Today I ventured further afield and went to San Francisco. It was quite an adventure.
The first exciting thing was discovering that the train was a DOUBLE DECKER. I embarked and then WENT UPSTAIRS. It was the 'Jumbo Jet' of trains, I felt like I was in first class, especially with the leather seats. However, in order to get two floors on the train, the upstairs ceiling was a bit low. Not usually a problem for those of us who are vertically challenged, until you stand up and bash your head on the parcel rack.
I stepped off the train in San Francisco station with mild concussion.
I asked a bus driver the way to the pier, from where I was going to catch a ferry. I only wanted directions for walking, but she was insistent I got on the bus and gave me instructions for the next one to catch. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to the next interchange, as on leaving the bus stop, one poor woman wasn't holding the pole as instructed by the computerised voice (they seem keen on those here) and fell onto the floor. I started trying to scoop her up, but the rather bossy bus driver shooed me off and berated the woman for not holding the pole. I was tempted to say something about the jerky driving, but it was a bit scary being in a strange city and she looked like she might have been a part- time wrestler.
Although the woman was OK and sat back on a seat, the bus driver insisted we all got off as she was going to 'get them to come and check her over'. From her tone of voice this wasn't out of concern for the passenger, more out of concern there was going to be litigation.
Eventually I made it to the pier, where it was very jolly. Coffee shops and nicely planted flower beds, and every so often a trolley bus would 'ding ding' past. It was quite a thrill, looking out over the bay and seeing Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. There was also a herd (not sure of the umbrella term) of sea lions basking in the adoration of crowds on the opposite pier. They were wallowing on rafts that were probably meant for boats to moor, but they looked very comfortable and relaxed.
Might have something to do with not ever needing to catch a bus.
The ferry was fun, lots of decks (is there a theme here?) and took us right past Alcatraz. It looked intimidating and dismal. Lots of decaying concrete and institutional architecture crumbling away. As the boat went beyond the island, the sight of Alcatraz against the backdrop of the glittering city made poignant contrast.
We first moored at a little port. Lots of plate glass windows in the houses cleverly built against the hillside and niche shops on the waterfront. The natural habitat for those men who are photographed wearing Rolexes in the Sunday supplements I felt.
After some more time chugging through the water, we arrived at Angel Island. A beautiful place, tree lined hills, walking tracks, pleasantly landscaped garden areas, but something didn't really feel quite right. It turned out the island had a bit of 'a past'. It has been a garrison in the Civil War, a recruitment center during the World Wars and used as an immigration center for the Chinese coming to America, where they were held in quarantine.
Oh, and it was also once a missile base during the Cold War.
The island was marketed as a place to camp. I had a spot of bother thinking of a family that might want to go camping on a disused missile launch pad, until I remembered that my father, who enjoyed picnicking at nuclear power stations, would probably have jumped at the chance.
It felt a bit odd, that although the island was beautiful, it had a history of human misery not dissimilar to Alcatraz, it just wore it better.
The first exciting thing was discovering that the train was a DOUBLE DECKER. I embarked and then WENT UPSTAIRS. It was the 'Jumbo Jet' of trains, I felt like I was in first class, especially with the leather seats. However, in order to get two floors on the train, the upstairs ceiling was a bit low. Not usually a problem for those of us who are vertically challenged, until you stand up and bash your head on the parcel rack.
I stepped off the train in San Francisco station with mild concussion.
I asked a bus driver the way to the pier, from where I was going to catch a ferry. I only wanted directions for walking, but she was insistent I got on the bus and gave me instructions for the next one to catch. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to the next interchange, as on leaving the bus stop, one poor woman wasn't holding the pole as instructed by the computerised voice (they seem keen on those here) and fell onto the floor. I started trying to scoop her up, but the rather bossy bus driver shooed me off and berated the woman for not holding the pole. I was tempted to say something about the jerky driving, but it was a bit scary being in a strange city and she looked like she might have been a part- time wrestler.
Although the woman was OK and sat back on a seat, the bus driver insisted we all got off as she was going to 'get them to come and check her over'. From her tone of voice this wasn't out of concern for the passenger, more out of concern there was going to be litigation.
Eventually I made it to the pier, where it was very jolly. Coffee shops and nicely planted flower beds, and every so often a trolley bus would 'ding ding' past. It was quite a thrill, looking out over the bay and seeing Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge. There was also a herd (not sure of the umbrella term) of sea lions basking in the adoration of crowds on the opposite pier. They were wallowing on rafts that were probably meant for boats to moor, but they looked very comfortable and relaxed.
Might have something to do with not ever needing to catch a bus.
The ferry was fun, lots of decks (is there a theme here?) and took us right past Alcatraz. It looked intimidating and dismal. Lots of decaying concrete and institutional architecture crumbling away. As the boat went beyond the island, the sight of Alcatraz against the backdrop of the glittering city made poignant contrast.
We first moored at a little port. Lots of plate glass windows in the houses cleverly built against the hillside and niche shops on the waterfront. The natural habitat for those men who are photographed wearing Rolexes in the Sunday supplements I felt.
After some more time chugging through the water, we arrived at Angel Island. A beautiful place, tree lined hills, walking tracks, pleasantly landscaped garden areas, but something didn't really feel quite right. It turned out the island had a bit of 'a past'. It has been a garrison in the Civil War, a recruitment center during the World Wars and used as an immigration center for the Chinese coming to America, where they were held in quarantine.
Oh, and it was also once a missile base during the Cold War.
The island was marketed as a place to camp. I had a spot of bother thinking of a family that might want to go camping on a disused missile launch pad, until I remembered that my father, who enjoyed picnicking at nuclear power stations, would probably have jumped at the chance.
It felt a bit odd, that although the island was beautiful, it had a history of human misery not dissimilar to Alcatraz, it just wore it better.
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