What I did on my weekend vacation...
From Friday, October 6 through Sunday, October 8th, the Beautiful One and I went on an adventure-filled weekend to San Francisco. Whew!
All started out quite well, as we motored over the hill on 152 to 101, then took 85 to 280, then took 280 right up to The City. (For every sentient being living west of Denver, San Francisco is The City. Don't bother arguing about it. That's just the way it is.)
We took the Army Street off ramp (the locals have foolishly renamed it "Cesar Chavez Street," but since he was a no-good son-of-a-bitch, and I'm glad he's dead, I won't call it that - even the locals still have "Army Street" in parentheses under its new, unacceptable name on their street signs) so we could find out where Pier 96 is, that being where the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brien was docked. We were supposed to be there the following morning at 8 o'clock or so for boarding, and I thought it would be a Good Idea to find it beforehand. Well, that was a Good Idea, because it wasn't all that easy to find. After a certain amount of wandering around San Francisco's worst neighborhood, we finally located the O'Brien. The S.F. police were conducting some sort of emergency driving training in the giant parking lot, apparently preparing to chase the taxis, but we didn't get run over.
So then we headed for downtown, to check in at our chosen lodging provider, the Palace Hotel. I understand there are a few people who do not know what the Palace Hotel is, but there really is no excuse for that, at least not for anyone over the age of, say, 19. Suffice it to say that the Palace Hotel makes the typical hotel look like a Motel 6.
We went to the Pied Piper Bar in the Palace. The Maxfield Parish painting behind the bar is worth at least $2,500,000 (in 2006 Dollars - who knows what it might be worth next year...). Mark Twain used to eat his lunches there. He worked in the Sharon Building across the street, Sharon being Ralston's partner, Ralston being the fellow who started the Bank of California, and who financed the original Palace Hotel at a cost of $10,000,000 (a fair chunk of change back then), and went broke just as the Palace was opening in 1875, and subsequently drowned in the bay, apparently a suicide. Nowadays things are a little pricey for a lowly reporter to be partaking of the fare on a regular basis. An ordinary domestic beer was something like $7.00. My V.O. was $9.50. Then I had a tiny little glass of genuine Portuguese Port, for $13.00. When you see a drunk fellow coming out of the Pied Piper Bar, be assured that you are looking at a very prosperous drunk fellow.
Our next scheduled event was dinner at The House of Prime Rib on Van Ness. I knew, more or less, where it was, but since you have to use their valet parking, I decided we should take a taxi. Interesting choice... Have you ever wondered what it would have been like to ride along with Steve McQueen in that Bullit Mustang? Anyway, we got there before our reservation time, were seated early, and fed an absolutely wonderful prime rib dinner. I seriously doubt you can get better prime rib, anywhere. The Beautiful One graciously paid the tab, thus helping defeat my plan for going broke trying to bury The City in U.S. currency, which is really the only way to properly experience the place. The taxi ride back to the Palace was just as exciting as the ride to the restaurant, with the added bonus of listening to the driver talk on his cell phone the entire time in Urdu or some such foreign tongue. But I'll say this for those San Francisco taxi drivers, they do know their streets. Both trips were as fast and direct as anyone could have accomplished, with the possible exception of a S.F. police officer with lights and siren on. But if I had to bet on it, I'd put my money on the taxi drivers.
The next morning we had breakfast at the Garden Court. The Garden Court is famous. It is easily the most spectacular setting for a restaurant in the Western United States, if not anywhere on earth. The food is unbelievably perfect. I had the blueberry pancakes. You will never have better blueberry pancakes, anywhere. Ever. Forget about it. Ain't gonna happen. Sure, it was expensive. But what is it worth to you to, just once, eat the best blueberry pancakes in the world, in perhaps the most spectacular setting in the world, with orchids at your table (well, I think they were orchids), with perfect service, surrounded by history that permeates the atmosphere? $20.00? Cheap at twice the price.
Then it was off to Pier 96 and the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brien. You see, it was Fleet Week, with naval vessels, the Blue Angels, and various assorted other attractions. We were going out on the bay onboard the O'Brien to watch and take part in the Parade of Ships, and then watch the air show, starring the Blue Angels. We had to stand in line waiting to board, show both our tickets and official photo I.D., and let them inspect our bags. But soon enough we were onboard, and shortly thereafter the O'Brien steamed out onto the bay. You'll note that the O'Brien did not "sail" out onto the bay. The O'Brien doesn't use sails for its propulsion. It uses a propeller, driven by a triple expansion steam engine.
Anyway, off we went. They had a swing band playing forward of the deckhouse, but luckily we sat abaft of it, so we were mercifully spared the noise. They served an excellent lunch of roast beef, chicken, potato salad, and rice. Being a natural chow hound, I had sensed the start of the serving, so I got us into line early. That was yet another Good Idea. The lines were ridiculous. Some people waited over an hour. We steamed out under the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge and then back. We paraded past The City, and then took up station just southeast of Alcatraz to watch the airshow. What can I tell you about the Blue Angels? Those people can fly.
Then it was back to Pier 96 and we took our leave of the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brien. It was an interesting excursion, but I don't think I'd want to do it again.
Our next scheduled event was dinner at Maxfield's (named for Maxfield Parish, whose huge painting graces the Pied Piper Bar) in the Palace. Neither of us was up for yet another sumptuous meal. Perhaps I was starting to get a little shell-shocked in the losing battle to bury The City in U.S. Currency before going broke. There are some things a poor country boy just isn't ready for...
I suggested we head down to Fisherman's Wharf for some typical tourist fare. The Beautiful One, being ever agreeable to anything reasonable, readily agreed. So we had clam chowder served in sourdough bread bowls. I know - how touristy can you get, right? Well, it was good, and cost less than the tip at Maxfield's would have been, and at the time I was needing a little R & R from the battle to bury The City in U.S. currency. Then, in the spirit of a wild weekend of gluttony and general abandon, we had some ice cream. That seemed to be about enough, so we headed back to the Palace. Hint - do not drive on Columbus Avenue on the Saturday night during Fleet Week...
The next morning we went down to the Garden Court and had their sumptuous breakfast buffet. It is hard to imagine just how they manage to cook up so many breakfast dishes, with every single one being absolutely perfect. Well, they did. Damnedest thing... Another $90.00 lost in the battle to bury The City in U.S. currency, and, while I definitely wasn't going to go broke in the attempt, I was getting pretty well beaten up. There are some things a poor country boy just isn't ready for...
I figured that, after strewing U.S. currency over the town as if it was so much wheat straw, I probably should drop a bit of it on the room maids, so a Jackson decorated the table as we left the room. We checked out (really, they already had my credit card number, so it was just a matter of giving them our electronic door key/cards and heading for the front door), got the doorman to call for our car (he was a very accommodating fellow), passed out some more U.S. currency - a Jackson to the doorman and another Lincoln to the valet parking fellow (they had been getting $5.00 a pop right along) and escaped from The City. The battle to bury The City in U.S. currency without going broke had been a draw. The City could have easily absorbed a lot more U.S. currency, and I wasn't broke yet. I even had money in my wallet, thanks mostly to the Beautiful One's kind contribution to the battle, at the Skirmish of the House of Prime Rib.
I don't remember the drive home. The Mercury pretty much steered itself, I being little more than one of its two passengers. I think it somehow sensed that all three of us really needed to get back home - to a land of modest houses, broad expanses of farmland, and nothing remotely like the Garden Court.
I'm going to give you all one bit of advice. Somehow, some way, scrape up a wad of cash and enough credit card credit, and do this. Even if it's just once in your life, do this. Stay in a place like the Palace. No - stay in the Palace. Eat in the Garden Court. Have a drink or two in the Pied Piper Bar. Strew cash around as if it was wheat straw. Thoroughly enjoy yourself without a single thought of the cost. And then get the Hell out of there, while you still can.
Back to my home place.