San Francisco: Water, Food, and Painted Ladies

“Camp” in Pacifica was less glamorous that most. We parked in an asphalt lot, with the lines painted closely enough that Bart Simpson might have done them. We had all the amenities: water, sewer, power enough for the two air conditioners, and even cable TV. We also had neighbors close enough to count nose hairs.  That's the Bry RV on the right. 

We don't usually feature The Brown Hose in our blog, but –just so you get the idea– this is not an idyllic meadow by any means, The freeway was two hundred feet out the windshield.  On the other hand, the Pacific Ocean was fewer than 200 yards from the driver's side windows (call that our Dining Room View), except of course we couldn't see it for the all the neighbors' hairy noses twixt us and it.

We usually take local car trips instead of depending on local entertainment from the RV Resort, so we could discount the crowd.  It's just that we wanted to give Ken a swell vacation.  Then again, he's pretty much at home in cities anyway, whereas Debbie and John think a suburban neighborhood with 1/3 acre lots is a bit claustrophobic.   Debbie took her brother for a coffee stroll to the seaside as the sun came up each morning to watch for the Orca whales, and the critters were there again when the sun dipped into the sea in the evening.  Thing is, Debbie admits she was so fascinated by them that she never went back for the camera.  

Just as soon as Ken had unpacked, we jumped in the car to brave the San Francisco traffic. He had booked us for a waterborne tour of the Bay. The first part of that adventure was navigating our way to Pier 39;  She was up to her usual standards; although she didn't try to send us the wrong way down one-way streets, she was not as cognizant of maintenance closures as we'd like. And, too, Garmin requires its users pay extra for traffic data and we hadn't expected that to be an issue frequently at all, even though it was today.

John's teen memories of Bill Cosby's routine about driving a manual shift VW {they all were in those days} through San Francisco appreciated the humor even more. Stopped at a sign at the top of a hugely steep street and unable to see –really– past the intersection to the downhill side, he recalls Cosby unable to manage the clutch and waving out the window to the car behind, “Come around, you idiot. Come around!” But, as the Coz related, the guy behind was doing the same to the guy behind him! Approaching the waterfront, we went down severely steep streets, the likes of which you've seen in TV shows and movies. But all four of our wheels stayed on the ground.

Ken had said he wanted more thrill than your basic tour boat. He got his wish with the Bay Voyager,  a 20-some foot inflatable boat with a couple dozen people on-board. The Captain also was the tour guide and helmsman simultaneously. He seemed to enjoy 

whumping us through the wave troughs although he was also skilled enough avoid nosing into the sea at the bottom of a big wave, the way the Edmund Fitgerald is thought to have died in Lake Superior's stormy Whitefish Bay. Today was a calmish day on this body of water, anyway.

By the way, “Golden Gate Park” is not where Captain Kirk landed the NCC-1701 in Star Trek IV  {“Remember where we parked.”}. That park is out of sight of the Bay entirely!

 The boat trip took us under the Golden Gate, and past the beaches where the crowds cavorted under the huge pricey homes of the rich and fleetingly famous, and past the homeless sea lions squatting on the slips in one section of the marina.  After we had docked, we Uber'd to a nice Chinese restaurant (even though Ken pointed out the preferred PC Cal-speak would have been “Oriental”). Nice, but a little overpriced we thought.

The next day we wanted Pakistani food, so brother and sister scoured 4Square and queried local folk to find a small restaurant in a part of town we'd probably have avoided. After parking on another hugely steep hilly street –turning the wheels into the curb and setting the parking brake-- we stepped around the homeless guy on the sidewalk to enter The Chutney. Debbie recognized Tiki Marsala on the menu because she likes to experiment with foreign flavors and said so to the waiter. The cook overheard and declared loudly that she just could not make it as well as he! He was right. Discounting neighborhood and ambiance, we'd give the place many, many stars and recommend you eat there for a real Pakistani treat.

Coming out, we passed the Prohibition era's “Anti-Saloon League, Inc” on the corner. We'd never heard of them, but Wikipedia credits this group along with the WCTU for packing Congress with the votes necessary for the ill advised 18^th Amendment.
So-- John wants to know: if this is such a force for non-alcoholic drinking, WHY does the sign demand you be 21 to enter and the door look like a speakeasy?  In some other life, he might decide to say  Joe sent me and ask.

Another day, we drove across the Golden Gate bridge to get the view from the hilltop there.  On the way up, and again at the top, we encountered a 20-something couple, very much in love. He was Russian, she Ukrainian, in spite of that international conflict. And, did we mention very much in love? Reminiscent of our pre-marital octopus days. It was cute.

The next two days we drove around San Francisco downtown and outside. Debbie and Ken admired the well kept Victorian architecture, including the Painted Ladies, a relatively famous row of houses.  When we drove up to the park facing the Ladies across the street, about a hundred people or more were on the green field, all facing the same direction rather much like cows in a field.  Unlike cows, however, many of them were sitting on blankets holding wine and chewing cheese.  Ken talked to several, who said they were all there to see the Ladies in the sunset.