The Streets of San Francisco: A Novella

San Francisco in my estimation is one of the most beautiful cities in the country and I love to visit whenever the opportunity arises. Over the last fifteen or so years I've spent many a weekend on urban safari racking up innumerable good times and memories. I could recount them all but that would best be saved for a guide book. Instead, I'll describe our visit over the President's birthday weekend which happened to be a celebration of Damon's 43rd birthday - the president of his own paltry regime.

We made this trip in part because we had American Airline vouchers (the airline's attempt at redemption for a dreadful trip to visit Damon's aunt in Missouri last Thanksgiving. You'll see why I mention this later.) After a nap and a cocktail we decide to venture out into the cold night in search of a bone-warming cup of hot n' sour soup in the famed Chinatown. The streets are beautifully adorned with red lanterns in honor of Chinese New Year celebrated throughout February and the air is perfumed with the scent of green tea. Since neither of us read Chinese and all the storefronts look the same, we looked for a restaurant with the most Asian people inside figuring that would be a good indicator. From our perspective it was yummy but I bet Nemo, the one trying to escape his fate, had a different idea.

Greeted by a sunny morning we thought we'd savor our luck and rent bikes for a 3 hour tour. We spotted Blazing Saddles from the bus (a highly recommended mode of transportation in the city - easy, cheap and interesting.) Damon is an avid and veteran cyclist and I am pathetically uncoordinated so to avoid tragedy we hired a tandem bike. For two controlling maniacs this is an exercise in communication. WOW! Once we got in a groove we cruised over Fort Mason among picturesque views of the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. We motored along the Marina and seaside wildlife preserve. The ride was invigorating and the sun felt so warm we had to lay down for a nap before putting our toes in the icy water and watching playful pups harass diving ducks.Check out this gigantic beached jelly fish!

We traversed the hills of the Presidio before descending to a favorite watering hole, Liverpool Lil's. A couple of weekend libations and a baked brie/garlic flower plate later we were sufficiently fueled to power the hills again. Damon had been battling the flu so we parted after returning the bike - after all I don't have the flu. :] It was cocktail hour and my signature drink is an old fashioned drink called a side car so I toddled into the first place I'd ever had one, Rose Pistola in North Beach, SF's Italian neighborhood. The barkeep concocted a special rendition made with honey so delectable it surpassed any I've had before.

I've always wanted to see the San Francisco Ballet Company and it turns out they were performing Giselle this weekend. They dance at the gorgeous War Memorial Opera House and I was lucky enough to get a single ticket in the orchestra section. The story is romantic in a Romeo & Juliet kinda way and the music classic but this was a masterpiece in choreography, unadulterated from the original production. Helgi Tomasson turned extraordinarily talented dancers into something superhuman and perfectly synchronized. The female lead, a beautiful young woman from Shanghai floated around the stage like a butterfly. She was astounding. And the men are so strong and elegant in their bold way with incredible endurance (not to mention incredible buns!). It really was a symbiosis of art and athleticism. I know I'm getting a little effusive but I was blown away. A night cap at the hip and ambient View featuring spectacular city and bay views is the perfect ending to a perfect night.

Sunday, I'm awakened by the beautiful chime of adjacent church bells tolling out hymns. A strong cafe and the paper ease the guilt of dissing a sermon. When your traveling companion is cooped up in the infirmary (a.k.a a comfortable hotel room with scenic views) you make the best of it like a good girl and hit the spa. But the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art awaits me so not to dilly dally. For a city like SF I was underwhelmed by SFMOMA. I quite enjoyed the visiting exhibit, Olafur Eliasson, a modern marriage of reflection and perspective through the use of (and as it relates to) light. A few token Warhol, Rivera and Picasso pieces dot the permanent collection; predictable in a MAM. Barring the natural-light filled turret, the space itself is lackluster and some of the photography exhibits I found unmoving and amateurish.

Now that I've worked up an appetite I stroll around Union Square, window shopping and looking for a good place to chow. I stumble upon Mocca, an authentic European style bistro in an alley just off the square. This place is a decadent smorgasbord of fantastic, fresh food faire (how's that for an alliteration?) that will leave you reeling from all the yummy choices. Be prepared it is spendy and cash only. The only thing missing was an accordion player and a hole in the ground in the WC.

Feeling a little nostalgic I trek back to North Beach to my (and everyone's) old hang out & a San Francisco landmark, The Saloon. Yep, the original blues act with all the same actors is still cranking it out even though its members have arthritis and are collecting social security. The barmaid is a little more crotchety but the beer is still cold. I love this place with its seedy, easy rollin' vibe that welcomes all walks of life. The best was the dead head in a fedora and a hoodie, wearing so many rings it looked like brass knuckles, screaming out Louis' Wonderful World while the bongos thumped in the background. Bongos? Sounds like the smashmix on Indie radio. Or was it the long-haired-pencil-neck-socks-n-Birkenstocks-wearing spaztic dancer? However, it could have been the Lybian transplant with a penchant for wine (served from a BOX, I might add), and women who can hold a conversation from politics and religion to threesomes. Yikes! What do you expect from a place where Marilyn Monroe and Buddha keep company on the wall with Mr. Potato Head, Joe Camel and a fiber-optic Christmas tree, and the bathrooms are painted with graffiti? I love this place. I'm sure I'll be back and find things just as I left it.

So I head up a number of blocks to Cafe Meuse residing at Hyde and Pacific. This is a super cool, super mellow wine bar owned and operated by Eric, a long-time friend of Damon. The wine offerings are extensive and eclectic. My BFF for the night was a 2002 Russion River Red. Of course my limit is 2 but when you're with your best friend... well. One of the things I love best about SF is the people; rarely pretentious and always ready, willing and able to talk about anything. We yucked it up way past closing and luckily the cable car stop was just outside the door.

Lunch with a friend on Monday wrapped up a truly wonderful and relaxing weekend. Oh, I said I would tell you why the airline vouchers were significant. We arrive at the airport in plenty of time only to learn that our flight was delayed. Besides that, they oversold the flight and were looking for volunteers to give up their seats and grab the next flight in 2 hours. I was in the ladies during this announcement so Damon made the decision to take the carrot worth $300. a piece. Sounds like a good deal and an admirable gesture on his part considering the weekend didn't go as planned, except that I vowed I would never again fly on an American Airlines flight. Not only is the staff rude and incendiary, they're ugly with faces to match their personalities and they don't fly anywhere I want to go with any convenience. So here I am again sucked into the vortex of AA. I can't resist a vacation, especially when someone else is paying.