The Sound of San Francisco

Going to San Francisco for my Fall Break was definitely the right course of action.

After Atul picked me up at the airport – a seemingly simple thing that was, in fact, a hilarious ordeal involving multiple “What terminal are you in?”, “Wait, there’s more than one terminal?”-type conversations - we headed straight for dinner with his climbing buddies. And thank the lord that what could have been a very daunting, awkward situation was, in reality, delightful. I’ve only rarely been randomly thrown into such vibrant, sincere conversation and, well… Izzy’s Steakhouse, the place was called, and oh my goodness did that shrimp cocktail and the strawberries with custard set the stage for a weekend of culinary bliss.

Between hostel provisions and a trip to Trader Joe’s, our daily fare included peanut butter/strawberry jam/cream cheese bagels, bananas, raspberries, yoghurt, gouda, spiced turkey meat, foccacia bread, carrots, hummus, and breakfast tea – tepid, of course, and with an insane amount of cream and sugar. Breakfast was generally eaten in the hostel’s quirky dining hall, where the music selection varied from the Beatles to Bhangra. On Sunday, however, we went the Yank Sing for Dim Sum, which, I honestly have to say, is fast becoming one of my favourite new cuisines. Whoever decided to put dozens of different types of food in little steamers and then whisk them around a restaurant on a cart so that clients could comfortably try 5+ items was a genius. Particular thanks to the inventor of the egg-custard bun. Mandy introduced me to these little gems in New York and I actually went to Yank Sing specifically in search of the subtly sweet puffballs. After some trial and error, the egg-custard buns were found and - most-happily - consumed. So happily, in fact, that I brought two orders of the things back to Mexico with me and have now had an amazing breakfast three days in a row.

Suppers, too, though, were particularly good this past weekend, and sushi and Indonesian food were among the highlights. Dinner at the Indonesian restaurant was especially satisfactory not just because of the food itself - which, between the coconut rice, spicy shrimp, and lamb curry, was great – but also because the restaurant was literally just across the street from our hotel. Which, originally, it wasn’t supposed to be.

It’s a long story, but Atul and I would have had to change rooms in the hostel on our last night anyway so, instead, we decided to pay a little extra to stay someplace a bit nicer. When we got to the hotel, though, we were greeted with “I know it’s been a long day, but…” Enter horrified visions of lost reservations and sleeping in the lobby.

Or not. Because our hotel has a nicer, sister hotel which, at no extra cost, is going to house us for the evening. Enter, instead of a two-bed single room with a shower, a two-room suite with three beds, a kitchen, and a Jacuzzi. And, to top it all off, the new hotel keeps Werther’s Originals in their candy bowl. Clearly, we’ve hit the jackpot.

Which, considering all the other accidents we had on the trip, was quite the relief. Nothing extraordinary happened, it’s just that in the course of our 18-mile bike ride along the Bay, across the Golden Gate Bridge, and through the island, I most-embarrassingly single-handedly succeeded in forever dispelling the myth that dancers are inherently graceful or coordinated. How so? Let’s just say that I somehow managed not only to headbutt both Atul (moving) and a tree (not moving), but also to run into a parked car and street sign. Even with all the mishaps, though, it was really a lovely ride. Eating a picnic lunch by a brook in the hollowed-out remains of redwood tree was definitely a highlight, and it was simply reviving to finally get some exercise. Which we had a little extra of since we ended up more or less winging the last half our journey route-wise and, thus, biking across one highway and up and down one hill with a slope of about 65 degrees. In the midst of all this adventure I found out that, despite not being able to remember the last time I rode a bike, I can still ride hands-free. All in all, it was an amazingly hard, fun ride and, after nearly two months of living in a desert, even just seeing so much green and so much water as we rode by was more refreshing than a paleta on the Puente Santa Fe.


Our visit to Alcatraz, meanwhile, was not quite so physically intense. The ferry rides, of course, were fun, and I enjoyed seeing a new side of American history during the tour. I have to say, in general, that I’m a big fan of the radio/self-guided: 1) you can hear everything clearly and 2) you can switch the tour on or off at-will and thus control your own pace. Anyways, it was just generally a good day for conversation, and it was also nice to stay near the piers afterwards and picnic on one of the lawns affording a clear view of the Blue Angels air show (which we couldn’t have missed if we’d tried and, thus, saw certain parts of thrice during our stay). We also ended up watching a few movies throughout our stay since we were usually rather tired in the evenings from having walked the city’s hills during the day (Mission Impossible, it turns out, is not the most engaging of films. You’ve Got Mail, however, was quite nice, and the four episodes of the British series Coupling we watched had us in stitches).

On a side note, the Border comes with me everywhere now, and I couldn’t help but notice at times how very Mexican California was – from its colourful, hillside-covering residences, right down to its ice-cream carts. Which, we found out, are actually just Michoacana paleta carts - Made in Juarez - with the side-labels covered.

All in all, though, the great scenery, activities, food, and company made for a wonderful trip and, now that I’ve returned to the border, it’s been lovely seeing and catching-up with my host-family and friends again – everyone has that “I got exactly the break I needed” afterglow.