THIS TOWN WILL STEAL YOUR HEART

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THIS TOWN WILL STEAL YOUR HEART AWAY

This is an engaging city, San Francisco is. Its people give you the time of day at the briefest meeting of eyes; and the size of the city, geographic and demographic, is about right. There is a clean feel to its architecture, from styles reminiscent of sub-tropical corners of the world, to its own take on modern to minimalist lines of the North American genre; a soothing blend of shapes, angles and curves, giving an appealing sense of cohesion to the cityscape.

We flew in at dusk, floating magically over the Bay, the whole region at its phase of early glitter for the evening. The Bay Area Rapid Transport (BART) whisked us, in half an hour, from the airport to within three blocks of our hotel. But first, as the trip started, a Good Samaritan had to retrieve my luggage, from the run upon which it had embarked, down the aisle of the briskly departing train, I having not secured it in my grasp, as those, in the know, know to do.

We duly exited the train at the correct downtown stop, under counsel from our fellow travelers, addressed the train system’s maps, navigated our way above ground, consulted our own intuition, in the quiet of a clothing store, for the way to our hotel, and verified our thoughts with two Constables On Patrol, on foot to boot, on the streets of the city; good, safe, stuff on which visitor confidence is surely built.

Once in the hotel lobby, I stood-by, getting good vibes about our choice of accommodation, any reception area garlanded with orchids had to be in a hotel of some distinction, but further, there was this sharply dressed gentleman, contentedly sipping on a bottle of beer, as he casually toured the reception area, with no obvious purpose, until a friend appeared, single hugged and cheek kissed him and steered him elsewhere. All the while, Penelope was arranging a no-cost upgrade, with a pleasant, young attendant, so that we would enjoy quarters, discreetly nearer the penthouse, bringing the gym, the swimming pool and a just-right jacuzzi immediately into the mix of our stay.

After a spa interlude of relaxation, dinner could be and was at an Indian restaurant next door, where Penelope’s attentive young man had promised a pleasant and authentic dining experience; and so it was. Marsala of Lean Lamb, never mind the contradiction, and Baked Chicken from the Tandoor, were our mains, preceded by a delicious Dhal soup, and supported by warm Nan bread, moist Bismati rice and crisply baked, pretty looking veggies, white, green, red and yellow .

Once we had taken this size of dinner, we naturally declined dessert, whereupon a delightful damsel, from Trinidad of all places, brought us dessert, anyway, declared it as a must try, gratis, and hovered while we sampled and agreed it was divine, to be sure; sapodilla ice cream it was. I had not had it for forty-nine years, she had suspected as much. I was grateful, Penelope was watchful.

V. Ernest Ainsley
08.12.09

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Photos

BART
Penelope trying to master the BART payment system

City Map
Map in the BART station helps us find our hotel.

Powell Street Station
Now to get the suitcases up those escalators.

Orchids
What a wonderful welcome at the reception desk. Penelope was in heaven.