Chris dropped me off at LAX on Sunday morning May 6th. Flight left on time around 12:30pm and went extremely quick. I was way in the back on a very, very full plane, seated next to a super nice young girl from Holland who is visiting San Fran for the first time. Ahh, the first timers. I always feel jealous, like the people I talked to that time whose first time it was in Ogunquit; things like that. My first time in SF was 1987, when Maryann and I stayed in a short term rental place in Pacific Heights - only one of the best neighborhoods in the city, located at 2148 Broderick:
I think it was $450 for a month, and we stayed 5 weeks. This was directly after an entire summer in Tucson, and believe me, living in an old, beautiful, walkable city with normal, human temperatures (vs lizard temps) containing actual bodies of water (as opposed to continuously dry, sandy river beds) was a huge deal and relief.
The little flat we rented was one room with twin beds, a bathroom, and what they termed in the 80's, which is just so 80's: a 'wetbar', ie a small sink, not a normal kitchen sized sink. I don't even think we had a microwave, but back then I lived without such things and probably wouldn't have known how to use it. This place was notable for it's 'accessible' roof, ie we climbed up the fire escape and hung out and took pics. I can remember the very first time I climbed the fire escape ladder, the thought flashed through my mind - is this nuts? Is this thing going to collapse? What if it lets go of the building? It was probably put there in 1901.
Anyway, the girl from Holland (I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't know if that makes her Dutch. Does it? Or I suppose that's Denmark, not Holland. Duh.) was super nice, spoke near perfect English, was named what she said was the equivalent of 'Jolene' but was spelled something like Joljin, or Joljyn, and we talked the whole plane ride about various topics - her trip and where she wants to go (in respone to her request, I recommended Coit Tower and seeing the Golden Gate Bridge and the cable cars, of course), how she finds Americans vs her fellow countrymen, (something I asked her.) She said we seem very friendly, but offered that she can't tell if it's superficial friendly, or if we are just more open and chatty then most; her time in Orlando, where it was 93 degrees, where she was flying from after visiting a friend for a week, and the fact that in Holland, there is universal health insurance, which in fact covers her all over the world, while I am at present, entirely without insurance. She said the Euro has effected Holland quite negatively and a lot of people are out of work, much like Greece, and I guess, here.
So from the plane I went of course to the SFO luggage carousel ...
... where, oddly, mine was amongst the very first bags to be spewed out onto the conveyer belt. Note: this does not normally ever happen.
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So from there I headed off, following the signs to the airport tram thing ...
And from there following those pointing in the direction of BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit - this area's commuter rail vs subway). On the way there I spotted my first gayboy, moving at a medium pace in front of me. How did I know he was gay? Picture a supermodel walking down a runway throwing everything she has into her hips in ridiculous, swaying, in this case, swishing uber-exaggerated fashion, calling to all those around (or at least all the males) to damn well look. No straight man walks this way! Period! So even before I'd hit the city proper, a gayboy had me smiling.
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So at the BART station I approached a ticket machine thing, and, because it didn't seem to be offering what I needed (a one way ticket into town, $8.10 - it's a bit of a distance into town from the airport), but instead offered up ticket prices starting at $20.00 (??) I asked the man behind me in line, who kindly explained that you can plus or minus from the dollar amount indicated, which I then did, etc. The train arrived maybe 5 minutes later and brought me into the Civic Center/Union Square Muni stop (Muni being the SF subway, streetcar, and bus system) ...
Welcome to the frickin neighborhood ... the glorious, historic (built in 1922) Castro Theatre, one of only a handful of 1920's movie theatres still in operation as a movie house, and a place I have never actually been inside of.
I turned and made my way 3 blocks in the opposite direction to little Eureka Street, 130 to be precise.
It was about 3:20, and the 'check in' time was 4pm, so I waited around a few minutes, then finally said fuck it, and went inside. I was tired by this time - not hugely insane tired, but still quite beat. The owner gave me the code to get into the building - a ten digit thing followed by the pound sign, for god's sake - and then I had to drag my oversized suitcase, purse, pink carryon shoulder bag, and my tired-arse arse up two flights, which let me tell you, sucked. I swear the suitcase increased in poundage with every step, but finally I was there, punched in the door code, and voila, here I am.
A lovely big studio with a big bay window overlooking a very quiet street. This place has a giant oversized walk-in closet with tons of hangers and a built in desk with outlets, a good sized, beautiful marble bathroom with full tub, a fancypants high end kitchen complete with three-door stainless fridge with freezer on bottom ...
And it's the top floor. This was part of the reason I decided to go with this apartment in the first place. I don't like anybody walking over my head, especially in an old creaky house. AND I found out there is roof access! And not via the fire escape! Not something that was mentioned in the ad, probably because they won't want you going up there (which I did almost right away, hee.) It's via a set of exterior stairs out in the little hallway just outside my door, and from the roof you have 360 degree views - you can see downtown SF and the Transamerica Pyramid building ...
(This photo was taken by me later on downtown - this is obviously not the view from my roof.)
You can also see from the roof the top of the blinking neon Castro Theatre sign at night (at least, the "C", and "A"), and the surrounding neighborhoods high above Castro, which is a valley. Totally awesome, totally unexpected bonus. Here's a snapshot I took the first night, when the moon was enormous - the 'supermoon' that's been making the news because it's incredibly close to the earth right now - but for some damned reason shows up tiny in this grainy photo:
Probably the best thing about the place is that it's exactly perfected situated, just 3 short, relatively flat and easy blocks over from Castro Street itself, on an entirely residential street, whilst being that close to the stores, bars, cafes, sex supply shops, etc. (Re the latter, I, in fact, walked by a shop yesterday advertising in it's window it's excellent quality cock rings.) Not to say, believe or not and despite shops like this, that this area is sleazy or dangerous - one of the best things about it is that it's bustling night and day - plenty of people about of all stripes and income groups, etc., - this is not exactly a cheap area to live (but then good luck finding any cheap areas in San Francisco)- and it just has a great, open vibe about it; a real 'neighborhoody' feel, which you don't get by being downtown in some anonymous hotel.
Another huge bonus I didn't know about was that I'm one block from a large, nice, full service grocery store, called Mollie Stone's. Seeing as I'm here two weeks, I intend to eat 'in' a lot to save money, and to not waste the lovely kitchen.
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First night I was here, the Castro was showing The Graduate, so, after a quick nap of about an hour (because I'd reached the end of my rope by then), I caught the 7pm show, and what a pleasure. Firstly, the place was fairly hopping - a Sunday night and there ended up being I believe 200 people in there, which is just so nice to see. Not super cheap - ten bucks - but I'm more than happy to give ten bucks to the Castro vs some corporate multi-plex.
I took a seat near the back, and was blown away by the interior. Maryann saw many a film here, including stuff like The Godfather, when she lived in Danville, Ca back in the 90's, so she's raved to me many times about the interior, and it totally lived up to it's billing.
First, check out this wonderful little deco water fountain, and an old, framed ad for the place:
Then there's the interior:
One of the coolest things about this place of all, is the fact that they have a guy play the Wurlitzer organ before each film. I didn't know this. I took my seat after buying bottled water and some peanut M&Ms ($5.00 total - cheap, for a movie house), and there's this guy approaching the stage area and I just figured he was some employee. Then he climbs to center stage into the organ area which is below stage in an orchestra pit pit, and proceeds to play the frickin organ, which, as he plays, rises up in the air so that it's now slightly above the stage floor. I mean, how cool is that? He played a few songs, like they do at Fenway, and then as he finished his final number, the organ lowered back down, and everyone applauded, which I thought was so lovely, and he walked off.
Imagine for a minute that that's your job. You play Wurlitzer organ at the Castro every night for a living. Or maybe he's a volunteer. Not too freaking bad.
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Anyway, The Graduate was great, as always. It's been years, and I'd forgotten about a few particularly amazing scenes, one being that long, long slow tracked in shot closing in on Mrs Robinson's burning glare after Benjamin walks into the house for a date with her daughter, specifically against her orders. Absolutely fantastic shot - the look in Anne Bancroft's eyes! - holy shit! She's gonna freaking boil you alive. One interesting side note I recently read is that there was only 6 years between her and Hoffman at the time of filming. Dustin was 30, playing a 21 year old; she was 36, playing I guess someone who was supposed to be middle aged.
It was also kind of cool, too, to see the film here in the Bay Area, because that is where much of the film is based - you see Dustin driving across the Bay Bridge at one point (though facing the wrong way - he's supposed to be heading towards Berkeley, but is on the top deck of the bridge - which would have put him heading the opposite direction, towards SF), and he proceeds to stalk Elaine around the UC Berkeley campus.
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After the film let out, it was really cool to see a lineup of people outside waiting to get into the 9pm showing. I love to pieces that this theatre, literally 90 years after it opened, is still a hotspot, and the iconic center of this vibrant neighborhood.
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Walking back to my flat was a blast, also; just a joy, because this place is positively teaming with people and life - with bars and clubs blasting music, and pizza places and cafes, a few of which are open to the outside, ie they have mostly glass front walls which are wide open, and in the warm night air surrounded by gayboys holding hands and leaning on each other, and with music wafting out from the clubs and such ... it's just so lovely and free and sweet and alive. It's why cities are important. There's life and vibrancy here, and culture and kitch, that you sorta don't get anywhere else.
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A couple of gayboy notes before I forget: Today I was walking down Castro Street heading back to my flat after a dessert/tea/bookstore run to Market Street and this skinny kid ahead of me leaned over from the sidewalk into one of these open bar places, and said something to somebody inside. I have no idea what he said, but the guy inside then shrieked out a big baudy laugh - the kid on the sidewalk clearly having said something sassy to him - lisping out loud after him all uber-gay and said "you little asshole!"
It was really kind of cute.
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A second quick gayboy story from today. I stopped into the Mollie Stone's market, and as I was perusing the toilet paper, seeing as the owner of this condo only left me with two whole individual rolls and I'm here two weeks ... I was standing in the vicinity of two boys who were discussing the previous night, apparently. One of them said to the other, something like, 'ya, oh my god, did you see Miss Cinammon ? She was there,' (or something like that), 'and then later on Miss Cash and Carry showed up,' (it was a phrase with two words - not 'cash and carry' but something close, 'spic and span', or something equally drag-queeny. You just know they were talking about little RuPaul protoges.)
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Gayboy story #3, and my favorite so far ... After my dessert run tonite, I devilishly decided I'd bring home a slice of pizza from the local shop on Castro - Marcellos's. I wasn't intending to do this, but the place smells so good as you walk by, and they sold by the slice, which are humongoid, and had tomato/herb/mushroom - yum. Anyway, I walked in, and there are two or three bulky dudes towards the back behind the counter - the pizza makers, and maybe sons or Marcello, or whatever. But the cashier boy did not appear to be a son of Marcello. More like a son of Sylvester. He was cute and skinny and twink-y, as they say around here, dancing around in place to the disco music blaring on the radio as he rang people up. He wasn't hopping up and down or going nuts, mind you - you could tell he was reining himself in - but it was so lovely and funny. He'd take your order, turn and yell it back to the guys, turn back, take your cash - swaying away the whole time - never breaking stride even as he handed you your change. Damn. I love this place.
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Okay, so first night here I slept great, though not enough. Woke up a bit too early, and went online checking out public transit options to Coit Tower. I wrote them down and headed into the subway and purchased a ten-fare pass ($20.00) and took the train into town - the Montgomery stop. When there, I decided to ask a Muni employee if the bus # I'd written down was correct, and she recommended another set of buses, the 30 and 45. What she didn't tell me was where to catch either of these two buses, but I didn't realize that would be a problem until I got outside.
I came up and onto Market Street and could not find any nearby bus stops at all, and had no idea where to go. So I asked a friendly looking office worker, and she said it was 3 or 4 blocks north, on Washington. Walked to Washington, and the bus stop made no mention of the 30 and 45 bus. Looked around; nothing. I then consulted google maps on my Iphone, which has a setting for public transit, and it told me to catch the #12 bus, from a street about 3 more additional blocks up, to get to Coit Tower. I then walked there, and no #12 bus listed on the bus stop, anywhere. I asked some people at the bus stop if they knew of a bus to get to the Tower, and either they didn't, or didn't speak a single speck of English - two older Chinese people just smiled and nodded their heads. I began walking away, and asked two stray passers by, who did speak English, but also had no idea how to get to Coit by bus, from there. I then consulted the Muni website again, and found different buses listed, based on where I was now standing, but it was more of the same - I'd go to try to find the bus stop, or bus # on the bus stop, and the one I'd been told was right was not there.
Jesus Christ, by this time I was hot and sweaty - it was maybe 75 out and sunny and I'd hoofed it maybe 6 or 8 city blocks by this point, much of it uphill. Finally I found myself at Jackson Square/North Beach, across from legendary City Lights Books (home, of course, of all the beat poets, Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg/Howl, etc.)
So went inside for a wander. This is a shot of their basement:
Which has weird things written on doors:
Somewhere beforehand btw I had this yummy cookies and cream gelato, which set me back $4.75 ...
In City Lights I asked the cashier if she knew the bus route to Coit, and she didn't, and suggested I ask the man standing outside, who also worked there. He and the older dude he was standing with told me the first correct public transit information I'd heard all day- that it was bus 39, which I could catch up the block at Washington Square. So I headed up there, pretty damned pooped by this point, and saw that across the green was beautiful St Peter and Paul Church:
Which is massive, and stunning, with that double spire, and I recalled the last time I was in Washington Square, during those two weeks I spent in SF back in '92 when I fell in love with the place to the point where I was literally planning to move here. I was smitten. I remember that afternoon was the first time I'd ever had sun-dried tomatoes, and I still don't like them, possibly because of the sandwich I had that day, which was made with big oily bits of whatever that cheese is - mozzarella? It's white, and they pick it right up out of the oil it sits in and slap it on your bread. I remember it leaked through the wax paper as I sat in the park on the grass, and I don't think I had any napkins, or if I did, they got soaked through/nullified right quick.
So, okay, back to 2012, which, my god, I just realized is TWENTY fucking years after 1992. How depressing!
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I went inside the church, of course, where they had signs posted asking you not to take photos, but I snuck a few, anyway, hee:
That right there is a 'confessional'. One of my all-time least favorites pieces of furniture, ever, though this one is rather beautaeous.
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Afterwards, I began checking my location of my Iphone map, which of course tracks you wherever you are, which let me tell you is fantastically handy, especially when you're a tourist and you don't want to be revealed as such by whipping out a big paper map and turning it this way and that like a dork.
So the map showed that I wasn't all that far away from Coit Tower itself ...
And by 'stairs', they mean that the street is so steep the sidewalks have stairs built into them.
Which, no, I didn't get a shot of - I was too busy weezing like an idiot as I climbed this hill, since I'd decided it would be a waste of two bucks for bus fare, and to just hoof it the rest of the way
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At the tower finally, I was disappointed - incredible for me to say this as I've always been madly in love with the place - by the fact that the bushes surrounding it had grown quite a bit - it's been 10 yrs since I've been here - and obscured the view to a degree. Still, it's spectacular. So it was likely my mood, near-exhaustion, etc.
That's the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, btw.
And here is the surrounding neighborhood. It's always blown me away, how white the buildings all look, which to me makes it look Mediterranean.
Handy that they even have one of these pretty public toilets at Coit Tower - which I needed by this point. These are the exact same style ones they had in Paris, and feature a handy map on the side.
Based on the map, which listed no public transit routes, other than those for the cable cars, I realized I was only three downhill blocks down Greenwich Street from Powell, and that I could catch the Powell/Mason cable car line all the way back down to Market Street, which diagonally intersects the city and ends at Castro Street. Hooray!
So I waited on the corner and had a nice chat with a young girl here by herself, for the first time, from Australia, of all places. She was very chatty and friendly, and sai d it was essentially a 20 or 24 hour flight to get here, and that, like me, she'd just arrived in SF after a week in LA, and was intending after a week here to go to Vegas and then the Grand Canyon, then Mexico and South America. Like me, she's taking three months off from her job (in some sort of travel related booking business) in order to travel. Unlike me, she has a job to go back to.
Anyway, she was super nice, and is staying at hostels, and said it's fine because she has a private room and can interact if and when she wants to. This was her first time on a cable car, btw. I still recall my first time - must have been '87. It was a night, I think, and the operator was a lot of fun - he really made it fun by cracking jokes and telling you facts about the cable cars and the city and neighborhoods we were traveling through. I would come to find that most of the time the guys don't do that, and you can't blame them - they aren't tour guides, but anyway, the car came along, and we hopped on - I hung on the outside, and we rode up the hill, and it's always a bit herky jerky - you totally know you're being pulled by a cable up a steep hill - which is totally part of the charm. The weather was perfect btw, and eventually somebody got off, so I took their place facing the outside, and snapped pics and filmed a bit from the very front seat.
A bonus was that for some reason the operator guy wasn't taking money for the ride, which btw is 6 bucks. People would go to hand him money and he'd wave them off without explanation, so I don't know if there is some sort of free time of day, but I sort of doubt it. They must make millions annually off the tourists, who are all to happy to pay, as I would have been.
So to boot, when the ride was done and it deposited us all the way downtown - boy were my feet happy - there on Market were the antique street cars, so I used my ten fare pass and hopped on an old green train which took me all the way home to Castro. What a pleasure.
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