Trolleys and troublesome "tour guides"
The next day, we left the hotel at about 8:30 and went down to Fisherman’s Wharf to retrieve (unsuccessfully) my mom’s jacket and ride the cable cars (unsuccessfully - just as we got on the trolley, the cable “went down” kinda like a computer server “going down” and they didn’t know when it would be fixed). Since we were close by, we decided to find out whether the Boudin Sourdough Bread Factory served breakfast. As it happened, they had an excellent variety of breakfast foods, the best of which my dad got; French toast with fresh fruit (along the lines of strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries). We amused ourselves by feeding the (very tame) pigeons, who took the bread crumbs right out of our hands!!
After breakfast, we walked back to the cable cars (j.s.y.k. cable cars and trolleys are the same thing for all intents and purposes of this entry) which were up and running again. We got on (all of us hanging onto the poles and standing on the running board
) and the trolley left without a hitch. At the stop for the Cable Car Museum, we got off after a short discussion/debate. As we were walking away, the thus-far silent cable car runner-conductor-person-thingy shouted something along the lines of “Hey! You gotta tell me when you’re getting off! Where’re you guys from, anyway, Texas!??” , in a very offended tone, as though we had just committed the gravest of cable car-riding sins. I mean jeeze!! If he had actually told us before-hand that we were supposed to let the conductor know when we got off, then I could see where he’d be upset, but no! That was the only thing he said to us!!!! *grumble, glare, puts cable car conductor on hit list* ok, sorry, just needed to get that out there.
Anyway, we walked into the Cable Car Museum, which also happens to be where the cables that pull the trolleys around San Francisco (and consequently up those STEEP hills!!!) come in, and go back out, so we got to see all the wheels and gears and pulleys and motors and engines and all that fun engineering stuff I had absolutely no comprehension of whatsoever.
There was a really cool gift shop, though, where we got the Christmas tree ornament for this vacation (we try to get one from every trip we take). Around this time, Krystle texted me to tell me that she had lost her job and was understandably upset. I comforted her as best I could via texting, which is relatively little. *tear* but at least I did try, right? Points for effort an’ all that.
So we got back on the trolley and rode down to the end of the line, where we were met with another really really long line to get the trolley back across town. We decided to be smart and wait for the trolley at one of its many stops in town, the first of which was about a block from the start of the line. We hopped back on the running board and I immediately felt guilty, because there was this little girl with (I’m assuming) her grandmother who now couldn’t see. I tried to squish myself close to my mom, and make a little room for her. I felt a bit less guilty when I asked whether she could see better and the grandmother(ly figure) replied with a very ungracious “No.”
We rode for several blocks, and then something happened with the cable. Again. (hmm sound familiar? Our faith in the San Francisco public transportation system was going downhill fast.) We waited for probably ten minutes, and then, expecting another long wait like the one we’d previously experienced, decided that we’d rather walk than wait any longer. About ten seconds after we stepped off the trolley, it started moving again. I hope the people on there are grateful to for getting the trolley going again ( cuz you know as soon as you stop waiting for something it happens. A watched pot never boils an’ all that.)
Anyway, we began walking back to Fisherman’s Wharf, because we were planning on renting three bikes and riding them to Golden Gate Park (which, interestingly enough, is not all that close to the Golden Gate Bridge.) We got to one of the five Blazing Saddle bike rental shops in the city
, and were met by an energetic sales man. He started talking to us about biking the bridge, which is their advertised trip, since it’s really easy for tourist-y folk like us. We, of course, were not planning on biking the bridge, and when we explained to him where we wanted to go, he informed us that it was a pretty difficult trek on bike b/c of all the hills.
Now, my mom has not really ridden a bike in several (and by this I mean prolly before I was born) years, so we were naturally a bit nervous about how she would do. The bike rental salesman told her to ride one of the bikes around a bit and see how it felt. She made a somewhat wobbly circle, and could tell that this was not going to work. My dad tried steering a tandem bike, and decided that wasn’t going to work either. We entertained the thought of meeting my mom at the Park, my dad and I on bikes, leaving my mom on her own to decipher the cryptic maps of public bus transportation, and then, assuming she selected the right one, meet us somewhere in the park, having survived all the creepy, scary, evil men who prey on poor, helpless, middle-aged women who travel the buses alone. Eventually it was decided that we would chuck the bike idea altogether and all attempt to use San Francisco’s public transportation. Guess who wears the pants in the family.
So we set off to find a bus stop, pausing to check in on my mom’s jacket for the fifth time (for those of you who are actually counting, no, I did not specifically include each time we tried to get the jacket back, but trust me on this one) and while my dad attempted to talk to the girl behind the desk at the office, I walked around the bus that had just pulled up to look for the bus driver who supposedly has the jacket. On my way around, I saw the jacket, but figured it’d be kinda weird if I just stepped onto the bus, took the jacket, and left, so I asked the driver for it. I carried the trophy triumphantly back to my still-waiting-in-line-to-be-helped father, with a (very, very, VERY small) self-satisfied smirk on my face.
But I digress (I love that word!) We walked to the nearest bus stop, and soon a completely empty bus pulled up, which we boarded, to find the driver of the bus well-informed and quite willing to help what must have been the umpteenth confused tourist to ask for directions that day. We (meaning my father) discovered the stop we should get off at, and the two busses that would take us to our next desired stop. We got off, got back on, got off again, and we lost. Luckily, a very friendly woman stopped and pointed the obviously lost tourists in the right direction, saying that she loved this city so much she wanted to be sure we had a good time. We thanked her, found our bus and got on.
This next bus was fairly full and, being the noble person I am, I did not want to take one of the few remaining seats. Unfortunately, this noble desire to let another person have the comfort of a seated bus ride was interpreted as stand-off-ish-ness by the man who would have been sitting next to, and said something along the lines of “Some of us aren’t locals, so we don’t bite.” Now being obligated to sit down or be condemned as a snobby little rich girl who was too good to sit with the “riff raff”, I took the seat. This man decided to strike up a conversation, and in the course of said conversation I discovered that he was hunting someone who had ripped off his family, that it was his birthday, he was planning to go see Harry Potter for a birthday treat, and that he was considering opening a tour guide business, as he was so knowledgeable about the city.
At some point an older lady got on, so he volunteered his seat and continued the conversation with my dad. Somehow, between talking with my dad and talking with me, he discovered our destination of the Golden Gate Park, and offered to be our tour guide. I being very naive, thought we had a choice in the matter, but found out quite differently when we got off the bus, and he immediately commandeered the helpless tourists. After walking for a ways, we came across one of the coolest playgrounds I think I have every seen.
Not knowing whether there was some sort of age restriction, I hesitated and asked my mom. No one seemed to think there’s be any problem with a 15 year old climbing around in a playground, so, welcoming the chance to escape for a moment from the scary, slightly homeless-looking guy, I proceeded to climb up a most interesting rope structure
(lol, size difference much?) with the ease that surely was not intended by the builders of such a structure. Thoroughly convinced that I was not really supposed to be there, I climbed to the top in about two minutes, and lingered, not wanting to have to go back with the creepy “tour guide.” Eventually, I felt like my “im up here enjoying the view” excuse was worn out, so I climbed back down, and we walked further, till my mom claimed nature’s call, and I went, too, leaving my dad to contend with creepy “tour guide.”
When we returned, the “tour guide” led us to a fenced in, grassy area where a sport called “lawn bowling” was being played. The name is pretty self-explanitory, except they didn’t use pins; instead the goal was to hit a golf-ball size ball with another, bigger ball. This was mildly interesting, but my mom wanted to go to an art studio we’d passed and see if the had any maps, thus eliminating any need for a “tour guide.” (not that we really thought he’d take the hint). The lady we met there was very helpful; she handed us a map and pointed us to the Conservatory, where they grow lots of exotic plants. We returned, armed with lots of information, all of which our “tour guide” proceeded to tell us as we walked to the Conservatory. About halfway there, my dad said something along the lines of “Hey, you said you wanted to see Harry Potter? Here.”, and handed him five bucks. (Of course he said it very nicely) For some strange, unknown reason, our “tour guide” thanked us and walked off. I said “Oh. So that’s how you get rid of them!”
Somehow, we managed to find the Conservatory
perfectly fine on our own, but to our dismay, discovered that it closed at 4:30, and it was now about 4:45. We decided to hit the next stop on the map, the Japanese Tea Garden. On the way there we saw some sphinxes
, which my dad got pretty friendly with.
We walked a little further and discovered the Gate to the Japanese Tea Garden. After paying the admission fee, I walked in, and promptly started snapping off pictures like crazy - 28, to be exact. But fear not, I wont put all of them up.
The gardens were so serine, very peaceful. The idea of “zen” was quite tangible at that point (btw, I apologize if im mixing up my oriental beliefs, and zen is not Japanese.) The gardens were abundant with greenery, and everything seemed alive (more-so than it already is.) It was very refreshing to find such an extensive garden right in downtown San Francisco.
We left pretty close to when they closed, but I wanted to get on last picture
, so I stayed behind. Apparently, I lingered a moment too long, because the lady who had taken our tickets when we came in shut the gate and locked it!!!! Me, being oblivious to this, fiddled around with my camera till I got the shot just right (to my mind.) By which point the lady had disappeared. Luckily, they did not intend to keep their visitor captive, and luckily that was not the only gate. On the doors, there was a sign that said “exit go to west gate”, so I called my dad, and told him what had happened. When I got to the west gate (but not before taking some pictures of some cool fish
), my dad expressed his frustration in no uncertain terms, so I got all offended. Like it was my fault that I got locked in!!! there was no sign that said get the heck out of here now, or we’re locking you in, no warning, no nothing, just BAM! Locked gate.
We began to walk back to the rode running parallel to Golden Gate Park, and found a bus station. By this point, my dad was in a pretty foul mood, which was only worsened when we saw the bus we needed to catch back into downtown drive by us. My dad figured out that the bus came to our stop every twenty minutes, so we figured we could wait that long. My dad sat brooding darkly in silence, my mom called her mom and gave her and update on what was happening with us, and I txted Krystle. When twenty minutes when by, and the bus didn’t show, we decided that we could walk just as easily. As though on cue, the bus we were waiting for passed us about half way down the block. My dad glowered, and kept walking.
Between my mom and me, we had a lovely, pointless conversation to fill in the gap left by my sulking father. We finally got to our desired street, passing a small grocery store that sold mostly fresh produce, we decided to stop. We bought some yummy looking fruit, and soon my dad found the Thai restaurant he’d read about in one of his traveling books. It was pretty crowed but we decided to try it anyway. It took a while to have our order take, but a waitress eventually came to our table. Our mistake was made here: each of our meals involved rice, which, we were informed later, the cook was having some difficulty with, and resulted in several people who came in after us being served before us. My dad’s mood got even worse.
To make up for us having to wait so long for our food, a waitress brought out three bowls and some interesting chicken coconut soup. It was very good, but my dad refused to touch it. By this time, my mom and I were get really sick of my dad’s attitude, and told him so, which, of course, did nothing to improve it. Eventually, we got out of the restaurant, and walked down to a bus stop.
The wind was starting to pick up, and we were all pretty cold and tired. The bus eventually came, and at some point (maybe when my parents pulled out the big, obtrusive map) a local woman asked if we needed help. For once, we had actually got it figured out, so all the helpful local did was confirm we were headed in the right direction. Another helpful local, this time a younger, college-age girl, was sitting near us, and said she was getting off at the same stop we were, so she offered to stay with us and show us which bus to take next.
We accepted, and spent the next fifteen minutes or so talking with her. She highly recommended that I go to one of the colleges or universities around the city, and said that there were lots of things for the college students to do, and several places had student discounts. Now, I had been professing love for this city and making plans to move here since we got off Lombard street yesterday, so she was pretty much wasting her breath trying to convince me to live here for a while, but it was still nice to hear it from someone first hand.
Eventually, our bus came, and she found a friend on this one, so we said our goodbyes, and rode it back to our hotel. My dad, still in a not-so-good mood when to bed soon there after, and my mom and I were only a short ways behind him. 26 more days.