We slept in, tourism exhaustion. Then to assuage guilt, decided to take Abby on a long walk around the adjacent parking lot. This is America and this in alongside the 49ers stadium. Part way round, I was approached by an official 4x4. Could it be that I was trespassing? The vehicle belonged to a Park Ranger. I had no idea that they were responsible for the biodiversity of stadia parking lots but it transpired that the neighbouring piece of land was Candlestick Point Stare Recreation Area. Wow, I can hear you think, how lucky is that?
The Park takes its name from the shape of a rock outcrop or the flaming masts of abandoned sailing ships depending on what you read. During the second World War, the tidelands were filled in to create a Naval shipyard. Anyway, enough of the history lesson – the female Ranger, a little on the non-athletic shape with donut sugar dusting her ‘pants’ and the top of her holstered weapon, shot the breeze talking about Springers and England before pointing out the Park entrance. The short walk was punctuated with gophers raising their heads out of holes, like that game you see at fairgrounds, until we reached the water to watch the stately sight of a purple heron, who was so absorbed in his unsuccessful fishing that we remained paces away whilst he paced the margins of the bay.
A short taxi ride to the city, hearing the life story of the Palestinian driver who had married and become a citizen of this fair county. We were so excited at reaching the Trolley stop safely that we left our backpack in the cab. Although worried as it contained the camera, it was soon returned, at a price and we joined the 1 ½ hour queue to board the trolley. Bumming a drink in any city takes many forms. We passed ‘aids’ sufferers sat cross-legged on the floor with Starbucks cups in hand but today’s version trawled the line advising that if people moved to the next intersection, they would not need to wait for the 90 minutes. All of his advice went unheard, just as well, as if the whole line had moved up the hill, the wait would still be the same but in a different location. We heeded his words, offered the price of a Frappaccino, although my guess is that the money might buy something a little stronger, and hopped on the trolley a little up the road, just as he said we could.
The destination was Pier 39 and the myriad of attractions, both natural and manmade, that awaited us there. We saw gilded Michael Jacksons, a glass walker, a man who hid behind a bush, a guitarist with the voice of James Taylor, a steel band, a line of Segway tourers (like baby ducks following their mummy), micro cars programmed to follow a predestined route and best of all, seals and sea lions posturing to the tourists on floating jetties.
We ate in a great eatery, Tarantonis – linen tablecloths and napkins, and a window seat complemented the clam chowder. Through the window, we could see this man hiding behind greenery that he held, who caused great amusement by thrusting it out at unsuspecting tourists as they ambled by. It was something out of Beadles About, for those of you old enough to remember that programme.
We walked to Lombard Street to click the snakelike stretch before hailing a taxi, this time driven by an eastern bloc immigrant who turned out to be a great tour guide as he took us through the revitalized if polluted dockland areas. I wanted to return to Candlestick Point State Recreation Area and began what was to be a good walk till we spotted the grouped sedans, blaring rap music and surrounded by youths who were drinking more than soda. With some level of guilt, judging people badly by what they were doing rather who they were, we followed our instincts and returned to catch up on all that needed to be done for tomorrow.
The Park takes its name from the shape of a rock outcrop or the flaming masts of abandoned sailing ships depending on what you read. During the second World War, the tidelands were filled in to create a Naval shipyard. Anyway, enough of the history lesson – the female Ranger, a little on the non-athletic shape with donut sugar dusting her ‘pants’ and the top of her holstered weapon, shot the breeze talking about Springers and England before pointing out the Park entrance. The short walk was punctuated with gophers raising their heads out of holes, like that game you see at fairgrounds, until we reached the water to watch the stately sight of a purple heron, who was so absorbed in his unsuccessful fishing that we remained paces away whilst he paced the margins of the bay.
A short taxi ride to the city, hearing the life story of the Palestinian driver who had married and become a citizen of this fair county. We were so excited at reaching the Trolley stop safely that we left our backpack in the cab. Although worried as it contained the camera, it was soon returned, at a price and we joined the 1 ½ hour queue to board the trolley. Bumming a drink in any city takes many forms. We passed ‘aids’ sufferers sat cross-legged on the floor with Starbucks cups in hand but today’s version trawled the line advising that if people moved to the next intersection, they would not need to wait for the 90 minutes. All of his advice went unheard, just as well, as if the whole line had moved up the hill, the wait would still be the same but in a different location. We heeded his words, offered the price of a Frappaccino, although my guess is that the money might buy something a little stronger, and hopped on the trolley a little up the road, just as he said we could.
The destination was Pier 39 and the myriad of attractions, both natural and manmade, that awaited us there. We saw gilded Michael Jacksons, a glass walker, a man who hid behind a bush, a guitarist with the voice of James Taylor, a steel band, a line of Segway tourers (like baby ducks following their mummy), micro cars programmed to follow a predestined route and best of all, seals and sea lions posturing to the tourists on floating jetties.
We ate in a great eatery, Tarantonis – linen tablecloths and napkins, and a window seat complemented the clam chowder. Through the window, we could see this man hiding behind greenery that he held, who caused great amusement by thrusting it out at unsuspecting tourists as they ambled by. It was something out of Beadles About, for those of you old enough to remember that programme.
We walked to Lombard Street to click the snakelike stretch before hailing a taxi, this time driven by an eastern bloc immigrant who turned out to be a great tour guide as he took us through the revitalized if polluted dockland areas. I wanted to return to Candlestick Point State Recreation Area and began what was to be a good walk till we spotted the grouped sedans, blaring rap music and surrounded by youths who were drinking more than soda. With some level of guilt, judging people badly by what they were doing rather who they were, we followed our instincts and returned to catch up on all that needed to be done for tomorrow.
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