42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

My first view of the city was covered in clouds. I concentrated more on driving safely over the long, huge Bay Bridge than on the view.
But San Francisco, as is Oakland, is built into the hills. It’s an impressive sight, all the houses packed into the hills, sloping down to the bay.

I’d gone to meet my friends Dawn and Stephen. Stephen grew up around San Francisco, and was visiting family for the holidays. We decided to meet up in Berkeley, where Stephen’s former roommate runs an honest-to-goodness old soda fountain and pharmacy, complete with grilled items and milkshakes. (Ozzie’s, killer killer chocolate peanut butter milkshake. And thanks to Michael for the gratis shake.)
We walked around a couple of blocks of the sort of unique shops that you want to find. A fair trade global shop, featuring handmade items from India to Mexico, featuring fair prices for the artisan’s work. Which in other words means, this stuff isn’t cheap. I lovingly admired some things, but didn’t buy. Another interesting shop featuring stuff from India, much of it handmade, and beautiful, and again, expensive. Or not made in fat chick sizes. In fact, all of these little boutique-like shops undoubtedly cater to the parents of the kids coming to the University of California-Berkeley, or to the old, former hippies coming back here to remember the good times.
At this point, there’s only on and off drizzle, but we really had some good rain in San Francisco later.
I followed Stephen driving into the city, admiring the bridge but also clenching my hands tightly to the steering wheel as I tried to keep up and not get cut off by people who drive this route every day.
We stopped at Stephen’s mom’s apartment, which was cut out of a big house. The house itself was big, I’m sure, but the apartment, or as Stephen’s mom likes to call it, a cottage, is built for one person. One person who really likes cozy places.
It’d actually be very cute to live in. I’ve got too much junk to live in a place like that, unfortunately. And apparently rent is pretty unreasonable there. We don’t even want to talk about the price of houses. Not pretty.
Many houses are built on top of each other, no lawns in site. Sharply sloping streets are often narrow, giving barely enough room for parkers on either side, let alone people driving through. Stephen marvels at how some of the people get into their garages, if they have them. I wonder too, as I try to safely walk down the steep incline.
Later, we went out to see some of downtown San Francisco, but by now, it was pouring, where it’d been sprinkling before. Stephen drove us to Haight, which is apparently the former hippie mecca. We couldn’t find a parking space within reasonable walking distance, and eventually opt for another street with similar cool shops, but without the large tourist appeal.
Stephen’s destination for us was Green Apple Books, remarking that any time the three of us are together, we always end up in a bookstore. And somehow, that’s true.
I buy a couple of bookmarks, an Isaac Asimov keychain, a couple of children’s books and a vegetarian cookbook. This is all before even getting to the fiction/dvd annex three doors down. By this time, I’ve bought too much stuff, and have decided I don’t need any more books. And as Dawn rightly points out to Stephen about something he found, they can probably find it at home. Which reminds me. I need to find a good used bookstore in Fresno…
After that, we walked the streets some more, and then get back in the car to seek out an Indian restaurant which turns out to be combined with an Irish pub. Talk about your weird combinations. But the food was very good (and the bathroom weird. I don’t know what sort of theme they were going for, but it wasn’t Irish or Indian or tasteful.)
We’re wet by this time, and ready to go back. But Stephen showed us the sights in the dark — like the lovely expanse of the Bay which is probably pretty in the day, but at night, looks like nothing. We also saw a flashing light that marks Alcatraz.
We drove around the city, and just had a good time.
Luckily, the weather had cleared up considerably by the time I left today. I had a much better view of the houses stacked into the hills.
I’d share pictures, but what I really need is a good digital camera and someone else driving, or the ability to get out.
When I wasn’t driving yesterday, it was rainy and dark. When I was driving today, I was more concerned about not getting killed in heavy traffic, and only snuch a few shots blindly while driving. I tried to get more pretty windmill pictures near Stockton, but the results were pretty dismal. Don’t try to take pictures while you’re driving. Don’t do it when you’re driving 70 miles an hour. Don’t do it with a camera that is better suited to taking grip and grin family portraits.