Today started with a high stakes winning streak and ended with a legitimate parking spot.
Instructed that we would have to gamble in exchange for our resort parking (different from the usual nightly gamble of whether we will wake to sunlight or a security guard's flashlight) we went into the casino, went to the bathroom, took $1.27, 9 cups of free soda, went to the bathroom again and left. Suffice to say the casino would have rather seen us just go than stay and play.
What had been the night before an annoying and scary drive became an exquisite and scary drive in daylight. We left the grapes alone, but even driving through wine country is special.
Likely to only have a few days in the Bay Area due to California's intolerance of car campers we decided to jump right into exploring San Francisco.
Parking in Oakland (which we were later told never to do) and taking the BART into the city we realized we would be unable to, in the 30 min ride, decipher the city's bus system, and so would be on our feet for the day. We found San Francisco strenuously lumpy. We took our lumps and hoofed up it.
We got off BART at the financial district and took a tour of the Wells Fargo history museum. Interesting enough and with enough material to last one half a day, but we left well before that to explore Chinatown and stop in at a back alley fortune cookie factory. It was a revelation to try a cookie that hasn't been sitting around since Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker were a marketable duo.
Then up an enormous hill to Grace Cathedral. The massive and ornate church is at the peak of the hill, and really San Francisco, and spans an entire city block. It has exquisite detail both inside and out, fascinating nooks and a series of doors leading into glorious little rooms.
Sitting on a bench outside Isaiah and I talked about the SF episode of "No Reservations" we had seen. The host, Anthony Bourdain, had some enthusiast and drunken things to say about a hotel bar fit for a pirate. We could not remember the name of the bar or the hotel that encases it, which led to the inquiry: "excuse me kind church ladies where can a pirate get a drink around here?" They were little help. On a hunch we found it across the street. Alas it was closed until Wednesday night, breaking our little sailor's heart. (Actually, I think the Sailor bar is in the Castro district).
We spent the evening with friends Bekah and Alex, enjoying engaging conversation, ranging from racing immigrants up the Pacific Crest Trail, how Sal Paradise seemed to be able to get an apple pie, ice cream and methamphetamine for a nickle, and how romantically dedicated to their depression someone would have to be to book a flight, hotel, look out over the beauty of San Francisco and jump off a bridge. Join us tomorrow and read about our travels to the golden gate bridge.
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