Adventures of the Traveling Feet: Day 8 The Long Good Bye

There is a Brazilian song, “A Felicidade” translates to “Happiness”. The first line is “Tristeza nao tem fim, felicidade sim”, translated “Sadness has no end, happiness does.” I love this song for that one profound sentence. I translate it as a mandate to celebrate every moment of my life, enjoy to the fullest, the small and large joys as well as my cloudy, rainy, dark days.

Today was my last day in San Francisco, my holiday ended.  I woke up to a foggy, grey morning, reflecting my mood. I don’t get tired of being away from home. I carry my home with me regardless of where I am. Home is where I take my shoes off; rest my traveling feet.  So when I am having such a great, extraordinary time, I hate to have it end. I actually feel sad, a brooding longing can envelope me and I become moody and pensive. I had spent the night packing, because my flight was supposed to leave at 130pm and I prefer to be early at the airport than run through the concourse. So I knew I had a small window of opportunity.

The small length of time I spent here came down to how many more meals I had left. So this morning was my final meal. I had already had breakfast at the small neighborhood diner across the street from my hotel. I had thought I would go back.  Then I remembered a tweet that I had seen last week and saved. It had a list of restaurants in the San Francisco area with an ocean view.  I tried to look them up on the internet but none of them mentioned a breakfast menu.

For all the technology I’ve used traveling with my laptop, cruising the internet on my iPhone, guiding myself via GPS on my phone, it was the lonely, yellow pages still in it’s usual place in the bedside table drawer, under the Bible.

It was there that The Cliff House mentions a breakfast menu. So a new idea crept into my head. I was tentatively planning on walking around the neighborhood to eat at another hole in the wall, I had seen Jenny’s Bar & Restaurant the other night when I was walking to Kimo’s to see The Ruse. When I saw that place, I a hiccup in my heart rate to see that name; some silly affectation I’ve developed lately, akin to a Pavlovian response.

But why don’t I have breakfast at a restaurant with a view of the ocean? I was looking for that at Fisherman’s Wharf yesterday. I always look for a place overlooking an ocean.  So I called the concierge and arranged for me to leave my luggage at the hotel, have the car service bring it and pick me up at 1100 and take me directly to the airport.

It was about 810am, I was showered, dressed and set to go by 830am. I took my bags down -I hate waiting for the bellhop, when I’m ready to go, I’m ready  to go. The Adagio Hotel forces you to call and have ice brought up to your room. I felt compelled to tip every time.

The doorman flagged down a cab to take me to The Cliff House,  it is on the other side of the peninsula straight down Geary St.  Since it was a Sunday, the traffic was sparse but the fog was thick. The cabbie started out silent but when I started answering his prodding questions, we started another conversation. He spoke with an accent, eastern European, I didn’t probe.  Then he started rambling on about the city corruption, the need for national health care reform. I don’t instigate that conversation, simply because it is a heated political debate. I don’t have random conversations with strangers about politics and religions. They have always been hot button topics.

I got dropped off around 845am, The Cliff House was still closed, there was a line of approximately 10 people already waiting at the door. That wasn’t a lot of people, so I knew I’d get a table. I wandered off to the side of the restaurant to stare at the sea. Even the cabbie got out of his cab and stretched and looked around a bit. I know how you can live in the city and yet not see all its finer points.

The Cliff House, a restaurant on the edge of a cliff. I wanted a nice restaurant overlooking the ocean, one last final hurrah. I was seated so early I had the privilege of a table by a window overlooking the Seal Rocks. It was one of those mystical moments when you sit down and you know you are where you want to be right at that moment. It was an “exhale” moment.

Because I waited so long before I sat down to write this blog (the sadness of leaving my magical mystery tour and returning to the daily grind wounded me to silence), I’ll have to fill in with my tweets, I was so excited.

>>A foggy day brings out the poet in me. - 901am

>>I need my coffee first  - 901am

I asked the waitress what she would suggest for breakfast and I followed her recommendation. I had crab Dungeness and perfect poached eggs. It was truly a perfect ending to my perfect stay.

>>Eggs and Dungeness crab w/fruit & potatoes served w/ airy delicate handmade popovers! Nom nom nom! - 918am

>>Homemade popovers, I can feel my sugar rise, but I don't care. First time I've eaten it, another wish come true ;) - 926am

>>Perfect poached eggs!  - 928am

>>If you visit SFO and want to eat brkfast at Cliffhouse. They open at 9am, I got a sweet window seat. Now there is a 20min wait 4 a window seat -  935am

From what I understand about The Cliff House, it is a reservation only kind of high-end restaurant.  Where I ate was called the Bistro and I guess I was just lucky. I didn’t need a reservation and I just strolled in based on a whim.

>>The coffee at Cliff House is so wonderfully strong, my teeth feel loose & I want to dive into the sea!  -- 951am

They have really good coffee. I should have asked if they sell it.

>>The fog is tenacious, but the Sun King accedes to no one! Here comes the Sun! - 1017am

I watched the sun banish the stubborn fog, it was Mother Nature's special effects.

>>I like to think that the fog too is pouting at my departure. Yesterday was a perfect sunny day.  -1054am

>>San Francisco gave me a sad, misty kiss good bye. A kiss that will linger through the time until I can return - 1056am

I lingered over strong hot coffee as the sun battled the morning fog. I grew melancholy, for this adventure ends; as the fog granted me a misty kiss goodbye.

After breakfast, there was now a waiting list for tables, the tables with a window were highly prized. As I walked out, I saw several ladies dressed in pink T-shirts & hats. San Francisco was holding it’s Breast Cancer awareness walk/run. Considering how my trip started out, this was just another moment of synchronicity.

I strolled along the sidewalk, wanting to soak in the salt water tang and listen to the ocean’s roaring song as they battered the cliffs. There was a soft mist that pervaded. I was enthralled by the roaring waves; I couldn’t record enough of the sounds. I hovered trying to get that one shot when the waves would spray into the air as it slapped against the rocks.

I felt the grey fog more than I saw it; it was nature’s expression of my somber, pensive mood. I wasn’t ready to go home. But when I came around and came back up the sidewalk, the car was already waiting. I knew it couldn’t last forever.

I got on the plane but my adventure wasn’t over just yet. I talked with my seatmate, Dennis from New Zealand. He gave me the newspaper he had brought with him from Auckland so I could read the goings on in his hometown. He told me that they get 30days of holiday. So for two weeks starting at Christmas, the entire country shuts down and goes on holiday.

I always assumed the nickname Kiwi was for the fruit. He told me that when it was first introduced into the country when he was a boy, it came from China so they called it Chinese gooseberries. But a marketing ploy convinced the world to call it a kiwi.

He and I had a great conversation, again. Perhaps someone else would be bored to tears being shown a map of the world so we can talk about how long it takes to get to Auckland, I wasn't. Dennis was going to Chicago for an accountant’s conference. He said it’s just an excuse to travel to great locations and basically just gab, ostensibly to drum out business for their companies. I guess I really didn’t want the random conversations to end. But eventually the plane had to land.

When the plane landed, we all jumped up and clogged the aisles, impatient to flee. The woman in front of me looked up at me and stared at me; to the point where I couldn’t ignore her. She looked at me as if she was deciding if she knew me. She had that same burning look the other woman on Day 2. She too was an older woman, salt and pepper hair.  She said to me. “So impatient.” I smiled and said I just want to go home. She replied. “I’m a long way from home.” Home was Sao Paolo, Brazil. The hair on the back of my neck sprang up.

We spoke of my love for Brazilian music and she told me I needed to visit. This year seemed to have flown and I needed to use my vacation days or risk losing it. And every year I always go somewhere I’ve never been and do something I’ve never done. When I was first discussing where I was going to go for my vacation I was invited to stay on a couch in Morro Island–in Sao Paolo. Synchronicity; coincidence?

I don’t know where I’m going next, I don’t know what I’ll do, I just hope I’m ready for whatever will come my way. 

The Adventures of Traveling Feet: Day 6

San Francisco

     I got in an early flight, ugly early flight. I woke up in the morning at 3am left the hotel at 4am to make sure I caught my 6am flight. I can blow a train early in my trip, but I can't miss a flight towards the end of my trip. The flight was full and luckily, fairly quick, a tad over 2hrs.
     I had only 4-5hours of sleep last night so when I went directly to the hotel arriving around 930am, of course there were no rooms ready yet. So I left my bags and went strolling through San Franciso. Random walking, no rain, so it was great. I wandered out past Union Square, not knowing that later in the afternoon, this place would be mobbed by crowds waiting to glimpse Pres. Obama's arrival. I almost stayed at that Westin Hotel that he was staying at. But I chose a boutique hotel a mere 2 blocks down. No regrets.
     Then it started to rain and I ducked into a super cuts where a little Asian lady talked me into a trim. Some Asians take an "American" name, her real name was Hong, but when she answered the phone "...this is Holly." Go figure.
     While I was getting the hair cut two firetrucks stopped right in front of the store, earthquake preparedness drills. Of course.I was there on the 20th Anniversary of the Loma Linda earthquake. Lovely.
     By the time I wandered back to my hotel, they had a room for me. Corner room, facing a brick wall and the building next door. No problem, I wasn't here for the view in my room.
     But when I came in, I turned on the TV and Falcon Heene's story was unfolding live. I once watched my 3yr old niece cry over the balloon that got away from her, my brother was traumatize (he says) when he lost his balloon, all I could think about was a frightened little boy. Thank God he was fine.
      I watched it, riveted to the coverage, then I fell asleep. My meanderings through Seattle and my early morning flight took their revenge on me in the form of a crazy migraine headache, the kind only sleep can cure.
     I had The Ruse gig I said I would go to. So I got up from my nap and went out around 7pm. It was a Thursday night but there was a lot of activity because of the President’s presence. So I stopped to talk to the doorman, ask how safe tonight would be if I walked back to the hotel. Well, he said it should be ok, lots of people around and it should be a good 20min walk. He didn't think I'd be able to find a cab. He didn’t understand; I was asthmatic recovering from knee therapy and you want me to walk all over San Francisco at night? I was being a baby, so I marched up the alley and proceeded to walk.
    The street was still full of car traffic, but pedestrian traffic was very sparse. I thought to myself, if it’s this empty at 7pm how is it going to be around 11 or 12? I shrugged, I've walked through darker alleys, been through deeper dramas and survived, I wasn’t about to let a little thing like walking in a strange city alone deter me would I?

     I had a nice dinner at a little restaurant, Chai Yo Thai Noodle, a few doors down from Kimo’s, the bar The Ruse was going to play at. Yummy salmon wrapped in banana leaves served with veggies and a green chili dipping sauce. To top it off I had Singha beer, nom nom.
     Next door to the restaurant, attached to it actually, was an ice cream parlor. It had halo-halo ice cream. I asked for just one scoop, it was the biggest friggin scoop of ice cream I’d ever gotten for $3! I chewed it because it was melting too fast. There is all kinds of stuff in halo-halo ice cream, strings of young coconut, sweet red beans, as well as the strange sort of purplish tinge. The purple was from the ube (a purple yam).
     After I finished shoving that down my throat, I walked out and there was the band just coming out of their short bus. It looks like a short bus, but it was all white, a private little touring bus. It was nice, from the outside.
     I asked if Jason was there because he was the one responding to me on Twitter and I got introduced to him. Next thing I know, I met the rest of the band and John, the lead singer and I are standing on the corner just hanging out and chatting.
     It was the coolest thing, me and the rocker.
     Kimo’s is a neighborhood corner bar, dark, dingy, hole-in-the-wall where everyone one knows your name. Except mine.
     It was an older crowd, not the kind you think would be going to a gig with 4 rock bands. One guy came up to John and I. He was nattily dressed. He had on light colored pants(I didn’t see the shoes, but it should have been white saddle shoes to match his outfit), he had on a dark blazer and a stripped button down shirt neating tucked into his pants. He said he was 72yrs old, he looked older to me. He was as bald as a melon, with a neat grey moustached. I’m sure in his time he was a dashing young man.
     Another rich story, he came back to San Francisco after living in New Orleans, but after the Katrina storm and resulting flood, where he watched all his belongings in his house float away, he left New Orleans and came to San Francisco. I asked about the neighborhood and John remarked how he’d been here before a long time ago and it seemed to have cleaned up.
     The old timer was telling us about how the neighborhood used to be full of street hustlers, young men propositioning people as they walked down the street. I couldn’t be sure, but I did a little investigating on the internet and I thought I saw that Kimo’s used to be a drag bar. But upon arrival, I did see a small sign “New Management”. But you can’t lose the clientele you have, so I had this suspicion about the old timer. But it doesn’t make any difference to me; I thought he was a riot. He told me that if I saw people on the sidewalk, don’t worry, they won’t do anything to me because they’ll be afraid their friends will snitch them out!
     He was out there standing, talking to us telling us his story; which took much longer than it needed because he would inadvertently stop talking in the middle of his sentences. At first, I thought it was because he was old and forgetful. Until he finally admitted as he snapped out of one moment:
    “I am so stoned.” Yes.
    I was right, he was definitely an old time hippie.

    The bands were playing in the second floor. The room was small, crowded and hot. The music was rocking, good and loud. What more could I ask for? Oh yeah, a shout out from the band to the crowd declaring how I came flying down from Seattle to see them. I kept trying to tell them, I came from Chicago, but well, after a few beers, who cares?
     I left right after The Ruse played, but not before I met the president of the longshoreman’s union in Canada. I swear, I met so many people from all walks of life, for a minute I forgot who I was and was going to start calling myself Jack Kerouac. I still have his business card, Tom, president of a union, pretty much a big shot right? Yup, I met him in dark bar and traded stories about the trains. He said he used to jump on until they got kicked out. He said he road the rails as a younger man. It was so odd to see this guy, probably 50+ in this out of the way place and he finds me to talk to!
     I took my leave and quickly made my way back to the hotel. Yes, there were spots that were dark and too quiet, but I’m from Chicago, what do I have to fear? There were a lot of panhandlers and street people in the area. But I wove my way though up and down the hills. There was one spot that was dark because there was a large tree next to the side walk, and I could see at least 4 people loitering in the dark. I crossed the street and walked in the light.
     On the corner, by my hotel, there is a Walgreens drug store, the same panhandler always stands there, it’s like his territory. I would see him push his paper cup up to anyone passing by. I saw him as I walked towards him, he saw me, he gave me the once up and down, but when I passed, he left me alone. In the streets, that’s respect. I felt so proud of myself. I got respect from a homeless man.
    I know it sounds strange, but think about it. This man stands on that street day in day out, he sees all kinds of people, that he’s still standing there also tells of his ability to survive. He can tell a sucker when he sees one. And he can tell who he can’t mess with. I was one of the latter. You can’t imagine, after the keen look he gave me, how assuring that was to me.

     I went in to my room, safe and sound and I slept like a baby. I left the windows open and heard the sounds of the city and strangely enough, on that night, it was a comfort.