Fog, ferries and felons

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Geo: 37.7792, -122.42

Aaaaaagggghhhhhh body clock madness has descended on Stacey. She was awake at 3am so, after trying to go back to sleep, she decided to wake me at 5.30am. At 6.45, we finally gave up and readied ourselves for a full day of experiencing what this vibrant city has to offer.
7.30am saw us pulling back the swing doors to 1950s Americana done right! Not a surly waitress in sight, despite the early hour, we were greeted and welcomed into this memorabilia-packed symbol of good old time America - the one we all remember from our childhoods, be it from Happy Days, Grease, Back to the Future or any other programme which romanticises the rock and roll era of the golden age. Right in the middle of the diner was an old Cadillac, the boot (I refuse to say trunk - I am British!) of which had been turned into a dining table. Quarter pinball machines dotted a raised area to our left, while old style jukeboxes and one armed bandits lined the walls. The booths were cherry red glitter, it was perfection! 1950s music provided the backdrop as waitresses carried steaming plates of hearty American breakfasts across the checkerboard floor. Coffee was brought to the table on tap, adding to the all-American feel. I ordered the corned beef hash with poached eggs, toast and jelly (we have brought elasticated trousers with us for the end of the trip!) while Stacey opted for the eggs Benedict. Both were delicious, although mine was not as expected. Corned beef hash here is not corned beef hash as I have ever known in in the UK - although perhaps it is I who is misguided - it is diced, fried ham, with diced, fried potatoes and onions. However, different does not mean bad, and this was a taste sensation!

After breakfast, we decided to undertake another San Francisco tourist tradition and headed for the trolley turnaround station at the bottom of Powell street. Here, the trollies that trundle up and down the streets, hauled up and down the gargantuan hills that the city is nestled upon by underground cables, which you can hear rushing by if you stop to listen, enter a turning circle and are promptly pushed around in a giant circle by their drivers and conductors. You then hop aboard for what can only be described as a ride of your life. You have three options: option one us to sit inside the safety of the carriage with limited photo opportunities but with little chance of losing a limb or cutting your life expectancy down to a matter of minutes. The second option is to sit on one of the outdoor seats, a wooden slatted bench which runs along the front section if the carriage. Better photo opportunities arise in this location, but the San Francisco wind can slice right though you and you have to face the wrath of the driver if you put your hand even an inch over the back of the bench. "You will be thrown off!" The final option is to embrace your inner Judy Garland and hang off the step while holding onto one of the handles which are spread along this section. Here photo opportunities are great, personal safety is fairly dicey.

San Francisco can only be described as a city of hills. Hills, hills, hills. Even Alcatraz sits perched on a hill in the middle of the bay. The reason for the limited personal safety when swinging on a pole on the tram is the speeds at which the trams hurtle up and down said hills with crazy tourists hanging from a thin piece of metal. It really is marvellous fun! (Of course I took the swinging option!). We rode the cable car through the hillsides of the city, climbing up wide streets and then plunging down before we were wrenched back into a steep climb. This rollercoaster-ride took around 25 minutes before we disembarked at Hyde. Here were were straight into the tourist route of Fisherman's Wharf, a candy coloured, clapperboard movie set! Everything in San Francisco looks like it has come straight out of a vintage film set. Not in the instantly recognisable iconic way that the buildings in New York have, but in the way that everything looks purpose-built, a replica of the 1950s sets of the old-time musicals of Doris and Rock. The whole city, bar the skyscrapers of the financial district, reminiscent of any large US city, retains a vintage/deco style, leaving you nostalgic for the Amity Island/Hill Valley (insert iconic American movie city of your youth here) sets. San Francisco is indeed a vintage city at heart. Everything, from the buildings to the advertising boards to the business signs, screams nostalgia.

Now we encountered the Scourge of San Francisco, and the biggest tax dollar earner in the area - the San Francisco fog. Descending on the city throughout July and August as a result of the clash of two microclimates, the fog completely obliterated our view of the iconic Golden Gate Bridge. The tax dollars come from all tourists' immediate compulsion to buy a San Francisco sweater to combat the frigid low-lying cloud that obscures the panoramic views afforded to the visitor for the rest of the year. Huge numbers of tourists parade around in their summer shorts and their sweaters, making a fortune for the vendors down at the wharfs. However, it was not to dampen our spirits and we headed for the queue for the notorious Alcatraz.

After the obligatory tourist snap of us standing in front of a heavily photoshopped, over-sized photo of the island and surrounding landmarks, we boarded the relatively smooth crossing to the infamous high security prison. Built initially as a military fort, it was turned into a maximum security prison in 1933, housing some of the most notorious and dangerous criminals in US history. On our visit, we were met from the boat by the park rangers, who offered a variety of tours - we opted for the short tour, entitled, "Escapes" - and gave us good information about the site itself. Our tour guide led us up the steep incline from the ferry to the top of the rock, the location of the cell block. En route, she gave us detailed information about the various escape attempts of the desperate inmates who tried to leave the island in a range of ingenious ways. In the 30 years of its operation, there were no confirmed escapes from what was touted as being the ultimate inescapable prison. However, there were several attempts, two of which cannot be confirmed as unsuccessful as the inmates were never found. Even though these were hardened criminals who had been deemed dangerous enough to be interred at such a high-security prison, I couldn't help rooting for the three men who spent months digging holes in the back of their cells with spoon handles, climbing and descending ventilation shafts, convincing the guards to allow them a space in the roof which was big enough to assemble a raft made from rubber raincoats that they had pilfered over the course of 7 months, drag the raft down to the waters edge and then make their escape under cover of darkness. A postcard arrived at the prison several months after their escape, saying, "Haha, we made it!" It was signed by the three men, but written in childish handwriting, so the authorities will not use it as evidence. Their families claim that they made it and their bodies were never found, but there have been no official sightings of the men since. People believe they may have escaped to South America, since they were all learning Spanish, but nobody knows their true fate - perhaps they drowned in the famously dangerous currents of the bay. Whatever their fate, there is still a $300,000 price tag on their heads and a full-time officer whose only responsibility is to investigate their escape.

Having visited Auschwitz, s21 and the killing fields, I was expecting Alcatraz to be a sombre, depressing place, in much the same vein as the concentration camps. However, despite the bleak outlook and weather, the place is actually a bit gimmicky if anything. The audio tour is excellent, with the voices of prisoners and guards guiding you around the cell blocks and the administration buildings. It was fascinating to hear about and see the tiny cells, fitted out sparsely and allowing no privacy for the men condemned to spend their sentences on "The Rock." Black humour from the prisoners' stories also lightened the mood of the tour, although when overlaid against the backdrop go the rows of bars, expanses of concrete and dingy lighting, it was easy to see how many of the inmates were driven to desperate measures. The isolation cells in particular were incredibly sobering, with prisoners deprived of light, sound and company for weeks on end.
On exiting, and re boarding the ferry, we were hoping for a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge, and we were lucky enough to catch sight of it, emerging through the fog. However, it wasn't the grand sweeping landscape we had hoped to see, and we must keep out fingers crossed for our tour tomorrow, where we will depart the city over it. We then took a meandering stroll back along the waterfront to Fisherman's wharf. Now that it was early afternoon, the crowds had gathered and it was bustling with tourists, street performers, jiggers, cyclists and locals out for a Saturday afternoon wander. Crowds lined the streets, emerging from restaurants with steaming bread bowls of creamy crab chowder - the local fish soup (no thanks!) and cartons of fresh from the boat, Californian catch of the day. This really is the place for fresh fish!

On leaving Fisherman's wharf, we chose to give ourselves a warm up for our upcoming trip to Yosemite, and hike up those famous San Francisco hills. Our route took us up to Geographical high points of the city, and down into the Victorian era streets, lined with ornately faced buildings, painted in myriad colours. We stumbled down the world's windiest street, all the more treacherous for being set at an insanely steep gradient, before hiking back up towards the top of the city. Eventually, we stopped for the best pizza in the neighbourhood, a real spit and sawdust place on the corner of our street. It was delicious!

We then boarded the tram to San Francisco's gay quarter - The Castro. Here, unlike in other gay areas I have visited, it doesn't feel like an area where people were ghettoised. This feels like a place that is proud of its heritage. A huge, 20ft rainbow flag flies proudly above the neighbourhood! while every business in the area sports smaller versions if the flag. Not only bars and restaurants but launderettes, electrical shops, clothes shops and post offices all flying the flag to demonstrate their support and acceptance of the LGBT community. Our intended destination was the Twin Peaks bar. The first gay bar in the USA to have large windows to allow people to look inside, rather than hiding its clientele away. However, we stumbled upon the famous Castro Theatre and they were showing singalong a Wizard of Oz. Could it be more camp?! The Castro Theatre is a real show-stopper of a building. Built in 1922, it is straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster with ornate ceilings and walls, a grand balcony and a working Wurlitzer which plays the San Francisco song before each performance. It was a hilarious performance. The audience were given a fun pack on entering the theatre, consisting of various paraphernalia relating to the film, including a set of bubbles to be blown every time Glinda made an appearance. The lyrics and key dialogue from the film were projected onto the screen and the audience (most of whom didn't need any promoting or any subtitles, they knew the film by heart!) gleefully recited and sang along with gusto. This was a night to honour the icon that is Judy Garland and even her name on the screen roused cheers from the adoring fans! Whoops, cheers, boos, hisses, squeals of, "Oh my!" and huge ballads belted out by the (predominantly male) viewers raised the roof off the fabulous building!

Following a swift drink in the aforementioned Twin Peaks bar, we caught the cable car (a more sedate ride back this time, on the real neighbourhood trolley as opposed to the tourist one we took in the morning, complete with local neighbourhood drunks) back to our hotel and fell into bed too exhausted to even contemplate the fun we are going to have tomorrow!

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