>> Northern California 2004 <<

Monday, July 12, 2004 [top]

It probably has been about 17 years since I’ve visited Napa Valley and the memory of its luscious landscape is still fresh in my mind. I’m sure plenty has changed in the wine country, especially since I was not of legal drinking age when I last visited. I still remember a tasting at Christian Brothers’ winery where my mother’s cousin, Marianne, snuck me a sip of red wine. Thus began a long career of disliking alcohol until at least my college years.

But now, I’m much more mature; a married woman (woman—though my mind even at 31 would say otherwise) well past her college years embarking on a pilgrimage to the alcoholic wonderland with one of the world’s most well-versed wine lovers: my husband, Dave. Though, I hardly think of this turn as one giant drinking binge to drag me back to the inebriated days of yore. Both of us are ridiculously hard-working professionals (even committing a non-stop working marathon up to the point where we boarded the plane), simply seeking some R&R with the intent of abandoning the fear of relentless client demands and overwhelming deadlines.

I look forward to descending from this 35,000-foot (or 6-mi) jaunt, piling into a rental car and seeking our solace in the wine country.

* * *

What’s funny here is that we called the innkeeper of the Oleander House B&B in Yountville (Napa Valley) while we were still in Boston to tell her in advance that we would be checking in a little later than the allotted time provided. Our flight wasn’t due into San Francisco until after 8:30pm and then we still had to drive to Napa. So we tell the Innkeeper that we wouldn’t be there until at least 10:00pm.

Well, we landed at SFO and waited about 45 minutes for our luggage, then we took the AirTrain south to what felt like Modesto to retrieve our rental car.

Then we headed onto Highway 101, which somehow took us off the freeway and wiggled us through different parts of San Francisco. One minute we’re on Van Ness, then we’re on Lombard (luckily not the crooked part!), past City Hall, etc. It took us thirty minutes just to get out of the city and over the Golden Gate Bridge. All this on my Sudafed buzz. Nothing like driving through San Fran in a crappy rental car with “medicine head.”

We made it to Napa by 11:45—ok, so we’re a little late. But thank heavens, no one waited up for us. They key was waiting for us (taped to the door) and they left the light on. We dropped our bags and instantly crawled into bed.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004 [top]

Napa is even more stunning than I remember. We woke up this morning in the charming Oleander house Bed & Breakfast in Yountville, one of the many wine-producing communities that make up Napa Valley. The innkeeper is Kathleen who makes a fabulous breakfast and knows all you need to know about Napa. While her stumpy, 21-year-old cat soaked up the sun on the comfy window seat, we sat at the table drawing all the knowledge we could about the area from our gracious host over some intoxicating oatmeal casserole and pecan scones, yum. Kathleen even gave us an itinerary for the day and promptly sent us on our way.

Nestled in the rolling hills of the county are miles and miles of vineyards; speckled in between the giant corporate brands like Mondavi and Sterling are the smaller, family-owned vineyards. But Route 29 is covered with row upon row of vines bearing the tiny, little grapes used to make their magic.

Our first stop was the Niebaum-Coppola vineyard, a very appropriate start of our Napa tour. Both of us being insatiable movie junkies, we couldn’t refuse a chance to see something connected to one of the greatest filmmakers of our generation: Francis Ford Coppola.

The vineyard was originally owned by Captain Gustave Niebaum, who—after making an obscene amount of money charting Alaskan waters for the Russians—wanted to have a hobby other than sitting about counting his gargantuan fortune. So he started the Inglenook vineyard. Several generations later, on the heels of making a chunk of change from Bram Stoker’s Dracula (one of my personal favorite movies of all time), Francis Ford Coppola decided to buy the failing vineyard from Niebaum’s descendants. But he insisted on retaining the tradition by keeping the originator’s name in the vineyard.

The grounds are gorgeous; its central courtyard, a stunning replica of the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris, was designed by Coppola and his Dracula production designer. The chateau itself is homage to the great French architecture of yore. Behind the chateau is the bulk of the vineyard and the Coppola family home tucked away in the back. The carriage house is where Sofia Coppola (Francis’s daughter) sound-edited her masterpiece, Lost in Translation. There are even more vines in the front of the property that are also used to make their signature wine, Rubicon.

We toured the Chateau including the second floor which was a Coppola memorabilia room. Costumes from Dracula faced opposite from the intimidating wooden desk from The Godfather (including the solid-gold telephone they passed around when Michael Corleone and Hyman Roth met in Cuba). Smack dab in the middle of the room was the sleek Tucker car in a scrumptious burgundy red. Sprinkled about the room were various awards the Coppolas received, including Francis’s Best Screenplay Oscar for The Godfather—kinda neat to see that one up close.

We then head into the caves—in one of the barrel storage rooms--for our wine tasting. Our tour guide gave us sample of four Niebaum-Coppola wines: a rosé, a merlot, a cabernet and their signature Rubicon. Funny observation: the $34/bottle cabernet tasted considerably better than the highly regarded Rubicon that carries a sweet price tag of $100/bottle.

Then it was out into the beautiful, blazing California sunshine to enjoy more delights of the county. We drove St. Helena, a bustling Hamlet brimming with shops and cafes and even a modest movie theatre. We stopped at Taylor’s Refresher for lunch which was terrific. It’s a simple, road-side burger joint that looks like it could’ve been a drive-in at one point. You can see the bays where folks would’ve parked their cars while the waitresses brought their orders out to them. I highly recommend the garlic fries. Ok, you won’t be kissing anyone for awhile but at least you’ll be able to fend off those vampires with little-to-no effort! It’s a great stop for typical lunch fare and very well-priced even by Napa’s standards!

We then drove over to Calistoga to visit the Sterling Vineyard. Now, we already know that their wine isn’t anything to write home about but the view is worth the trip. The only way to get up to the winery is by a gondola that whisks you above the Napa hills where you can enjoy a spectacular view of the valley from the top. The sight alone was worth my $10. We drank some more wine all of which were expectedly mediocre. But the sun-drenched balcony gave us a gorgeous vista while we sipped our wine and kicked back to relax.

Back down at the bottom of the hill, we head through Calistoga center. This little main street is lined with more shops and galleries but offers a gorgeous backdrop of the rolling hills behind it. We then head back to home base via the Silverado Trail, a windy road of sprawling vineyards and stately homes. We pulled over for a quick visit at Clos Pegase, one of Dave’s favorites. This winery looks a little more contemporary. The building itself is a grand piece of abstract art. Throughout the grounds are giant sculptures including a clump that looked like a large piece of excrement, a giant thumb sprouting from the ground and an 8-foot-tall pound (#) sign. I couldn’t help but cock my head to the side and quietly wonder if the eccentric look of the winery reflected the taste of its product. But Dave insists that it’s one of the best wines he ever had. Go figure.

So we’re back at home base for a nap and a refresh shower before dinner. So far, our R&R getaway is turning out to be just that. It’s off to Mustard’s now for dinner.

* * *

Dinner at Mustards was fantastic. Despite that our innkeeper set up a reservation for the wrong time, the perky hostess managed to accommodate us. We shared a halibut dinner with scallop & ahi egg rolls. The piéce de resistance: strawberry pecan crisp and hot chocolate tart (like a warm brownie that hasn’t quite finished baking yet) for dessert. Oh, yes. :)

We drove around the area cruising southward on 29 to see what was in the area. Everyone seems to keep farmer’s hours. All the shops and wineries close at 5pm and most restaurants are not open past 10pm. There is clearly no nightlife in Napa. It’s kind of a blessing that there are no malls or strip plazas or Barnes & Nobles to succumb to while you’re here. You’re almost forced into the natural elements, enjoying the vistas, etc. but only as long as the sun is up. I am curious to know what these folks do after sundown.

Traveler’s Note:
Although the Oleander House is a charming house in a picturesque location, I have to say that there are some deficiencies that I am forces to note. Firstly, the absence of nightlife in the area leaves very little to do once the sun goes down. Sure, the intellectual traveler would immerse themselves in book. I, however, being a more slightly vulgar traveler prefers television for those quieter moments. Unfortunately, I am out of luck here as there are no TVs in the rooms. There isn’t even one in the common area. The most entertainment they offer is domino sets and travel backgammon. (Postscript: I later found out from other Napa travelers that this is becoming common, so select your lodgings carefully)

Secondly, the summer months are known to be brutal in Napa Valley. So with those basic criteria, one would come to expect that all lodging would be equipped with air-conditioning. Wrong. Although I see a forced hot-air vent from where I write this, I feel no air emerging from it. Of course, Napa does have the benefit of cool nights (one of the ideal conditions for prime grape growth). The obvious solution would be to open the windows. Wrong. The windows are bolted down with storm-window coverings. Our only air source was the door leading out to a small patio that we are forced to leave open to circulate what little air was in the room. However, the morning sun will no doubt greet us bright and early through the opened door.

So, based on the criteria so far, I’m not looking at this place as a favorable accommodation. Please take note when making your travel plans, check for A.C. and T.V. Now, off to force myself to be intellectual and read a book. :) Off to take in more of the valley tomorrow.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004 [top]

Another delightful day in Wine Country. Today, we headed about 15 miles west to Sonoma County. Sonoma is a little more rustic than Napa; its wineries are less concentrated than they are in its eastern counterpart. The drive to Sonoma is intriguing especially if you take the Oakville Grade which winds you through steep hills and sharp curves over tall cliffs.

We visited the Ravenswood winery which is another one of Dave’s favorite wines, particularly their Zinfandel. Then we attempted to head north to Geyserville in the hopes of finding Murphy-Goode. Unfortunately, we got ourselves a little lost and then decided to turn back. After visiting the St. Francis and Arrowood wineries, we parked in the Sonoma Plaza and walked around. Nestled in the middle of the town, this quadrangle is fringed with art galleries, cafes, wine stores and other little shops. The quad itself is a luscious, green spread with tall trees and a playground for the little ones (I was too big a kid to partake). We had dinner at Girl and the Fig, a Mediterranean eatery with a French flair that has been highly-raved by tourists and locals alike. The food was delicious and fresh but slightly over-priced. I ordered an embellished sandwich that cost me about $15. But, of course, there’s a premium for the atmosphere.

As we drove around the area taking in the scenery around Sonoma and Napa, we came to a couple of simple conclusions.

1) If you are not a wine-drinker, then you may not get much out of this area. There really isn’t that much to do except visit the wineries and (occasionally) shop. If you’re an early riser, then you could embark on a hot-air balloon adventure. But that pretty much sums up the area. If it’s nightlife you’re looking for, go to Vegas. They roll up the sidewalks (as I’ve said before) at about 5pm. The cinema seems to be the only refuge from your room.

2) If you are a white-wine drinker, be prepared to feel a little outcast. Though many of the wineries here offer a palatable chardonnay on their tasting menu, they almost dominate their tastings with about 4 or 5 red wines. Since I am of the white wine persuasion, I had to suffer the jolts and bitterness of ingesting the reds. In fact, only one winery out of the six we’ve visited thus far asked us if we were red or white wine drinkers. The Arrowood seemed to adjust their tasting menu after your particular preference.

The weather, so far, has just been lovely! We were slightly set back by the morning fog but that quickly burned off by the time we sat down to breakfast. We seemed to have a similar experience in San Diego—must be a West Coast thing. The temperature range is quite dramatic. I’ve stepped out wearing shorts and a tank in the morning and quickly reached for my track jacket to curb the chill. But as the fog wore off, the sun blazed and I was content with my choice of clothing. The evenings grew quickly cold once the sun went down and I was back in my track jacket.

Off to the movies tonight as I’m beginning to go through TV detox. We’re going to check out the new Michael Moore movie Fahrenheit 9/11, a nice little slice of political pie. Should be a hoot! Tomorrow’s our last day in the wine country and hope to hit a little San Fran on our way south to Monterey.

Traveler’s Note:
Either our hostess heard us complaining about the lack of A.C. last night or the day was warm enough to warrant having the air on tonight. So we do, indeed, have air but alas, it is not within our control.

Friday, July 16, 2004 [top]

Traveler’s Note:
I take it back. The A.C. was on until halfway through the night, so we were sweating again. Only this time, we were too tired to get up and open the door to the porch. My basic rule for B&B’s is this: if the proprietor is the one who controls the climate, then they should make means accessible for each guest to make it comfortable. Our windows were bolted down and could only get air in the room via the door. The Oleander House was built originally as an inn (as opposed to converting an old house into an inn), therefore each room should have been individually adjustable. There were no sufficient common areas for people to enjoy their company (considering that it was the only pastime available after all the businesses closed. There was one tiny little room with a chair and of course, the central dining area. Need I mention the lack of television? If given the opportunity again, I would opt out of staying at the Oleander.

Well, after a day’s travel, we’ve finally made it to Monterey. We drove over the Bay Bridge and a saw a quick peek of the San Francisco skyline. Then we continued south and head for the Pacific Coast Highway (Highway 1). We stopped for a bite to eat at Alice’s Restaurant (presumably named after the song) on Route 84 on the way to the PCH. There was nothing much to it: very rustic atmosphere, plastic tablecloths and a handful of bikers thrown about the place…but they have one of the best hamburgers I’ve ever had! I had the Suzuki (one of a million burgers named after motorcycle manufacturers): a teriyaki-style burger with a thick slice of cooked pineapple. *drool*

About a half-hour later, we finally made it to PCH. This stretch of road actually goes all the way down the California coast and is lined with tall cliffs over the crashing Pacific waves below. As you get closer to Monterey, the highway separates you from the coast a little bit and winds you through some of California’s finest organic farms, most of which offer some of their product for sale on the side of the road in these rickety little shacks. We stopped for a couple of chocolate-covered strawberries and some Olallieberry Jam. What the hell an Olallieberry was, I had no clue but it looked exciting! The Olallieberry, I later found out, is found almost exclusively in the Pacific Northwest and is a hybrid of a Logan berry (itself a cross between a raspberry x blackberry) and a youngberry (a cross between blackberry x Texas dewberry).

We made it to Monterey in one piece. We are staying in Pacific Grove, next town over from Monterey, which lends itself the moniker of Butterfly Town USA. Not too sure why yet. (After doing some research, I learned that Pacific Grove is a haven for Monarch Butterflies that migrate in astounding numbers during the winter months to locations where there are Monterey Pines of which there are two notable areas in town.)

After checking into our cottage, we head to Cannery Row in Monterey for dinner. Cannery Row is intriguing. It was once the canned fish capital of the world, specifically for sardines. Their major boom was during the depression and throughout the second World War. This one street housed all the main factory buildings where they would can their product, hence the name. Today, it is brimming with tourist-item shops, candy stores, art galleries (or artsy-fartsy places, as Uncle Yvan would call it) and a bottomless pit of restaurants. It hardly holds any of its history other than the building signage. The highly-regarded Monterey Bay Aquarium is at the end of Cannery Row which I’ll get into in a moment.

We had dinner at the Fish hopper, an almost entirely seafood restaurant whose marquee stands high above Cannery Row for all passersby to see. They are advertised in every tourist publication in this area. We decided that it would be a worthy place to eat our first meal in Monterey. Bad Idea. Dave ordered the halibut and I got the Dungeness crab, a local favorite. Both dishes were unbelievably bland requiring great effort to ingest it without gulping down some wine with it. As we looked around the restaurant at all the happy eaters, we quickly discovered that they were all over the age of 60. Yup. We stumbled onto another “blue-hair” joint. There are lots of these back home in Boston: popular restaurants that are usually crowded during the early-bird hours offering a menu that doesn’t contain one hint of spice in it. But yet they’re always packed. You can’t go spittin’ out those dentures because you’ve had a grain too much of salt!

After we drowned our sorrows in some ice cream, we head back to the room and slummed it for the rest of the night. Thank God! There’s a TV in the room! We caught up on some badly needed television: The O’Reilly Factor :)

This morning we head to downtown Monterey for some breakfast. Downtown is an entirely different animal than the Cannery Row area. This is where—I assume—the locals hang out. At a local coffee shop, we spotted a few locals enjoying some java after their morning run and a few “corporates” having an impromptu meeting. Okay, there was a convention center down the road, so I confess: they may not have been locals.

We then visited the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I have one question: what the heck is the big deal? I saw glass case after glass case of bored fish. I did find it entertaining to find one giant vacuum tube filled with anchovies. Alas, I think they look better in a Caesar salad. My overall impression is that this aquarium would be terrific for 10-yr-olds. For a big kid like me, I was slightly under whelmed. I’d heard from several folks that this was the aquarium to end all aquariums. Frankly, I’ll take the one I can find in my own backyard!

After venturing down a little more of Cannery Row, we grabbed some lunch. An interesting note that Dave brought to my attention: Cannery Row was only dubbed with its famous title after Steinbeck released his novel. How disillusioning…

Traveler’s Note:
At least at an establishment called PassionFish we were able to enjoy a different kind of fish: Halibut! We both had a lovely dinner and a fabulous dessert (most important!)! They specialize in pairing up the freshest fish they can find with the most appropriate wine. Very highly recommended!

Saturday, July 17, 2004 [top]

Today was clearly the pinnacle of the entire trip. We woke up fairly early and grabbed some donuts at a local mom& pop shop downtown called Red’s Donuts. Very dangerous donuts. They taste wonderful but they felt like bricks afterwards.

Then we drove down some more of the Pacific Coast Highway. The cliffs got taller and the roads got curvier. But the view was just as stunning. We drove through Carmel and Big Sur. By the time we reached the coastal town of Lucia (about 25 miles south of Big Sur), we noticed that the gas tank read “Empty.” The little light started to flash and the warning bell sounded. Seeing no gas station in the future, we turned around in Lucia and head back to Big Sur. We started contingency planning. If we got stuck, we could call someone to bring us gas. No cell service. Okay, we could possibly wait for a policeman to drive by. The only one we saw all day was heading south when we were still way back in Lucia. Okay, we’re only 8 miles out of Big Sur where we were positive there was a gas station. We could attempt to coast on the downhills or go easy on the gas on the uphills. Unfortunately, some idiot who was terrified of sharp, uphill turns was just ahead of us going about 15mph, while we were crawling up hill and I’m watching the needle dancing dangerously below the “E.” Okay, palms are sweating and knuckles are white as I’m envisioning us hauling a can of gasoline from Big Sur to whatever curious spot our car decided to choke. But just before I start to panic, we pull into Big Sur and low & behold: a service station!

One tank of gas and about five thank-you prayers later, we head back on the road and drove back to Carmel to walk around, do some shopping and take in a snack at the Hog’s Breath Inn, an establishment once owned by Clint Eastwood, famous actor/director and former mayor of Carmel.

We then drove to the Pebble Beach area and took in 17-mile drive, a winding stretch of road needling through golf-courses, forests, giant mansions and stunning beaches. We stopped at Bird Rock, a vista point exhibiting a large white rock in the middle of the shore acting as a giant perch for a collection of local birds. But as we climbed down from the cliff and got closer to the water, we made friends with a local dweller: a large sea lion sun bathing on a rock about 10 feet away from us. He seemed to have no problem posing for photos, for he managed to assume a new pose every time I released my shutter. It was probably the closest I’ve ever been to one of these delightful creatures. I had to fight the urge to plunge into the water, climb up on the rock and pet him. You’ll never see that at the Monterey Bay Aquarium! ;)

We took dinner at one of our favorite eateries: Roy’s. Whenever we travel, we manage to seek him out. Our first experience was on our honeymoon at Poipu Beach in Kaua’i, HI. We’ve been on the hunt ever since. This place is just as magical as its other locations. It is situated right on Spanish Bay Golf Course, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. While we had out appetizers, a bagpiper was outside providing a little dinner music. We had some of the best fish we’ve ever eaten and an absolutely sinful dessert—par for the course (no pun intended) at any of Roy’s restaurants.

After dinner we continued down 17-mile drive to visit the Pebble Beach Golf Course. We walked around the shops and the lounge where the well-to-do were enjoying their evening drinks. Even “Stone Cold” Steve Austin was partaking a little dinner, according to Dave. Leave it to me…he would have gone completely unnoticed since I avoid wrestling like the plague. The room just oozed money and I felt weird just breathing the same air.

We then went back up 17-mile drive to China Rock to watch the stunning sunset. As the sky turned from orange to pink to purple, we watched the harbor seals frolicking in the waves.

Now, it’s back to the room to veg in front of the TV while we get ready to leave Monterey. It’ll be an early day tomorrow so that we can head back to “Frisky!”

Monday, July 19, 2004 [top]

Well, yesterday was so packed full of stuff, I didn’t even get a chance to write. We’re already on our flight back to Boston after a whirlwind tour of “High Cal.”

We left Monterey in the very early morning and made it up to San Francisco in about 2.5 hours. We parked our car in the Financial District and began a very long walking tour of the north end of the island. We wandered all through Chinatown, where the markets opened early for the local Asian population out buying their goods. Each market sold everything from dried fruits and dried fish (eww) to ornate statues and Asian trinkets. It felt almost like Portobello Market in the Notting Hill section of London. If it wasn’t bolted down to the floor, it was for sale.

After the bustling markets of Chinatown, we took a sit-down break at Union Square, a hub for chain-store shopping not unlike Downtown Crossing in Boston. We picked up a map at Border’s Book Store so we could plan our day.

Traveler’s Note: By the way, I highly recommend the San Francisco Pocket City Guide from Let’s Go.. It was incredibly useful giving you detailed maps of the streets as well as all the public transportation lines.

We stood outside of Border’s with our map wide open calling ourselves out to any passersby. We might as well have thrown a neon sign over our heads that flashed “Stupid Tourist.” A particularly seedy-looking gentleman walked up to us peering over our map asking us where we were headed. We exchanged a glance with each other before timidly answering, “Presidio” so that we could head over to the Palace of Fine Arts. As we explained that our plan was to walk there, his eyes bulged from his head. He shook his head and said, “You won’t be walking there.” He proceeded to lead us about 2 blocks south on Powell explaining the exact route we should take and the method of transport. Why we followed him, I have no idea. He instructed us to take the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf and told us exactly where to catch one where we would be guaranteed a seat. Before we parted company he asked for some loose change; a small price to pay for some local advice. We gladly obliged and took the cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf. Once we crossed about 2 blocks north of where we started in front of Border’s, we suddenly realized why the man looked so horrified when we told him that we would walk. The cable car powered its way up what seemed like a 90° angle up one of the steepest hills I have ever seen…then another hill…then another. As we stopped at the top of Mason at Fisherman’s Wharf, we looked behind us only to see the very long drop all the way back down to Union Square. That homeless guy knew exactly what he was talking about.

This is not the first time I’ve been to San Francisco but I always forget how many homeless people there are here. On nearly every street corner of the well-traveled areas is someone parked next to the corner looking dejected, holding a sign broadcasting their predicament while they stare down at a coffee can. Though, they’re not all like that. Some make even a minimal attempt to earn the change; like the guy that spared us from collapsing uphill on our way northward. Some will even entertain to score some loose change. While we were at lunch at Joe’s Crab at the wharf, we watched out the window at one of the homeless guys down in the street. This guy gets my prize for the most entertaining production. His act was fairly simple. He’d pull a few tall, leafy branches from an obliging shrub and park on the sidewalk of the wharf. He’d sit behind the branches waiting for his prey. When unsuspecting tourists walk by thinking that they’re walking by a planted tree, suddenly he darts his face out from behind the rattling branches. Sure, it’s a mean thing to do but it’ll make you laugh at the poor souls walking by, enjoying their day and getting the jolt of a lifetime. People watching couldn’t help but drop change into the can.

Of all the times I’d been to San Francisco, this was probably the first where I wasn’t bundled up looking like Kenny from South Park. San Francisco is well known for its cool summers and relentless fog, but down by the wharf and into the city, the sun was bright and warm and I barely needed my fleece. I don’t think I’ve ever worn a tank top in San Francisco.

After a recharging lunch, we embarked on our power walk—of course, we had no idea it was a power walk at the time. We walked from Fisherman’s Wharf all the way to Presidio where the Palace of Fine Arts is. Then we walked the water along the Golden Gate National Recreation Area towards the Golden Gate Bridge. And if that wasn’t enough, we walked a long, steep hill (that looked like it was part of a hiking trail) up to the bridge. Then we walked about half-way across the bridge and turned back. We stopped at the Golden Gate gift shop to buy some souvenirs before hopping on the #28 bus back to the wharf. Naturally, we got on the #28 going in the opposite direction. Being extremely exhausted, we peered over our map desperately trying to figure out a way back to Union Square while doing as little walking as possible. Once we figured out the bus system we made it back to Union Square.

San Francisco is a lovely city, probably one of the best in the country. But I have to tell you, if you don’t know your way around, it is hell trying to navigate. Their above-ground subway (oxymoron, I know) is not quite as elaborate as our T in Boston (and a long way off from the London Underground) with stops not quite as frequent throughout the city. The bus system map requires an engineering degree to figure out. One thing is for sure: folks that live here must be in terrific shape. I would be hard-pressed to find a fat person in San Francisco with all the walking that is required here.

Back in Union Square, we shopped around a little more and decided to head northward, again, to visit Grace Cathedral. Boston Marathon runners who have survived “Heartbreak Hill” don’t know what a hill is until they’ve walked Mason. We only had to walk about 4 blocks—but it was up those awful hills. We had to take a breather about ¾ of the way up. After walking the previous six miles (for an out-of-shape Bostonian, that’s a lot), this climb was rough. But it paid off in the end, for we got to walk through one of the most gorgeous cathedrals I’ve ever seen on the West Coast. Along the entire length of the church were beautifully-embellished stained glass windows on both sides of the aisle. The organist and pianist were practicing pieces for that evening’s service, so we stopped to listen. The sound just rang through the church, you couldn’t help but just sit, close your eyes, and revel.

After Grace Cathedral, we walked a few more miles (downhill, thank God) to Embarcadero where we had dinner at the famous Fog City Diner.

Traveler’s Note:
We had actually been to the Fog City Diner about five years ago when we were in San Francisco on the tail-end of our honeymoon. I have to admit, this time around was a disappointment. Other than the chrome and neon dining car façade, the FCD resembles the least of any diner I’ve ever been to. Instead of traditional hamburgers and milkshakes, the fare here was a raw bar and elaborately-prepared fish. What was extremely unsettling was the price. My hamburger (run of the mill) with bleu cheese was $11 and a coke about $2.50—no refills. This is probably one of the only establishments left that still charges for each individual glass. That is eye-popping considering that it costs them about $.50 cents for the product—never mind that the glass his half-full of ice! My overall assumption is that you’re paying for the name and atmosphere. Although the food was decent, it wasn’t the typical “greasy spoon” fare that I’m used to. You can get a much better (and cheaper) meal down the road at Fisherman’s Wharf. Sad to say that I wouldn’t recommend it.

After dinner, we took our final bus to the car and then drove to South San Francisco where we dragged ourselves up to our hotel room.

Despite a couple of microscopic disappointments, San Francisco was absolutely lovely. It marked a worthy end to our trip. We’ll see where the wanderlust will lead us next!

~ Fin ~