Tag Archives: San Francisco

San Fran, Day 2

10 Nov

Day 2, Day 2, Day 2. My most flagrant memory of day two was the drunk, pedophile that followed us around the ferry to Alcatraz. Imagine, a man. Tall, a little gangly with thinning, greasy hair done up in a scraggly, hap-hazard comb over. His clothes are a size too big and he appears to be a fan of beige, from head to toe. He’s got a 5 o’ clock shadow at 10 in the morning. His hands are shaking, his pupils dialated and more thank likely it’s been a few days since his teeth had a date with his toothbrush. He’s carrying a brown bag, most  his liquid lunch concealed. His squinty little eyes give off that most definitely chill inducing “I wouldn’t EVER want to be in a dark ally with you alone” vibe. Essentially a creepo. Now, get on a boat with him and commit yourself to a few hours on a small island with said creep. Good times right?

Well that is how day two started. Pedophile central. We went to Alcatraz, wandered around Pier 39 where I was made a spectacle in some “real life” magician’s show. I already knew the trick he tried on me… so, how to you fake surprise instead of annoyance? I’ll tell you how. Just look utterly terrified. Works like a charm.

We bought bread at Boudin’s sourdough factory and did a wine tasting — four letters, LOVE. Ate dinner at Nicks then rode the trolley home. It was lovely. A couple photos because the last two posts didn’t have quite enough…

San Francisco, Day 1.

8 Nov

I’m back home and have settled down. That’s a lie, but it sounds better than, “I’m still in disarray trying to pull some semblance of my life together”, doesn’t it? I ate my way through the past 4 days and did enough walking to burn at least a quarter of it off. Or, so I tell myself. The trip, as always, flew by, but was packed with hundreds of hysterical moments, amazing food, and tons of sights.  Let’s start with day one.

After 3 hours squished on the plane we arrived in San Fran. P.S. Whoever devised the seating arrangements on planes was not 6’ tall… not only is the leg room abysmal, but also try typing with my gangly gargantuan arms. I had my elbow so far protruding out in the aisle I got hit by anything and everything that went by. [Checking for bruises now.]

Got off the plane, got our bags and found our way to the BART station. I thought we may lose my hearing due to the screaming noises it makes going through the tunnel, but alas we persevered.

Dim Sum was our first order of duty and we fitfully made our way to Chinatown. Ate some BBQ pork among an array of dumplings and sticky rice and headed on our way. Scoped out some of the wharf, hand a WONDERFUL sundae at Ghirardelli (made my heart swoon), slurped down and Irish coffee at Buena Vista and then headed back to Santorini‘s for dinner. Honestly, food was our #1 priority… so food we found. Here are a few photos of that first day…

San Fran: Memories and Pit Stops

5 Nov

The first time I ever visited, well the only other time I’ve ever visited San Francisco I was about 14… a freshman in high school and still bordering on that awkward phase that lasted from birth to about 15. I was one of the lucky ones.

I remember wearing jeans that were much too short, a lack of makeup and some styling white tennis shoes. Hard to resist, right? I went with my Mom and sister (probably around 12 at the time) and left knowing that it would forever be one of my favorite cities. The strongest memories from that trip, though, revolve around food (shocker, I know) and the pay to use public restrooms. One specific story stands out. And here is goes:

We were in line for the trolley (the real San Francisco treat) and the line was wrapped around one block and making it’s way, very quickly, up the next. It was going to be a LONG haul. We probably could have walked, but we were bound and determined to make our way through the city on that specific tram. Well if you have never visited San Fran or seen one of the corner “pay to pee’s”, then you’ll know what I’m talking about, but if you haven’t… then try to envision an oblong structure standing on the corner. It’s green and covered in billboards, but rather clean. Once you insert your money, the electric door opens and produces a toilet and sink set up. All very normal.

Well, here’s where the story gets good. We’ve been in line for what seems next to for-e-ver. Sarah (my independent and pig-headed little sister) decided that paying to use the potty was over-rated. She’d just sneak in after someone, pee, and come back out. No prob bob. We went along with it because, well, what could go wrong? It’s a port-o-potty right?

She slyly snuck in behind the last toilet customer, the door slid shut and things seemed to be just in order. Then, thirty seconds later, the door slams open and water comes gushing out. We and our 100 new San Fran friends turn and gawk. Out comes Sarah covered in cleaning/toilet water. Please imagine this. Take a minute because it may take that long to fully absorb the pain, anguish, and embarrassment of the moment. Then please imagine what it feels like to be 12, wet, and in line for another hour with those close 100 friends that witnessed you one, being and idiot and two, being what we would call thrifty. Other’s may call it cheap, but whose keeping track.

So, we’re back in this great city, eating and cavorting (more on that later) when we stumble across one of those wondrous pit stops. Couldn’t resist taking a picture and wetting our pants laughing at the memory. So here you go. My sister all grown up, and a little happier and drier that the last time around.

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