Dearest and I flew to San Francisco from Little Rock on Monday, January 18. I did not think the fact that this was a holiday would cause us travel problems, as it is not a big “travel” holiday. And in truth the holiday did not cause us delays, a storm system moving in from the Pacific did. We were delayed about half an hour out of Little Rock and then another hour or more on our connecting flight in Las Vegas. The connecting flight had a stop in San Diego, where we were delayed another 2 plus hours, before finally arriving in San Francisco around 9:00, 4 ½ hours after we were scheduled to arrive. So rather than having a leisurely dinner and a bit of an evening explore of the surrounds, we splurged on a taxi to the hotel, and exhausted, placed a last minute order from the room service menu (a very good pizza Margherita and a surprising cherry cobbler that was supposed to be an assortment of ice creams/sorbets). We collapsed in welcome sleep not long after we had finished the meal.
Tuesday morning dawned, with threats of rain, but even so we dallied deciding on the things we absolutely must see. We opted to tackle the must sees, knowing that with trips back and forth from Melbourne, we would be in the city again and would have other chances to catch the sights we missed on this one. I had really wanted to ride a cable car out to the end and see the Bay. And I wanted to see Lombard Street. Dearest wanted to see the Golden Gate Bridge and look for souvenirs for people. I am a not-too picky tourist. I get the guide books and decide what is on my absolutely must see list and work from that. Everything else is gravy to me. So our list included a Cable Car out to Fisherman’s Wharf, hopefully, but not imperatively, the line that passed Lombard Street, and then what comes when we got back to Union Square.
But first we needed food. Dearest had been out for a quick exploratory wander the night before -- borne out of the lack of a mini-bar key and outrageous mini-bar prices. He found a coke and some nibbles, and a diner which looked perfect for what we wanted. And there we feasted on a lingering brunch, including the best hash browns I have ever had, and then set off on our way.
First off, we passed a Borders and Dearest wanted to have a look in to see the music available -- a trip to a record shop was on his list of to-do’s if we have time, so we altered our plan a bit and stopped there first. It was just as well with me. We like to tuck little notes for savoring while the other is on the way home, and I had not packed any note cards so I needed to get a card suitable for such a love-note. I began with a quick wander through the mystery section -- always my first stop in a bookstore -- and then a search for the ladies room overtook me. This was far and away the worst experience I had ever had at a Borders. The shop itself took up 4 floors of a converted building; not unusual in downtown areas, and, if nothing else, gives the shop character. But this was far and away the worst designed and planned retrofit I have seen. To go from the ground to the second floor, there are stairs or an elevator. The elevator was hidden behind the check-out area and the stairs had lovely displays of 2010 calendars, and I was on the lookout for a 2010 page-a-day calendar, and we had just eaten a huge meal, so we opted for the stairs. After a stop at the information desk for directions to the ladies room, I set off to find my way to the 4th floor, where the only public facilities are located. The up escalator was being serviced. Ahh, okay, the elevator is around on the other side ... but no! the elevator was out of order. In my organized and logical way, I asked if there were stairs to the upper floors. I did not see any external fire escape stairs, so I assumed they were moved to the inside during the retrofit for Borders. NO came the resounding answer. All right, perhaps fire escape stairs were not a code requirement in San Francisco -- surprising given the history of a city-destroying fire. But okay, we’ll try another tactic. “Well,” my question came, “how can I get to the upper floors for browsing?” “You can take the escalator,” was dis-interested answer. You have to love brilliant people! After a few minutes the elevator was returned to working order, and up to the 4th floor I went to take care of business. And as my luck was running that day, there was no paper in the ladies room. When I brought that to the attention of yet another dis-interested employee, I was treated to muttered complaints about how heavy the rolls are and why do people use so much? The one bright spot in the visit was the cashier, who was quite pleasant and helped us figure out to get the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf.
Out into the San Francisco early afternoon we went, with map and $5 each in hand to catch the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf. As I said, I was not particular about which line we took out there, just that we took one. So we took our chances with the next cable car headed the direction we wanted. It turned out to be the one that passed Lombard Street. The ride out to the Ghirardelli Square end of Fisherman’s Wharf was sunny if cool, and I felt the perfect tourist, which is not, on the whole, a bad thing. We had a nice wander about Fisherman’s Wharf, and I found my souvenir of the trip (a heart-shaped key ring) and Dearest and I finally found an ice cream parlor and shared a waffle cone sundae. I have been trying to find an ice cream parlor with Dearest since 2006! When we finished the ice cream sundae, we thought about more of a wander about Fisherman’s Wharf/Ghirardelli Square but a light rain had begun to fall and the skies threatened harder rain, so we headed to the Cable Car turnaround for the ride back to Union Square. It was about a half hour wait, punctuated by a propeller-beanie-clad street musician of erratic quality. We finally got a Cable Car returned to Union Square where we wandered a bit, stopping here and there window shopping. We came across a huge 4 floor Williams Sonoma and we went in for a dreamy look at what was there. I am dreamily taking inventory for my kitchen and I enjoy looking at what’s available -- even more when they are real and not just catalogue pictures/descriptions. Surprisingly, despite all the nice things in the shop, the only thing I found that I could not live without was a ball-tipped whisk. Having dallied through the rain shower, we headed back out for more wandering. Dearest was on the lookout for the last souvenirs for people and we headed back towards the end of Powell Street we had first explored a week ago when Dearest first arrived in the US. There was a used/new record shop there -- advertising 5 floors of music! -- and he had been so good that I agreed to allowing him a wander there. It was not too boring for me. We had an interesting chat with a man whose job it was to operate the elevator for 8 hours a day. Not a job I’d want, but still, if you have bills to be paid, you need to have a job.
After he had enough of record shopping -- I doubt he had his fill, but he was conscious of rather bored Lynn in tow, we headed back to the hotel -- an interesting retrofit of an older building, with all the character that newer, purpose-built hotels lack. We stopped in for a moment, and briefly discussed the plan for the rest of the evening, trying not to discuss the fact that it was our last night together. We headed out again, window shopped for a bit, finding the last of the souvenirs and thinking about dinner. I had wanted a splurge dinner in San Francisco and I had a craving for Italian, so after considering our options, we checked with the front desk/concierge at our hotel, and they directed us to a delightful Italian place a block up the street. The front desk said there was no need to change from our jeans/hoodies but we decided to all the same. Dearest wanted it to be a nice fancy evening. And in retrospect, he was right. I began the indulgence with a glass of Riesling while Dearest splurged with a glass of real lemonade as we split what he deemed the “poshest chips ever” (really, really, indescribably good, cheese fries). Dearest had cheese ravioli as his entrée; I had tortellini carbonara, followed by the best lemon sorbet I have had. Dearest found it too tart, but it was perfection to my tastes.
We headed back to the hotel to get on with the distasteful part of the night, the part that made both our hearts break… knowing that it was out last night together. Saying goodbye is never easy -- from the hotel room to the international departure doors at the airport. It’s always a reminder that one of us is always left on the other side. But the night ended without too many tears and we still had the better part of the day on Wednesday.
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