The last *prod*

Day 17

Next day was Monday. I went to my 8am meeting and then skipped out of work. I tried to phone Q and Em to arrange to meet somewhere before I hopped on the train. No luck. I phoned them often between here and San Francisco. I was in such a panic when I got off the train and found the station swarming with policemen. It was 11 and they knew my meeting ended at 9 so I tried to imagine scenarios where they wouldn't contact me by then. I couldn't except for kidnapping or murder. I almost approached one of the policemen to ask whether they knew what happened but thought that I should check with the hostel first. Fortunately, I remembered where they said it was. I walked there and completed the journey in half the time as usual. Naturally the receptionist couldn’t divulge details of who was staying so I told him to call the police if they hadn't checked in. I was barely coherent I am sure. I also wrote a quick note where the important part was my phone number in case the police needed to talk to me. Then I came out shaking, figuring that the only thing I could do was sit at a cybercafe in case they email, only to find that I had received a voicemail in the past minute without the phone ringing. Gah. It was Em saying that their phone had run out of battery and she had lost the charger. She said that they were in Union Square and would call again in 15 minutes. So I ran to Union Square which was ten minutes away and found the nearest public telephone but they weren't bloody there. I checked Borders in case they were reading books or comics. Worried that my phone would not ring yet again when they called, I was by the public telephone again and then I roamed Union Square keeping an eye out and keeping tabs on activity around the phone across the street. After 45 minutes past the voicemail they turned up.

Gah. I felt like such an idiot. They were apologetic and had apparently been victim to bad customer service in Macys. I had worked myself into such a state though, having not heard from them for so long.

But let's forget that and start the story again at noon in Union Square. We went for a quick trip to the Virgin Megastore and then wandered up to Chinatown. It was generally agreed that SF Chinatown was more civilised than NY Chinatown and had better shops (kind of posh- expensive yes but wonderful silks). We spent a long time in one and came away with souvenirs. I got a silk covered photo-album and the Australians bought chopsticks after worrying about what they could pack. Q surprised me by claiming a pink silk handbag to be pretty so I just smiled and nodded.

We had a wonderful lunch in a restaurant that a Chinese lady on a street corner directed us to. She had leaflets but wasn’t content to just hand us one. She had to herd us there. When Em crossed the street to an ATM and Q and I just stood outside the restaurant waiting, the small woman kept smiling and pointing to the place every time we glanced at her. We were right to trust her advertising though as the food was delicious and plentiful. We got more than we bargained for; there was Dim Sum and green tea ice-cream as part of their special “being herded off the street” deal. We rolled out of the restaurant rather happy with ourselves and mulled over the idea of getting a cable car to Fisherman’s Wharf. In the end though, we decided that we were hardened walkers and there was plenty more to see in Chinatown.

We crossed to another street, passing a rack of handbags where yet again Q bizarrely relished a pink one. There were many fantastic shops selling Chinese clothing. I longed for an excuse to get one of the red or black silk dresses. Q was searching the racks of light silk jackets for something to buy as souvenirs for people. It took a couple of shops before we found a jacket with enough Xs in front of the L.

Between Chinatown and Fisherman’s Wharf lies North Beach which is not a beach. It is the Italian district with great restaurants and bakeries. We walked through alas too full to do anything but look wistfully at the cakes. We were able to see the Coit Tower though we did not go up it (the climb up Telegraph Hill is horrendous) and also Lombard Street ("the crookedest street in the world"). We arrived at Fisherman's Wharf (the tourist district) by 3pm. The consensus was that it was tacky but in a good fun way.

Even though I declared it “too creepy”, we went to a museum of mechanical amusements. The showpiece of this museum was a huge laughing sailor-woman. I slipped a couple of quarters in and she started laughing. And rocking back and forth. And she continued to laugh. And rock. And generally spook us into scurrying away as fast as we could to escape her whooping. I had brought a bag of quarters with me (which makes me sound prepared but in truth the ticket machine for the train gave me $10 change in quarters which was like winning the jackpot on a fruit machine only more annoying) so we didn’t hold back on the games. We tested the passion of Em’s kiss, the type of lovers we were and the combined strength of Q and Em. For that, levers had to be pulled to raise a hammer which could then be released when the levers grew too hard to be moved. It was meant for only one person but Q and Em were there together struggling to make those levers move. With much perspiration, they managed to raise the hammer by a tiddly amount (note, I did not even try) and the bell barely clunked when it got released. We turned our back on that game and seconds later the bell rang loud and clear from one triumphant and quite weedy looking lad. Em and Q had moved onto arm wrestling, again cheating like crazy only to lose. Em and I raced some horses and I spent 25 cents on inflating a balloon with a felt-tip face on it while Em got a foot massage. Then Em found an arcade game which allowed her to show off her gun slinging skills and she was mighty fine indeed (as was Q when she took over actually). One creepy fortune teller later, and we were all mechanically amused out.

We moved on to have a drink and snack at Pier 39. This is the real tourist trap but of course, being San Francisco, it didn’t quite have the same tacky appeal as English seaside towns. The collection of expensive souvenir shops didn’t get much interest. Instead we just sat in a café. I suffered more Lipton tea while Em went for the soup and Q investigated a cheese muffin. Then we only had a few minutes until our pre-booked boat ride (I was oddly organised). Worried that Em and Q would freeze to death in the Bay, we rushed into one of the aforementioned expensive souvenir stores and rummaged through the various jumpers. Nothing was worth buying and in the end a pained Q and Em chose death rather than fashion victim (with much lighter wallets).

The boat trip started at 5:30. I was anticipating one guy and his boat as the email I got after booking the event was a rather cheery thanks as if this booking represented someone’s sole livelihood. Fortunately we were greeted by uniformed professionals and a stunning catamaran. And even more fortunate, there were fleece-lined jackets available for people to borrow. Q and Em slipped them on and we got out excitedly onto the deck. There was quite a crowd of people some of whom had been on the trip before and knew just where not to sit of stand to get drenched. We heeded their words and stood near the aft of the boat. The journey left from “I dock” and took us passed the sea lions that gather at Pier 39 every year. Once in the open water, the course was set to Alcatraz Island. I adore how wild and wicked the island looks with the foreboding prison dominating it and the jungle vegetation. Em scoffed that she could swim from the Rock to the shore until we actually got out there and discovered how rough it was. We were taken all around the island and from there we went to Golden Gate Bridge. We actually passed under it before turning and heading back.

By this point in the journey I was quite seasick and could not enjoy the food and drink inside (or the warmth). I clung to the side of the boat and braved the bitterly cold wind (having learnt my lesson from Staten Island, I had my hair tied back this time). Em and Q tolerated the cold for me a few times but generally stayed huddled out of the wind. I heard them once say “Spider-man” and I whipped around and looked at them. They were just staring at me and giggled… I got the feeling that they had been trying to get my attention and found that to be the most effective method. However, I continued to cling to the side. Feeling ill is unavoidable for me and in this case, it was worth it, as for our approach to San Francisco was done just as the sun was setting. It set behind a huge bank of fog unfortunately, over the Pacific. But the sky above the city still turned a wonderful shade of pink and lilac and slowly the lights came on in the buildings. I had to drag Q and Em outside to watch. By the time we arrived back at the pier, it was late dusk and the sight was beautiful.

Back at Fisherman’s Wharf, we grabbed a taxi to take us back to the hostel. The drive was crazy. I found myself in the front of the car which I thought was lucky until I discovered myself in the front seat of a rollercoaster ride. This guy floored the accelerator on every hill and barely stopped at the junctions. I swear that when we crested the hills, the wheels left the road and we flew. I was seriously shaken when we arrived at the hostel. I tried to regain some calm by standing quietly in the bar area while Q and Em grabbed some things from their room. It took me a while but as we walked to dinner, I felt the sickness and shock pass.

We passed so many restaurants that were tempting but unsuitable as Q did not want a curry. Just as we were beginning to despair, we found two likely places. One seemed to be a classic 50s diner with red vinyl seating and black and white tiled floor. The other was a slightly nicer Californian Bistro. We chose that one and slipped into a booth with dark red vinyl seating (it makes all the difference). The food was okay but the waitress was terrible, not asking whether we wanted drinks and also giving us the bill only just after serving the main course. Feeling distinctly unwanted, we simply ate our meal and paid up and left without celebration.

I just felt too depressed to continue. This was the end. The real end. After this, there were no more Hobbling Holidays (well, until Thanksgiving). I mumbled my goodbyes and disappeared into the San Francisco night.