I gulped, OMP had given specific warning to not drive on Highway 49. Apparently he had taken a trip down it as a child and it had left him with memories of fear from narrow roads, sharp turns and steep drops down the sides of mountains. As we TECHNICALLY had broken another one of OMPs warnings earlier in the day by staying in Oakland (Amber and Kirsten technically lived in Oakland, not Berkeley. OMP told us to never go into Oakland) I was not in the mood to tempt fate and break another warning. I also didn't seem to have choice, so I threw on the blinker and began my 25 mile trip down Highway 49.
The first 5 miles or so weren't too bad. I assumed that OMP must have taken old Highway 49 and began to relax. Maybe it was the darkness but I didn't notice any sharp drops and the turns weren't too bad. Just as I let my guard down the turns became more and more frequent. Cars with their high beams up to the highest level seemed to be whipping around them at me more and more often. It wasn't long until I noticed signs for "scenic vistas". There is one thing that I've learned on this trip and that is that scenic vistas only occur when you're 5000 feet in the air. I look to my right and realize that the darkness that covers that entire side of the road is not a different type of grass than what I'm used to but rather an infinate abyss (or steep drop). Jesus. I think ultimately the darkness helped as I had nothing to focus on other than the 20 feet in front of me. The road was more than wide enough and I had enough faith in my driving skills to know that I wasn't going to random drive off the road.
Ultimately I knew that there was a Shilo Inn waiting for me at the end of this road and when we reached it it gleamed like a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark night. We pulled in, were greeted with free fruit, coffee, cookies, popcorn (but not water! Never free water at the Shilo) and passed out for the night in a room that we could easily move into. I cannot stress this enough, always use the Shilo Inns for all of your traveling needs in the West.
Sea Lions at Pier 39
Ch'nel's sundae......my sundae....
Palace of Fine Arts
One of the pretty houses
Chiz walking up Lomard St.
Suzette's excellent ice cream suggestion
OK, your grandfather would have been impressed, taking California 49 in the dark. You're lucky to be alive. To top that, how about driving through Death Valley with no water and a fan belt that's about to break? That bad choice led to another of your grandparents' travel adventures, and one which could easily have resulted in neither I nor you coming into existence. --OMP
ReplyDeleteyour dad leaves the best comments. that ice cream sign is intriguing. salted caramel sounds kind of good, like a pay day candy bar but in ice cream form
ReplyDeleteSoo jealous!
ReplyDelete