I have partially borrowed the title from the recent film, "The Pursuit of Happyness", I really loved the narration style, and how the film would stop when he'd describe parts of his life, such as: this is the part I call "running". Plus, the film and true story took place in lovely San Francisco, and that is where my husband and I were for 5 days and 4 nights.
So. . . . .this is the part I call, getting off the plane, and how the F to we get to the city? A minor, but essential detail I failed to plan or even think of when booking the trip. Planning, something I just skipped so in turn, we were a little confused, a little lost, and because of it, it turned out our room was communal living. That is the part I will call, are you f''n serious? We were tired, we were hungry, and we'd been on 3-hr flight, and a quite speedy train for about 45 minutes, and the room which appeared modern spacious online, turned out to be a box, probably 10x12 feet if that. The shitter and shower, down the hall, holy smokes. The building was actually beautiful and ornate, marble floors, newly renovated rooms, high ceilings, crown molding, built in early 1900's, you get it. They also do the green living, so no air-conditioning at all, but there is a ceiling fan that blows just short of hurricane winds and little window for extra ventilation. Good thing the weather is 60's during the day and 50's at night. And what I found especially nice, was that our 2nd floor window was directly above a bustling bistro, lots of plates and silverware being tossed around because their back door stays open apparently. Here's the cherry, the hall shower had a window above the tub that was stuck so you could not close it, which made for a crisp, fresh bathing experience, but there was an office space that could see directly inside if someone was looking down. I was praying to sweet Lord that would not happen, great perk @ the Mosser, if you are an exhibitionist. If anyone knows me, they know sharing bath and toilet is nightmare territory in my book, but in two days, it felt cozy and normal. I found myself walking barefoot down the hall without my bra, no lipstick, bedhead, the works, and saying hi to the cleaning crew and other 2nd floor folks. Because who cares?
When the communal thing set it, and we were a bit more rested, we ventured out, it turns out our room was right on Union Square, many beggers, many people who haven't showered, and style, style, style. I could have been mistaken for homeless in my baggy pants and hoodie. The women there are fearless, their hair is artfully tousled, maybe with random flower some place, natural make-up, skinny pants, unfathomably high heels, scarves, ipods, so cool, so different from me. I got over that by day 2, because I'm from Texas, so fuck it. We made our way into a record store, no, I mean, a real record store, called Rasputin's, 5 floors of non-stop choice of extremely independent music, lots of young men with black t-shirts, lots of words like, dude, check out this export. Later that night we managed to stumble into a 5 star Indian restaurant called New Dehli, it was expensive and well worth it, we left plump with paneer, fresh nan bread, yogurt-y dip, and spicy cardamon tea.
Day 2, first offical day because we were more rested by then, we set off for Alcatraz, which I'd written off in my head as what's the big deal, it's a rock? So, this is the part I call, ghosts. It was true adventure, and I felt chilled to the core the entire time. We had an audio tour, and my husband and I just could not believe how every turn would unfold some new twisted but marvelous fact. I can't describe it properly, I highly recommend it. There is plant-life there not found anywhere else in the US because it was brought in years ago from other places in the world, and the prisoners took great pride in the gardens, there are people now from the national park association that upkeep this, that is real San Franciscan tradition and tribute, quite beautiful. I could feel the ghosts and the energy sucking me in, so I could not stand in one place too long, my feet would get stuck, and I'd start to feel it heavily. When we got back on the ferry, I made sure we stood at the back, partly so I could watch the ferry's foam trail, and so I could say goodbye to the ghosts of the rock, and to ask them to not ever visit me, never. Late that night, we went our for a drink at the Gold Dust Bar, live music, quite good actually, and we squeezed ourselves into a corner and settled in for martinis, all well until 2 couples with British accents squeezed in with us, not the personal space types, and I liked them well enough, but I could not deal with their closeness. One of the older chicks threw her head back and started wailing to a John Lennon song, and though I enjoyed watching her enjoy life this way, we had to head out, shortly thereafter.
Day 3, already over the crowds, and the tourist attraction thing, we hopped the 38L down Geary towards the ocean. I found a website online before we left about the Sutro bath ruins built in 1896, it was the largest indoor pool in the world at one point, now it is only a labyrinth of cement right near the ocean, the neighboring sites are the Cliff House, a hiking trail that is breath-taking, and of course Ocean Beach. The Seal Rocks are in this spot as well, and in my pictures, they look like black sharpness jutting out of the ocean, but they are majestic, and the surrounding mountains are as well. I've never been near the ocean, and I felt a calm and a peace in my soul I have never experienced before in my life. This is the part I call, bliss. After a few hours of walking the beach, we decided to hike the trail through the trees above, it was just glorious, and then we just sort of bumped into and started talking to an old couple, and then a woman in her 50's, running the trail and she was picking up garbage on the way, all natives to the area. We were told which trolley ride was the best, and to walk all the way back down the beach along the highway until we reached Fulton, past the huge windmill, and there we would find a brewery/art gallery/restaurant called the Beach Chalet. According to Nancy, this was a huge surfer hang-out in the 60's, and now it houses a brewery and delicious seafood cuisine. We went and took pictures of the murals and upstairs had about 60 ounces of beer called California Kind, along with calimari and clam chowder. The view from our table was a panaramic view of the ocean, ahh. On our way out of the Beach Chalet, we noticed the mouth of the Golden Gate Park was right down the way, there is so much to see and do, it was actually over-whelming. We walked to our bus stop and by then the massive liquid intake had taken it's toll. We arrived only to find that our stop was across the street, we got on that bus finally and our bladders were seriously distended, halfway there we had to get off and find a toilet. All the places were not friendly towards the pee, so we had to order wings in order to do our business. We weren't hungry, so derek gave the wings to a homeless man just outside, we walked off and turned our backs to see him licking his chops, and it warmed us to see him enjoying his food. We hopped the bus again and 3 men, hate to say it, ugly types, loud, no manners, got on after a few more stops, they were talking shit, really graphic stuff. This is the part I call, 3-way Audrey. Audrey seems to let them take turns or whatever, needless to say, I was ready to go back to our room.
Day 4, Chinatown, trolley rides, and Yerba Buena Gardens on the menu, and I'll tell you Chinatown, not impressed, but we did partake in a tea-tasting and it was nice. I came back with some over-priced tea and a cool t-shirt for my nephew. The walk there was a hike, whew! However, Yerba gardens were beautiful, it is an oasis of peace in the middle of the city craziness. We then decided to retire back to our box, and a shower and one riveting episode of Law and Order later, we braved the trolley. We didn't want to bring our camera and it was unfortunate because that part of the wharf proved to be the most scenic, Ghiradeli Square. It was more beach-y and the shops were more quaint, there was more live music, a huge pirate ship docked close by, plus the best part, chocolate! The ride back was a stunning evening view, just awesome.
This is the part I call, ready. Day 5, leaving, loved the experience, ready to get back on Texas soil. We decided to walk Union Square a bit more, and maybe take in a movie across the street at the Metreon, home to the nation's largest IMAX, also next door to the Yerba Buena Gardens. We had breakfast then walked over to the gardens which happened to be hosting a jazz festival. We got some coffee and plopped down on a grassy knoll, then I began to take in my immediate surroundings. We were in the middle of "special" adult outing. Two of the men were lovingly wrestling and tickling eachother, not gay, just affectionate, cute. Gay is awesome by the way, love them, staggering Gay population in the city obviously. Anyway, soon, a few of the adults rushed the stage, not the ticklers, but the others, they were dancing, well thrashing about, and one of men pulled a blonde up from her seat and twirled her around fiercely for at least 2 jamming songs. I turned to my husband and said, honey, they are having a better time than the rest of us, maybe I want to rush the stage and dance with a stranger. I mean look at their faces. Pretty soon, we made our way to the theater, took in a violent film, then hauled ass below the city to the BART. I call this part, the end of it. Goodbye ocean, and I must say, you were the sweetest of them all.
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