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Clockwise from top left:
The Golden Gate Bridge; Fisherman's Wharf entrance; Pier 39; the street signs for Haight and Ashbury; Port of San Francisco Back on the West Coast for the second time, one place I didn't get to explore which I had the pleasure of soaking up a few clear delightful days: San Francisco.
Arriving first in the city, the image that is (for representing a positive reflection) portrayed in movies of a clean, bustling, euphoric metropolitan city was exactly what San Francisco exhumed stepping off the Amtrak and into Union Square and the Financial District. We had driven from the SFSU campus and the easiest transport, similar to that of tubes, metros and undergrounds, was the Amtrak. Craning my neck at every angle, I was taken in by all the glistening skyscrapers and engulfing department stores. When I talk of a movie set, it felt like a design team had gone out to create a pristine X-Pro II urban dreamland.
All of a sudden, you are greeted by the Port of San Francisco. The Grand Central Station of the sea, tourists and commuters moved past each other, spilling their to-go coffee, looking up at the departures board, anticipating their port announcements. Outside the station, the contrast was uncanny. People walked the streets amicably with the California bay breeze hitting their faces. It was like a blasting television had been put on mute. The Port of San Francisco follows a set of numbered Piers, including the foreboding entrance to Alcatraz, which is seen from all angles of the Piers. Ultimately, it leads to the well-known Pier 39. The decked floor and the introductory smell of seafood says goodbye to the city and hello to the harbour. The sign for Fisherman's Wharf painted on a symbolic ship's wheel, introduces you to the energetic main boulevard. Restaurants selling freshly caught crab and lobster, the city's famous sour dough bread bowl and clam chowder, Irish pubs and tourist souvenir shops cram the strip. Once you come to the end and get chance to dip your toes in the (warning- cold, very cold) sea, the vibrancy of the Wharf dies down when all of a sudden in the distance, the emblem of the city: The Golden Gate Bridge. Although the further up the Californian Coast was a bit chilly, the sky was a clear blue and we were fortunate enough to not have an obstructed view of the usual fog that blocks the distant panorama.
Luckily having a car, we drove up to the Golden Gate Bridge, admiring the vista behind us that showed the city condensed. You are able to walk along the bridge or park up and take pictures. With time not on our side, we took the motorised route of a 90 second windows down, feel the breeze, take a selfie, wind the windows up. It wasn't a case of wanting to get it out the way, but the immense car build up for parking and the rows if people lined up to walk along the bridge, would have left us with little else to fit in. With this also in mind, the long queues of people waiting to ride the famous cable car also became a hindrance, but if it's something you came to San Fran to do, then (try- maybe patiently, because you'll need it) go for it.
The pellucid air not only made for unblemished views of the Bridge, but also, the suburban area of Lombard Street, with an almost vertical incline, upon reaching the top, we were able to see the downward angle of all the houses that led down to the sea. I remember when I was younger having a computer race car game and the location was San Francisco, I almost didn't have to press the enter key to turn on the brakes as it was a constant, unending downhill road and to the side of the screen was bursts of pastel colours. Back to reality, we realised that this colour came from the beautifully distinctly painted Victorian rowhouses. Stacks of these postcard picture houses lined the steep hills. Although we favoured car routes to save time, the main tourist activity here was to take your car to the highest point of Lombard Street, and drive down the zigzag road, an arbitrary twenty second, roughly twelve feet strip that juxtaposes the direct linear route. Thus, we parked up and gave into the vertiginous incline by foot.
Finishing off the time in San Francisco and for a little escapism from the modern world, we had arrived in a time warp. Haight and Ashbury: a zeal for 1960s hippie culture. The streets where Haight and Ashbury intersected were filled with retro music stores, vintage charity shops, organic coffee shops and dip dyed clothes shops were your pupils turned a Kaleidoscope filter. Botanic incense smeared the air. I assume the hipsters of the noughties come here for inspiration.
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