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Published: September 17th 2007
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Fog in San Francisco?
The Golden Gate in typical SF summer fog San Francisco lay at the end of a 23 hour stint on the Greyhound from Vancouver like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I don't use the rainbow metaphor loosely - the Greyhound's reputation of being patronised by a wonderfully broad spectrum of people is richly deserved. It seemed as though every racial, political, cultural and sexual minority was represented on that one bus. It was the sort of stuff that statisticians and pollsters would dream about. Disappointingly, none of my fellow travellers were wearing a flower in their hair - Scott McKenzie would have turned in his grave if he wasn't still alive.
Upon arrival I made the decision to walk from the bus station to my lodgings at Blakey's place as it didn't look all that far on the map. It wasn't all that far in actual fact, but involved walking up a few of San Francisco's cliff-like hills, and thus I was in a muck lather of sweat by the time I crossed his threshold. After a quick feed and shower, we headed off to meet Blake's footy mates from the Golden Gate Roos and head across the bay on the ferry to
Bridge to nowhere
Ordinary visibility on the Golden Gate Tiburon, home to many of the Bay Area's dotcom squillionaires. Our ride down to the ferry dock was Blake's Vespa, with me riding behind. The whole scene was very San Francisco (if you get what I mean), worryingly so.
My mental anguish was assuaged however once we were halfway across the bay and I observed with interest for the first time the strange phenomenon of the Bay Area's 'micro-climate'. Pre departure I had been pondering the wisdom of heading to a waterfront beer garden in cloudy conditions and with a bitter wind sweeping off the bay. Not long after we had cruised past Alcatraz however, we were suddenly under broad blue skies and the temperature was a good 7 or 8 degrees warmer with the sun beating down on us. Looking back to see San Francisco still blanketed in thick fog and cloud only 5 or so kms back was rather strange. My spirits were also lifted when I met Cassie, the girlfriend of one of the footy blokes, and her brother Heath. In discussion it emerged that their last name was Daicos, and that they were in fact relatives of the great man. The presence of royal blood
together with blue skies ensured that it was a memorable afternoon.
The following day I took the Vespa out for a solid session of sightseeing. I don't think there could have been a better mode of transport to get round and see all the different areas, neighbourhoods and sights, and certainly none as stylish. The day was only slightly marred by a hairy experience out near the Golden Gate. After a wrong turn, I found myself on the freeway which led towards the bridge, putting along at about 80km/h while massive trucks thundered past me in the next lane, almost blowing me off the road. I was relieved to see an exit ramp coming up ahead and committed to the turn thankful that I hadn't come to any harm. I was passed the point of no return when I realised that it was actually an entrance ramp to another freeway, and only just managed to contain my panic when I saw the sign prohibiting motor scooters (among other vehicles) from entering the freeway. Concerned and bewildered, I pulled over to the side and pondered my options. After a minute or two I realised that my best option was to
Cool, but not what it once was
I wish I was here 40 years ago wait for a big enough gap, head back into the oncoming traffic, execute the fastest U-turn ever, then hit full gas and hope that no-one approaching behind was speeding. Thankfully the plan came off, and I eventually discovered that there was an exit metres before the start of the bridge.
After walking out to the middle of the bridge and back, I decided that an afternoon in the Haight-Ashbury district would be a good way to calm my jangling nerves. Good as the Vespa was, I wish my ride to hippie town was a time machine. Haight-Ashbury had its charms to be sure, but the remnants of flower power and the summer of love seemed to me for the most part forced and token. In place of the slothful, indulgent, self-righteous radicalism I was looking forward to was a rather industrious, reserved, calculated sensibility. Certainly, most of the businesses had some sort of hippie or beatnik theme, but the feel I got was somewhat akin to a "Flower Power" section of a big Disney owned theme park. There were some people my age and younger (and therefore born a good 10 years after the movement died in the mainstream)
who were trying to resurrect the spirit, but I don't think their efforts would be enough to stop Jerry Garcia, Janis Joplin et al from rolling over in their graves. A whole lot more flowers need to be pushed up to recapture the San Francisco I had come looking for from the enterprising, upwardly mobile tech nerds of Silicon Valley.
Whinging aside, many other aspects of San Francisco really endeared the place to me. The geography of the city was fantastic, and certain parts of the steep city streets afforded incredible views of the bay and surrounding areas. On my final day in town I left the Vespa at home and took a self guided walking tour around the waterfront from down near the home of the Barry Bonds and the Giants, AT&T Park, to the Fisherman's Wharf area. The highlight of the walk was watching the famous pier 39 seals doing their thing. There is something quite comical about watching a large group of monstrously fat marine mammals gracelessly capering around and fighting each other. The males were very cantankerous and aggressive - it was not dissimilar from what one might see every night of the week in
A long swim
The Rock from across San Francisco Bay a Glaswegian pub.
Though Blake had to work during the day, it was excellent to spend some time with the great man by night. We dined at both ends of the scale, enjoying dollar tacos at a bar while willing on Barry Bonds to slug his record-breaking home run one night (it didn't come), and then having a large, classy Thai meal with his lady friend Fleur (aka the 'equalizer') the following night. Unfortunately one of the meals hadn't really agreed with Blakey's stomach and we never headed out to paint the town in a way that only he can. Not to worry though as there were to be more agreeable meals and good times to be enjoyed just a couple of weeks later...
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