Even now, in yet another uber on the way to our car rental, I'm feeling a bit sad to go. After the initial shock and awe that downtown SF offers, the lovely tapestry of wandering misanthropes and cutting edge outdoor marketing, I quickly began to love the place. I keep making comparisons to New York, yet this type of analysis is helpful only to other New Yorkers, and it's hardly nuanced or accurate since I've yet to actually live it the city myself. San Fran feels more like Boston, at least in the sections I've seen. I had a lot of sea food the past few days, so Boston it is.
Theres a part of me that's incredibly satisfied by this kind of travel. I've never been on vacation with Ashley before, and that's made all the difference in terms of immersion and mindfulness. I take more pictures, since I have someone to take pictures with. I care less about eating healthy, since if I gain weight she will have a harder time noticing since she'll watch it in real time. All of this points to another trip, sooner than later I'm sure, and with Ashmaster firmly by my side.
Our amazing hosts cousin Jean from Myspace and Pat from Advertisements had work today, so Trashley and I had a whole day to fill solo. We started off in the Modern Arts Museum, a classy yet approachable museum that absolutely screamed San Francisco culture. Theres a thickly coated trope that goes along with "Modern Art", so if you're imagining a one inch red circle taking up an entire floor, or an exhibit that's literally a water fountain, or performance art where a woman dresses up like adecapitated Giraffe while 8-year old children throw VHS tapes at her, then know that you're only half right. It was abstract and artsy, sure, but it wasn't as outside my cultural comfort zone that I thought it would be. What I was expecting was a Human heart impaled with juul pods, and all I got was art made in the modern era. Go figure.
It was all worth it for this picture
We had to cut that trip a little short, though, since we had a place called Sausalito firmly on our agenda. This town is 30 minutes by ferry, and it's always summer over there. Micro climates are seriously, (seriously!) pretty trippy. This town is tucked away across the something river, and it's apparently harboring some sort of Fire spirit since its gorgeous and 10 degrees warmer than the city itself. I love little towns like this. Touristy as hell, no doubt. Pricey too.
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This is where I was cut off. I didn't have the time nor the energy to finish this project on the road, and as soon as I got back home I was struck with a cheeky little cold for about a week. I'm writing this now Tuesday 5/7, a week and two days after returning home. I'm going to have to go by memory from here on out.
Anyway, Sausalito. Nice town to saunter, for sure. With a fresh springtime sun and a cool breeze from the ocean, Ashley and I made our way a quarter mile down the main street before finding a simple restaurant for lunch. We could have explored more but we were starving, and what better way to understand a culture than to get food 300 feet from the central hub. Either way, it was delicious, and while we ate we had a great view of the bay. Although we were plenty active, we took the opportunity to settle into our seats and properly enjoy our meal. "This is nice" we both thought simultaneously. Or maybe she wasn't thinking that, I don't know.
Not seen: Hanger claws retracting into her fingers
After our meal we returned to the main street for some casual shopping with the intent on buying our hosts a gift. We entered an eccentric (By San Francisco standards, too) antique store. Century-old books lined the floor and strange figurines stood eye-level all across the store, meeting our eyes at every corner with a sort of silent, ancient sales pitch. "Buy me!" They seemed to say. "Please murder me" could also be interpreted.
This store had a no picture policy, by which I dutifully abode, and when we entered the woman at the front desk broke out into a well-rehearsed pitch. "Hello Friends! Welcome to Jessica's! We are currently having our largest sale ever, with everything being 50% off. Take a look at our books, as some of them date back to the fifteen hundreds!"
This was shouted throughout the store, whether or not you were two feet in front of her or not. Once again I was mentally transported to New York City, hearing the robotic voice of the Subway woman telling me which stop came next. For a brief moment, and I'm not proud to admit this, but I was filled with rage towards this woman. I do not know why, and it didn't last long, but something about the sales pitch turned me off tremendously. Maybe it was she said the exact same thing three times while I was in the store. Maybe it was what followed the "fifteen hundreds" part, where she told us "Some books are from the sixteen hundreds, some are from the seventeen hundreds, a few are from the eighteen hundreds. They are very old books!"
I ended up buying a book. She tried to sell me stickers. The rage boiled up again, and we left without saying thank you. Ok, we said thank you, but I didn't say Thank you very much. Hella burn, robot woman.
Oh shit, we're smiling! Go us!
We made our way back to the ferry where a tourist from New Zealand waited with us and sparked up conversation. After some small talk, he bucked up the courage to ask me about how I feel about our president. In hushed tones I revealed my liberal leanings, adding a few extra layers of doubt and neutrality so as to not accidentally arouse anyone else in line. In retrospect, it was a pretty safe place to talk about these things, but you can never be sure. This Kiwi man seemed fascinated with American politics, and through me he was able to understand our culture just a little bit more. I asked about his countries politics, and as soon as he started speaking I realized how much more boring it was than ours. I spaced out and started thinking about how much I hated that store clerk from before. I came to when he asked for a "Pin" but really he said "Pen" and we laughed and laughed at his silly and wrong way of saying things. I regret not getting a picture with this man.
We returned to the big city and walked around near the dock, gently browsing the stores near our arrival. Ashley spotted oysters, lo and behold they were all from Long Island. Great, we'll have some. How fun it is to buy things that remind us of home!
Some things in life are so precious that we must not share them with the world. This is not one of those things.
We also found a little pottery/ceramics store that sold these beautiful bowls and plates. They were over $60 each. Once the price was checked, we sheepishly left the area, checked our Chase bank apps, and frowned in silence. Looks like we're gonna have to stick to our normal plates like a couple of non-tech industry losers.
We picked up our poor spirits by buying a cheap beer. We had a half hour to kill before meeting up with Myspace Jean for a drink at a hot restaurant called Pabu for Happy Hour. Boy oh boy, that was a happy hour indeed. We went crazy on appetizers, drinks, and uh.. that's it. But they were delicious and reasonable priced.
Right here is where I wish I took better notes, cause even though I remember the atmosphere and the fact that I had fun, I couldn't tell you what we spoke about. Not a single conversation, no jokes, nothing. Maybe it was the drinks (Narrator voice: it was) but there's something sad about looking back at a special time with people close to us and not having anything to trigger the memory besides how many hand rolls we ordered. Eight, by the way. We ordered eight hand rolls.
Straight from happy hour we crossed off a typical tourist activity, riding the cable car. It was surprisingly fun, but as I watched the standing operator use his whole body to pull the break lever, I had to wonder why they still existed. It was faster than walking, sure, but could this really be the best way to get around? Is it energy efficient? How much do the people running it get paid? How many people commute on these daily? The open-windowed-public-transit-of-the-past seemed to draw in enough people, and by the time we reached our stop I stopped caring all that much and instead took in the views of the city. What a place.
Afterwards we ubered out to a place called "Twin Peaks" for a crazy view. Also crazy was the wind blasting us from all sides, and before we could catch a proper sunset we had become fatigued and chilled by the onslaught of this micro-climate's aggression. As a way to compensate for our early departure, we decided to walk down the windy road down to our last destination of the night, a Chinese restaurant near our host's house. We ate well with our hosts, put back a few more beers, and called it a night.
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5/14 now. I really gotta get a move on here.
Sorry Pete Ward, I'll talk about your grand kids soon enough!
Photo dump:
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