I’m also here to wander and see what has changed and what remains. Even among the crowded anchors of the tourist trade such as Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf I’m hoping to fi nd places like Uncle Gee’s where one can stumble happily into the essence of the city. And so I fi nd myself among the magicians, portrait painters,
Peking Duck and Shanghai Dumplings are just two of more than 60 entrees served daily at Yank Sing dim sum restaurant.
these delicate brews take the fi ne art of tea to a higher level. San Francisco with its clanging cable
cars, soaring bridges, fog-shrouded hills and briny Pacifi c breezes is one of those cities so beguiling that it teeters at the brink of cliché. It’s the object of desire for many travelers, and as with all great cities, one visit is never enough. For 20 years the Bay area was my home and on weekends I plowed joyfully through the quirky neighborhoods and tourist haunts in search of the good food and cultural eccentricities that thrive here. The city became my own. Twenty years have passed since I
traded the coast for Colorado and this trip is a homecoming of sorts. But like a reunion with a long-past paramour, revisiting a fondly-remembered place after decades away can be dishearten- ing if our memories contradict the pres- ent. The fi rst doubts surface soon after I exit the airport. In my absence someone has changed street names, moved hills, and relocated old landmarks. Or so it seems as I motor along long-forgotten routes and face a labyrinth of bypass- es and one-way streets that weren’t here 20 years ago. But getting a little
lost isn’t always a bad thing. Along with the well-beaten tourist routes,
32 EnCompass September/October 2011
and human statues lining the sidewalks at Fisherman’s Wharf. Happy crowds gather around the performers and queue up at open-air stands for the overpriced clam chowder in sourdough bread bowls. The aroma is tantalizing but I’m not here for chow- der or street buskers. Fisherman’s Wharf is home to two classic San Francisco
attractions that I never tried in my previous life here. This after- noon it’s time for both. Walking up the gangplank, I board one of the Red and White
Fleet ships and climb the stairs to the upper deck. A boat tour of the bay may be touristy but some of the city’s best views are vis- ible only from the water. As we pull away from the pier, the sto- ried cityscape unfolds, an Escher-like panorama of hills covered with white buildings and climbing steeply from the waterfront. Rising above it all, Coit Tower and the Transamerica Pyramid stand tall against the skyline. As we cruise past Alcatraz Island and approach the Golden
Gate Bridge, dolphins and seals surface off the starboard bow. Although I’ve driven across it more than 200 times, motoring beneath the bridge with its massive proportions is like seeing it for the fi rst time. We idle under the span for a few minutes and snap photos as the boat spins slowly in the chop at the fringe of the Pacifi c Ocean. From here west to Japan there’s nothing but 5000 miles of cold water. A cool mist is blowing through the Golden Gate and creep-
ing over the city by the time we tie up at the dock. In need of a warm-up, I walk a few blocks along the waterfront to that other San Francisco icon I’ve skipped in the past. Hard spirits are not my usual choice of libation, but it’s perfect weather for an Irish coffee at Buena Vista Café. Founded in the 1890s, the Buena
Vista Café is one of only a few res- taurants still standing after the big earthquake of 1906. But people don’t come here for the history. They come for Irish coffee. And with up to 2000 of the hot drinks served each day, few customers leave thirsty. The Buena Vista is crowded and
The Philippine Coral Reef tank at California Academy of Sciences.
www.AAA.com
friendly on this drizzly Friday after- noon. At the bar I watch the bartender line up a dozen glasses, pour hot cof- fee into each one, and then add sugar cubes, jiggers of Irish whiskey, and a collar of whipped cream on top. He’s fast; the drinks are ready in less than a minute. I’m handed one and the rest are whisked off to patrons. After a few sips the chill is chased away by a warming glow. My Saturday morning begins in
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52