The flight to San Fransisco had a stop-over in Chicago. What I liked about that airport was the jets had to taxi over a freeway via a wide bridge to get between the terminal and the runways. In the plane, we could look down on the cars whizzing beneath us as we drove over them.
San Fransisco was as unappealing to me as I figured it would be. I don't like cities on steep hills where the driving is crazy, where you have to ride the brake and the gas at the same time at every intersection, trying not to leave rubber and smoke the city, looking stupid.
I didn't care for the weirdness along the waterfront, because adults were trying to get your money by juggling, head-standing, singing, even just standing inside a box, looking stupid. Their costumes were horrendous too, but San Fransisco embraced the absurd.
The scenery was beautiful, but even the Golden Gate Bridge wasn't golden, or particularly impressive.
Alcatraz looked as horrible as it should.
A boat cruise in the bay was fun in the afternoon.
The air was cool and misty and damp all morning, every morning.
Chinatown was huge and sprawling, and the biggest one I'd ever seen.
And don't get me started on the cable car ride. That was one crowded and horrible experience I never wish to repeat.
Over the bridge and up into the hills of Sausalito, and I was entranced. Great cascading vines of red bougainvillea covered the roadside walls, hiding houses behind them.
The streets were narrow and winding and delightful, much prettier than the S-curves of San Fransisco's claim to the windingest street on their hillside, because Sausalito streets were secret and mysterious, not stuck on the side of a hill with flowerbeds planted along the sides like a garden.
I couldn't wait to start my journey south along the Pacific coastline of California.
San Fransisco was as unappealing to me as I figured it would be. I don't like cities on steep hills where the driving is crazy, where you have to ride the brake and the gas at the same time at every intersection, trying not to leave rubber and smoke the city, looking stupid.
I didn't care for the weirdness along the waterfront, because adults were trying to get your money by juggling, head-standing, singing, even just standing inside a box, looking stupid. Their costumes were horrendous too, but San Fransisco embraced the absurd.
The scenery was beautiful, but even the Golden Gate Bridge wasn't golden, or particularly impressive.
Alcatraz looked as horrible as it should.
A boat cruise in the bay was fun in the afternoon.
The air was cool and misty and damp all morning, every morning.
Chinatown was huge and sprawling, and the biggest one I'd ever seen.
And don't get me started on the cable car ride. That was one crowded and horrible experience I never wish to repeat.
Over the bridge and up into the hills of Sausalito, and I was entranced. Great cascading vines of red bougainvillea covered the roadside walls, hiding houses behind them.
The streets were narrow and winding and delightful, much prettier than the S-curves of San Fransisco's claim to the windingest street on their hillside, because Sausalito streets were secret and mysterious, not stuck on the side of a hill with flowerbeds planted along the sides like a garden.
I couldn't wait to start my journey south along the Pacific coastline of California.
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