Saturday afternoon, I meet Mom at a hotel on Sansome and we walk through Financial to Union Square to Market Street. This side of San Fran is different... feels like New York. Transamerica is the Chrysler, Union Square is Bryant Park, Market Street is Park Ave. Everywhere along Market, hustle, bustle and havoc. A little overwhelmed, we cab it to Cafe Divine on Stockton, where Bike messengers pedal by. Asians are doing yoga in the park across the street. We order tea. This is more like it.
Sunday morning coffee in Sausalito, then we head to the dock to meet some friends for a sail (those Topsiders I bought in Hyannis are actually getting some use, who would have thought?). We motor out into the bay, and in no time, we're pulling this rope and tying that one, rigging, keeling, tilling. We are sailing baby! Flying! Every bit of 15 knots! By skylines and giant bridges and maximum security prison islands (click). And it's thrilling. I nearly spill my Dos Equis.
Late-afternoon, we're making our way back to dock, gawking at the Golden Gate as the fog rolls in from the West. Soon the bridge is invisible, nothing between The City and Marin but us and thick white cloud. How does a mile of red steel disappear? I try not to act too surprised, something tells me this is common.
Mom and I do a late dinner, Italian in North Beach. We agree that we could stay here for days, weeks even, and barely scratch the surface of all there is to see, do, eat, drink, purchase. We finish our gelato and realize, it's probably best we get going. I pull out the superphone and check the way to Monterey. Market Street to US-101 to California 1. How's that for a route?
We step out to the rolling basslines and crowded cafes that line Columbus Ave. Love the vibe. All arty and smart and fresh and outdoorsy and bohemian. My kind of town, would love to stay a while. But it's not that kind of trip.
No comments:
Post a Comment